Teachers of the ‘Young’ People
In Pursuit of a Political Education Without Empty Promises
Introduction
By the standards anchored in external and demonstrable metrics like awards, my greatest work would be my prize-winning university thesis, a project I affectionately dubbed my 94-page encounter with fire and brimstone. (God have mercy on whoever had to read it for the prize or even just in general.) In my thesis, I sought to portray the--at the time--growing trend of young adult dystopian literature as the next step for the social contract tradition. To do this, I had to start by creating a map of the tradition, breaking it down into what I considered three established eras or ‘waves,’ as I called them at the time. I started with the initial works by Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, and Jean Jacques Rousseau. I then went on to discuss the works of John Rawls and Robert Nozick who both--though in opposing ways--tried to fine-tune the notion of obligations or expectations shared and agreed upon by those within the hypothetical social contract, which I considered the second wave. As for the third, I turned to theorists critical of the tradition like Charles W. Mills, Suan Moller Okin, and Carole Pateman who argued that the social contract tradition did not do enough to address racial and sexual discrimination or--even worse--had these prejudices baked in. After those critiques, the next wave, I argued, was young adult dystopian literature because it focused on the perspectives of those marginalized by the social order for arbitrarily selected traits who--because they are coming of age--must decide to consent or reject the unspoken social contract laid out before them.
Clearly, it was a rather intense endeavor, one that depended--I soon learned--on a vocabulary that made sense to me but had not otherwise been established. To that end, I had to build something of a small linguistic bridge between these two firmly separated camps. At this point, it should be easy to see why it ended up being so close to 100 pages, which was the department’s informal page limit but still so far from the average 30 pages that other seniors used.
And yet, I managed to win the departmental prize for best thesis in political theory, an honor that I am deeply convinced I did not deserve and might have gotten only by default. I potentially was the only one who submitted in time for the prize. The due date for the prize came significantly before the graduation-related university due date, and having worked in academia as an administrator for some time now, I feel confident in saying that procrastination is as much a part of the intellectual endeavor as reading, writing, or coffee. My winning the thesis prize was more a reflection of my time-management abilities than the cohesiveness of my argument or the quality of my writing relative to the other students in the department.
This seemingly dismissive attitude to my own work is not merely the product of a soul inclined towards self-deprecation. I say this because, even at the time, I was aware of a glaring gap in my argument. Young adult dystopian literature features a cast of characters on the cusp of adulthood. The hero is in the process of crossing over the proverbial line, experiencing a sort of ‘coming of age’ or other transformative moment in which they are expected to undertake their societal role. To say these characters are young is both accurate and yet misses the nuances of that state of being. However, they are factually young and perhaps impressionable, and the argument could be made that because they are so young and impressionable, they cannot wield the sort of political agency required of them by my argument. In short, they may not be capable of being political actors yet, and in some sense, they may not be ready to undertake the task being asked of them because of their youthful ignorance or some other weakness related to their age and/or lack of experience. They could be very soon, but the pessimist would argue that they aren’t there yet.
A common metaphor for a situation like this would be to depict these young people as ‘raw material’ meant to be formed into a proper citizen, and in the case of young adult literature, one would be inclined to ask if this transformation had happened before the story began or if it happened soon enough afterwards that you could trust the protagonist’s actions were informed and could be considered a justifiable revolution.
While, yes, I technically had another six pages I could have used to fill in the gap, I didn’t then know how to best accomplish that. This wasn’t for lack of trying. In fact, the trying didn’t end when I turned in the thesis nor when I graduated. That is simply not how my mind works. As far as I was concerned, the thesis was not complete; ergo, I wasn’t done with it yet. This current essay is the result of the completionist impulse devolving into an outright obsession that lingered for a couple years until I happened to pick up a book that served as the sort of connecting point between what I knew to be true and what could be fully and properly explained.
The book in question was Teachers of the People (2017) by Professor Dana Villa in which he provides an illuminating study of political education while critiquing the work of Rousseau, Hegel, Tocqueville, and Mill. These men were thinkers who experienced a sort of push-and-pull that--by Villa’s account--ended with them falling for the allures of paternalism and betraying some of their professed ideals. On one hand, they welcomed the appearance of ‘the people’ as a political force with great enthusiasm only to pull back when it actually happened, flinching--as it were--when the masses gained the political agency they were theoretically owed.
I should point out that this is not entirely unreasonable. Practically speaking, it’s fair to say that such a seismic shift was going to come with concerns and logistical issues, but in the face of all that, the most pressing question--as they saw it--was one of education: how could a mass of people who had been wholly shut out from matters of government and who were overwhelmingly illiterate properly participate in governing? It was all a matter of ‘how to behave politically,’ per each theorist’s definition, which was not something the masses would have known, and this not knowing could lead to any number of social ills or consequences. As a reaction to those potential disasters, each of the four thinkers then essentially betrayed their proclaimed beliefs by turning to paternalism in one form or another for a way out. These theorists were champions for universal political participation while still grabbing at their fellow (but less well off) citizens in the same way a parent grabs at their small children: with a condescending and corrective urgency driven by their fear of the what-if.
In his book, Villa argues that this betrayal not only failed to actually solve the issue at hand but also led to an ingrained paternalism that only generated the sort of civic passivity and incapability at the heart of various societal ills. In an episode of the podcast, The Political Theory Review, Villa lays out his motivations for writing the book, which included highlighting the need for political education both as discussed by these theorists and as we--in current year--should approach it. I would say that he is successful in redirecting our focus onto political education as something to be pursued not scorned. However, for the sake of closing one of the remaining loops in the university thesis I’ve spent far too much of my life obsessing over, my unintended reading of Villa’s book was simply that paternalism makes sense up until the point that it doesn’t. To be more eloquent about it, while you can acknowledge that there might be a limit to--or a population that would struggle with--political autonomy, there is a point in which that ceases to be true or relevant, and individuals need to be able to not just act on their own accord but learn on their own, least the whole endeavor come undone. The process of maturity--political or otherwise--can and should be supported, but that process does not simply depend on a presentation of proclaimed facts. It does not and cannot depend on a tutor-esque figure to guide citizens to a right conclusion nor can it depend on any other tailored process of citizen formation like a blanket style of education or anything that vaguely resembles indoctrination in a right or wrong light.
Whether or not we admit it, there is a degree of ‘paternalism’ that we are all comfortable with, and from that comfort stems a tendency to over commit to it, leading us to embed a strict perception of ‘learned’ and ‘educated as a prerequisite to political participation or as something that needs to be imposed on our fellow citizens. The idea of a guided education or coming of age is alluring, and we may think it is worth formally implementing. However, that simply is not the case. Comfort aside, paternalism cannot deliver what it seemingly promises, and this is because of fundamental flaws in the structure that arises from it. As I see it, at the core of this dependence on paternalism--or of relying on designated ‘teachers’ to rule over the ‘taught’--are two assumptions: assumptions I first noticed when reading YA literature but certainly stand on their own. For one, there is an assumption that the process of educating a people is one that can be controlled. It assumes that the best sort of education is a more limited and guided process, one that may toe the line with outright indoctrination, but this potential overlap would not--for any number of reasons--be concerning because there is a set of ideal or right standards that need to be reached for someone to be truly educated. On the other hand, it also assumes that a singular entity--collection of people or an individual--can properly assume this elevated, omniscient position. For this to be true, some know best or at least more than others, and those who know more may not be matched by their lessers and certainly not surpassed. For that reason, they should be trusted with either taking the lead or having greater than average influence over it.
While both assumptions make for a nice theoretical picture, neither assumption, I would say, holds up in practice, though we may want or earnestly need them to be true. The temptation is there, undoubtedly, to embrace this way of thinking simply because of what it promises to bring: stability in the face of chaos. Consequently, the argument within this book feels particularly timely. While the book was researched and written well before the 2016 US election, its argument certainly resonated in the aftermath, and once again, it feels relevant now, in the wake of the 2020 election. We may want to believe in paternalism, but Villa reminds us that we cannot. Regardless of whether or not you like the dream paternalism paints, the fact that it cannot realize those promises should be reason enough to turn away from it. However, even if that were not persuasive enough, the consequences of this mindset certainly speak to that end.
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Education - Political and the Like
Before I discuss this matter in depth, I should clarify what I mean when I discuss ‘education.’ It is the sort of term that is thrown about under the assumption that the conversation partner would understand what is meant, but I would hesitate to proceed under that guise here. The line between terms such as ‘schooling,’ ‘degree-acquisition,’ and ‘education’ has almost entirely been effaced but somewhat salvaged by a quote that floats across the internet that is almost always attributed to Mark Twain, “Don’t let your schooling interfere with your education.”
Accuracy of the quote or attribution aside--and not relevant here, though there is certainly reason to think Mark Twain did not say it--this quote serves as an example of the distinction that is made between ‘schooling’ and ‘education,’ one that is almost exclusively done in an adversarial context. ‘Schooling’ is what one is subjected to from the approximate ages of five to eighteen and perhaps beyond that. It is largely compulsory--particularly if you hope to one day be employable and financially stable--and full of material that seemingly has no practical application. However, that material must be regurgitated for the various hoops (or exams) students must jump through in order to reach the other side. On the other hand, ‘education’ is what one gets from the ‘school of life’ otherwise unspecified. Perhaps it is more like the half-hearted philosophical musings over alcohol or some other (legal in some places) substance or a sort of personal awakening potentially triggered by a piece of media. Regardless, there are a series of self-awakenings that come to one as one go about their days, and the lessons of these awakenings make up one’s ‘education.’ To extrapolate, ‘education,’ then, is less (arbitrarily selected or not) skill-based and more focused on the development of the (perceived or actual) self. It is more about how one relates to the world beyond themselves and less about memory retention.
To some extent and regardless of how that definition is derived, that is the understanding of ‘education’ I’m inclined to agree with. Not fully, I should clarify, but I find that it is a solid foundation in deriving the most practical understanding of what ‘education’ is or what it means to be ‘educated’ without a loaded or slanted connotation. After all, I do not think there is anything ultimately productive in equating the ability to recite information in the context of an exam and a true ‘education.’ Admittedly, I might be less inclined to offer a scathing criticism of the current, test-driven school system than what is deserved, and I should also note that this perspective is coming from a person who is still able to recite my test scores with a near-fanatical style and precision, as if I were still performing for scholarship providers or universities. However, I retain some perspective despite my successes. To start this consideration at the end, the utility of my test performance ability ends when I hand in the exam, and while the results of those exams might have a strong influence on my life and I might have the faintest memory of the subject material, I would hesitate to say that I have been truly formed as a person as a result of these experiences. The influence only closes certain doors or might offer me a bit of assistance in reaching others, and the auxiliary knowledge I have gained often lacks applicability beyond the context of a game show or other trivia-driven space. On the other hand, ‘education’ as a concept is tied up with notions of self-betterment. While it has a more enduring impact, there is no singular demonstration or performance involved in an education. Rather, the hope is that the person walking through or out of that figurative fire (or school) is better than the one who first walked in.
Typically this “betterment” is conceptualized in an economic sense. That is to say, “this person is now a better--more useful, more productive, more knowledgeable, etc--potential employee than they would be otherwise.” Or to read that without the language of capitalism: an educated person is more able to leverage themselves to a certain goal or carry out their interests without the direct intervention of family or community. In other words yet again, an educated person has achieved a higher capacity for personal agency than an uneducated person.
To then narrow in on a term like ‘political education,’ it may conjure images of pedagogical-based indoctrination where slogans and one-liners representing a single viewpoint are drilled into the minds of the young. As Villa calls it, we conceive of ‘political education’ as a “self-lobotomization” for the sake of pre-established lines (Villa, 2017, p.16). However, reevaluating our understanding of ‘education’ as a concept opens up some considerations. For example, under this understanding, ‘political education’ would be the process through which one develops a capacity for personal agency in the political sphere.
For some, this idea could be conveyed through the refreshingly neutral term ‘civic education,’ but I find the term unsatisfactory in this context. In my mind, it conjures up images of a high school civics class. Mine, I should say, at least conveyed the subject material, other issues notwithstanding, and I’m certainly fortunate for that considering how modern American schools sometimes struggle to deliver such results or lack the resources to be able to do so. But once again, this idea of a civics education leads back to the idea of a student simply engaging in the material to be able to repeat it during an exam. ‘Civic education,’ to me, is hollow. It means I factually understand the political system around me in the same way one might understand a diagram. However, it does not guarantee that I am capable of acting in a ‘civic’ context.
In more academic terms, Villa’s description of ‘civic education’ conjures images of a more communitarian model: “the inculcation of manners and mores; the cultivation of a selfless patriotism; the demand that we bypass skepticism or intellectual doubt when it comes to our country, our ‘people,’ and ‘our’ policies” (Villa, 2017, p. 16). It is less about one’s personal development and more about limiting such so that one can fit into a role prescribed by one’s context. By some counts, this type of education cannot be considered an education, but in others, it is still a type of education per my definition, though we certainly have reason to dislike or distrust it. In this form, one’s ‘agency’ could be seen in the continued act of surrendering one’s direct will in order to play a part assigned to them, much like an employee surrenders the ability to do anything with their work hours in favor of fulfilling a duty assigned to them by their employer whom--presumably--they chose to work for. The act of entering that agreement is one of agency, but it is a forsaking of some agency to another person. While that might work in certain contexts, as I will argue later, that cannot be said for a political education.
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Paternalism the Sales Pitch
Another term I should, perhaps, unpack is ‘paternalism,’ but it does not seem necessary or appropriate for a variety of reasons. For one, the more amorphous understanding that comes with the word is the point. In addition, the heart of the meaning is not disputed in the same way the meaning of ‘education’ is, and to that end, I can comfortably trust that you will understand my reference. For this argument, it is enough to understand ‘paternalism’ simply as an attitude or perspective that assumes the recipient--be it group or person--cannot hope to function on their own without direct intervention, restriction, or heavy influence. It is behaving under the premise that the other genuinely cannot pursue their best end without intervention, which would then justify, if not necessitate, providing that aid in whatever form it may come in.
To try and dive deeper into formal definitions and conceptions of paternalism within political theory would be equal parts arduous and unnecessary. For one, as Villa’s book shows, various shades of this idea have appeared across political theory and trying to parse out my views on each manifestation would take quite a bit of time, seemingly in vain when--once again--the mere presence of paternalism within theories of political education is the issue; it is not the details of the how but the inclination to incorporate it that serves as the root of dysfunction. Namely, the inclination is to talk down to those with less perceived personal agency under the guise of it being towards a noble end like political liberation or protection.
It goes beyond that, in some ways. Built into paternalism is a negative perspective of the infantilized be it coupled with or founded in distrust, disgust, or disdain. To that end, the infantilized must change or be transformed into something more acceptable. Some might say ‘educated’ in this context, as in “they must be educated.” However, that would not be my choice of words. This imagery--I would say--is misleading and relies on the aforementioned assumption about what it means to be ‘educated.’ There are clearer ways to understand what is meant. To borrow a metaphor that Villa seems deeply adverse to, this mindset is more about taking the raw material that is the ‘uneducated’ person and shaping it into the something that is seen as a ‘noble’ citizen. ‘Political education’ then is not directly about actual education at all but instead the formation of citizens in such a way that ensures they adhere to a certain, presupposed model.
The professed hope--of course--is that this mold is one of a capable citizen, which includes the trait ‘educated’ within that ambiguous description. Perhaps one would add ‘virtuous’ to that hope, though the exact manifestation of those virtues should also be considered, lest someone say that it is simply a ‘happy accident’ if those championed virtues line up with a certain viewpoint. Regardless of the details, a paternalistic education is one that--in a variety of ways--is limited and highly structured, focused on the final deliverable that the system is meant to produce. This entire process, inclusive of the end goal, is created by those who supposedly know better or who were selected on the pretense that they knew better. This ‘knowing better’ is meant to be proof or enough of a sort of credential that these individuals can solve or at least sidestep the conundrum of educating a populace into autonomy.
This conundrum can be broken down into various tensions, as Villa identifies them, latent to conceptions of political education. In his book, Villa chooses to focus on two of them. The first tension occurs between virtue and enlightenment (Villa, 2017, p. 8). By this he means, within the project of popular political education, there is a debate whether to prioritize teaching morality or intellectualism. Whereas, the second tension is between “a learning by doing” model and a more passive “exposure to” model (Villa, 2017, p. 6). In other words, the question is whether citizens should learn through potentially uncontrolled experiences or clear instruction.
By no means are those tensions easy to resolve. Think of what is being asked. Preparing someone to deal with the limitless nature of human existence and all things that could happen to them or around them in a limited amount of time and with a limited amount of resources clearly is a nearly impossible task. And yet, the resolution reached could hardly be called a solution, practically speaking. The common solution has been what would be considered the easiest to implement: a structured education that contains within it a gradual and guided exposure model of political education, in which questions are offered and then answered. A structured education is uniform and straightforward in its design. It is based on certain parameters, certain perspectives, and certain texts, and those designing it would likely already have an idea of what they think that canon should entail. This idea is seen as an informed and ideal one, borrowing from the legitimacy that exulted the perceived learned in the first place.
If the mere mention of ‘paternalism’ has set you on edge, then I would invite you to consider the structure of this education to be in line with whatever model or belief system you find most palatable. If you believe in an objective right or something close to it, then let that be the model upon which you envision what I am describing. Value judgments concerning the schema and criteria are irrelevant. Within a paternalistic system, they who select the details are presumably the ones assigning values to their options, and consequently, ranking different paternalistic models or virtues would be to miss the point. It does not matter that some are better than others. The issue is their imposition.
And yet, that issue is not abundantly apparent relative to all a paternalistic system does offer. Those promises seem to outshine any of the well-hidden drawbacks and fatal flaws. While unrealistic, the unblemished dream speaks to a narrative we find comforting.
Beyond just being relatively easy to implement when compared to whatever alternatives may exist, there are other arguments to be made for such a system. In this context, I would like to highlight three of them; a system like this is fair when considering the produced products, productive, and--many would say--necessary. The first two benefits are interwoven. After all, they are related to the end goal: an ‘educated’ people capable of engaging in political action per the definition selected by a society’s ‘elite’ or ‘founding’ class. And obtaining an ‘educated’ status is within the reach of all individuals, regardless of the socio-economic status or the traits of the household they come from.
In this model, pupils enter into their education much like raw material enters a factory. There is potential there from the onset, and that potential could be converted into various sorts of end products. However, there is one end product that those who control the factory wish to have. With a carefully honed process, they are able to achieve that end consistently or with some relative consistency. There may be some quality differences, but they are all within an acceptable margin of error. Acceptability, in this context, is not an escape from blame or culpability for those who built up the process. Whether or not the acceptability is earned is irrelevant. Rather, this acceptable margin of error is derived from a recognition of the unrectified inequalities in this raw material that naturally occurs and predates entering the system. Income inequality would be the most obvious example of this. Another would be access to early childhood options: the sort of schooling that is currently optional and not typically provided or paid for by any government body but can make a sizable difference in cognitive development.
Therein lies another appeal of this structured exposure to politics as a means of political education. Beyond it just being easy to implement, it does promise to be a sort of equalizer. In theory, all the material would go through the same process. Initial defects could be buffed out, and any that were missed in one batch could be removed in later batches simply with a few additions to the process. Once developed and incorporated, the system is only more efficient and more desirable.
Now, this particular material is not ordinary metal or ore. Though that imagery is convenient, these systems are treating sentient human beings, and this also adds a sense of fairness and an excuse for differences in outcomes. Individuals can choose to lean in or out of the process, shaping the outcome, offering the structure that which could essentially be a scapegoat. Failures are thus explained away: diligent students are rewarded and the lazy are punished. Or in other words, those with inclinations towards politics can find the foundation with which they will later catch their stride--one that is not handed to them but claimed on their own merits.
In these ways, the system is generating what could be the desired outcome: properly formed citizens who adhere to the standard of ‘educated’ the system is predicated upon. Deviations are to be expected, but they certainly are not as dire as they could have been. In addition, further empowerment is possible. These outcomes validate this way of doing things, but the stronger argument, perhaps, is the perceived need.
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Paternalism in Political Education
In his book, Villa focuses on the conceptions of political education provided by Rousseau, Hegel, Tocqueville, and Mill. These four theorists were made particularly relevant by their time in history, which was the aforementioned moment when ‘the masses’ became ‘the people.’ Which is to say, the entrance of the multitude onto the political scene meant that they had to now be politically educated. ‘They’ as a collective entity may not have been young in the classic sense, but they were inexperienced. And from this inexperience came the justification for the paternalism that was to follow, but it may not be a justification seen as compatible with modern sensibilities. After all, some would say that the impulse to act would be enough, and that those individuals bursting forth would have some sense of their needs--immediate and otherwise. They could advocate for themselves without the pitchforks and torches if they had some other outlets. However, perhaps this is a perspective that comes from looking backwards, knowing how things turn out and that the democratic endeavor works (more or less).
On the other hand, when one considers people called ‘young’ in a more literal sense, this idea seems so much more reasonable. Whether you are dealing with actual children or teenagers who find themselves in a more nebulous state. Considering a teenager--or ‘young adult’--you do have an individual able to exercise some sense of agency, but at the same time, they are immature enough to still need guidance by many standards. While they may be growing into themselves, they are not where they need to be just yet. To carry forth the subtle metaphor, you would consider a teenager still on the journey of self-actualization, though they may be on the right path and rapidly approaching that destination point. However, unfortunately for them, the human impulse is to consider this a sort of all or nothing endeavor.
To map out the human experience, humans are born literally helpless, dependent on their guardians for every bit of life, short of their own breath. And even that--should it be hindered in some way--would require that guardian’s assistance to be restored. Beyond that, childhood, you could say, is a gradual development not just of autonomy but also of social cohesion as parents instruct them not just how to live biologically but also socially within the society around them and the conventions therein. This origin moment serves as a reference point and standard for the ways young people are discussed, understood, and interacted with. Because they do not know and, indeed, cannot be expected to know, there is a responsibility placed on the guardian’s shoulders to ensure that the child survives and develops. With this in mind, guiding a child to autonomy should not be controversial in the slightest. In fact, it would be irresponsible not to do as much.
In many ways, the knowledgeable leading the uninitiated is a key part of human relations. At various junctures in our lives or at the beginning of various endeavors, we are all dependent on others for guidance. In some ways or in some other context, this does make sense. Medical decisions or legal matters are great examples of situations in which having someone akin to an expert is an absolute necessity. In lesser matters, learning how to cook or drive from someone outside of ourselves is par for the course. Online tutorials for everything from makeup looks to basic home repair are a media staple for so many. We do not have the answer or knowledge of the steps involved, and so, we have to seek that resource outside of ourselves. This is a narrative we are greatly comfortable with, and though skepticism regarding expertise has increasingly taken hold in recent years, distrust in a system is not necessarily the same thing as distrust in a process. If one chooses to draw medical information from a poorly cropped meme on Facebook, there is still the assumption that the original creator or source of that meme is an expert of some kind, particularly an ‘uncompromised’ kind. The rise of the Facebook expert isn’t so much a rejection of expertise but an altered sourcing of it.
Now, I recognize that this is conceptualized in such a way that mirrors the schooling system. Though an ‘education’ can occur beyond those walls, this idea of a formatted exposure to knowledge can happen either in the homes of families, the pews of churches, forums of an online site, or some other contexts. Once again, it is a matter of structure not detail. At the front of the figurative room is one who is seen as ‘knowing better’ meant to shape those who ‘know not’ into a perceived image. Evoking the imagery of the school speaks to the efficiency of the process. In a school setting, you can have one instructor to approximately 20 to 30 students--or more in some circumstances. Whereas in a household, you have two adults to two and a half children who may serve as intermediaries in the pews anyway, and other models are less structured and more unpredictable.
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The Value of the Product
At that juncture, the issue starts to become apparent, and yet, before addressing the pitfalls of paternalism, there is one other matter that is appealing in a deceptive way. Paternalism as a process is what first comes to my mind in the context of ‘political education,’ and it is a connection that is readily apparent in Rousseau’s work, particularly in Emilie in which the young pupil’s education might seem natural and self-directed but is actually carefully curated by the tutor. The shaping of the pupil, in this model, is incredibly direct though not overt, and as a consequence, one’s self-autonomy has been preemptively hamstrung by those who were entrusted with cultivating it all without the pupil knowing.
Beyond the process itself, a related so-called ‘virtue’ of paternalism would be a specific type of end product. Presumably, some of the individuals--or raw product in this model--would fall short of expectations. This education model is a potential equalizer, but--as previously stated--this process does not shape inanimate, raw material but sentient beings. As a result of this autonomy, failures can be dismissed simply as a matter of choice: there will be those who do not rise to the occasion. Either they have personal deficits that go beyond any reasonable (or built in) expectations of correction or they simply refuse to put in the effort that is required of them. This ends up being one end of a quality spectrum, falling off the end of acceptability: an existence that will be lamented if not outright mourned but otherwise unaddressed. Most people--or pieces in a cruder model--will be average or passable, bunched up towards the middle. Then there is a smaller group that excels, seemingly going beyond expectation though the system is built in such a way that requires this outcome. This is the group that paternalism would say should lead or should have--at the bare minimum--greater influence over political affairs. At first glance--and in earlier political thought--this was conceptualized as giving additional weight to votes from the higher, more educated class. However, now ‘educated’ isn’t a requirement to vote or a way to weigh votes but is now seen a prerequisite to other forms of political engagement, holding office in particular.
Competence is a virtue, to be sure. No one would (or should) consent to a surgery done by their accountant or to have their taxes done by their surgeon. And certainly we’ve all seen clips of someone engaging in some ill-thought out and outlandish stunt juxtaposed with a quip ‘their vote counts as much as yours.’ It is an easy joke to make and one that feels safe because it appeals to a natural impulse also seen in several political theorists, and the remark is at the expense of perceived idiocracy, which is something we find ourselves inclined to ridicule and otherwise reject but isn’t an innate trait. In addition, this reaction is seemingly born out of our logic and rational abilities. Consequently, there is a sort of self-gratification in lowering an abstract person or persons because of a single instant in their life when they behaved dumbly even if that instance cannot represent the whole.
In a similar pattern, one trait is seen as the reason certain individuals or a group of such are trusted to take the proverbial lead. Those who are seen as ‘educated’ are actually the best replicas of the model citizen. They are not so much new sculptors but the most detailed copies who would be able to continue on this process. Their achievements in replication are seen as virtues, but this once again assumes that proper political action rests in the proclaimed image baked into the system.
At the heart of this is a standard selected by those who know best or as seen as knowing more. It is the artificial model of a ‘citizen’ that guides education and that dictates what it means to be educated. This model itself had to be created or manufactured by those who were able to assume or were otherwise gifted authority on the matter. It was the end goal through which the education process was also designed towards. This ends up creating a sort of self-fulfilling loop not because of any external input or inclination on behalf of the populace. It’s simply built in.
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Its Assumptions
While this more heavy-handed strategy may work for other matters, what makes the political endeavor unique, I would say, is that this realm encompasses so much of our lives--inclusive even of medical and legal affairs. It should be a reflection of how we understand our past, present, and future. In my conception of politics, it becomes more apparent that my thoughts are influenced by the work of Hannah Arendt, but even if that understanding were to be shelved for a moment, the political endeavor remains a uniquely personal one. It is the act--you could say in a more idealized sense--of voicing one’s will for the future or grievances with the present. It is an act of testimony, which would mean that it is compromised if one ends up parroting another’s claim or belief without dedication. Perhaps it would be even worse if one’s words contradict one’s actual self--the embodiment of traits, inclinations, experiences and thoughts that composes the existential self--because then that could be considered the abstract death of a person. To become a clone of a perceived expert or a placeholder devised by a perceived expert is to participate in some level of this pseudo-death, though it may not be what we are inclined to think.
In theory, the goal of a standardized political education could be to instruct one in the art of self-discovery or presentation. This instruction would be in line with that conception of political action, but even if ideal, it is an impossible to achieve ideal, rendering it somewhat irrelevant. This proposed goal raises certain logistical challenges disguised as questions. How can one convey a reality that hasn’t yet been materialized? Or the vast array of potential realities possible but still within a neat and orderly system? For example, the gig economy is a relatively new development, and fitting it within the established understanding has been wrought with difficulties, particularly in the legal sector. Those who provide the service directly, be it through ride-share or food delivery, are able to set their own hours much like a contractor can. However, their labor is a central point of the company much like employees. How do we handle adaptations necessary in cases such as this?
Well, in theory, this would mean simply teaching the pupils to adapt definitions or to prioritize some details over others. Or it could be more about thought process and not about identification. Fair enough, I would say. That is an important skill.
However, I should note that part of my reading is influenced by my prior work in Young Adult Dystopian Literature. In these stories--more often than not--the story follows a young person on the cusp of an adulthood that they know will be defined by a marginalized status. The social order around them is built to their detriment, and in some ways, this can be fairly visible like you see in Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games (2008). In it, the character Katniss is marginalized simply based on where she was born. On the other hand, you have narratives like Veronica Roth’s Divergent (2011) in which the character Tris could potentially be marginalized for not fitting perfectly into any of the neat boxes society presents to her as options otherwise known as ‘Factions’ each aligned with a specific virtue proclaimed as the ultimate guide in a good society. In the latter case, her reality is hardly considered by the social order beyond being a pronounced and punishable defect.
When Tris finds out about her Divergent status, it’s the first time she is confronted with this potential identity. She was not taught about it. She was not aware this was her reality, though the acknowledgment seemed to explain many of her own misgivings about her life’s direction. And--in addition--her tendency means that she cannot turn herself into her society’s ‘ideal citizen.’ In the city-state she was raised in, an ‘ideal citizen’ is one that is neatly sorted, which she cannot be.
Broadly speaking, at the crux of paternalism is the image of the ‘model citizen:’ the standard and end goal employed by a paternalistic structure. Lines have to be drawn in the sketching process when trying to create a particular image, and where they land is the product of conscious choices, reflective not of a natural order but of the wielder’s opinions and often values. However, once again, I should say that this is not a natural development, certified and beyond dispute. While some theorists might want to argue that there is a natural political self, I would say that this alleged self could also be seen as rooted in their understanding of nature and stands as a symbol for their world view.
It is that aforementioned world view that connects to the second assumption: that the ‘great legislator’ type devising this system would be willing to consider all experiences and details rather than hyper-fixating on those they have assigned value to, which might seem like a concern rooted in and defined by pessimism and distrust in ‘politics’ as a concept rather than a rational evaluation. I recognize that, to some this, this may seem unrealistic. To them, it is not that I am actually concerned about something that could happen; rather, I am letting my thoughts be driven by perceived hurts taken against me or others. Built into this assumption is faith that there is some sort of safe-guards, even if it is merely human virtue. However, this is not the case, though I do understand that with distrust being so prevalent in the current social air, such a charge has its appeal. In reality, within a paternalistic system where unbridled control rests in the hands of the ‘enlightened,’ there is no actual protection against deliberate exclusion and hyper-fixation.
Veronica Roth’s aforementioned Divergent series helps illustrate this idea. Tris Prior’s identity--the manifestation of her character relative to the five virtue-aligned factions--is not just forgotten but outright omitted from their formal political education. It also is not welcome in her society. It stands as evidence against the foundational premise society is defined upon: that there are singular traits governing the self. Now, there is something practical about having individuals drawn to multiple factions and their virtues, which is highlighted later in the series (after various plot critical reveals), but at the bare minimum, having individuals connected to multiple factions or who could otherwise stand as go-betweens would be a mild inoculation against some of the violence that happens later. Or it could just be irrelevant. Individuals like Tris can still contribute to their society like ‘typical’ adults. There is no innate reason to discriminate. And yet, rather than even simply being tolerated as a mild inconvenience, those--like Tris--who are Divergent are shunned as outsiders. Per this social order, that is what they are, yes. That is how the social order is designed and reinforced. It did not have to be, but choices were made. To that end, there is something inevitable about it.
Paternalism, intended or not, creates the same insider/outsider dichotomy, and this consequence is somewhat baked in. The model of an ideal citizen serves as a foundation for a functional citizenship, and that is what makes it the foundation for a tribalistic identity. For something to be ‘right,’ ‘correct’ or ‘good,’ there must be other things that are ‘wrong,’ ‘bad,’ or ‘incorrect.’ A standard cannot exist without those that fail to meet it; otherwise, it would just be a general or random state of being, and all states of being would be on equal footing. This perceived ‘right’ or ‘ideal’ citizen must be duplicated or cloned en masse, and in that masse, there is a community. This community is the ‘us’ or the ‘our people’ that we must swear allegiance to and whose goals we must adhere to, regardless of any objective morality or intellectual integrity. Those are not the virtues that make a good citizen--or not under this model.
Paternalism is not about forming citizens capable of action. It is about forming a society or a ‘people’ as the preferred term often is. The assumption is that these are one in the same, but when you look into the details, particularly the details I just mentioned like an inevitable rejection of objective morality or intellectual integrity, this clearly cannot be the case. Paternalistically forming a people is not about authentic development into a personal self but a replication of something arbitrarily designed in the first place.
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Education as Practice
At this juncture, the question remains what political education could ever look like. Paternalism may not be great, but if it really is our only option, then we must swallow this bitter medicine and treat the side effects later.
Villa’s concluding chapter opens with an account about Hannah Arendt who was asked how she would instruct the interviewer in being a political actor, a question that she rightly rejects. To her, it would be absurd to try and instruct an adult like one would a child. Instead, political instruction comes from the discussions or debates one has around a figurative table with their peers. Villa includes the entire quote in his book, and being the world renowned expert on Hannah Arendt that he is, his interpretation is certainly better than anything I could provide.
But for now, I will say this much: for Arendt--and for both Villa and myself--political education is not instruction but exposure: a point that Rousseau, Hegel, Tocqueville, and Mill would have all disagreed with most vehemently. Villa calls this exposure “a moment of defamiliarization” in which we “come up against something different, something that departs from our everyday presuppositions and automatic patterns of response” (Villa, 2017, p. 276). I would say that is a better definition than I could have come up with, but when I was reading that chapter, the first thought in my mind was not ‘defamiliarization’ but a ‘loss of innocence:’ the realization that the world is not as one had always thought is. This terminology is more inline with my research experience, as a ‘loss of innocence’ is a frequent part of Young Adult Literature and is somewhat built into the dystopian genre as young protagonists have to fully encounter a world that despises them for an aspect of themselves they cannot control. As they enter into their adulthood and more into themselves, they have to question the rules and beliefs that were instilled into them from birth. The illusions of childhood have to be stripped away as they come to truly see a world that they assumed was a level playing field only to find that the opposite is true.
It is this authenticity that allows these characters to pursue--what Hannah Arendt might have considered as--political action, considering the protagonist does not just light a match and burn it all to the ground. How could you get a full, marketable trilogy if they did? Beyond that industry mindset, oftentimes, part of the formula for a trilogy of these books involves investigation and self-discovery quests that involve other characters as well as examining the social order and antagonist before the actual rejection and restructuring of the social order can take place.
When thought about in a narrative context, the issue seems more obvious and more palatable. It’s a removed way of considering or observing the issue, and a distance provides clarity. For many, this narrative arc is a strong replica of the ones we are on, have, or could have experienced. However, we don’t want to see our lives in terms of conflicts nor do we want to admit that our presuppositions and beliefs are wrong or once were wrong. Even the defense that we were led astray by the confines of our younger days--a situation we did not choose but simply fell into--is not a strong enough defense for one’s ego and the wounds that can be risked. But it is only by recognition of that which is true but not previously seen that we can begin to move forward in our lives, particularly in the political realm. After all, one cannot touch what they do not acknowledge or see. One cannot speak to or debate with something that--to them--is not there.
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Conclusion
I should note that this understanding of education--in my experience--is grounded in reality. That is to say, this is the sort of political education that can be and has been the experience of a fair number of people, including myself. At this juncture, I toe the line a bit and risk a mild doxxing of myself. I am a former student of Professor Villa’s in the most literal sense. One of my defining moments, to be cliched about it, was taking a seminar class he led in which he offered me a ‘moment of defamiliarization’ to me. It was an exposure not simply to an alternative viewpoint but to perspectives that did not fit within the narrow schema I had devised for myself as a product of my own experiences. Now, other faculty members had encouraged me to see these sorts of possibilities, but there was an issue of timing, as it were. Because of my own dysfunctions, the mention of possibilities was not persuasive enough and had happened much too soon. It was encountering them in a more concrete form during a critical time in my final years of university that made it possible for a critical redirection in my life.
That in and of itself, needs to be its own essay or even a longer sort of study, but for now, I can explain it like this: I entered college with a somewhat limited understanding of my options on the life philosophy front. The latter detail is surprisingly critical in that statement. It was not facts that I needed but a larger schema through which I could find a guide. I had spent my life up until that point straddling two different sets of demands and expectations: the hypercommercialism of the section of Scottsdale, Arizona I had grown up in and a perversion of the more deferential if not submissive state of being that came from my Catholic-Filipino background. A perversion, I should note, that came from a perfect storm of mishandled situations across my life that I had not been able to untangle until university. On one hand, you have a passive existence defined only by consumption and the easing of every inconvenience, physical or otherwise, in which one stands for nothing but still technically stands. And on the other, there is the complete eradication of the self in service of this other good--that being community or family in its most broad terms. In that case, one serves and supports something outside of themselves, which would be considered noble and grand in many ways, but it is not fair--perhaps--to say that one stands for something, when the “I” that would normally serve as the subject to that action has ceased to exist.
What Professor Villa’s class ultimately taught me--glossing over the issue of subject matter and the arguments of the political theorists we were discussing as they aren’t fully relevant in this context, though I do promise I was paying attention--was the inaccuracy of the schema I had constructed for myself. Its limited nature, the notion that it was an either-or choice, was grossly inaccurate, and in finding that there were alternative routes for my life, what I found was a sort of personal liberation.
Was this in any way intended? No. In fact, I should point out that my personal dysfunction was a wholly unique affair. In most other instances, this push and pull between two extremes simply would not occur. Most would know that other options are out there either through direct exposure or through indirect exposure to be able to make a proper inference on the matter. Indeed, what made my life experience so unique and detrimental was how isolated I had been from alternatives; it was an insulated community that had created so much of this distress--a form of learned helplessness.
To bring this back to what I define education to be--whether or not one is inclined to agree--would it not be fair to say, then, that I was uneducated? Or at least undereducated? I found myself at a stage in which I was not fully realized and could not fully exercise a personal autonomy nor agency. This was a more literal inhibition than most might contend with, but all the same, it illustrates the point. In the end, it is this encountering of new information--less so with overly pedagogical arguments--that makes one more capable and functional within a larger context.
In his book, Villa is concerned with how this would apply to the political realm, though a cynic might question whether such a realm still exists. However, regardless of where one falls on that divide--whether one is inclined to be optimistic or pessimistic about such things--this conceptualization of education as personal development through encounters of the unfamiliar extends beyond such. This conclusion and its implications for higher education would need to be unpacked in a subsequent essay on this site, particularly in the age of CoVid-19 and the requirements therein. For now, I merely mean to highlight this aspect of education, both to close the loop on my long dead senior thesis and to present an important general concept, particularly in light of a continued skepticism surrounding education as a concept beyond the ability to participate in the economic order.
Works Cited:
Collins, S. (2008). The hunger games. New York, NY: Scholastic. Purchase Link
Roth, V. (2014). Divergent. New York, NY: HarperCollins. Purchase Link
Villa, D. (2017, December 4). Dana Villa - Teachers of the People [Audio blog interview by 1137812964 857149148 J. Church]. Retrieved 2020, from https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/thepoliticaltheoryreview/episodes/2017-12-04T07_27_00-08_00
Villa, D. R. (2017). Teachers of the people: Political education in Rousseau, Hegel, Tocqueville, and Mill. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Purchase Link (for the paperback edition)