Journal of Philosophy of Education, Vol. 35, No.

4, 2001

Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of

Education

JUDITH SUISSA

This paper presents a discussion of some central ideas in

anarchist thought, alongside an account of experiments in
anarchist education. In the course of the discussion, I try to
challenge certain preconceptions about anarchism, especially
concerning the anarchist view of human nature. I address the
questions of whether or not anarchism is utopian, what this
means, and what implications these ideas may have for
dominant paradigms in philosophy of education.

INTRODUCTION
As a political theory, anarchism is rarely taken seriously by political
philosophers (see Reichert, 1969). Similarly, anarchist education is seldom
even mentioned in texts on libertarian educational theory and practice.
Yet anarchist thought is rich in insights relevant to issues in philosophy
of education, and there is a continuous tradition of educational experi-
ments undertaken from an anarchist position, which are, I shall argue,
unique in the world of libertarian education.
Why is it, then, that so many academics refuse to consider the
anarchist position as a serious basis for philosophical discussion? Is it
that we are, as Richard Sylvan puts it (1993, p. 215) `ideologically stuck
with the state?' Does the anarchist rejection of the state imply a world-
view so alien to our own that it strikes us as hopelessly utopian? Have
our postmodern sensibilities made us suspicious of any political ideal
that offers a vision of progress towards an unequivocally better world?
Many critics of anarchism have focused, indeed, on its alleged
utopianism. But perhaps we should pause to consider this charge and
the philosophical questions it yields. For wherein does the `utopianism'
of anarchism lie? Is it a mere question of feasibility? Is it a function of
the anarchist account of human nature, as some critics have argued?
These questions give rise to the general question of what makes a
position `utopian' and whether the utopian aspect of a particular
position should discredit it as a basis for philosophical thought or
educational policy.

& The Journal of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain 2001. Published by Blackwell Publishers, 108
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628 J. Suissa

In this paper, I examine these questions, with reference to certain key

anarchist ideas, and to specific anarchist educational experiments. My
account suggests, first, that an anarchist approach to education is
significantly distinct from other broadly `libertarian' approaches, and
that this position can yield interesting insights into central issues in
philosophy of education; second that, although anarchism may have a
utopian element to it, it is not utopian in the pejorative sense of the term,
largely due to its complex account of human nature. Furthermore, I
argue, the philosophical perspective implied by taking a possibly utopian
ideal as a starting-point for discussion is a valuable one that deserves
serious consideration. As a great deal of criticism of anarchism hinges on
the notion of human nature, this shall constitute a central part of my
discussion.
Throughout this discussion the position usually referred to as the idea
of a liberal education, and its conceptual connections with liberal theory
in general, will form a major point of reference. There are two main
reasons for this. First, anarchist theory itself, as a nineteenth-century
tradition, can be interestingly and constructively understood in the
context of the nineteenth-century traditions of liberalism and socialism,
the tensions between these two traditions in a sense being reflected
within anarchist thought.
Second, as Anthony O'Hear puts it (1981), many of the central ideas
of liberal education have become so common as to be almost axiomatic
within the field of educational theory and practice. Indeed, liberalism as
a political theory has, as many theorists note, achieved such ascendancy,
at least in the West, that in a certain sense `from New Right
conservatives to democratic socialists, it seems we are all liberals now'
(Bellamy, 1992, p. 1). The idea of liberal education is logically connected
to political liberalism both in that its underlying values overlap with
central liberal aspirations, and in the idea of a non-vocational, universal
education, which has historical links with the ascendancy of liberalism.
Accordingly, most contemporary philosophical discourse on education
assumes that the education in question is education in Ð and by Ð a
liberal state. Of course, there exists another major stream in philosophy of
education, which derives not from classic liberalism but from Marxism.
The ideas developed within this approach, especially those of critical
pedagogy, also have interesting connections with anarchist theory,
which I will briefly address.
The liberal-analytical tradition in philosophy of education, at least in
its early stages, rested, as John White points out, on the assumption that
it is possible to provide a `neutral', logical analysis of what is involved in
the concept of `education'. Of course, this paradigm has been seriously
challenged during recent years, and has undergone considerable revision
from within the liberal tradition, and many philosophers are now sceptical
about the original analytic project, acknowledging that philosophy of
education has, at the very least, political implications. As White puts it,
`The question: What should our society be like? overlaps so much with
the question about education that the two cannot sensibly be kept apart'

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 Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of Education 629

(White, 1982, p. 1). This acknowledgement means that, as James Bowen

and Peter Hobson state: `It is now clear to most in the liberal-analytic
tradition that no philosopher of education can be fully neutral, but must
make certain normative assumptions, and in the case of the liberal
analysts, these will reflect the values of democracy' (Bowen and Hobson,
1987, p. 445). Thus discussion of `aims' and `values' in education often
assumes that the social and political values we cherish can be promoted
by particular conceptualisations of the curriculum, and much work in
this tradition focuses on questions as to how values such as autonomy
can best be fostered by the education system. Normative questions
regarding the desirability of this very system and the framework within
which it operates are, more often than not, not themselves the focus of
philosophical debate.
The anarchist perspective is different in that it does not take any
existing social or political framework for granted. Instead, it has as its
focal point a vision of what an ideal such framework could be like Ð a
vision that has often been described as utopian. From an anarchist point
of view, the question `what should society be like' does not merely
`overlap with' questions about education but is logically prior to all such
questions. The anarchist vision is justified by complex accounts of
human values and concepts, which I shall discuss below. I turn first to a
rough sketch of the central ideas and tensions within anarchist thought.

I ANARCHISM Ð DEFINITIONS AND COMPLEXITIES

As a political ideology, anarchism is notoriously difficult to define,
leading commentators to complain of its being `amorphous and full of
paradoxes and contradictions' (Miller, 1984, p. 2). One reason for this
confusion is the derogatory meanings associated with the terms
`anarchy' and `anarchic'. A second problem is the fact that anar-
chism Ð by its very nature Ð is anti-canonical, so one cannot refer to
any single body of written work (as in the case of Marxism) in the search
for definition. What is clear is that anarchism is, as William Reichert
notes, `the only modern social doctrine that unequivocally rejects the
concept of the State' (Reichert, 1969, p. 139).
Although the origins of anarchism as a comprehensive political theory
can be traced to the outbreak of the French Revolution, as a political
movement it is very much, as James Joll puts it, `a product of the 19th
Century', the values it challenged being `those of the increasingly
powerful centralized, industrial state' (Joll, 1979, p. ix).
It is common to find a distinction between `individualist' anarchists,
who emphasise the value of personal autonomy and the essentially
rational nature of human beings, and `social anarchists', who see
individual freedom as conceptually connected with social equality and
emphasise community and mutual aid. Writers like William Godwin and
Max Stirner, who represent an early and extreme form of individualism,
view society as a collection of existentially unique and autonomous
individuals, portraying the ideal of the rational individual as morally

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630 J. Suissa

and intellectually sovereign. But such individualism, which over the

years has held a certain appeal for figures such as Shelley, Emerson and
Thoreau, often tends towards nihilism and even solipsism, and the major
nineteenth-century anarchist theorists were highly disparaging of these
individualist thinkers. According to Kropotkin, they:

maintain that the aim of all superior civilization is, not to permit all
members of the community to develop in a normal way, but to permit
certain better-endowed individuals `fully to develop', even at the cost of the
happiness and the very existence of the mass of mankind (Kropotkin,
1910b).

Bakunin was even more outspoken in his critique of `that individua-

listic, egotistical, malicious and illusory freedom extolled by the school
of J. J. Rousseau, as by all the other schools of bourgeois liberalism'
(Bakunin, 1971, p. 1). Accordingly, several theorists have proposed that
it is in fact equality, or fraternity, that constitutes the primary value for
anarchists (see Fidler, 1989). Others, like Daniel Guerin and Noam
Chomsky (1970), suggest that anarchism should be viewed as `the
libertarian wing of socialism', echoing Adolph Fischer's remark that
`every anarchist is a socialist but not every socialist is an anarchist'
(quoted in Chomsky, 1970, p. xii).
Whether or not one accepts such claims, it is undoubtedly true that, in
terms of historical influence, it was the social anarchists who played the
greater part, as well as providing the greatest mass of written work.
Therefore, while not wishing to gloss over the tensions within anarchist
theory, I shall focus mainly on this group, who also offer interesting
insights on philosophy of education.
In spite of their focus on the class struggle and on the need for social
revolution, there are crucial differences between the social anarchists
and the Marxists, and much of Bakunin's political theory took the form
of an attack on Marx. The anarchists opposed common, central
ownership of the economy and, of course, state control of production,
and believed that a transition to a free and classless society was possible
without any intermediate period of dictatorship. Fundamentally, they
consider the Marxist view of the state as a mere tool in the hands of the
ruling economic class too narrow because it obscures the basic truth that
states have certain inherent properties. By using the state structure to
realise their goals, revolutionaries will, according to anarchism,
inevitably reproduce all its negative features. Thus the anarchists were
highly sceptical about the Marxist idea of the `withering away of the
state'. They also objected that the Marxist claim to create a scientific
theory of social change lead to a form of elitism. Bakunin, in a speech to
the First International, attacked Marx as follows:

As soon as an ocial truth is pronounced Ð having been scienti®cally

discovered by this great brainy head labouring all alone Ð a truth
proclaimed and imposed on the whole world from the summit of the
Marxist Sinai Ð why discuss anything? (quoted in Miller, 1984, p. 80).

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 Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of Education 631

In contrast, a fundamental aspect of the anarchist position is the belief

that the exact form of the future society can never be determined in
advance as it involves a constant, dynamic process of self-improvement,
spontaneous organisation and free experimentation.

II ANARCHIST EDUCATION
My focus here is on educationally relevant philosophical questions
raised by anarchism as a political theory, but in order to provide some
concrete examples of attempts to translate anarchist ideas into
educational practice I shall offer only a brief account of experiments
in anarchist education.
One of the first attempts of a systematic kind took place in Spain at
the beginning of the twentieth century, in a climate of severe social
unrest, high illiteracy levels and a public school system completely in the
grip of the Roman Catholic Church. Francisco Ferrer, an anarchist
activist in exile in France, became interested in experiments in libertarian
education, particularly those of Paul Robin and Jean Grave. In 1901, he
opened The Escuela Moderna in Barcelona, declaring in his prospectus:
`I will teach them only the simple truth. I will not ram a dogma into their
heads. I will not conceal from them one iota of fact. I will teach them not
what to think but how to think' (quoted in Avrich, 1980, p. 20). This
attitude was typical of early anarchist-libertarian educators, who
emphasised the `rational' nature of their education, in contrast to
what they saw as the dogmatic teaching of the Church, on the one hand,
and the nationalistic education of the capitalist state, on the other. The
Escuela Moderna was co-educational Ð a fact that seems to have been
perceived by the authorities as more of a threat than any of its other
features Ð and was also quite integrated in socio-economic terms (see
Avrich, 1980, pp. 19±26).
Another important aspect of the school was the absence of grades,
prizes and punishments. `Having admitted and practiced', wrote Ferrer:

the coeducation of boys and girls, of rich and poor Ð having, that is to
say, started from the principle of solidarity and equality Ð we are not
prepared to create a new inequality. Hence in the Modern School there
will be no rewards and no punishments; there will be no examinations to
pu€ up some children with the ¯attering title of `excellent', to give others
the vulgar title of `good', and make others unhappy with a consciousness
of incapacity and failure (Ferrer, 1913, p. 55).

The school had no rigid timetable, and pupils were allowed to come and
go as they wished. Although somewhat sympathetic to the anti-
intellectualism of Rousseau, Ferrer did not scorn `book-learning'
altogether, but a great emphasis was placed on `learning by doing',
and much of the curriculum consisted in practical training and field-
trips. Ferrer was also adamant about the need for teachers to be
professionally independent, and was highly critical of the system by

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632 J. Suissa

which the educator is regarded as an `official servant, narrowly enslaved

to minute regulations, inexorable programmes' (ibid.). Ferrer did not
naõÈ vely believe that he could provide an education that, as opposed to
that of the Church and the State, was politically neutral. The children
were encouraged to value brotherhood and co-operation, and to develop
a keen sense of social justice, and the curriculum carried a clear anti-
capitalist, anti-statist and anti-militarist message. This was reflected Ð
to take an example that may now seem somewhat quaint Ð in the
teaching of Esperanto. Essentially, Ferrer saw his school as an embryo
of the future society and the vanguard of the socialist revolution.
Under these circumstances, it is no wonder that the Spanish
authorities saw Ferrer as a threat. The school was constantly under
surveillance and was frequently denounced as a nest of subversion. In
1906, after years of official harassment, it was closed down. Ferrer
himself was arrested in 1909 on false charges of instigating a mass
uprising. In spite of appeals by the international community, he was
found guilty at a mock trial1 and condemned to death by firing squad.
His death predictably sparked off a wave of international protest,
prompting many anarchist groups to establish schools and associations
with the aim of continuing his educational legacy.
One of the most well-documented of these (see Avrich, 1980) is the
American Modern School Movement, which founded and ran several
anarchist schools, often as part of anarchist communities, usually in
rural areas. Believing that in order for children to develop an adequate
understanding of justice, equality and co-operation, the founders of
these schools tried to realise the ideal of a natural continuity between the
world of the school and that of the community. Schools such as these
also reflected the central anarchist notion of `integral education'. This
idea was a direct consequence of the commitment to social equality, and
the belief that it is capitalism itself that divorces manual work from
mental work. Integral education was intended not only to provide pupils
with a useful trade, but to diminish their dependence on the capitalist
system and to help to break down the division of labour and the
consequent separation into educated and uneducated classes.
The anarchist's suspicion of anything highly systemised, along with
their revolutionary social outlook, led them to be highly critical even of
contemporary progressive educators, such as Montessori and Pestalozzi,
whom they derided as mere `social reformers'.
Another theme in anarchist education is the rejection of all rigid
structures and programmes, relying instead on the anarchist faith in
natural order Ð that is, an order evolved from below, rather than
imposed from above. Similarly, anarchist educators displayed a typical
suspicion of constitutions and blueprints, which, they held, undermine
human freedom and perfectibility. The founders of these schools,
rejecting the principles of majority rule and representation, attempted to
develop forms of management and organisation based on consensus.
The anarchist belief in small communities as the optimal units of social
organisation was reflected in the principle that class size should be

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 Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of Education 633

limited (fifteen was eventually agreed upon as the maximum number).

As the schools had no central authority, individual teachers enjoyed
considerable autonomy.

Anarchist education versus libertarian education

At first glance, it may seem that the experiments described here have
much in common with schools commonly described as `libertarian', such
as the famous Summerhill School in Suffolk. There are in fact many
similarities between day-to-day practice at Summerhill and that at
anarchist schools. Summerhill, like the anarchist schools, has no rigid
timetable or curriculum, teaching is informal, children are free to come
and go as they like, and traditional conceptions of teacher authority are
rejected. And A. S. Neill's writings, which continue to inform the
school's policies and practice, are full of references to the freedom of the
individual child, and damning descriptions of authoritarian child-
rearing practice.
But there are important differences. First, in contrast to the anarchist
suspicion of majority rule as a political system, Summerhill has always
stressed its democratic character interpreted in precisely these terms, as
reflected, for example, in the practice of the school meeting. More
significant, though, are the subtle differences that derive from the
philosophical and ideological commitments behind each of these
educational approaches. Crucially, Neill conceived of freedom in an
individual, psychological sense. His chief intellectual influences were
those of the psychoanalytical tradition Ð especially the work of
Wilhelm Reich. So, although critical of existing society, he believed
that the way forward to a better world lay in reform at the individual
level Ð a sort of mass therapy Ð by which we would gradually achieve
a society of self-aware, uninhibited, emotionally stable individuals. In
contrast, the notion of freedom behind the anarchist position is one that
carries `concrete political connotations' (Smith, 1983, p. 17).
Neill was adamant on his non-political position as an educator. `Life
is so difficult to understand', he once remarked, `that I personally
cannot claim to settle the relative educational values of anyone' (in
Hemmings, 1972, p. 35). He seemed genuinely to believe that `children
must determine their own values' suggesting that what he really sought
was an appreciation of freedom for its own sake. This is a far cry from
the anarchist educators who made no attempt to hide their political
agenda, and designed their schools to reflect it.
In short, although many writers include anarchist educational
experiments under the broad heading of `libertarian education', I
believe they are unique because of the particular philosophical and
political outlook behind them. Essentially, the educational ideas
promoted by the anarchists developed not out of a romantic,
Rousseauian idea of the laws of nature and a philosophy of laissez
faire, but out of an explicit commitment to social justice and socio-
economic equality. These points raise several interesting questions for

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634 J. Suissa

philosophy of education, many of which can be approached through a

discussion of the key concept of human nature.

III HUMAN NATURE

Bhikhu Parekh notes that, although the concept of human nature `is one
of the oldest and most influential in Western philosophy', there is little
agreement amongst philosophers on what the term actually means
(Parekh, 1997, pp. 15±16). Parekh proposes a minimalist definition,
emphasising not only the universal constants of human existence but the
`ways in which they are creatively interpreted and incorporated into the
process of human self-articulation and self-understanding' (ibid., p. 26).
As he notes, philosophers have used the concept of human nature to
serve three purposes: `to identify or demarcate human beings; to explain
human behaviour; and to prescribe how human beings should live and
conduct themselves' (ibid., p. 17). It is the third purpose that is of central
concern to the philosophy of education. Indeed Anthony O'Hear has
articulated a view similar to Parekh's, stating that `human nature is not
something that is just given. It is something we can make something of,
in the light of how we conceive ourselves and others' (O'Hear, 1981,
p. 1). Accordingly, emphasising particular traits or potentialities as
uniquely and essentially human often plays an important role in
philosophically evaluating and promoting normative positions on
education.
In anarchist thought, the concept of a common human nature is
employed in order to demonstrate the feasibility of a society based on
mutual co-operation, solidarity and self-government. However, contrary
to the opinion of many critics, the anarchists did not ascribe to a naõÈ vely
optimistic view of human nature. In his detailed study, David Morland
(1997) notes that both Proudhon and Bakunin, two of the leading social
anarchist theorists, hold a contextualist view, according to which human
nature is inherently twofold. As Bakunin picturesquely expressed this
idea: `Man has two opposed instincts; egoism and sociability. He is more
ferocious in his egoism than the wildest beasts and at the same time more
sociable than the ants and bees' (Maximoff, 1953, p. 147). Similarly,
Kropotkin, in his monumental treatise Mutual Aid, attempted to counter
the extreme version of social Darwinism often put forward as a
justification of the capitalist system. Kropotkin was anxious to show
that the simplistic notion of `survival of the fittest' was a misleading
interpretation of evolutionary theory. Of course, `for most of us,
Darwinism suggests anything but communality and co-operativeness in
nature' (Nisbet, 1976). Yet the Origin of Species is full of references to
man's `social nature', and by ignoring this emphasis in Darwin's work,
the position referred to as `social Darwinism' amounts to, as Robert
Nisbet notes, `scarcely more than a celebration of the necessity of
competition and conflict in the social sphere' (ibid., p. 364). Kropotkin's
extensive study of evolution and animal behaviour (published in 1910)
was intended to redress this perceived imbalance in the interpretation of

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 Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of Education 635

Darwin. His paradigm case of the prominence of `mutual aid' is that of

ants. His point is that while there may be aggressive fighting for survival
between species, within the ant community, mutual aid and co-operation
prevail. Although Kropotkin does not deny the principle of the struggle
for existence as a law of nature, he regards the principle of mutual aid as
more important from an evolutionary point of view. Of course it is
highly problematic to attempt to draw conclusions for human behaviour
and values from evidence from the animal kingdom. Nevertheless,
Kropotkin assembled a wealth of evidence for the presence of a
propensity for spontaneous co-operation in human society. Indeed,
anarchists are fond of referring to cases such as that of the life-guard
association, the European railway system or the international postal
service, as instances of mutual aid in action. Even given the limitations
of such examples, Kropotkin's point is clear: if one wants to argue for
the feasibility of an anarchist society, it is sufficient to indicate that the
propensity for voluntary co-operation has some historical or evolu-
tionary evidence.
It is important to note here that the contextualist anarchist position
clearly contradicts the Rousseauian notion of a pre-social human nature.
Both Bakunin and Kropotkin explicitly rejected the religious notion of
original sin, the Rousseauian indictment of modern civilisation and the
concept of the social contract. Kropotkin acknowledged, with Darwin,
the presence of a drive for domination, suggesting a dialectic conception
of the tension between this principle and that of mutual aid. He writes:
`All through the history of our civilization two contrary traditions, two
trends have faced one another; the Roman tradition and the national
tradition; the imperial and the federal; the authoritarian and the
libertarian' (quoted in Buber, 1949, p. 39). He identifies the State (in all
its forms) with the coercive, authoritarian tradition, the antithesis of
which is voluntary forms of social organisation such as guilds, workers'
co-operatives and parishes. Kropotkin contends, unlike Rousseau, that
even a corrupt society cannot crush individual human goodness. Yet, he
argues, if people were predominantly altruistic, there would be no
danger of exploitation and oppression. It is precisely because we are not
that the capitalist system is intolerable, for it allows `slavishness' and
oppression to flourish. It is thus clear why education is necessary to both
help bring about and maintain an anarchist society. An education that
systematically promoted co-operation, solidarity and mutual aid would
encourage the flourishing of this human potential, thereby undermining
the values underlying the State and furthering the social revolution.
This discussion illustrates the role played by the notion of human
nature in emphasising certain human propensities deemed crucial for the
transition to and maintenance of an anarchist society. Some anarchist
theorists have tried to defend the feasibility of such a society without
recourse to an essentialist view of human nature (see, for example,
Barclay, 1990).
Contemporary anarchists often point to experiments in non-hier-
archical social organisation in this context, the most famous example

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being that of the Paris Commune. Colin Ward cites research into small-
scale experiments in education and health care as supporting both the
idea of the benevolent potential of human nature, and the connected
anarchist theory of `spontaneous order'. This holds that: `Given a
common need, a collection of people will, by trial and error, by
improvisation and experiment, evolve order out of the situation Ð this
order being more durable and more closely related to their needs than
any that an externally imposed authority could provide' (Ward, 1982,
p. 31).

IV ANARCHISM AND LIBERALISM

In summary, the anarchist understanding of human nature is not as one-
dimensional or optimistic as is often assumed. Interestingly, it also
shares many features with classic liberalism. As Michael Taylor points
out, both anarchism and liberalism rest on certain assumptions about
human nature. This point is especially relevant to education. For
example, the question posed by Meira Levinson in The Demands of
Liberal Education Ð namely, `what characteristics of the individual does
the liberal state see as important and worthy of encouragement?' Ð is,
in essence, a question about human nature. Anarchists choose to
emphasise benevolence, sociability and voluntary co-operation as those
characteristics worthy of encouragement, arguing that they are most
effectively fostered in a stateless, de-centralised society. Liberals make
similar methodological choices. For example, in the context of liberal
arguments for justifying the (minimal) state, it is, as Taylor notes,
`effectively assumed that every individual is an egoist' (Taylor, 1982,
p. 55). Furthermore, Bikhu Parekh points out that Mill's ideal of the
autonomous individual, on the basis of whom the liberal society was to
be founded and sustained, was acknowledged by Mill and his
contemporaries to be one that often `went against some of the deepest
tendencies of human nature' and was thus regarded as an `extremely
difficult and precarious achievement' (Parekh, 1994, p. 11). This, of
course, is one reason why Mill's liberal doctrine went hand in hand with
the requirement for global educational provision. So both liberalism and
anarchism highlight certain aspects of human nature that, innate or not,
need to be re-inforced by education in order to sustain the desired
political system.
In addition to these methodological points, there are interesting
substantive points of convergence between liberalism and anarchism.
Primarily, in assigning a central position to autonomy, liberals must
obviously be assuming at the very least a human potential for
benevolence, for otherwise institutions far more coercive than those of
the liberal state would be needed to guarantee individual freedom. Leroy
Rouner notes that the idea that humans have an inherent capacity for
goodness `is deep-seated within the liberal tradition' (Rouner, 1997), and
Alan Ritter makes the further claim that the anarchist contextualist view

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 Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of Education 637

of human nature is `clearly within the boundaries of liberal psychology'

(Ritter, 1980, p. 118).
Like the anarchist educators discussed here, most philosophers
writing in the liberal education tradition place great emphasis on
rationality and on the development of the mind as an essential
component of the good life, and assume a form of epistemological
realism. But the convergence between anarchism and liberalism is
perhaps most interestingly revealed in the context of the concept of
autonomy. Certain theorists, notably Will Kymlicka, have defended an
interpretation of liberalism that, while championing individual liberty, at
the same time stresses the cultural and communal context within which
individual goals and desires are shaped and pursued (see Kymlicka,
1989). Yet liberalism has always, as Ruth Jonathan suggests, `held the
freedom of the individual to be sacrosanct', and is thus often associated
with the promotion of individual autonomy (Jonathan, 1997, p. 20). One
could argue that autonomy is the central value in liberal theories Ð
even, as White (1990) argues, within the neutralist liberal position, which
amounts to a hidden perfectionism in favour of autonomy. Accordingly,
as Wilfred Carr and Anthony Hartnett put it, `in many ways, the
mobilizing principle behind most theoretical justifications for liberal
education has been a commitment to the aims and values of ``rational
autonomy'' ' (Carr and Hartnett, 1996, p. 47). Liberal theorists usually
assume something like a Kantian account of autonomy, an account
similar to that of anarchist theorists such as Godwin, for whom the free
person is not simply one whose actions are not constrained by external
forces but one who `consults his own reason, draws his own conclusions
and exercises the powers of his understanding'.
Given that autonomy is a central value for anarchists,2 some critics
have questioned whether the types of communities they sought to create
were supportive of it. Taylor (1982) argues that as utopian communities
are always islands within society, the values of the `outside' world will
always be present as real options, as will the possibility of leaving the
community Ð thus ensuring the autonomy of the individuals within it.
But if the anarchist revolution is successful, the future society will consist
of several federated communities. Particular social practices and life-
styles may differ from commune to commune, but as all practices are
expected to conform with the principles of social equality and justice, it
is hard to see how any commune could present a radically challenging
alternative to an individual in another commune. Of course one could
take the line that children growing up in a pluralistic state are not
genuinely autonomous either as their choices are restricted by their
environment and upbringing. But a more promising line of argument
connects the discussion to the idea of the conditions of freedom. For
those values that create a high degree of similarity between communes
and amongst members of the same commune Ð that is, values of
economic and social equality Ð are those very values that constitute
prerequisites for the just exercise of freedom. Thus although one could
argue that the autonomy of a particular individual may be limited in an

& The Journal of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain 2001.
638 J. Suissa

anarchist commune, as opposed to a pluralist, democratic state, the

overall freedom of members of society would presumably be increased.
And indeed, the social anarchists insisted on the immediate improve-
ment of the material conditions of society as an essential aspect of any
revolutionary programme.
So although the anarchist position attaches a different weight to the
notion of autonomy from that found in the liberal account, both
positions share certain assumptions about human nature, rationality and
the Enlightenment belief in progress. In addition, this account, together
with the historical evidence of anarchist educational experiments, makes
it abundantly clear that the anarchists had nothing against education, or
indeed schools. Although I cannot discuss the notion of authority in
detail here, several theorists have noted that what anarchists reject is not
authority per se, but particular kinds of authority. They did not, then,
take the extreme libertarian position that all educational intervention,
conceived as necessarily involving some kind of authority, is unaccep-
table. Nor did they support the libertarian view that there is something
morally questionable about the very act of educating children. Indeed,
alongside their enthusiasm for an education that was non-coercive and
non-dogmatic, many social anarchists echoed classic Millean paternal-
istic attitudes towards children. And of course, as Goodwin and Talyor
(1982) note, the very ideal of a society based on the principles of self-
government, in which there were very few rules for adults, often rested
on the assumption of there being massive moral education of children.3
Given these apparent similarities between the underlying values of the
liberal and anarchist positions, what, then, is the difference between
them, and what bearing does this have on the way we think about
education? As Alan Ritter argues:

The agreement between anarchists and liberals in psychology makes the

main problem of their politics the same. By denying that malevolence is
ineradicable, both rule out autocracy as a mode of organization . . . By
denying the possibility of universal benevolence, they also rule out as
unworkable modes of organization which exert no cohesive force . . . Thus
the problem of politics, for anarchists and liberals alike, is to describe a
pattern of social relations that, without being autocratic, provides the
required cohesive force (Ritter, 1980, p. 120).

The liberal solution to this problem is, of course, to accept the frame-
work of the coercive state, but to limit its power so as to guarantee
maximum protection of individual liberty. The anarchists reject the state
outright but have to rely on a certain amount of public censure to secure
the cohesive force and survival of society. As Ritter points out, it is
because anarchists `affirm the worth of communal understanding' that
they can, unlike liberals, regard such censure as having a relatively
benign effect on individuality. In short, `to redeem society on the
strength of rational, spontaneous relations, while slaying the leviathan

& The Journal of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain 2001.
 Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of Education 639

who offers minimal protection Ð this is the anarchists' daring choice'

(Ritter, 1980, p. 133).
It is important to note that what the anarchist position rejects is not
just the state as a centralist, coercive power, but even the minimal state
as conceived by neo-liberals such as Robert Nozick. For the anarchists,
social relations governed by the state (including a communist state) are
essentially different from those constituted by spontaneous forms of
social co-operation. This perspective goes a long way towards explaining
the anarchists' objection to the idea of the social contract in which, in
Rousseau's account, for example, `there is no room for society; only the
State exists, or rather society is completely absorbed by the State'
(Bakunin, in Maximoff, 1953, p. 166). Although Kropotkin's notion of
the State as `a clamp that strangles the individuality of small
associations' is, as noted by Martin Buber, too narrow, the social
anarchists were undoubtedly right in pointing out that the historical rise
of the centralist state signalled a fundamental change in our conception
of social relations Ð the idea of the sovereign state displacing the
primacy of that of the free city or various forms of free contract and
confederacy. In arguing for the transformation of society through a
renewal of social and community relationships, Buber echoed this basic
anarchist distinction between state and society (see Buber, 1949, 1951).
Most liberal theorists seem to assume that Nozick has established that
the State is a necessary evil Ð that, if it did not exist, we would, as
Patricia White says, `have to invent [it] Ð or back into [it] by degrees at
least' (White, 1983). But the anti-statist critiques that Nozick confronts
are not those of the social anarchists, but those of contemporary liber-
tarians such as Murray Rothbard and Ayn Rand Ð keen supporters of
free-market economy and critics of any collectivist ethos. Such
libertarian thinkers, who regard themselves as the true heirs of
Lockean liberalism, identify the modern state as the enemy of free-
market capitalism, and regard calls for social equality as a threat to
individual liberty. The value of fraternity, so central to social anarchist
thought, is entirely absent from this position, which effectively accepts
socio-economic inequality as the price of freedom.
In defending the minimalist state, Nozick is effectively arguing, from a
rights-based position, that it is necessary in order to defend the
individual freedoms championed by neo-liberal and libertarian thinkers.
In the context of education, many contemporary theorists who call for
limiting government control of education, such as James Tooley, take
their position largely from the work of Murray Rothbard and other neo-
liberals. Indeed, as Jonathan notes, this type of neo-liberalism, which she
argues has characterised the dominant approach to education in Britain
in recent years, has its philosophical roots in an extreme neutralist
interpretation of liberalism. Yet, as she correctly points out, the kind of
`rolling back the state' advocated by such enthusiasts for the
introduction of market forces into the education system `cannot be
seen as a neutral procedure' and in fact goes hand in hand with increased
state legislation `directed towards substantive change in the social order'

& The Journal of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain 2001.
640 J. Suissa

(Jonathan, 1997, p. 30). The values and beliefs implicit in this substantive
position are, of course, at odds with those at the core of the anarchist
position.
How different, though, are these anarchist values and the anarchist
ideological perspective from those of Marxism, especially with regard to
education? Anarchists obviously share certain Marxist assumptions
regarding the structural inequality of capitalist society, and the
possibility of subverting this by means of a critical pedagogy. Indeed,
the Platonic ideal of education as freedom from illusion is one that
underlies much of the tradition of radical and critical pedagogy,
reflecting yet another point of convergence between liberalism, Marxism
and anarchism. Yet anarchist thinkers would reject both the theory of
social reproduction and the idea of the socially constructed nature of
knowledge implicit in much contemporary work in critical pedagogy. As
an Enlightenment movement, anarchism involves a great deal of faith in
progress and universal values. It is this, indeed, that separates it from
postmodernist theories, in spite of its decentralist, anti-hierarchical
stance.
Whereas in Marxism there is basically, as Todd May puts it, `a single
enemy: capitalism' (May, 1994, p. 26), the focus of Marxist revolu-
tionary thought thus being on class as the chief unit of social struggle,
anarchist thinking involves a far more tactical, multi-dimensional
understanding of what the social revolution consists in. Connectedly,
an anarchist thinker, unlike a traditional Marxist, cannot offer abstract,
general answers to political questions outside of the reality of social
experience and experimentation. In an educational context, this
anarchist perspective is reminiscent of Freire's notion of `situated
pedagogy'. Yet the dominant interpretation and implementation of
Freire's ideas on dialogue and critical pedagogy (in spite of his warnings)
often reduces his pedagogical approach to what Donaldo Macedo calls
`a form of group therapy that focuses on the psychology of the
individual' (1994, p. xv). As Macedo points out, the sharing of
experiences should not be understood in psychological terms only. It
invariably requires a political and ideological analysis as well. The
political project at the heart of anarchist educational endeavours would
seem to avoid the potential pitfalls of a pedagogy centred on particular,
situated relationships. Specifically, the substantive focus of the anarchist
critique, dealing as it does with the reality of oppression and injustice in
its various forms, has the possibility of directing pupils' consciousness
outwards, away from their own subjective situation, and towards a
positive content.4
Of course, the extension of Marxist analysis contributed by critical
theorists provides a far richer understanding of power relations in
society than that found in the works of both traditional Marxists and
social anarchists who, while focusing on the top-down nature of power
in the state, often both overlooked the complex ways in which power
continues to play a role in inter-personal relationships and failed
adequately to consider the categories of race and gender and their

& The Journal of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain 2001.
 Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of Education 641

manifestations in terms of socio-political power. Yet work by critical

theorists of this kind may perhaps also predispose teachers to look at
students in a rather pessimistic way: they come to be seen, above all, as
evidence of the insidiousness of power relations, rather than, as in
anarchism, the potential vanguard of the social revolution. This brings
us back, once again, to the idea that anarchism has a lot to do with a
certain faith and optimism about human potential Ð an optimism that
may be a welcome ingredient in educational encounters.
The above account may seem to suggest that the anarchist approach
to social change is more a piecemeal than a strategic one. Yet the broad
commitment to a humanistic vision and the moral constraints on the
content of this vision rescue the anarchists from a purely tactical stance.
Education, on this view, is perhaps most usefully conceived, following
Buber, as a relationship. It is by engaging in new forms of relationships,
based on solidarity, spontaneity and mutual aid, that we can undermine
the modes of organisation associated with the state. This stance is
reflected in Gustav Landauer's idea that `the state is not something that
can be destroyed by a revolution, but is a condition, a certain
relationship between human beings, a mode of human behaviour; we
destroy it by contracting other relationships, by behaving differently'
(quoted in Ward, 1982, p. 23).
So anarchist thinking allows us to extend the liberal ideal of `the good
life' to a vision more substantial than that embodied in the position that
sees education as `providing the foundations of a good life by promoting
the development of a rationally autonomous individual' (Hirst, 1998,
p. 18), or in the neutralist stance implied by Nozick's `Utopia of utopias'.
Yet at the same time, the anarchists' insistence that by engaging in
certain kinds of social relationships we can undermine the modern state
and help to bring the stateless society a little closer, absolves them from
the charge that they are, as Patricia White comments with reference to
Marxist works on education, `waiting for the Revolution to lead us into
an ill-defined utopia' (White, 1983, p. 2).
Chomsky's distinction between visions and goals is very useful here.
While defending the anarchist vision of a stateless society, Chomsky
nevertheless insists that:

In today's world . . ., the goals of a committed anarchist should be to

defend some state institutions from the attack against them, while trying
at the same time to pry them open to more meaningful public
participation Ð and ultimately, to dismantle them in a much more free
society, if the appropriate circumstances can be achieved . . . This stand is
not undermined by the apparent con¯ict between goals and visions. Such
con¯ict is a normal feature of everyday life, which we somehow try to live
with but cannot escape (Chomsky, 1996, p. 75).

On this view, as Colin Ward notes, `There is no final struggle, only a

series of partisan struggles on a variety of fronts' (Ward, 1996, p. 26). A
crucial implication of this stance is that even the most traditional school

& The Journal of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain 2001.
642 J. Suissa

can be an arena for challenging our preconceptions about education and

promoting radical alternatives. As Reichert puts it, `the task the
anarchist has taken upon himself is to begin to lay the foundations of a
decentralized, free society within the structure of the existing one' (1969,
p. 145).
Thus perhaps philosophical debates on whether or not education can
change society are misconceived; the interplay between strategic goals
and tactical objectives is not a conflict to be decided in advance but an
interesting tension that should itself be made part of educational
philosophy and practice. The question of how different values are
translated into practice can be part of this practice Ð in which
experimentation is `a sober and often tentative activity' (May, 1994,
p. 114). In certain contexts, tactical decisions may make sense, and so the
course of action promoted may not appear very radical. But the `vision'
is always there, and it can have tremendous motivating force for those
involved in education.

CONCLUSION
We are still left with the broad questions we started out with: Is
anarchism utopian, what does this mean and what implications can this
have for our philosophical thinking on education?
The preceding discussion suggests that anarchism is not utopian at
least in that its account of human nature is not completely counter-
intuitive. Of course, the charge of utopianism still has some truth if one
accepts Karl Mannheim's classic account, according to which `utopian'
refers to `that type of orientation which transcends reality and which at
the same time breaks the bonds of the existing order' (Mannheim, 1979,
p. 173). But there is an important sense in which anarchism is definitely
not utopian, as noted by Isaiah Berlin:

The main characteristic of most, perhaps all utopias is the fact that they
are static. Nothing in them alters, for they have reached perfection: there
is no need for novelty or change (Berlin, 1991, p. 20).

This is clearly in contrast to the anarchist vision. First, as a result of the

anarchist conception of human nature, most anarchist theorists are
under no illusion about the possibility of a society without conflict; they
envisage, rather, a particular way of solving conflict; furthermore, it is
intrinsic to the anarchist position that human society is constantly in
flux. As Kropotkin stated: `we conceive the structure of society to be
something that is never fully constituted' (quoted in Buber, 1949, p. 43);
the principle at the heart of anarchist thought is that of constant
striving, improvement and experimentation.
So also in an educational context, Dewey's critique of Plato's Republic
views utopian thinking in a similar way. On Dewey's reading, the utopia
Plato depicts is designed to serve as a final answer to all questions about
the good life, and the state and education are to be constructed so as to

& The Journal of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain 2001.
 Anarchism, Utopias and Philosophy of Education 643

translate it immediately into reality. Although Plato, says Dewey,

`would radically change the existing state of society, his aim was to
construct a state in which change would subsequently have no place . . .
Correct education could not come into existence until an ideal state
existed, and after that education would be devoted simply to its
conservation' (Dewey, 1916, p. 105). This is in clear contrast to the
anarchist vision.
Of course, the utopian nature of Plato's account does not detract from
its philosophical value, nor should Dewey's account of this be regarded
as definitive! The `feasibility' of any political vision should not, on its
own, be a reason for disregarding it as a basis for serious philosophical
debate. Indeed, though particular utopias may be static, utopianism, as a
stance of constantly and creatively striving for an ideal at which we may
never arrive, is clearly not. The very study of utopias can be valuable as
it releases creative thought, prodding us to examine our preconceptions,
and encouraging speculation on alternative ways of conceptualising and
doing things. `Utopianism', it is argued, thus `discourages quiescence or
fatalism' (Goodwin and Taylor, 1982, p. 26).
Philosophers of education commonly use expressions such as `the
good life' and `human flourishing'. But how broadly are we to extend
our critical thought and our imagination in using these notions? I believe
that the perspective implied by taking a (possibly utopian) vision of the
ideal society as the starting point for philosophical debates on education
is potentially fruitful. It is one that can challenge our common
perceptions about the nature and scope of philosophy of education.
Seyla Ben Habib has distinguished between `the politics of fulfillment'
and `the politics of transfiguration'. `The politics of fulfillment', she
argues:

envisages that the society of the future attains more adequately what
present society has left unaccomplished . . . The politics of trans®guration
emphasizes the emergence of qualitatively new needs, social relations and
modes of association, which burst open the utopian potential within the
old. Within a critical social theory the articulation of norms continues the
universalist promise of bourgeois revolutions Ð justice, equality, civil
rights, democracy, and publicity Ð while the articulation of utopia
continues the tradition of early socialist, communitarian, and anarchist
movements Ð the formation of a community of needs and solidarity, and
qualitatively transformed relations to inner and outer nature. In short,
while norms have the task of articulating the demands of justice and
human worthiness, utopias portray modes of friendship, solidarity, and
human happiness. Despite their essential tension, a critical social theory is
only rich enough to address us in the present, in so far as it can do justice
to both moments (Ben Habib, 1986, p. 13).

Perhaps the same could be argued for a critical and vital philosophy of
education. And perhaps, as the above account suggests, these two
tensions, and their dynamic interplay, can in fact be found in the work of
the social anarchists.

& The Journal of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain 2001.
644 J. Suissa

This discussion, I hope, at least provides a justification for assigning

anarchism a serious place in philosophical debates on education.
Anarchism perhaps offers more questions than answers, but these are
questions that, I believe, enrich the debate. A consideration of the
anarchist perspective can help us to think differently about the role of
visions, dreams and ideals in education. It suggests that perhaps we
should think of education not as a means to an end, nor as an end in
itself, but as one of many arenas of human relationships, in which the
interplay between the vision and the ways it is translated into reality is
the subject of constant experimentation.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
An earlier version of this paper was presented at the Philosophy of
Education Conference at Gregynog in June 2001. I would like to thank
participants of the conference, and also Patricia White, for their helpful
comments, many of which continue to play a part in my developing
thoughts on this topic.

Correspondence: Judith Suissa, History and Philosophy Group, Institute

of Education, University of London, London WC1H 0AL.
Email: sjjphpr@ioe.ac.uk

NOTES
1. Avrich, in his de®nitive account of the case, uses the term `mock trial', referring to the fact that
Ferrer was not allowed to present any evidence or witnesses in his defence, while the prosecution
presented irrelevant evidence (documents from Ferrer's activities in Paris some ®fteen years
before) to support their case.
2. Paul Wol€ has argued, from a neo-Kantian position, that `there can be no resolution of the
con¯ict between the autonomy of the individual and the putative authority of the state', and that
therefore `anarchism is the only political doctrine consistent with the virtue of autonomy' (Wol€,
1976, p. 18). To accept this argument, of course, is to challenge the assumption that the liberal
state, and liberal education, is the best framework within which to pursue and promote the
liberal value of autonomy. For reasons of space, I cannot discuss this argument and its criticisms
here.
3. Just what this moral education consisted in, for anarchist educators, is a complex issue, and one
which raises interesting questions about the relationship between their goals and the pedagogical
approaches they adopted along the way. Although the absence of a systematic pedagogical
theory behind anarchist ideas on education may be construed as a weakness, to construct such a
theory would, of course, have been inimical to the anarchist outlook. Unfortunately, for reasons
of space, I cannot address these issues in depth here.
4. I am grateful to Paul Standish for drawing my attention to this point.

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