'EXISTENTIALISM AND’ITHE TEACHER-PUPIL ‘ '   '

RELATIONSHIP: SOME IMPLICATIONS.
' Vor SARTRE AND BUBER

Dissertation for the' _.Degreevof Ph. D I
MICHIGAN STATE UNIVERSITY . ' ‘

DAVID EARLJONES .

 

 

 

This is to certify that the

thesis entitled

Existentialism and the Teacher-Pupil Re—
lationship: Some Implications of
Sartre and Buber

presented by

David Earl Jones

has been accepted towards fulfillment
of the requirements for

Doctor of Philosophydegree in Education

 

 

 

Major professor

[hue July 22, 1977

 

0-7639

LIBRARY

Michigan State
University

 

 

WI 14‘ 3
;/W( I“;

I NOV 292800
80 sno

 

 

 

    

.. .2. ... man...) 3%.: .
’quufinw

 

1.2.. t”. A

 

 

 

educa-
Buber
hensi
SOphi
Sartr

and t

SartI
axioj
Situe
duce
and ‘
of 3
Crit
meth

Bube

ist

ABSTRACT

EXISTENTIALISM AND THE TEACHER-PUPIL
RELATIONSHIP: SOME IMPLICATIONS
OF SARTRE AND BUBER

BY

David Earl Jones

The intent of this study is to examine the bases for

educational theory derived from Jean-Paul Sartre's and Martin

Buber's existential philOSOphy. This study is not a compre-
hensive investigation of both Sartre's and Buber's philo-
SOphies. The study discusses some of the implications of
Sartre and Buber in regard to specific educational practices
and to the teacher-pupil relationship.

This study is organized as a descriptive study of
Sartre's and Buber's concepts of ontology, epistemology, and
axiology as the concepts are extended into the educational

situation. Both the purpose of this dissertation-—to intro-

duce the reader to Sartre's and Buber's educational thought--

and the nature of the source material urge that the method
of scholarship move out from the conventional objective,
critical approach of academic scholarship, and follow that
methodology especially theorized and employed by Martin
Buber himself.

One of the more important findings of this research

is that the relationship between the teacher and the student

is the
matter
alterna

compet;

 

 

David Earl Jones

is the most crucial aSpect of pedagogy. Also noted is the
matter of grouping students, the importance of providing
alternatives, and the value of cooperative rather than

competitive pedagogical methodology.

 

EXISTENTIALISM AND THE TEACHER-PUPIL
RELATIONSHIP: SOME IMPLICATIONS

OF SARTRE AND BUBER

BY

David Earl Jones

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
Department of Education

1977

 

® COPyrighI
DAVID EA]

1977

 

r-I
8?

O

3 (0‘70

© Copyright by
DAVID EARL JONES

1977

 

 

 

payment

John Su
guidanc
to thes
and the
Without
influer

would I

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This study belongs to Rosie and Steven in token
payment for everything it took away from them.

It is dedicated, however, to Professors Earl Newman,
John Suehr, Dale Alam, Howard Hickey, and George Ferree, my
guidance committee. I should like to express my gratitude
to these gentlemen for giving me the encouragement to begin
and the freedom to explore the ramifications of this study.
Without their encouragement, kindly understanding, and the
influence of their orderly and enthusiastic scholarship, I

would never have completed my project.

ii

 

CHAPTER

I.

II.

 

III.

 

CHAPTER

I.

II.

III.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

THE

THE

The Questions and Goals of the

Dissertation . . . . . . . . . . .
Methodology . . . . . . . .
A Defense of This Study . . . . . .
Source Material . . . . . . . . .
Design and Organization . . . . .
PROBLEM OF BEING . . . . . . . . . .
The Study of Reality . . . . . . . .
Sartrean Ontology . . . . . .
Relevance for Educational Theory . .
Being and Knowledge . . . . . . . .
Consciousness . . . .
The In— itself and the For- itself .
Negation . . . . . . . . . .

Freedom and Anguish . . . . . . .
Freedom, Motive and Act . .
Being, Nothingness, and Education .
Buberian Ontology . . .

Reality Begins In Relationship . . .
Relationship: I— Thou and I- It . . .
I— It . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I— Thou . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Element of "Trust" in Buber's
Ontology . . . . . . . . . . . . .

PROBLEM OF KNOWLEDGE . . . . . . . .
The Reef of Solipsism . . . . .

The Possibility of Knowledge . . . .
The Origin of Knowledge . . . . . .

Education and Knowledge . . . . .
Intuition . . . . .
Internal and External Negations
Transcendence . . . . . . .

Projects, Instruments, and Education
Choice and Appropriation . . . . .
Truth . . . . . . . . . . .
Buberian Epistemology . . . . . .
The Individual and His Knowledge

.

Page

10
15
l7
19

20

 

CHAPTER

IV. TI

 

BIBLIOGRA

 

~»a.._._4»

 

 

 

CHAPTER Page
Concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
The Aura . . . . . . . . . 104
From Scientific Conceptualization to

Synthesizing Apperception . . . . . . . 106
Truth . . . . . . . . . 108
The Knowledge of the Community . . . . . 111
Origins of Cosmos . . . . . . . . . 113
World—View and the Educator . . . . . . . 115
Existential Mistrust . . . . . . . . . . . 118

IV. THE PROBLEM OF VALUE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Sartre' 8 Theory of Value . . . . . . . 123
Bad Faith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Relevance for Curriculum . . . . . . . . . 134
Freedom . . . . . . . . . . . 137
Freedom and Responsibility . . . 144
Formation of Character: Buber' 5 Ethics . 146
Revelation and Law . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Responsibility and Freedom . . . . . . . . 153
Good and Evil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158
Conscience and Guilt . . . . . . . . . . . 161
The Criteria Question . . . . . . . . . . 165

Buber's Character Formation . . . . . 166

V. IMPLICATIONS FOR CURRICULUM

. . . . . . . . . 173
Sartrean Pedagogy . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Learning . . . . . . . . . 174
The School and the Child . . . . . . . . 175
Buberian Pedagogy . . . . . . . . . . . . 185
Dialogical Education . . . . . . . . . . . 187

Embracing the Polarities . . . . . . . . . 189
The Dialectical Alternation of Education . 193
,The Teacher—Student Relationship . . . . . 195
Teacher as a Selection of the World . . 209
Personal Reflections . . . . . . . . . . . 214
IIBLIOGRAPHY

- o g o o o a o o o c o u o a o -

iv

 

 

for edu
Martin
Way is
Sartre'
discuss
regard

Pupil 1

(1) The
from a
90%.

school:
cation;
t(Ite a
(3) G1.
adeqUa
descri
give,

logiCa

 

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

The Questions and Goals of the Dissertation

It is the intent of this study to examine the bases
for educational theory derived from Jean—Paul Sartre's and
This study in no

Martin Buber's existential philosophy.

way is intended to be a comprehensive investigation of both

 

Sartre's and Buber's philosophy as a whole. The study will

discuss some of the implications of Sartre and Buber in

 

regard to specific educational practices and to the teacher—
pupil relationship.

The basic assumptions I am making are these:
(1) That there are some logical conclusions one can draw
from a philosophical position that can be applied to peda-
gogy. (2) That this dissertation is addressing itself to
schools as they exist today in anticipation that the impli—
cations drawn from Sartre and Buber will enhance and facili-
tate a more positive learning environment in public schools.
{3) Given that the goals of public education are to provide
Idequate knowledge and skills for adult living, I intend to
bscribe the prescriptions Sartre and Buber would likely
iVer considering their particular ontological, epistemo—
Ogical, and axiological views.

1

 

 

itself ‘
ulum to

student

the cla
Sartre

a usefu
adminis
the exi
0f pers
discuss

the deg

f0redI

sued?
fOllowe

TheOdo:

Ph.
me-
119
pe
be

uh
OP
0f

 

The major questions the dissertation will address

tself to are these: What should be taught? How is curric—

1um to be chosen? .What are the roles of the teacher and

tudent in the decision making process?

This study is significant to all educators. For
he classroom teacher, the implications drawn from both
artre and Buber should prove valuable in the drawing up of

useful pedagogical methodology. It should be of value to

iministrators because it will discuss the implications of

1e existential thought of Sartre and Buber for the selection

 

personnel in an educational setting. This paper will also

scuss the importance of involving teachers and students in

re decision making process.

How, then, should the task of revealing the bases

r educational theory in a particular philosophy be pur—
ed? Educational philosophers have pretty generally

llowed a traditional format to accomplish this purpose.

aodore Brameld has written,

Philosophy has been divided into specialized branches,
methods, and divisions, each of which concentrates
upon one major area of belief. This is an admission,
perhaps, that the question (What are the grounds of
belief?) is simply too complex to be treated as a
whole. As to the number of such divisions philos—
ophers have differed among themselves—-some speakingl
of four or five, others of as many as eight or nine.

 

lTheodore Brameld, Philosophies of Education in
:ural Perspective (New York: Henry Holt and Company

., 1955), p. 239.

 

 

 

For thy

regardi
(1) str
the pri
ciples

often a
epister
would I
bases :
tentat

questi

day to
its pr
nOtiOn
educat
contrj
consic
ClariI
from I
genera
Sartr.
a“She:
Being.

to th.

For my purpose in this paper I will consider but three,
regarding others as subsidiary to them. These are:

(1) study of the principles of reality; and (2) study of
the principles of knowledge; and (3) study of the prin—
ciples of value or good. Respectively, these questions
often are expressed in philosophical shorthand as ontology,
epistemology, and axiology. Most educational philosophers
would accept a primary assumption that the philosophical
bases for educational theory should emerge from the answers,
tentative or final, which are given in reply to these
questions.

If educational theory is to be meaningful for the
day to day business of the schools, it should establish as
its primary point of reference the juncture between the
notions of philosophy and the actual practices going on in
educational institutiOns. Comprehensive examination of the
contributions of a philosophy to educational theory must
onsider practice, at least to the extent that the latter
larifies the theory and indicates continuities extending
rom philosophical abstraction to concrete behavior. In a
eneral sense, then, for the bases of educational theory,
artre's and Buber's philosophy should be sought in their
nswers, direct or implied, to such questions as: What is
eing? What is Knowledge? What is Good? And the answers

0 these philosophical questions should then be conceptually

 

 

 

extended
tional pr
II
of educat
to beliei
philosopl
“What do
in conteI
differen.
vidual i:
fOIlowin
How does
the indi
IIhich ar
vidual d
intellig
reality
Or, if i
between
abdut as
manifeSt
indiVidI
indiVidI
in whicl

{tended to show what they would mean in terms of educa—
Lonal practice.

When the educational theorist talks about any facet
E educational policy or practice, he cannot avoid reference
3 beliefs grounded in these fundamental branches of
lilosophy. Ontology, for example, which asks the question,
dhat does it mean to exist, or to be?" is deeply involved
1 contemporary education's preoccupation with individual
Lfferences. Any attempt to define the nature of an indi—
Ldual involves related ontological questions. Consider the
allowing questions as illustrative of this relationship:
>w does one distinguish between those characteristics of

1e individual which may be attributed to all men and those

 

liCh are unique to this particular man? Are these indi—
.dual differences fixed or dynamic? What is the nature of
Itelligence——does it belong primarily to the order of
sality which we refer to as physical, or is it mental?

y if it is both, what real connections can be established
tween mind and body? Do individual differences come

out as a result of accidents in nature, or are they the
nifestations of a master plan? To what extent is the
dividual responsible for these differences? Does the
iividual exercise a measure of freedom in choosing ways
which he will be different from his fellow men? A

ilosophy of education which proposes to understand the

 

 

 

needs 0:

answers

educati
logical
trovers
of what
proceed
truth e
it and
SUbject
region
0f iqnc
back t1
Or is I
Critic;
Specif:
from a
Should
indivi.
to Sat
recIard
replies
Opinio

ConCer

 

eds of individuals must strive to provide consistent
swers to questions such as these.

In no less a degree, policy and practice in public
ucation may be influenced by answers to the epistemo—
gical question, "What is Truth?" One of the most con-
oversial issues in schools today concerns the question
what should be taught. Should the curriculum builders
oceed from the standpoint that there is an order of
uth existing “out there" independently of anyone‘s knowing
and that the compartmentalization of knowledge into
bject-matter areas represents mankind's inroads into this
gion of truth? Does education attempt to lift the veils
ignorance from this ultimate truth, such as one peels
ck the leaves of an artichoke in search of its secret?
is truth keyed to particular events; is it found in the
itical examination of the consequences flowing from
acific choices? Should curricular experiences be selected
)m a body of truth which culture has revealed to us, or
>uld the curriculum consist of those problems which
lividuals and groups of individuals encounter in striving
satisfy their needs? If the curriculum is planned without
'ard for these cogent, though theoretical, questions, it
resents an uncritical acceptance of the beliefs and
nions of individuals and institutions only secondarily

cerned with education; or it may represent a haphazard

wu—l ..:;. a.

 

 

 

conqlome

of those

the ain
What is
And bee.-
social j
isolate
context
taining
social

establi
Which h
matters
mass de
ethica]
in soci
being?

will, c

PrOgran

 

qivz‘w; 1,

conglomeration of beliefs reflected in the confused behavior
of those who are subjected to it.

Formal education is also inextricably involved in
the axiological questions-—What is Good? What ought to be?
What is beautiful? What is valuable? How should I act?
And because education is ordinarily construed as a facet of
social process, these questions are asked, not in terms of
isolated individuals, but of individuals within a social
context. Should the schools exert their efforts in main?
taining the status quo, or should they seek to build a new
social order? Should children be encouraged to question
established values from their cultural heritage, values

which have stood the test of centuries of application? In

 

matters of taste, should schools encourage acceptance of
mass decisions, or are there ultimate standards for judging
ethical or aesthetic choices? Where does authority rest;
in society, in the individual, or in some supernatural
being? The answers which educators give to these questions
Hill, of course, influence every aspect of the school
program.

It should be noted that these basic problems or
{uestions of philosophy are inextricably interrelated, and
he direction which educational theory provides for prob—
ematic situations at the level of policy and practice may
raw on one or all three. Consider the problems of curric—

lum construction: Here the "how" and the "what" of the

 

 

learninl
with th
which I
with wh
warrant
decisio
regard
is to t
which e
Cations

and pra

major 1
teachei
of this
Ship , (
Orientt
inVOlVI
eventu'.
also b.
Educat
COIIld

TealChe
intert
Thus,

anther

 

learning situation (epistemology) become deeply involved

 

vith the being of the learner and of the objects about
hich learning is to take place (ontology), and finally
ith whether what is to be learned is of such XEAEE as to
arrant being learned at all (axiology). Educational
ecisions may be, and often are, made without conscious
egard for these theoretical dimensions, but if consistency
s to be achieved, it will be facilitated by continuities
hich emerge from a transactional relationship between edu—
ational philosophy and experiences at the level of policy
nd practice.

A better understanding of existentialism and its
ajor theses might aid in redefining the reciprocity of
aacher-pupil influences. With an increased understanding
E this highly important, but often misunderstood relation—
iip, one might perceive ways in which an existentially—
:iented classroom encounter could benefit the two persons
ivolved. In the mutuality of all humanly—founded contacts,
entually, the social and educational institutions might
so be revitalized. In the same vein a community and its
ucational forces sympathetic to the existential message
uld encourage a wholly real, truly human relationship.
acher, pupil, and social institutions would then be
tertwined in an admirable exchange of message and response.
S, the teacher—student association would neither be

horitarian nor overly permissive. Within their shared

 

 

world

grasps

tempoI
might

favor:

the S(
influr
tentiz
of cm
of cm
Howevs
human
indiv:
evide'
teach
exist
effec

indiv

ficia

 

 

orld each would respond more fully to the other as he
rasped more completely the significance of his own self.
Existentialism, the philosophy keenly aware of con—
emporary man's anxiety—filled, object—centered existence,
ight illuminate a new course to follow in creating a
avorable atmosphere for the teacher—pupil relationship.
The teacher—pupil relationship is the life—blood of
he school. From it flows the best and worst of societal
nfluences. If society and education suffer from the exis—
antial complaints of alienation, fragmentation, and loss
E communication, the teacher and pupil in the shared event
5 confrontation will probably reflect a similar malaise.
)wever, a school and society awakened to the importance of
Iman values and freedom evidenced in respect for the
Idividual and responsibility toward the community would be
idenced in a true I—Thou2 relationship of student and
acher. Furthermore, a teacher and pupil sensitive to the
istential concern for self—hood and reality might be an
fective force in redirecting contemporary man whose
ividuality is masked by anonymity. The shallow arti—
iality that characterizes much in current society might

relieved by a dedicated teacher and pupil.

 

2The I— Thou relationship is that relationship

hed. The other is perceived as another self. The
cher remains paradoxically as the one who comprehends
h ends of the partnership at the same time. Such a
ationship would be neither authoritarian nor overly

 

 

the pa
sons.

gotten
of the
nifica:
positi
Sartre

action

ism ha
deepen

our pr

emerge

existe

asam

 

Teachers need a philosophy of teaching which places
a proper emphasis on the teachers and the pupils as per—
15. Knowledge learned in the classroom is easily for—
:ten, but the face—to—face encounter is the living edge
the education process. This study recognizes the sig-
ficance of teacher-pupil interaction, and from this
:ition attempts to develop some of the concepts of
'tre and Buber as an appropriate base for personal inter—
Lion.

The problem or question then is whether existential-
.has a contribution to make toward a clarification,
pening, or re—focusing of the teacher-pupil relation in
present society. Concomitant with this would probably
rge the related answers as to the effect of the
stentially—centered teacher—pupil relation on the school
a whole and even on society.

Granted that the teacher—pupil relationship is of
at importance in any educational scheme, it is of
ticular relevance in any discussion of existentialism
its relation to education. In this school of thought,
son to person relationships between free, autonomous
.viduals would seem to be a paramount goal.

According to Kneller it must be a relationship of
macy and communion. In an article, he stated:
The only thing that counts in education is the ultimate
relation of student and teacher . . . . Education is

not a social institution but a meeting of persons;
one of which the child encounters my personality in

 

 

the z
emboc
road
himsr
1 br:
Such a ti
easy or 1
purposef‘

the pupi

teacher-
effect i
conclude
would be
for empt
explorat
would ex

limited

Sartre' s
and axic

cational

\

Problem
(Fall 1!

(New Yo
122 .

 

10

the act of learning and through me the world which I
embody. I liberate his capacities setting him on the
road to 'authenticity' while he for his part realizes
himself through encountering in me the knowledge that
I bring to life.
ch a task would be fraught with difficulties because no
sy or pat answers would be provided. Yet, it would be a
rposeful one in which the teacher sought to encourage
e pupil's search for self-realization.

Kneller in his examination of the existentialist
acher—student relation felt that it would in its final
fect influence the entire character of school life. He
acluded primarily that the teacher—student association
11d be one of intimacy and commitment with little regard
r empty formal responses or relationships. United in an
>1oration of the field of values, both teacher and student

11d exist in an I—Thou relation using but not being

iited to scientific and psychological universals.4

Methodology
This study is organized as a descriptive study of
'tre's and Buber's concepts of ontology, epistemology,
axiology as the concepts are extended into the edu—

ional situation. The extension is organized around

 

3George F. Kneller, "Education, Knowledge, and the
blem of Existence," Harvard Education Review XXXI
ll l961):433—434.

 

4George F. Kneller, Existentialism and Education
v York: Philosophical Library, Inc., 1958), pp. 114—

 

 

the thre
(2) teac
The pur;
educatic
relate t
theory a
lation r
Accordii
can beg:
The ion
to sew
previouI
empiric.
kind of

more or

standin

 

 

11

e three categories of (1) formation of self-concept,
) teacher-pupil interaction, and (3) the learning process.
e purpose of the extension of these concepts into the
ucational situation is to develop principles which might
late to a theory of education. The development of this
eory and this type of research has as its goal the formu—
ion of significant hypotheses about a particular topic.
ording to Kneller, prediction and experimental testing
begin only after the hypothesis has been formulated.
formulation calls for imaginative daring and the ability
sense an order and pattern in things where they had not
aviously been sensed. Kneller further stated that
>irica1 knowledge is not necessarily the most dependable
Id of knowledge we have. It can only present results as
'e or less probable and is just another avenue to under—
nding reality.5
Both the purpose of this dissertation—~to introduce
reader to Sartre's and Buber's educational thought—-and
nature of the source material urge that the method of
>larship move out from the expected objective, critical
'oach of academic scholarship, and follow that method—
y especially theorized and employed by Martin Buber

elf.

5George F. Kneller, Introduction to the Philosophy
lucation (New York: John Wiley and Sons, Inc., 1964).

 

of schc
form, t
and is
must d:‘
develop
ground.

ciples

to re-]
past t:
reinfuI
plishel

ualiza‘

the sp

 

 

12

Buber argued that there are two legitimate forms
f scholarship, critical and personal. In the critical
orm, the tradition is treated as an object of knowledge
nd is advanced exactly and comprehensively. The scholar
ust distinguish between primary material to be fully
veloped and secondary material to be left in the back—
ound. In his decisions, he proceeds along strict prin-
'p1es of critical research.
In the personal form, the scholar seeks primarily
re—present to the reader the force and vitality of the
st tradition in such a way that its former spirit will
binfuse itself into the present. This cannot be accom-
.ished merely by re-presenting the content or the concept—
lizations which formerly embodied this spirit. Rather
e spirit itself must be perceived and communicated.
There is a "content" in either form of scholarship,
t in critical scholarship, the author strives to stand
Egide his content as a detached observer, there to com—
ahensively present the content, carefully evaluating each
rt in relation to the others. In personal scholarship,
Iauthor stands within, participating in the content and
reby communicating with the "something more than facts"
t originally gave it such force, i.e., with its spirit.
Here you do not attain to knowledge by remaining on
the shore and watching the foaming waves; you must

take the venture and cast yourself in, you must swim,
alert and with all your force, even if a moment comes

 

whe
way
ins
In the

informz

some Oi

appear:
schola
tation
schola
Object
materi
With a
0f the

Censci

Persor
interE
his he
"Shir:
to St(

Point.

this 1

 

13

when you think you are losing consciousness: in this
way, and6in no other, do you reach anthropological
insight.

the former, the author seeks to bring the reader factual

formation; in the latter, he seeks to bring the reader

me of the spirit with and by way of the content.

But how can personal scholarship be evaluated? It

:ears to be thoroughly subjective. The personal form of

olarship can be evaluated, not by its objective presen-

 

ion alone, but also by a careful evaluation of the

olar himself. Has he entered his material beyond an
ective consideration? Has he communicated with his
erial? Has he engaged his reader as a person speaking

h a person? Has he communicated to the reader the spirit
the content which he himself has already absorbed and
sciously articulated?

To the superficial observer, it may seem that the
;ona1 scholar lightly evokes subjective, uninformed
:rpretations. In reality, he is severely disciplined by
heavy responsibility of fidelity and openness to the
rit" of his material. This fidelity cannot be allowed

top even at the limits of one's own particular view—

Admittedly, there are strengths and weaknesses to

form of scholarship. On the positive side lies the

6Martin Buber, Between Man and Man (New York:
llan Publishing Co., Inc., 1965).

 

 

 

scholar
he perc
of the

own nor
under e

critice

schola
truth
schola

as he

accurE
trapec
these
Anothe
to See

that ‘

PI 10

 

l4

cholar's study of the facts and of his faithfulness to what
e perceives. But on the negative side lies both the bias
>f the original author he is studying and the bias of his

Iwn world—view. Nevertheless, truth is mixed with bias

Inder either form of scholarship, no matter what claims to
ritical objectivity might be advanced.

It is not granted us to possess the truth; but he who
believes in it has a share in building its kingdom.
The ideological factor in what each individual calls
truth cannot be extracted; but what he can do is to
put a stop in his own spirit to the politization of
truth, the utilitarizing of truth, and unbelieving
identification of truth and suitability. Relativizing
rules in me as death rules in me; but unlike death, I
can ever7again set limits to it; up to here and no
farther!

 

Unquestionably, truth is the goal of all personal
:holarship, not the particular author's truth only, but the
:uth of reality as he attempted to communicate it. The
:holars presentation, then, will be evaluated by the reader
I he recognizes truth's face within himself.

Of course this paper must also be judged by how
curate Sartre's and Buber's philosophical views are por—
ayed. Then one must ask if the conclusions drawn from
ase two philosophers are logical conclusions for pedagogy.
)ther point to keep in mind while reading this paper is
see if the paper answers the major educational questions

t were proposed at the outset.

 

7Martin Buber, Pointing The Way, edited and trans—
ad by Maurice Friedman (New York: Harper and Row, 1963),
101.

 

 

 

the tear
many rel
main fo<
as it e:

the tea

unnm
In disc
percept
were in
discuss
goals 1
When th
Vation,
0f Beir

ing prc

15

A Defense of This Study

The question of the effect of existentialism on
me teacher—pupil relationship is one which might include
any related areas and important questions. However, the
ain focus of this study will zero in on the relationship
3 it exists in the classroom between the two individuals,
1e teacher and pupil.

Several people such as Flanders and Combs, have
iven much consideration to the teacher-pupil relationship.
1 discussing the learning process Flanders discussed goal
arceptions of students and teachers. These perceptions
are in terms of motivation, reality, and clarity.8 His
iscussion went beyond the usual discussion of learning
)als in terms of curriculum organization and content.
ien the learning process is discussed in terms of moti—
Ition, reality, and clarity, Sartre‘s and Buber's concepts
5 Being, Knowledge, and Value may be related to the learn—
Ig process.

Flanders was trying to establish principles of
acher behavior that can guide a teacher who wished to
ntrol his own behavior as a part of his plan for class—
om management. Combs was concerned with the interaction

teachers and pupils through the self—concept of each and

8 effects of actions based on the self—concept. Basically

 

8Ned A. Flanders, Teacher Influence, Pupil Attitudes,
1_§EE£§X§E§EE (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of
31th, Education, and Welfare, 1965), p. 12.

 

 

the re]
of pers
are fur
"Freedr

relati<

many p:
presen-
possib
that t
basis

mweq
Other

mentat
Wither
Philoe
are f:
oth I
Projec
be the
Study

Vided

writiI

futurI

his c.

 

l6

2 relationship between teacher and pupil is a relationship
person to person. Teacher control and pupil response
5 functions of the self—concept. A proper sense of
reedom" and "The Between," are definitely involved in the
.ationship of persons with persons.
Today a great deal of concern is shown for the

Iy problems in education. This concern indicates the
:sence of a need, but oftentimes neither the need nor a
ssible solution is understood; however, the possibility
It the philosophy operating in the schools might be the
Iis of a problem is seldom given consideration. Instead,
requipment, different methods, a longer school year, and
Ier innovations are suggested as solutions. When experi—
.tation does discover effective techniques, they are used
,hout consideration toward implementation of a total
losophy. On the other hand, the results of experience
frequently absorbed into the teacher's existing philos—

without being examined thoroughly. There is a need to
'ect experience and practice into a framework which can
he basis for present and for future action. In this

y the writing of Flanders and especially Combs pro—

d the connection with educational experience and the
:ings of Sartre and Buber provide the framework for
ire action.

The main concern of this study is the pupil in

Classroom situation and, in addition, this study may

 

 

 

provide
beginni
Herein
and But
epister
cation:

into aI

Buber
value
work.
Morris
apart
as he
link i

intere

17

vide not only for experienced teachers but also for
inning teachers a better understanding of teaching.
ein is the significance of this study: Although Sartre's
Buber's elaboration of the concepts of ontology,
stemology, and axiology seem to hold sweeping impli—
ions for education, these concepts must be translated
0 an educational framework.

Although Sartre is an atheistic existentialist and
er a theistic existentialist, a philosophy which has
ue for education can be taken from the existential frame—
k. Such valuable philosophy may be seen in the work of
ris9 and Kneller.10 Existentialist thinkers may be far
rt in their interpretations, but their interest in man

11 This

he exists is the link which joins all of them.
k is the same fundamental point which is of central

hrest to the educator — man as the starting point.

Source Material
The sources to be consulted and critically inter—

ed will consist of writings on existentialism, not only

 

9
York: Harper and Row, 1966).

Van Cleve Morris, Existentialism and Education

 

10George F. Kneller, Existentialism and Education
York: Philosophical Library, Inc., 1958).

 

llRalph Harper, "Significance of Existence and
gnition for Education," Modern Philosophies and Edu—
93, Fifty—Fourth Yearbook, Part I (Chicago: National
ety for the Study of Education, 1955), p. 254.

 

 

 

 

the ph:
novels
though'
existe:

areas '

in psy
turthe
and ps
transf

presup

to off
Prove
teache

tying

18

philosophical works but also the plays, essays, and
els, which existentialists choose often to express their
ughts. In addition, educational writings dealing with
stentialism, the role of teacher and pupil, and related
as will be used.

As existentialism and its themes have been reflected
psychology and sociology, these fields too, will furnish
ther insights. For example, existential psychologists

psychiatrists such as Carl Rogers and Rollo May have
nsformed the therapist—patient relationship into a
suppositionless, shared experience.

The compilation of these varied fields would seem
offer a wide gamut of suggestions all of which might
ve useful in the creation of a relationship between
cher and pupil that would be more meaningful and grati—
bg to both.

The primary source material then will be Sartre's

g and Nothingness, and Buber‘s I and Thou and Between

  

and Man.

Secondary sources employed in this study fall into
categories. The more central will be those articles and
graphs in English which have developed an interpre—
on or commentary on some aspect of Sartre‘s or Buber's
ght. A second group represents the concerns of
'ican philosophers of education in their dealings with

tential philosophy up to the present moment. These will

 

 

 

serve i

educat:

philos
ism an
relati
exposi
rather
educai
comsti
it is
exami]
ingol.
four 1
0f Sa
ewist
of th

of th

tiger
frame
rean
Value

fi11d:

 

19

rve to keep the dissertation within the ongoing American

ucational conversation and relative to its concerns.

Design and Organization

 

The purpose of this dissertation is to determine the
ilosophical base for the relationship between Existential-
m and education and more specifically the teacher—pupil
lationship. No attempt will be made in this study to
posit the philosophy of Existentialism as a whole, but
ther to indicate one way of relating this philosophy to
ucation. Also, the development of this relation will not
nstitute the building of a "philosophy of education" as
is usually understood. Instead it will consist of an
amination of some of the specific philosophical problems
volved. More specifically, this study will consist of
ar main parts: first, a critical analysis of the ontology
Sartre and Buber; second, a critical analysis of the
istemology of Sartre and Buber; third, a critical analysis
the axiology of Sartre and Buber; fourth, an examination
the implications of Sartre and Buber for curriculum.

This study represents, then, a comprehensive inves—
ation of Sartre's and Buber's philosophy within the

ework of traditional areas of inquiry——the problem of
lity, and the problem of knowledge, and the problem of
ue——with particular attention to the import of these

dings to some particular implications for curriculum.

 

 

 

 

 

new argI
philosoy
is a ba:
work of
PhilOSOj
Dem
If
it
cue
the

whe
pra

Dewey,
WhICh a
Classrc

philOSc

Itache]

comPleI

Macmil

 

CHAPTER II

THE PROBLEM OF BEING

It is not an intent of this study to defend with
w arguments the case for a precise relationship between
ilosophy and educational theory. That a link does exist
a basic assumption accepted in the first chapter. The
>rk of John Dewey has supplied the precedent for relating
ilosophy to the problems of educational practice. In

mocracy and Education, Dewey writes:

 

If a theory makes no difference in educational endeavor,
it must be artificial. The educational point of view
enables one to envisage the philosophic problems where
they arise and thrive, where they are at home, and
where acceptance or rejection makes a difference in
practice.

wey, however, would not have held that the manner in
ich a teacher conducts his professional activities in a
assroom can be traced directly to a clearly understood

ilosophical viewpoint.

   
 
  
    
  

There are, undoubtedly, many instances in which
chers successfully carry out their responsibilities

pletely oblivious of the philosophical implications of

1John Dewey, Democracy and Education (New York:
millan Company, 1916), p. 386.

20

  

 

 

their 1

was al;

It is
"need
emergI

moder;

is a
again
haVe
looSe
theor
ideol

Each

 

 

21

ir behavior. Dewey recognized this possibility, but he
also aware of its limitations. He wrote:

Where interests are so superficial that they glide
readily into one another, or where they are not suf—
ficiently organized to come into conflict with one
another, the need for philosophy is not perceptible.
But when the scientific interest conflicts with, say,
the religious or the economic with the scientific or
aesthetic, or when the conservative concern for order
is at odds with the progressive interest in freedom,

or when institutionalism clashes with individuality,
there is a stimulus to discover some more comprehensive
point of view from which the divergencies may be brought
together, and consistency or continuity of experience
recovered. Often these clashes may be settled by an
individual for himself; the area of the struggle of
aims is limited and a person works out his own rough
accommodations. Such homespun philosophies are genuine
and often adequate. But they do not result in systems
of philosophy. These arise when the discrepant claims
of different ideals of conduct affect the community as
a whole, and the need for readjustment is general.

is out of just such conflicts of interest and a general

ed for readjustment" that existentialism allegedly has

    
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
 

rged as a philosophical expression of the problems of
rn civilization.

However, existentialism is less a system than it
broad cultural current. It identifies a revolution
'nst traditional ideas. Individual systems, of course,

emerged from the general movement and have pulled the
e ends together into comprehensive and consistent

ries. The systems have organized the content of the
logy into principles, methods, and special terminology.

individual philosopher has done this according to his

   

21bid., p. 381.

 

 

own rat.
tified I
for pra
possibl
systems
concern
and Mar
toward

seconds

Why n01
invest;
eXperii
atrl'ay .
and Wh
terms

not th
descri
the ph
Ce11ml
trons ;
redChe

its III

22

l rationale, and only in a general sense can he be iden—
Eied with the cultural movement. If, then, implications
: practice in the ideology are to be made as specific as
:sible, relationships should be established with the
:tems of individual philosophers. The present study is
Icerned primarily with the philosophy of Jean-Paul Sartre
l Martin Buber; any contribution which it may make

Iard understanding existentialism in general is of purely

:ondary concern.

The Study of Reality

 

If we are concerned with reality, or what is real,
'not turn to science? Can we not through scientific
estigation and observation; that is, through controlled
eriments and the careful accumulation of data, amass an
ay of facts which will enable us to define the world
what is in it? Can we not define the student's desk in
s of biology, chemistry, physics, and sociology? Will
these scientific disciplines provide adequate data for
ribing and defining a real deak? If the reasoning of
physicist is followed, the desk will be described as
ulose, molecules, atoms, electrons, protons, and neu—
s; and then, the physicist will confess that he has
hed the limit of his information, that there are some
gs about the desk which remain unexplained.

The sociologist might define the desk in terms of

utility for the classroom and for the student who sits

 

at it. E
separatic
cist err
name, "de
consider
how does
is it a I

desk its.

 

afl 1
behind h
a Separa
What abc
in the l
IS the f
How can
sitting

r(idlityj.

any sin.
invent.
Seems 1;.
Perhaps
tice of
“1 thi

Part1Cu

23

it. But if its function as desk cannot be defined in
paration from the people who use it, did not the physi—
st err in overlooking them? Furthermore, what about the
ne, "desk?" What kind of reality does the name have? Or
isider the idea of desk in the mind of the desk designer;
v does one.determine the reality of the idea of desk, and
it a separate kind of reality from the name or from the
:k itself?

Finally, consider the pupil who sits at the desk,
331 live human being. Are the ideas which flash about
Iind his countenance a part of him, or do they belong to
:eparate reality with which he enjoys communication?
.t about all the instances of his having sat at the desk
the past; are they a part of the reality of the pupil?
the fact that he will sit there tomorrow a part of him?
can all these instances of past, present, and future
ting be strung together into some coherent expression of
lity?

The questions which one may raise in connection with
single event or occurrence are innumerable. The job of
sstigating or assessing the reality of a single event
us to be an interminable task. A more important question,
maps, is the significance of such matters for the prac—
a of everyday living. What difference, for example, does
this make for the business of education and more

:icular, curriculum?

 

 

 

 

I
teacher':
the menu
example,
the univ
for a ma
perhaps,
from the
How he i
directed
the stud
ordered
IS the i
Somehow
the soul
Prison .
involve.

educau

all of
and 0011
phySiCs
o
M
metaPhy

Practic

Tal
bas

24

Most philosophers of education maintain that the
cher's answers to such questions as these will influence
manner in which he conducts his classroom. If, for
nple, he believes that there is an established order in
universe, one which may be discovered, plotted, and used
a map or blueprint in subsequent experience, he will,
naps, organize his curriculum and his methods differently
n the teacher who sees the universe as flux and process.
he instructs the student sitting before him will be
acted to an extent by how he regards the machinery of
student's learning activity. Is the student's mind an
ared entity situated somewhere inside consciousness?
the Self to which this consciousness belongs contained
show inside an epidermis? Is the Self another name for

isoul which is sometimes thought to slip its protoplasmic

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
    

on at the instant of death? These questions are deeply
lved with the methods, the content, and the ends of the
ative process.

The quest for ultimate reality which is implied in
of the foregoing is carried out within a theoretical
conceptual framework designated as ontology or meta—

ics. George Kneller in his Introduction to the Philos-

 

of Education uses a familiar problem to indicate how
physics has relevance for education at the level of
tice. He writes:

ake another practical problem in education, which is
asically metaphysical. One hears a great deal about

 

 

 

teac
this
repl
ques
Purl
If quest
beliefs
gation :
ophy of

analysi

its pos

'ontolc
for the
that mu
What f.
distin

"O O
O f.”
/
A at

L11

25

teaching the child and not the subject. What does
this statement mean to a teacher? Even if the teacher
replies, “I prefer just to teach my subject," the
question still remains, "Why?" What is the ultimate
purpose of teaching the subject?

questions about ultimate reality do have meaning for
.iefs concerning educational practice, then an investi—
:ion into the bases for educational theory in the philos—
Iy of Jean—Paul Sartre and Martin Buber should include an
Ilysis of their ontological or metaphysical theory and

; possible relation to educational practice.

For some, such as George F. Kneller, the terms

Itology' and 'metaphysics' may be interchangeable, but

7 the purposes of this study a distinction exists, one

 

It must be made manifest and accepted or the sense of
.t follows will be lost. Hazel Barnes states Sartre‘s

tinction in her, "Translator's Introduction," to Being

Nothingness. She writes:

Mistakes are often made by those who would treat the
work as a metaphysics, Sartre states clearly his
distinction between the two. Ontology studies "the
structures of being of the existent taken as a total-
ity"; it describes the conditions under which there
may be a world, human reality, etc. It answers the
question "How?" or "What?" and is description rather
than explanation. For this reason it can state posi—
tively. Metaphysics, on the other hand, is concerned
with origins and seeks to explain why there is this
particular world. But since such explanations seek
to go behind the Being which they must presuppose,
they can be only hypotheses. Sartre does not

 

3George F. Kneller, Introduction to the Philosophy
iucation (New York: John Wiley and Sons, Inc., 1964),

o

 

di
re

Wothin
logica
by one
charac
ance,
realis
appea:
Core I
that .
ances
its 5
is no
text,

is as
i
I
i
1
t
i
1

l

26

disapprove of metaphysical attempts, but he noticeably
refrains from them.

Sartrean Ontology

 

In the introduction to his magnum opus, Being and
Ithingness, Sartre launches an attack on traditional onto—
Igical dualisms which would do credit to John Dewey. One
' one he strips away from the phenomenon the dualistic
Iaracteristics of interior and exterior, being and appear—
Ice, appearance and essence, potency and act. With stark
:alism, he argues that there is nothing hiding behind the
)pearance of the object, nothing nestled at the unrevealed
Ire of the phenomenon. The object is plainly and simply
at which appears, and this appearance or series of appear—
ces which constitutes the phenomenon does not conceal on
s shady side a mystical Being. To use Kant's terms there

no noumenon behind the phenomenon. In a different con—
xt, there is no potency out of which an act emerges; it
as it appears. Sartre writes:
But if we once get away from what Nietzsche called "the
illusion of worlds—behind-the—scene," and if we no
longer believe in the being—behind—the—appearance,
then the appearance becomes full positivity; its
essence is in "appearing" which is no longer opposed
to being but on the contrary is the measure of it.
For the being of an existent is exactly what it appears.
Thus we arrive at the idea of the phenomenon such as

we can find, for example in the "phenomenology" of
Husserl or of Heidegger——the phenomenon or the

 

4Jean—Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness, trans.
31 E. Barnes (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956),
:xxvii.

 

 

 

relI
for
to

of

sho
abs
its
des
its

27

relative—absolute. Relative the phenomenon remains,
for "to appear" supposes in essence somebody to whom
to appear. But it does not have the double relativity
of Kant‘s Erscheinung. It does not point over its
shoulder to a true being which would be, for it,
absolute. What it is, it is absolutely, for it reveals
itself as it is. The phenomenon can be studied and
described as such, for it is absolutely indicative of
itself.

Although he eliminates traditional dualisms one by

 

ne, Sartre seems to explode any hope that dualisms might

e banished forever from the concerns of ontology. The

1d dualisms simply are replaced, or, more accurately, are
iven a new context by an over—arching dualism which he

efers to as the infinite in the finite. It is the relative—
bsolute character of the phenomenon which reveals to us its

uality as finite—infinite. Because there is a subject to

 

hich the phenomenon appears, it is obvious that the
uccession of appearances of the phenomenon must be infinite
or the reason that the perspectives which the subject may
ake on the phenomenon are infinite. At the same time, it

s also obvious that taken in isolation from the series of
>pearances to which it belongs, an appearance is complete,
plenitude. Thus, a new dualism replaces the old, or, in
sense, provides a new base on which to reconstitute them.
at appears is only an aspect of the object, and yet the
ject must be said to be in that aspect. It is entirely
side the aspect in so far as the appearance is finite, but

is outside the aspect in so far as the appearance refers

 

51bid. , p. xlviii.

 

 

to the

same to
has a g
cess of
the new
that ti
event 1
since *
being,

ances.'

28

the series of appearances of which it is a part. By the
ne token, works of art represent completed acts. Each
5 a quality of finiteness about it. Finally, in the pro—
ss of reconstituting the old dualisms under the umbrella of
a new dualism, the infinite in the finite, Sartre contends
it the appearance of the phenomenon taken as a singular
ant possess being in itself; that is, it simple 1&1 and
ice there is no noumenon through which to account for its
.ng, being is infinitely ascribed to the series of appear—
:es.6
On the surface these intellectual gymnastics with

: terms finite and infinite seem rather pointless; but, as
turns out, they are essential to locating man in the

1d. Although Sartre replaces the old dualisms with the
one, something drops out in the transition. Left behind
h the old dualisms is the opposition of the effable to
ineffable, the describable to the undescribable—-in

rt, the mystical backsides of phenomena disappear. Thus
world of appearance ii the world of reality. Nothing
Hidden from view as if in a lunar shade. However, if

lg is said to be present in the appearance of the phenom—
1, should not a phenomenon of being be present in the
aarnace of the phenomenon? Quite simply, if Phenomena

revealed through their appearances, would not the

 

6Ibid., p. 1.

 

 

phenomen

hplies
The
mani
spea
of i
beir
as s
of i
ontr
of l
intt
rai
hen
mum
ltSI
as

In this
fiction

I

I

an onto
nausea,
being;
Certair
I

tinctic

the bei

titled
Phenom,

ObSerV,

red is
\

 

29

anomenon of being reveal itself as appearance? Sartre

plies an affirmative answer:

The phenomenon is what manifests itself, and being
manifests itself to all in some way, since we can
speak of it and since we have a certain comprehension
of it. Thus there must be for it a phenomenon of
being, an appearance of being, capable of description
as such. Being will be disclosed to us by some kind
of immediate access—~boredom, nausea, etc., and
ontology will be the description of the phenomenon

of being as it manifests itself; that is, without
intermediary. However, for any ontology we should
raise a preliminary question: is the phenomenon of
being thus achieved identical with the being of phe—
nomena? In other words, is the being which discloses
itself to me, which appears to me, of the same nature
as the being of existents which appear to me?

this sense, Sartre's first novel, Nausea, stands as a
tional description of the phenomenon of being; in a word,
ontological novel. A physiological description of

sea, however, is not a description of the phenomenon of
ng; it is a complex assessment of the characteristics of
tain existents in their appearances. There is a dis—
:tion between the being which discloses itself to me and

being of the existents which appear to me.

Being and Nothingness it will be remembered is sub—

 

Led "An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology." The entire
1y is an attempt to analyze and explain through the
Iomenological method the meaning of the Being of the
:rver and of the observed.

Sartre maintains that the essence of a particular

is the redness which is revealed as the synthetic

 

7Ibid., p. 1.

 

principle
ever, is a
grasped li
found equz
the object
as a totai
the total
The oi
catio
being
since
does

parti
It is

 

Sartre cc
but that

ance:

Being
is be

One gets
is made -
Edge an
in?) is d.
to move

the apps
the fadi
by the p

\

30

nciple in the series of its appearances. Redness, how—
r, is a quality of an object and can be defined or

sped like any other objective relationship, but it is

nd equally in all qualities and relationships. Although
object and the synthetic principle may be considered

a totality, "object—essence," being is neither sphere of
totality:

The object does not refer to being as to a signifi—
cation; it would be impossible, for example, to define
being as a presence since absence too discloses being,
since not to be there means still to be. The object
does not possess being, and its existence is not a
participation in being, nor any other kind of relation.
It is.

tre concludes that being is in no sense a relationship,
that it is the condition of every revelation of appear—

3.
—.

Being is simply the condition of all revelation. It
is being-for—revealing and not revealed be1ng.

gets into difficulty in the quest for being if an attempt
Iade to track it down through the application of knowl—

= alone. The chair, for example, appears, and its mean—
is determined through concepts, but when one attempts
Iove beyond the appearance of the chair to the being of
appearance, the being of the chair seems to fade with
fading of the appearance of the chair and is replaced

he phenomenon of being in general. The being of the

 

9 . .
8Ibid., p. 11. Ib1d., p. 11.

 

 

 

phenomer
being.
What
that
witl
enal
revs
knOI
for
The pheI
knowledI
the sub
tivity,

POSitio

educati
been pa
COnSEqu
of apps
Which g
dehce ,
of apps
Stant u
matter
express

warram

 

31

anomenon, then, is not identical with the phenomenon, of
ing. Sartre concludes:

What is implied by the preceding considerations is
that the being of the phenomenon although coextensive
with the phenomenon, can not be subject to the phenom—
enal condition——which is to exist only in so far as it
reveals itself-—and that consequently it surpasses the

i knowledge which we have of it and provides the basis
for such knowledge.

3 phenomenon of being, then, cannot be apprehended by

 

leedge. Reality cannot be known by the observer~-only
subject is known, and it is known through its objec—
ity, its appearance. It is in this sense that Sartre's

ition sometimes is said to be an anti—intellectualism.

 

Relevance for Educational Theory

 

Although it is too early to point conclusively to the
:ational significance of the View of reality which has
i partically set forth in the preceding paragraphs, some
:equences seem inevitably to follow. First, if the series
Ippearances of a phenomenon in infinite, the knowledge
Ih we have of an object can never be final since the evi—
e will never be all in. The real world, then, the world
ppearances of phenomena, is open—ended, subject to con—
t modification, a world of probability. The subject
er of science will, as a consequence, be most accurately
assed in terms of laws of probability, statements of

Inted assertability, and hypotheses to be tested,

 

lOIbid., p. 111.

 

 

 

revised
unappre
then md
phenome
must be
would 1
lies h.
to inv

than t

mature
Since
being
sense;

the qI

 

32

ised, or abandoned. At the same time, if there is no
pprehended reality behind the appearance of the phenomena,
n whatever i§_must be available for examination in the
nomena themselves. The question of purpose, for example,
t be answered in terms of the world of appearance. It
ld be sheer futility to seek for it in a design which
s hidden behind the phenomena. Whatever appears is open
investigation, and this would apply to purpose no less
n to the molecular structure of stainless steel.

If values, too, may be regarded as objective in
ure, then society will also be dynamic and uncertain.
ce we have not yet dealt with Sartre's treatment of the
.ng of man, however, we would be premature to push the
Lsequences of this View further. We have barely opened

‘ question of Being.

Being and Knowledge
Thus far Sartre has said that reality is to be
nd in phenomena and that the being of phenomena is in
ir appearance:
What determines the being of the appearance is the
fact that it appears. And since we have restricted

reality to the phenomenon, we can say of the phenom—
enon that it is as it appears.

Lre compelled to search for Being in the appearance of

phenomenon, because that is the absolute limitation of

 

llIbid.

 

 

 

 

objecti
skirts

The

vid

it

inf
If rea]
of the
very m1
infini‘
the phi
picturr
PiCtur
like t
temple
necess
the 51F
aPpear
the a;
infin;
the e:
inali-
0f EV!

not i,

 

 

33

bjectivity. In order to arrive at this conclusion, Sartre
kirts dangerously near the point of embracing a universal:
The essence finally is radically severed from the indi-
vidual appearance which manifests it, since on principle
it is that which must be able to be manifested by an
infinite series of individual manifestations.12
f reality is confined to the phenomenon, and if the being
f the phenomenon is in its appearance, then Being seems
ery much like a universal essence which holds together the
nfinite appearances of the phenomenon. The appearing of
he phenomenon, however, might be compared to a motion
icture film with a beginning but no end. Like this motion
icture film, the series of appearances is infinite, but
ike the individual frames of the film, each appearance is
omplete, a plenitude. In this way, Sartre avoids the
ecessity for making Being the universal cement which holds
1e appearances together. Being is present in the finite
9pearance of the phenomenon, and it is present in each of
re appearances comprising the infinite series. This
rfinite series of possible appearances may be regarded as
e essence or "idea" of the phenomenon. Being is not a
ality of the phenomenon; it is quite simply the condition
every appearance. The phenomenon of being, then, is

t identical with the being of the phenomenon.

 

lZIbid., p. 1.

 

enon be
with th

Why
bei

Thus tt

SOUICE

ical er
the pe:
of kHOi
other
Out co
in an
HOt es
0f eve
as the
Possit
Sartre
W

m
In;

 

 

34

Sartre has said that there is nothing in the phenom—
n beyond its appearance and that its being is coextensive
h this appearance. He asks:

Why not push the idea to its limit and say that the
being of the appearance is its appearing? 3

s the perceiver implied by the appearance becomes the
rce of being.

Sartre rejects the primacy of knowledge in metaphys—
11 concerns. If being is reduced to the knowledge which
a perceiver has of it, then one must establish a being
knowledge prior to a knowledge of being. If on the
rer hand knowledge is granted the status of a given with-
; concern for its being, the objective world is trapped
an ontological limbo. The being of the phenomenon is
, established through an appearance but is the condition
every appearance, and it achieves its transphenomenality
the being of the subject (it is the subject which makes
sible the multiplication of the appearances to infinity).
tre writes:
We can always agree that the percipi refers to a being
not subject to the laws of the appearance, but we still
maintain that this transphenomenal being is the being
of the subject. Thus the percipi would refer to the
percipiens--the known the knowledge and knowledge to
the being who knows (in his capacity as being, not as
being known); that is, knowledge refers to conscious~

HESS.

quest of Being, then, comes to focus on consciousness.

 

l3Ibid., p. lii. l4Ibid., p. liii.

 

the Ber
laws 01
specif:
being :
the st:
faintlj
been 3
phenom
subjec
Consci
about

realit
tiona]
Sartre
aboq
appear
and tr
human

to re‘

ality

emoti

sinil

 

35

Consciousness
As Sartre points out in the passage quoted above,
he percipi refers us to a being which is exempt from the
aws of the appearance, and this being is the subject, more

pecifically, consciousness. Sartre states, "the law of

eing in the knowing subject is to—be—conscious."15 Although

he structure of Being in Sartre's philosophy has been only
aintly traced up to this point, the prime ingredients have
een supplied. On the one hand is the world of appearances,
henomena, and, on the other is that being which is not
.ubject to laws of appearance; namely, consciousness. Once
onsciousness has been introduced, it is possible to talk
bout human reality, and unless we can talk about human
eality or human existence, the entire notion of an educa—
ional theory would be meaningless. It is the task of
artre's ontology to reveal how consciousness is related to
body, to knowledge, to the entire world of phenomena or
ppearance, to other consciousnesses, to life as a project,
id to freedom and choice as fundamental characteristics of
Iman reality. Educational theory will in turn be concerned
> reveal how these factors influence theories of person-
.ity, learning, human relationships, values, action,
mtions, etc. Every educational theory must confront a

milar problem; that is, each should attempt to account

E“

lSIbid., p. liii.

 

 

for how t]

situated

S

nodes. T
for-itsel
as "being
explained
en-soi, t
through 1
in-itseli
that beir
It is ne:
Both
C0nd

iS at

an e:
Whici

do n
them
beyo

The law
hem] Ca
is alSO
hecoming

Side. 1

It is,

\

 

36

or how there may be a world and a conscious human being

ituated in the world.

The In-itself and the For—itself
Sartre's ontology splits Being into two regions or

odes. The being of consciousness Sartre labels "being—
or—itself," and the being of the phenomena he designates
s "being—in-itself." Consciousness or pour—soi can be
xplained only through the concept of "Nothingness," but
n-soi, the being of the world out there, is understandable
hrough three dominant characteristics: Being is, Being is
.n-itself, and Being is what it is. Sartre means by this
hat being is neither created nor uncreated: it simply is.
t is neither passivity nor activity. He says:

Both of these notions are human and designate human

conduct or the instruments of human conduct. There

is activity when a conscious being uses means with

an end in view. And we call those objects passive on

which our activity is exercised, in as much as they

do not spontaneously aim at the end which we make

them serve . . . . The self—consistency of being is

beyond the active as it is beyond the passive.
1e law of noncontradiction applies to being—in~itself——
eing cannot both be and not be. The principle of identity
5 also applicable——being is what it is. Being has no
acoming, no possibility, no necessity, no inside, no out—

.de. It is purely contingent. It is outside of time.

i ii- That is all that can be said of it. It is full,

 

l6Ibid., p. lxvi.

 

 

 

complet

a pleni

itself
reache<

reveal:

Any qr
relatj
quest;
equat:
anSwe:
IEVea_
tive .
dOes

the w

 

37

plete, not lacking, but packed down. Being-in—itself is
lenitude.

Having established two regions of being, Being-in—
elf and being—for—itself, Sartre admits that he has

ched an impasse with his ontology, for it remains to be

 

ealed how there can be realtions between the regions:

It is enough now to open our eyes and question ingenu—
ously this totality which is man—in—the—world. It is
by the description of this totality that we shall be
able to reply to these two questions: (1) What is the
synthetic relation which we call being—in—the—world?
(2) What must man and the world be in order for a
relation between them to be possible? In truth, the
two questions are interdependent, and we cannot hope
to reply to them separately. But each type of human
conduct, being the conduct of man in the world, can
release for us simultaneously man, the world, and the
relation which unites them, only on condition that we
envisage these forms of conduct as realities objectively
apprehensible and not as subjective affects which dis—
close themselves only in the face of reflection.1

 

question which one asks in an attempt to reveal the
ation of man to the world presupposes a being who is
stioning and a being questioned. This interrogative
ation makes possible either an affirmative or negative
Her. To the question, "Is there any conduct which can
aal to me the relation of man with the world?"——a nega—
3 answer is possible. The answer may be, "Such conduct

5 not exist." Thus nonbeing as a possibility enters

world.

   
  

17Ibid., p. 4.

 

W
and negat
for Sartr
as an ind
face of t
negation,
much less
Being, in
regions--
itself, c
ness" bet
nonbeing
through 5
is Preser
“933. Sea:
human pe:
become a
only int
sible f0
that Wor
ConScion
through
Hovevel.’
fouhdatj

1°9ica1

 

38

Negation

What possible importance can nonbeing, nothingness,
d negation have for a philosophy of education? Nonbeing
r Sartre has a greater significance than simply to serve
an indicator of the world's cantankerousness in the
e of those who attempt to understand it! Without
ation, there would be neither a world nor a worldling,
h less a theory of education or a social structure.
'ng, in Sartre’s view, has been separated into two
ions——being—in—itself and being—for—itself. Being-for—
elf, or consciousness, exists through placing a "nothing-
ss" between itself and the rest of being. It is this
1being or nothingness which enables a world to exist
rough separating consciousness from that Being which it
Through the dialectic of being and nothing—

presence to.

:s, Sartre can account for the world, for human reality,

an personality, knowledge, value and action. It has

ome a commonplace in Sartrean philosophy that man not

y introduces negation into the world; but makes it pos—

le for there to be a world and to situate himself in

t world through the nihilating activity of consciousness.
sciousness is the central fact of human reality, and
ough its negating activity, it builds the human context.
ver, nothingness in Sartre's scheme has an ontological

dation and cannot be defined in terms of an epistemo—

'Cal category.

 

 

 

 

ness car
oppositi
positive
in contr
that Whr
has for'
and tha
except

Hegel h
is logi
ness is
being,

that we
nothing
0f beir
would r

“Nonbe

 

39

Against Hegel, Sartre denies that being and nothing—

ess can be opposed antithetically. He holds that logical

position requires simulteneous terms which are equally

sitive or equally negative. Thus, being and nonbeing are
contradiction rather than Opposition. He points out
at when Hegel regards being as an empty abstraction he

s forgotten that emptiness must be emptiness of something

d that this something refers to every determination

cept being's identity with itself. At the same time,

gel has said that nonbeing is empty of being. Thus Sartre

logical in concluding, "that being is and that nothing—

ss is not."18 Moreover, if nonbeing is emptiness of

.ing, then being is prior to nothingness. Sartre warns us

rat we can think being without thinking nothingness, but
uthingness is dependent upon being, and the disappearance

being would not leave nothingness behind; the latter

uld disappear also. This is his meaning when he says,
"19

Dnbeing exists only on the surface of being.

Sartre continues:
Thus the rise of man in the midst of the being which

"invests" him causes a world to be discovered. But

the essential and primordial moment of this rise is
the negation . . . . Man is the being through whom

nothingness comes to the world. But . . . What must
man be in his being in order that through him nothing—

ness may come to being?

Being can generate only being and if man is inclosed
in this process of generation, only being will come

out of him.

 

laIbid., p. 15. l91bid., p. 16. 201bid., p. 24.

 

 

ration.
who is
that me
and int
gation
is denj
is den'
bother
1m
theory
moving
tives
under:
futil.
teach
the 1
these
"Whic
t00,
none,
like
When
The:

the

40

But man is not trapped in "this process of gene-
ration." Man is a being who can question the universe and
who is open to question even unto himself. Sartre contends
that man isolates himself behind a shield of nothingness
and intrudes nothingness into the world through interro—
gation. In other words, in questioning the universe, he
is denying that he is it, and in questioning himself, he
is denying that he is himself. If this last contention is
bothersome, one should recall that man is a being which is

what he is not and which is not what he is.

 

The implications of this viewpoint for educational
theory begin to come into focus. If man is ceaselessly
moving beyond his present moment in time toward the objec—
tives of his future oriented project, then any attempt to
understand him in terms of static generalizations will be
futile. The context for learning, the relationships between
teachers and pupils, the learning experiences themselves,
the instructional resources, the curriculum design, all of
these will need to be planned for a dynamic human being
"which is what it is not and which is not what it is." So,
too, the educational process will require attention to those
moments in time which the individual scatters behind him
like scraps of paper dropped by the hunted in a paper chase.
Where one is going can be best predicted by attention to
where one has been. What has been becomes instrumental in

the achievement of what will be. The teacher's attention to

 

 

 

 

 

regressior
Galileo a:
the secon<
negation,
the entiru
is all im'
tation to
what he w
present,

jects to

the teach
0f negati
coming u

world.

hunan re
remainde
do what
The Cat
flower h
are no a
leSSly E

 

41

regression, however, must be as concerned for the past of
Galileo as it is for the immediate past of the student in
the second seat in the third row. From Sartre's View,
negation, perhaps, should become an essential factor in

the entire educative process. As we have seen, the not

is all important in defining man. Because of his orien—
tation toward the future, he is 293 as an existing being
what he was in the past or what he appears to be in the
present, but, at the same time, he is not yet what he pro-
jects to be in the future. While this would be basic to
the teacher's understanding of individual behavior, the role
of negation would be of central concern in the student's
coming to know the world and himself as an existent in that

world.

Freedom and Anguish

 

Whether manifested through interrogation or doubt,
human reality is a freedom which stands out from the
remainder of being and questions it. Plants and beasts
do what they have to do, but man chooses a course of action.
The cat pounces upon the canary because it must. The sun—
flower heliotropically turns its face to the sun; there
are no alternatives. The colorful male guppy swims cease-
lessly alongside the fat female, compelled to infiltrate

the water around her with spermatazoa.

 

 

 

 

 

 

How doe

Sartre

 

 

42

How does man lay hold of this freedom which he is?

Ow does consciousness become consciousness of freedom?
rartre writes:

What form does this consciousness of freedom assume?
In freedom the human being is his own past (as also
his own future) in the form of nihilation.
analysis has not led us astray,

If our
for the human being,

there ought to exist
in so far as he is conscious of
being, a certain mode of standing opposite his past
and his future, as being both this past and this
future and as not being them. We shall be able to
furnish an immediate reply to this question; it is in
anguish that man gets the consciousness of his freedom,
or if you prefer, anguish is the mode of being of

freedom as consciousness of being; it is in anguish
that freedom is, in its being,

in question for itself.21
Anguish reveals to man that he is totally and inescapably
free. Whether I look to the future or to the past,

I can
find nothing to determine me to act in any particular way.

The path ahead of me is scattered with possible courses of
action. Up there ahead, in my future, I will make my deci—

sions, but it is I who sustain the full range of possible
acts, and I am anguished by the absence of any factor which

might determine me to choose one possibility over the others.

One looks with equal futility to the past. Although I

may have firmly resolved yesterday to carry out a particular
course of action today, I discover that I am not protected

by past resolutions——I must reaffirm my resolution at each
instant. I discover in anguish the inefficacy of my reso—
lution.

211bid., p. 29.

 

raise t
nectior

HESS OI

 

Patti
emPlc
Catir.
don.

actic

43

Sartre anticipates at this point those who would
rise the question of psychological determinism in con-

=ction With the anguish which accompanies the consc10us—

ass of freedom;

It would be in vain to object that the sole condition
of this anguish is ignorance of the underlying psycho—
logical determinism. According to such a View my
anxiety would come from lack of knowing the real and
effective incentives which in the darkness of the
unconscious determine my action. In reply we shall
point out first that anguish has not appeared to us

as a proof of human freedom; the latter was given to
us as the necessary condition for the question. We
wished only to show that this consciousness is anguish
This means that we wished to establish anguish in its
essential structure as consciousness of freedom. Now
from this point of View the existence of a psycho—

logical determinism could not invalidate the results
of our description.

Either indeed anguish is actually
an unrealized ignorance of this determinism——and then

anguish apprehends itself in fact as freedom—-or else
one may claim that anguish is consciousness of being
ignorant of the real causes of our acts.

In the latter
case anguish would come from that of which we have a
presentiment,

a screen deep within ourselves for mon—
strous mot1ves which would suddenly release guilty
acts. '

But in this case we should suddenly appear to
ourselves as things in the world; we should be to
ourselves our own transcendent situation. Then anguish
would disappear to give away to fear, for fear is a 22
synthetic apprehension of the transcendent as dreadful.

In a word, anguish may not be dismissed on the grounds that

it springs from my ignorance of the real causes of my

particular actions. As Sartre points out, he is not

amploying anguish as a proof of freedom; he is merely indi—

-ating that anguish is the mode of being conscious of free—
dom. Certainly, one is not anguished in every instance of
action. Does this occur only in extreme situation, this

221bid., p. 33.

 

 

business <
portion 0:
reflectiw
anguish h.
I
experienc
personal
could it
is reveal
manner in
influence
not the a
individue
teacher g
would, f]
which Ch:
that mom
and ines.
through ‘
Spirit 0
OmO‘lS se
faith.
which to
escaPes

that Sar

and a“(To

 

 

44

business of anguish, anguish which has no role in the major
portion of one's conscious moments even though they are
reflective? What possible concern might the matter of
anguish have for, say, an elementary school teacher?

Is Sartre prepared to say that little children
experience this sense of anguish in their awareness of
personal freedom? And if they do, what possible concern
could it have for the teacher? In most instances, freedom
is revealed to the individual during adolescence, but the
manner in which man faces his freedom will most likely be
influenced by his behavior as a child. Most likely, it is
not the anguish itself which is of consequence for the
individual, but the posture which he takes before it. The
teacher who pretends to understand individual behavior
would, from Sartre's View, need to understand the influence
which childhood behavior may have upon the individual after
that moment of crisis when he discovers himself to be totally
and inescapably free. Ordinarily, man flees from anguish
through one or more of four principal escape routes: the
SPirit of seriousness, psychological determinism, an auton—
omous self which dwells deep inside us, and finally, bad
faith. Child psychology may become an instrument through
which to analyze man's behavior as he attempts these
escapes from the anguish of total freedom. It seems certain
that Sartre's ontological interpretation of human freedom

nd anguish will be basic to an educational theory which

 

 

 

 

emerges

we need

a parti
anguish
betweer
rogatir
and the
influer

C01

b81

it

on
In Sar
motiva
of our
reaSOn
InOtiVe
ality,
109m
callsat
°bjec1
statIlce
Water

\

 

 

45

emerges from his total philosophy. For the present, however,

we need to pursue further the problem of freedom and anguish.

Freedom, Motive and Act

 

Sartre contends that no motive can determine one to

 

a particular act. The freedom which we apprehend through
anguish is characterized by a nothingness which is intruded
between motive and act. This simply means that an inter-
rogating consciousness must always stand between the motive
and the act. The motive, then, incites me to action or
influences my choice, but:

Consciousness is not subject to it [the motive]

because of the very fact that consciousness posits

it; for consciousness has now the task of conferring

on the motive its meaning and its importance.
In Sartre's View, human freedom chooses the meaning of any
' motivating influence, and this is hard to square with much
of our ordinary thinking about motives, perhaps, for the
reason that psychology and literature often have made of
motive a mysterious force hidden deep within human person-
ality. Sartre, of course, is unwilling to grant a psycho-
logical or physiological factor an independent role as a
causative agent in complex human behavior. Certainly, this
Objection would not extend to such physiological circum—
stances as those under which a sneeze is forced, or the eyes

water, or the eSOphagus undergoes a reverse peristalsis.

Nevertheless, he might insist that even in the instances

‘—

23Ibid., p. 34.

 

 

 

 

 

cited t
cult to

in tern

of acti
is near
situatf
but the
self (1
acts:
Es
in
is
ac
a
na
we
ca
AS act
interr
furthe
Zatior
minatf

an in

these

.rD_<:

46

cited the element of attendant volitional behavior is diffi—
cult to set apart. In a word, acts should be understood
in terms of the total context in which they occur.

In acting I realize my possibilities. The context
of action can be interpreted only by a self; this is what
is meant by the self always being in a situation-~in
situation. The facticity of the self is this situation,
but the act transcends any situation. The essence of
self (man) is what has been. Man is the sum total of his
acts:

Essence is everything in the human being which we can
indicate by the words-—that is. Due to this fact, it
is the totality of characteristics which explain the
act. But the act is always beyond that essence; it is
a human act only in so far as it surpasses every expla—
nation which we can give of it, precisely because the
very application of the formula "that is" to man
causes all that is designated, to have—been.
As action, the act is nonreflective. It encompasses an
interrelationship of instrumentalities which refer to
further possibilities, but because acts involve the reali-
zation of possibilities, possibilities only and not deter—
inations, the action can be interrupted at any instant by
n interrogation which on the ground of reflection reveals
hese possibilities in anguish.
Anguish is also a factor in the problem of values:
Value derives its being from its exigency and not its

exigency from its being. It does not deliver itself
to a contemplative intuition which would apprehend it

 

24Ibid., p. 35.

 

 

are sa
may re
tious]
t0 hir
that I
netwo:

Sibir.

 

47

as being value and thereby would remove from it its
right over my freedom. On the contrary, it can be
revealed only to an active freedom which makes it exist
as value by the sole fact of recognizing it as such.

It follows that my freedom is the unique foundation of
values and thatnothing, absolutely nothing, justifies
me in adopting this or that particular value, this or
that particular scale of values. As a being by whom
values exist, I am unjustifiable. My freedom is
anguished at being the foundation of values while
itself without foundation. It is anguished in addition
because values, due to the fact that they are essen-
tially revealed to a freedom, cannot disclose them—
selves without being at the same time "put into question,"
for the possibility of overturning the scale of values
appears complementarily as my possibility. It is
anguish before values which is the recognition of the
ideality of values.

 

 

It is I who make of value a baseball card of Jake Wood or
a well fertilized lawn, and I realize in anguish my role
as creator of values.

Can man escape his anguish? Not really, but there

are sands where he can hide his head like an ostrich. Man

 

may resort to the spirit of seriousness; i.e., he conscien-
tiously pursues those goals which others have pointed out
to him. Anguish rises again, however, in the knowledge
that man's involvement in the world is not supported by a

network of a priori obligation, that man creates his respon—

 

 

ibilities through the process of giving them meaning.
Psychological determinism is another escape hatch
hrough which to flee anguish. Sartre writes:
Psychological determinism, before being a theoretical

conception, is first an attitude of excuse, or if you
prefer, the basis of all attitudes of excuse . . . .

 

25

Ibid., p. 38.

   

 

It prr
and t.
to th
selve
ality

a per
Determini
hypothesi
evidence
'I

ful for t
labels "l
escape h;
self. N.

freedom.

Wherever
reality
Situatic
is Cones
then the
"What i:
know)?" .-
uPom 0n

knower

 

 

48

It provides us with a nature productive of our acts,
and these very acts it makes transcendent; it assigns
to them a foundation in something other than them-
selves by endowing them with an inertia and extern-
ality eminently reassuring because they constitute
a permanent game of excuses.
Determinism for Sartre is nothing more than a "satisfying
hypothesis" which accounts for the facts but presents no
evidence against freedom.

The device for escaping anguish which is most fruit-
ful for understanding human conduct is that which Sartre
labels "bad faith." In this mode of being, man attempts to
escape his anguish through attempting to hide it from him—
self. Nevertheless, the result is always the same; there

is no escape from anguish, just as there is no escape from

freedom.

 

Being, Nothingness, and Education

From Sartre's point of View it can be said that
wherever education is thought to be taking place a human
reality will be pursuing a personal project within a unique
situation. And, if, in very elementary terms, education
is conceded to be the acquisition or expansion of knowledge,
then the answers to such epistemological questions as,
"What is meant by knowing?" and "What is it possible to
know?" are not only educationally relevant but are dependent
Upon ontological determinations concerning the character of

knower and known. Although they are far from being synonymous

k

26

Ibid., p. 40.

 

 

 

 

 

 

terms, .
express
experie

two reg

ingredi
regions
which n
serious
the not
9XpreS£
but the
of bad
values
Choice
but th

0n Sar

the pp
that c
nothi,
notior
rea1i:
Study
man's

Sartr

49

terms, knower and known in Sartre's frame of reference are
expressed as being-for—itself and being—in—itself. All
experience may be expressed as a relationship between these
two regions of being.

So far in this chapter on ontology, the basic
ingredients of Sartre's philosophy have been introduced——the
regions of being, freedom and anguish, the devices through
which man seeks to escape anguish, i.e., the spirit of
seriousness, psychological determinism, and bad faith. Too,
the notion that man always exists in a situation is
expressed, and also the concept of man as being nothing
but the sum total of his acts. Moreover, in the discussion
of bad faith, it was revealed that man himself causes
values to spring up in accordance with his project, his
choices. All of these topics require greater explication,
but they signal the shape for an educational theory based
on Sartre's philosophy.

In the discussion of the being of the phenomenon and
the phenomenon of being, for example, it was pointed out
that consciousness is always present to an object which is
nothing beyond its appearances. Sartre, in rejecting the

otion of a noumenon behind the phenomenon, posits a stark
ealism which leaves all that is open to examination and
tudy. No sector of reality is immune to the probings of
an's consciousness. All that i5 can be revealed. However,

artre's stark realism does not present a world out there

 

independe
there wou
conscious
and the or
regions c
plenitude
without t
necessary
are cond:
will be 1

is the “

reality
itself-_
ity is a
rlothingr
that hun
which it
asPeCts
Wither
be the .
Person
neither
respons
pSYcho]

Freudl E

 

50

independent of anyone's knowing it. Without consciousness
there would be no world, and conversely, without the world,
consciousness could not come into being. Consciousness

and the world are not two separate being, but they are two
regions of the sgmg being. The world as an undifferentiated
plenitude can be conceived abstractly, but it is meaningless
without the introduction of human reality. These are the
necessary conditions on which all knowing must depend; these
are conditions on which educational and curriculum theory
will be based.

The learner, the focus of all educational activity,
is the "human reality" of which Sartre speaks. Human
reality is human consciousness, but it is also being—for—
itself——for-itself because through consciousness human real—
ity is aware of itself. Human reality is also nothingness——
nothingness because it is through translucent consciousness
that human reality defines itself as not being the world
which it is presence to. All of these terms are simply
aspects of the same human reality. Human reality has
another important aspect: freedom, and this may very well
be the most significant aspect in so far as the curriculum
person is concerned.‘ If the learner is totally free, then
neither heredity nor environment can be charged with the
responsibility for what a man becomes. Deterministic
psychologies cannot account for the learner‘s behavior;

Freud's "unconscious“ cannot be allowed to direct behavior;

 

 

 

 

man is to
becomes.
swept by
behavior
Sartre ls
l
interprei
other ma;
heredity
in inter
"situati
hmm
values t
Choices
Varies j
t0 be a
batting
Choice,
Univers
Gated,
Poverty
tinguiS
the mes
Situatj
be uhde

0fan]

 

51

man is totally responsible for what he is and what he
becomes. Confronted by this overwhelming freedom, man is
swept by anguish, and in his desire to escape anguish, his
behavior is characterized by a duplicitous attitude which
Sartre labels "bad faith."

Freedom and bad faith present an altogether unique
interpretation of individual behavior. However, there are
other major facets of human reality. On the surface,
heredity and environment may seem to be of no consequence
in interpreting human behavior, but Sartre's concept of
"situation" brings them back to a role of significance.

As we have already discussed, Sartre's human reality causes

values to exist through individual choices; however, these

 

choices are always made in a situation, and the situation
varies in its influence. For example, I may freely choose
ito be a professional baseball player, but if I lack a "good
lbatting eye" my situation places a different meaning on this
choice. So too, if I should choose to enroll at Harvard
University as an undergraduate but I am the son of unedu—
cated, lower socio—economic class parents living in semi—
poverty in central Michigan and have not particularly dis—
tinguished myself as a scholar, I am freely choosing, but
the meaning of this choice is clearly determined by the
Situation in which the choice is made. The learner cannot
be understood as a unique individual except in the context

Of a unique situation. The implications for education, and

 

 

 

curriculr

mgnific

ment of
ation.
asense
of a new
most im
sonalit
inside
his lil
iiifif!
than w‘,
Chosen
is at
than u
the f;
tutur.
but 1
mYsel
out c
Sticl
ohilt
skip

(10nd
\

52

curriculum in particular, in this concept seem infinitely

significant.

Despite the importance of situation in the develop—

ment of a human reality, or self, an act transcends situ—

ation. One by one the acts of a person are performed, in

a sense are individually accumulated, and it may be said

of a man that he is the sum total of these acts. Here is a

most important factor in the development of a child's per!

sonality. There is no entelechy mysteriously hidden away

inside the child, directing and limiting the unfolding of

his life. His daily existence is not presided over by an

a priori essence. On the contrary, essence is nothing more

than what has been. Man shapes himself through his freely

chosen acts. The child whom the teacher confronts, however,

is at once more than the sum total of his acts, and less

than what he is! The explanation of this paradox lies in

the fact that man as "pro—ject“ is in a sense already his
future; thus, he is more than the sum total of his acts

but less than what he is as future. Sartre says, "I await

myself in the future," but, "the future which I am remains

out of reach."27 Each child's life is like the carrot on a

stick which dangles just beyond the donkey's nose. The
child stretches toward himself in the future, but his life
Skips on ahead just out of reach. This is an ontological

condition of being—in—the-world.

\—

The teacher who understands

27Ibid., p. 36.

 

 

 

 

Sartre's ]
ntuation
make of h'
such a mi
problem 1
he discu
deserves
They must
implicati
'l
aphenome
‘ lem of h(
ahmst er
tenet b0:
Simultan
Sartre's
then, be
grounded
Ships be
answer 5
eerlier.
POSsibl6
knowled.

Martin 3

 

53

Sartre's philosophy will also understand that to change this
situation; that is, to attempt to change it, is to wish to
make of human reality an in—itself. The consequences of
such a misguided desire are frequently catastrophic. This
problem like all the others which have been opened up in
the discussion of the basic elements of Sartre's ontology
deserves fuller treatment at a later point in the study.
They must be accorded particular attention in terms of their
implications for curriculum theory and practice.

The philosophy of Jean-Paul Sartre is first of all
a phenomenological ontology, but the epistemological prob—
lem of how man can know the world is a central issue in
almost everything he has written. For example, the basic

tenet borrowed from the doctrine of intentionality,

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

consciousness is always consciousness of something, is

 

simultaneously an ontological statement and a statement of
Sartre‘s epistemological position. A theory of education,
then, based on Sartre‘s philosophy must inevitably be
grounded in ontology, but it must also reveal the relation-
ships between a knower and the known; it must attempt to
nswer such epistemological questions as were suggested
arlier——e.g., "What is meant by knowing?" and "What is it
ossible to know?" These are questions for a theory of
nowledge, but first let us now take up the ontology of

artin Buber.

 

 

 

 

B
experienc
considers
be set ir

l
Buber exp
repeatedl
has been

attached

a System
a descri

resting

statemer
Curity"
is I10 31
Systems‘
choose :
peOPle <
and wel
mental

all eXp
\

Gre901:

 

54

Buberian Ontology

Buber's sole concern is to relate his immediate
experience of reality——an experience too well tested to be
considered merely "subjective" and yet too insufficient to
be set into a once-and-for-all system.

If we begin with the terms, metaphysics and ontology,
Buber expresses himself quite clearly: he rejects the former
repeatedly and accepts the latter cautiously. But little
has been said until we see the connotative meaning he
attached to each of these terms.

Within the term "metaphysics," Buber sensed either
a system of truth rigidly closed against new experience, or
a description of reality standing above experience and

resting on the isolated feet of its own logical conclusions.

  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
  

He refuses to reset his ideas on a system of sure
statements about the absolute, and prefers the "holy inse—
curity" of a “narrow rocky ridge between gulfs“ where there
is no sureness of knowledge but only a yet unknown meeting.
ystems, on the other hand, are preferred by those who
hoose inner security to the risk of uncertainty. Such
eople desire to be securely oriented in a solidly founded
nd well structured world, and so build for themselves a
ental system much like an ark which shelters them against
11 experiences of reality.

28Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
regor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 184.

28

 

 

speaks
real--c
to Bube

the I a

basis

he is

subjec
descri
any at
ahn, a
an It.
elemer
analy:
of de:
in a -

immed

deScr
miSle
it be
thee
desc]

than.

Outl:

 

55

Buber stresses that the "experience" of which he
speaks is not merely subjective or epistemological, but
real--of the ontic level——therefore ontological. According
to Buber, reality rests upon an arch of relationship between
the I and the world.

He accepts the term ontological to stress that the
basis of his thought is ontic, not merely psychic, and that
he is attempting to develop a view that over arches both the
subjective and the objective, a view which he himself
describes as ontologic. He is also careful to insist that
any attempt to systematize his thought is unfaithful to his
aim, and yet he is aware that every Thou is fated to become
an It. Like any Thou in our experience, his work, too, has
elements of structure which are analyzable. The attempt of
analysis, though indeed frought with the very serious danger
of destroying the immediacy of experience, likewise puts us
in a position of being able eventually to experience the
immediate more profoundly.

Buber's thought gives us an ample basis for a
description of the nature of being. The reader would be
misled if he were to see this as a complete system or to see
it based upon a rationale other than the immediate experi—
ence of reality. Ontology, for Buber, is basically a
description of the deepest experience of being available to
man. Within these limits, it is most helpful to fully

outline this unusual perception of being offered us by

 

 

 

Buber and tr

Western thor

Bube
view of the
around whici
ever, at an
flicting im
lessness, a
lessness.
M whi
Objective m

This bc
forms j
works j
attache
nature

Bul
beloud the
and that i'
itself entw
worlds, th

second an
qrolInded i

developmen

\
ZS

 

56

Buber and to describe what many call a revolution in

Western thought.

Reality Begins In Relationship
Buber was raised with a pre—Kantian, "objective"

view of the universe. He saw it as an objective order
around which subjects moved and oriented themselves. How—
ever, at an early age, he became intrigued by the con—
flicting images of the edge of space and its further space-
lessness, and of the beginning of time and its prior time—
lessness. It was Kant's Prolegomena to All Future Meta—
physics which led him then to reverse the order and see the
objective world oriented by man‘s subjective perception.

This book showed me that space and time are only the

forms in which my human View of what is, necessarily

works itself out; that is, [space and time] were not
attached to the inneggnature of the world, but to the

nature of my senses.

   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  

Buber had joined the insight that being itself was
beyond the reach of the forms of reality, space and time,
and that it only appeared in space and time, but did not
itself enter into this appearance. Thus Buber saw two
worlds, the first the real but incomprehensible world, the
second an image of the first. The second, although validly
rounded in the world of reality, is man's creation, a
evelopment required by man to give order and sequence, a

ontinuum of place, time and causality to his world.

 
 

291bid., p. 136.

  

 

‘x
v.

{x
,,

1:3“ Wfiflw-y‘és':-mir . . ,-_

Buber m
also encounters
the conceptual
relationship wi

We know wha
itself, nam
nothing mor
that the ex
seriously e
world of t
stem from

co-working

This "
it, becomes th
Here, epistemo
relation of ma
relationship w:
factor of Bags
refers to somei
parts of eithe:
ically, it is :
into a newly r
in which the u

the other .

 

30Mar1

Maurice Fried:
1965), p. 157

 

 

57

Buber moved beyond Kant by maintaining that man
also encounters the world of reality on a level prior to
the conceptual or epistemological. Man has an ontological
relationship with reality itself.

We know what Kant points out to us of the thing—in—
itself, namely, that it is. Kant would say: "And
nothing more." But we who live today must add: "And
that the existent meets us. That is, if we take it
seriously enough, a powerful knowing. For in all the
world of the senses there is no trait that does not
stem from meetings, that does not originate in the
co—working of the x in the meeting.

This "meeting" and the "x" quality inherent within
it, becomes the central concern of Buber's philosophy.
Here, epistemology becomes ontology, the subject—object
relation of man to the world becomes a subject-subject
relationship with active elements on both sides and with a
factor of Presence between the two participants which
refers to something beyond all the parts or sum of the
parts of either pole involved in the relationship. Emphat—
ically, it is not a relationship which dissolves the parties
into a newly realized unity, but an "identity-in—difference"

in which the uniqueness of each is intensified over against

the other.

Kfi

3OMartin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans.
Maurice Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc.,
1965), p. 157.

 

 

 

 

Man's e
beginning is re
reality of life
ontologically ,
man or of the e
under the cate
accident of re
of relation, 0
is derived.

Primary wo
thing that
being spok
It is only wit
person comes tr

There :
is most sensit:
"To man, the We
within the lim
transcendental
the immediate
rational deduc

There

There are the

 

31Ma 1

r
Smith (New Yo:

321bi<

 

58

Relationship: I—Thou and I-It
Man's experience of the world is that "in the

"31 Relation is the fundamental

beginning is relation.
reality of life, whether we are speaking chronologically or
ontologically, whether we are speaking of the individual
man or of the entire cosmos. Buber does not think of man
under the category of a substance to which he adds the
accident of relation, but first sees him under the category
of relation, out of which his own ontological identity
is derived.

Primary words (I-Thou, I—It) do not describe some—

thing that might exist independently of them, but

being spoken they bring about existence.
It is only within the relationship that the personality or
person comes to exist.

There is one qualification to this to which Buber
is most sensitive. The opening words of I and Thou are:
"To man, the world is . . . ."33 Buber can only speak
within the limits of man's experience. He holds for no
transcendental knowledge realized outside the concrete and
the immediate experience of life. The view is not a
rational deduction derived out of a systematic metaphysics.

There are two relationships found in the world.

There are the I—It and the I-Thou, and these are basic

 

3lMartin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1958), p. 18.

321bid., p. 3. 33Ibid.

 

 

‘5. "arr"? Eng-169$ at. 4;“;

 

“a-.. _ ..

\ aruiilh: 4 . "‘ '

wag-313.3

stain ifiMUHggymw 1.3-:

 

words. When sp
stand in them."
to be taken sep
or the "Thou. "
of I-It, both b
because, there

existence of I

thing . “ 35

Nevert
these two pola
into a relatio
attitude, but
in the same ma
But it is true
ized by either
such.

In the
object over agw
ence. He rela
relation, on t
"I" and seeks
relationship .

either relatio

 

34Ibic‘

59

words. When spoken, "the speaker enters and takes his

stand in them."34

They are combined words. The "I" is not
to be taken separately, but in combination with the "It"

or the "Thou." The "I" of I—Thou is different from the "I"
of I—It, both because the relationship is different and
because, thereby, the "I" is constituted different. "The
existence of I and the speaking of I are one and the same
thing."35

Nevertheless, there are not two kinds of men, but
these two polarities within each man. When a man enters
into a relationship, he holds himself in one or the other
attitude, but both attitudes are, at one time or another,
in the same man. "Every man lives in the two—fold I."36
But it is true that most men can be dominantly character—
ized by either of the polarities and so be designated as
such.

In the I—Thou relationship, the "I" meets the
object over against him in subjective mutuality and pres—
ence. He relates with his whole person. In the I—It
relation, on the other hand, he involves only part of his
"I" and seeks to use or experience the object of his
relationship. For example, one can be said to "love" in
either relationship. But for the I—It, love is a feeling
.______.____________

34Ibid., p. 4. 35Ibid.

36Ibid., p. 65.

 

 

 

   
   
  
    

is be_tw3e_n the
man dwells in h
Two rel
each is concep
man or world w'
Thou relations
and while man

lives with It

"You c
ability sustai
would be in no
writes miel
that the I—It .'
tified with ev
insistence on
electing one w
fundamental to

"The 13
not of evil .
hility in life

its words and

 

3711315

391bi<

 

60

which exists within the person while, for the I—Thou, love
is between the I and the Thou. "Feelings dwell in man; but
man dwells in his love."37

Two relationships, then, but one world. And while
each is conceptually abstracted, neither is found in either
man or world without being in polarity to the other. Every
Thou relationship must eventually become an It relation,
and while man cannot live without It relations, "he who

lives with It alone is not a man."38

4:3

"You cannot hold on to life without It, its reli—
ability sustains you; but should you die in It, your grave
would be in nothingness."39 A less penetrating reading of
I and Thou might leave many a reader with the impression
that the I—It is of negative value, or even to be iden—
tified with evil itself. But this totally ignores Buber's
insistence on the embrace of both polarities rather than
electing one while discarding the other, an insistence
fundamental to his thought.

"The primary word I—It is not of evil——as matter is
not of evil . . .";4O it establishes an order and a sta-

bility in life, sustains life as we know it. Only through

its words and concepts can we communicate with one another.

k“—

37Ibid., p. 14. 381bid., pp. 16, 34.

39Ibid., p. 32. 4oIbid., p. 46.

 

 

 

Science and tec

belong to this
the world of It
Nor wo
categories whi
fictitious. T
are inserted,

continuum. Th

between realiz
stability to t
with reality.
in preference '
value the orie:
dominant enthr
of evil.
If a man 1
growing wo
reality of
the ghost
confession

Such a

power to enter

realizing his

 

61

Science and technology, with all their amazing developments,
belong to this sphere. Academic scholarship is founded in
the world of It.

Nor would it be true to say that its forms and
categories which give us security and stability, are
fictitious. They are based on real life—experience, and
are inserted, through reflection, into an intelligible
continuum. The categories are of It and not of reality,
but they reflect man's experience of reality in analogical
terms.

The world of It is one side of a rhythmic continuum
between realization and orientation. It gives order and
stability to the individual returning from an encounter
with reality. But should a man come to love its security
in preference to the risk of new meeting, should he come to
Value the orientation above the realization, then the
dominant enthronement of It over Thou assumes the vestiges
of evil.

If a man lets it have the mastery, the continually
growing world of It overruns him and robs him of the
reality of his own I, till the incubus over him and
the ghost within him whisper to one another the
confession of their non—salvation.

Such a domination snuffs out realization. Man's

power to enter into relation is decreased; the process of

realizing his person and the world over against him is

4lIbid.

 

 

3.-
.x
4
he
~
w,
9':
.‘e
'9'
i
..

   
  
  
  
   
   
    
  
  
  
 

stiffled. Secu
is eclipsed.
The ord

is through expe
grows, man's a
The indivi
direct wit
items of k
his using
neverthele
from gener

is man's abili
to enter into
of which alone
These two area
experience int
f_e_e_l_ing_s a man
province of th
erects outside
Withdr

enjoys his owr
and pain. "He
in his rocking
restricted fr:

should they e‘

the correct s<

 

 

62

stiffled. Security is established; the life of the spirit
is eclipsed.

The ordinary manner of relating to the world of It
is through experiencing and using. As the world of It
grows, man's ability to experience and use also grows.

The individual can, to be sure, more and more replace

direct with indirect experience, he can "acquire

items of knowledge," and he can more and more reduce

his using of the world to specialized "utilization";

nevertheless, a continual development of this ability

from generation to generation, cannot be avoided.42
As man's ability to experience and use increases, his power
to enter into relationship decreases-—"the power in virtue
of which alone man can live the life of the spirit."43
These two areas separate themselves off from each other,
experience into the province of the "I," i.e., into the
feelings a man has within himself, and using, into the
province of the "It," i.e., into the institutions a man
erects outside himself.

Withdrawing into himself, the It man privately
enjoys his own feelings of "love" and hatred, of pleasure
and pain. "Here he is at home, and stretches himself out
in his rocking chair."44 Such feelings are carefully
restricted from his outside, "institutional" life, and

should they ever be expressed there, he is quick to restore

the correct separation. Compartmentalization is the law of

421bid., p. 38. 43Ibid., p. 39.

44Ibid., p. 43.

 

 

 

’i

i
,,

i

,
|
.4
l

.1

= v

 

the It world.

  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

It nan influenc
ates. Here, a
But the sap
clod withou

an uneasily
knows man:
feelings on
or mutual 1
Both tt

race confirm tl'

Thou and I-It l

 

by a progressii
comes not simp
explosion of f
but more from
taken on the f
is now lost in
personal goal.
inner feelings
life becomes 1'
realization is

If th:
man, it becomu
The progress i

area of techn‘

mint of a hy

63

the It world. Going out into the institutional world, the
It man influences, makes connections, organizes and offici—
ates. Here, a variety of aims are pursued.

But the separated It of institutions is an animated
clod without soul, and the separated I of feelings
an uneasily fluttering soul—bird. Neither of them
knows man: institutions know only the specimen,
feelings only the "object," neither knows the person,
or mutual life.

 

Both the history of individuals and of the human
race confirm the fact that the ordinary rhythm between I—
Thou and I—It has, in our time, been disturbed and threatened
by a progressive growth of the world of It. The danger
comes not simply from the expansion of science and the
explosion of factual knowledge and technical information,

but more from the "thousand petty means of life which have

 

taken on the features of ends in themselves," so that man
is now lost in his instruments and no longer has a true
personal goal. He no longer knows how to relate to his
inner feelings with his institutional activities. Human
life becomes impersonal, mediate and instrumental, and
realization is replaced by appearance and imitation.

If this insight speaks crisis for the life of
man, it becomes magnified in our educational endeavors.
The Progress of our twentieth century, especially in the
area of technology, has understandably impressed us to the

pOint of a hypnotic trance. But man dare not abdicate his

\—_

45Ibid., p. 44.

i

i

i

i life before thi
i cate another 9

essential Thou

ii Buber
11..» its presence i

all of us. Bu

urgently to co
is elusive of
presenting us
g But in time we
us what the I-

experience unt

 

negative circl

but only his I

‘ x

can identify i

has led him, I

not, then the
is not realitj
cated Buber' 5

--What, t
-~Nothing
~~What, t
--0nly ev

partict

M—
46Ma:
(New York: Cl

«vi “'9‘ mbi‘fh? :mren‘f‘ei’mrr“ ? -:‘- .

 

_r_, i.__ _i

64

life before this exuberant world of It. He dare not edu—
cate another generation of students to be ignorant of the

essential Thou—world.

I—Thou

Buber has no difficulty explaining the I—It relation;
its presence in our world is an experience all too common to
all of us. But the I—Thou, the key experience he wants so
urgently to communicate, the core of all his philosophy,
is elusive of explanation. Initially, he will seem to be
presenting us with a series of analogous, descriptive terms.
But in time we will see that, step by step, he is telling
us what the I—Thou is not, removing this and that orienting
experience until there lies before us, in the center of his
negative circle, the "between." Buber leads us to the door,
but only his reader can enter for himself. If the reader

can identify in his own experience this x" to which Buber
has led him, he "knows" of what Buber speaks. If he does
not, then the "x" which our philosopher has circumscribed
is not reality. But ever again the reader has authenti—
cated Buber's words.
——What, then, does one experience of the [Thou]?
--Nothing at all. For one does not experience it.
—-What, then, does one know of the [Thou]?

-—Only everything. For one no longer knows
particulars.

 

46Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Walter Kaufmann
(New York: Charles Scribner's and Sons, 1970), p. 61.

 

 

 

 

Elimin
The I-It is sp
to particulars
objective elem
dealing with a
M- I-It k
underlying who

Buber
philosophical
religious or e
being. Such a
it says that
knowing looks
limits lies re
and inderivabl
presented me t
This moment is
Plan the detai
relations encr
concrete worll
“P in his tot
totality.

In ad
the character

must be mutua
\w

Ge]

65

Eliminate particulars and one has the totality.
The I—It is spoken with a part of man's being and relates
to particulars. It classifies, analyzes, and deduces
objective elements about the object, but always remains
dealing with a part of the object, never the object as a
whgle. I—It knows particulars only; I—Thou knows the
underlying whole.

Buber distinguishes two types of knowing: the
philosophical which regards a thing as an object, and the
religious or experiential which is a relationship of total
being. Such a knowing is used in the Book of Genesis when

it says that Adam knew his wife, Eve.47

The philosophical
knowing looks away from the concrete situation. Beyond its
limits lies religious knowing where there arises, single
and inderivable, the unique reality of the concrete world
presented me by God; the continual creation in each moment.
This moment is not foreseeable or foreknowable; one cannot
plan the details of the meeting. One can only enter the
relations encounter and hold his ground in the face of the
concrete world before him. One "knows" by opening himself
up in his totality to the concrete addressing him in its
totality.

In addition to totality, Buber will also speak of
the characteristic of mutuality. An I—Thou relationship

must be mutually jointed from both sides. The "I" must
_‘____________‘___

47Genesis 4:1.

 

 

 

': 19$"? _ ,

0'- ‘rr' A‘s-n. =4 "5 :1. .....~

:1 an‘.‘

 

L

i

 

will the total

tation or ulte
upon the free
the gift of it
chooses and is
time. "My Tho
Mutual
common identit
unique identit
Thou; as I bec
strengthening
full mutuality
Thou. Inclusi
feel an event
as well as fro
exemplary bond

The 14

its immediacy

relation. Wh

P086, the rel

0f. " "Every

 

66

will the total giving of himself to the Thou without limi—

tation or ulterior motive. Yet equally, the meeting depends

upon the free and total response of the Thou to the "I,“

the gift of its whole self. Thus in the relation, the I

chooses and is chosen; he is active and passive at one

time. "My Thou affects me, as I affect it."48
Mutuality does not imply a resulting unity or

common identity; in mutuality, each is confirmed in his own

unique identity. "I become through my relation to the

"49

Thou; as I become I, I say Thou. But retaining and

 

strengthening one's own identity over against the other, ,
full mutuality brings about an inclusion of the I into the
Thou. Inclusion, or experiencing the other side, means to
feel an event from the other side of the person one meets
as well as from one's own side. For Buber, marriage is the
exemplary bond of the fullest realization of mutuality.

The I—Thou relationship is also characterized by
its immediacy and presence. In the I—It relation, the It
becomes an object by the very fact that some means is placed
between the subject and the object, the I and the It in the
relation. Whether linked to some past plan or future pur—
POSe, the relation is "for the use of" or "for the purpose

of." "Every means is an obstacle. Only when every means

 

48Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1958), pp. 11, 15.

49Ibid., pp. 11, 15.

 

 

 

 

has collapsed
immediacy of t
as nothing. I
is the present
I-Thou
for both of th
continuity and
relation inter
determined by
space and time
Again,
the world in p
and in the pre
that he finds
order. But wh

cosmological

  
  
  
  
  
   
   

mined, he als
future is und
abstract poin
It is the pre

within the pe

Gregor Smith

67

50 In this

has collapsed does the meeting come about."
immediacy of the relationship, everything mediate becomes

as nothing. I—It relates to the past and to objects; I—Thou
is the present and the presence awaiting it.

I—Thou is no longer subject to causality and fate,
for both of these are handmaidens of the ordered world of
continuity and take their meaning from it. The I—Thou
relation interpenetrates the world of It without being

determined by it, for meeting is not in space and time but

space and time in meeting.

 

Again, Western man is so conditioned to think of
the world in precise segments of measured, objective time,
and in the precise, iron clad order of cause and effect,
that he finds it nearly impossible to conceive of another
order. But while Buber gives full recognition to this
cosmological time in which all, even the future, is deter—
mined, he also perceives anthropological time in which the
future is undetermined and in which the present is not an
51

abstract point on a continuum, but the real, filled present.

It is the present of immediacy and wholeness, found not

 

within the person, but "between" in the meeting of

 

50lbid., p. 12.

51Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 140.

 

 

 

 

relationship . 5

ing mince o
Totali
us to the "x,"
side men, but
sum total of p
It is the plac
transcended by
grounds Buber'
In con
states an all-
unqualified go
is £is_k becaus
the whole beir
nothing of bin
an oriented w
stripped of a
The I
"endless poss

form.“54 All

and order mus

 

68

52 The presence is the sustained and deepen—

relationship.
ing presence of the Thou to the I.

Totality, mutuality, immediacy, presence, all refer
us to the "x," the between. It is not within man nor out—
side men, but between. This is the something more than the
sum total of parts which enter into an I—Thou relationship.
It is the place where subjectivism and objectivism are
transcended by man's reaching Being, which encompasses and
grounds Buber's ontology.

In concluding his remarks about the I—Thou, Buber
states an all—too—forgotten warning: The I-Thou is not an
unqualified good; it is, in fact, Eigk and sacrifice. It
is Eigk because "the primary word can only be spoken with
the whole being. He who gives himself to it may withhold

53 It takes us out of the security of

nothing of himself."
an oriented world into the discontinuous present where,
stripped of all safeguards, one embraces the wholly other.
The I—Thou is sacrifice as well because of the
"endless possibility that is offered up on the altar of

form."54

All forms which up to that moment gave perspective
and order must now be renounced. The endless possibility

about to be faced makes this demand.

 

52Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1958), p. 12.

53Ibid., p. 10. 54Ibid.

 

 

 

 

“at duff;fim‘~r_¥5#wrfea;gf .

I;

.4
t:

I-Thou

of reality. Ii
seductive a
extremes,
more guest
shattering

Thou takes us

surely be enve

the I-It. The

 

present condit

that every Th

The

"In t'
the spirit to
been aware of
ance. But in
oppressive, s1
faith, is the
dichotomy bet‘
absence deter
moment. Egg-E
human existen
ship is pOSSi

life is not <5

5511::

57113:

 

69

I—Thou cannot sustain life, but only give a glimpse
of reality. It is,
seductive and magical, tearing us away to dangerous
extremes, loosening the well—tried context, leaving
more questions than satisfactions behind them,
shattering security.5
Thou takes us into the whirlpool of chaos where we would
surely be enveloped, were it not for an imminent return to
the I—It. The Thou could never be sustained by man in his
present condition. "This is the melancholy of our fate,

that every Thou in our world must become an it."56

The Element of "Trust" in Buber's Ontology

 

"In times of healthy life, Eggs; streams from men of
the spirit to all people . . . . All men have somewhere
been aware of the Thou; now spirit gives them full assur—
ance. But in times of sickness . . . the world becomes an

oppressive, stifling fate."57

Trust, or its sacral name,
faith, is the differentiating element in Buber's primal
dichotomy between I—Thou and I—It. Its presence or its

absence determines which of the two is in possession of the

moment. Existential Trust is the underlying confidence in

 

human existence. It is the confidence that genuine relation—
ship is possible, that the world does have meaning, that

life is not determined fate but the true responsibility of

 

55Ibid., p. 34. 56Ibid., p. 16.

57

Ibid., pp. 53—54.

 

 

 

 

man. It is th

all his compon
included, so t
blows through
in his own sit
gradually bec
of faith or tr
The co
task of educa
instruct his
the educator '
world of Thou
How 5
logical relat
and through t
"Trust, trust
that is the m
teacher and s
trusts and ha
he will be ab
student——an a

dormant. Thi

the student 1

_______________———

5 8Ma
Gregor Smith

 

70

man. It is the experience which "transports a person in
all his component parts, his capacity for thought certainly
included, so that, all the doors springing open, the storm
blows through all the chambers." Buber believes, at least
in his own situation, that all the experiences of being
gradually became present to him as one great experience

of faith or trust.

The communication of this existential trust is the
task of education. While the teacher must acknowledge and
instruct his student in the world of It, the great task of
the educator is to awaken in him an awareness of this other
world of Thou.

How shall we go about this task? Through his dia—
logical relationship with the student, through what he is,
and through this moment in which he and the student stand.
"Trust, trust in the world because this human being exists——
that is the most inward achievement of the relation (between

teacher and student) in education."58

When he, the teacher,
trusts and has the "life" of Thou flowing through himself,
he will be able to awaken an awareness of the Thou in the
student——an awareness that is already present, but lying

dormant. This is the genuine task of curriculum, to awaken

the student to the Thou—world.

R"

58Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 98.

 

 

 

 

Perhap
hackneyed ques
the subject ma
pertinence con
an educator t
question when
the subject In
theorists wou
rather simple
the reason the
educational pl
of reality, k1
reply could nv
theoretical cl

Regar
seems to impl
separate enti
may decide wlr,
sequent of k:
or Whether tr

Stlldent. In

 

CHAPTER III

THE PROBLEM OF KNOWLEDGE

Perhaps at some level of educational theory, the
hackneyed question, "Should the teacher teach the child or
the subject matter?" opens up a matter of philosophical
pertinence concerning the educative function. Frequently,
an educator thinks he has summarily dispensed with the
question when he replies, "Neither; the teacher should teach
the subject matter Es the child!" Actually, most educational
theorists would be unwilling to give a glib answer to this
rather simple but loaded question. They would resist for
the reason that an answer which is sufficiently informed by
educational philosophy should take guidance from theories
of reality, knowledge, and value, and a brief and hasty
reply could not possibly do justice to these important
theoretical concerns.

Regardless of how the question is interpreted, it
seems to imply that the child and the subject matter are
Separate entities and that the teacher who is outside either
may decide whether to discourse on the intricacies of a
segment of knowledge without concern for who is listening,
or Whether to attend first to the unique needs of each

Student. In practice, of course, the educative act is

71

 

 

seldom analyza
the teacher's
confrontation
this objective
should have cc
of the world a
interact. In
teacher needs
reality a con
When this has
matters of va
position to r
questions as
ject matter.
matter t_o the
speaking, fror
For a
of Jean-Paul
alternative a
too nearly an
the teacher c
to the subj ec
believes tha1
Which are 10¢

Chi ld I u then

tdined in th‘

 

72

seldom analyzable in such simple polar terms. Nevertheless,
the teacher's function does seem to involve facilitation the
confrontation of the world by the student, and to achieve
this objective with optimum effectiveness, the teacher
should have consistent points of view concerning the nature
of the world and of the student and how student and world
interact. In order to formulate these points of view, the
teacher needs to erect on the foundation of a theory of
reality a consistent theory of knowledge or epistemology.
When this has been done and attention has been given also to
matters of value theory, the teacher will be in a better

position to respond with philosophical competence to such

 

questions as whether he should teach the child or the sub—
ject matter. He will see also that teaching the subject
matter is the child is not very far removed, philosophically
speaking, from simply teaching the subject matter.

For a theory of curriculum based on the philosophy
of Jean—Paul Sartre or Martin Buber, none of the three
alternative answers given above seems acceptable; each is
too nearly an expression of either idealism or realism. If
the teacher concerns himself with the child in preference
to the subject matter, he may be doing this because he
believes that the world as world known exists only in ideas
which are locked up in an individual mind. "Teaching the
child," then, means doing something to ideas which are con—

tained in the child's mind. If, on the other hand, the

 

teacher ground
the objective
may be apprehe
primary attent
the subject ma
ciil_d, the te
the objective
sense, he is
knowledge is
or realism.
explained in
Let u
based on Sart
guided by the
can be united
in order that
teacher in as
truth of the
tionships of

disclosure 01

The I

the known wh
\

 

73

teacher grounds his educative activity on the notion that

the objective world exists independently of any knower, but
may be apprehended through the senses, he will, perhaps, give
primary attention to the subject matter. Whether he teaches

the subject matter or teaches the subject matter to the

 

ghiid, the teacher in these activities seems to be ordering
the objective world or disclosing its structure, and in this
sense, he is a realist. Sartre and Buber, both, deny that
knowledge is possible from the standpoint of either idealism
or realism. The ontological basis for this denial is
explained in the discussions of the previous chapter.

Let us now begin to explore a theory of curriculum

 

based on Sartre's philosophy. Such a theory should be
guided by the disclosure of how human reality (the child)
can be united with subject matter (the world or in—itself)
in order that knowing may take place. The role of the
teacher in assisting children to a comprehension of the
truth of the human situation, of truth in the complex rela—
tionships of being—in—the world, will be influenced by this

disclosure of the unity of being and nothingness.

The Reef of Solipsisml

 

The question of the relationship of the knower and

the known which has been introduced somewhat naively through

 

1The title of a chapter subdivision in Being and
Nothingness. Jean—Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness,

 

trans. Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Philosophical Library,
1956), p. 223.

 

 

discussion of t
matter or chilc‘
temology, and :
chapter. A re
other human-re;
Although commo:
with other hum
their existenc
Solips
which holds th
existence Sing
my relationshi
0'3 my own idea
anything other
SOliPSistic s1
Sense souls w]
they, like thi
than Products
can demOnStra
Calls the 0th
then I Can re
own COnSCious
be reSOlVed,

0f the applic

that Commcn c

74

discussion of the old pedagogical saw about teaching subject

 

matter or child is, of course, the basic problem of epis—
temology, and it will be discussed at a later point in this
chapter. A related problem concerns the question of how

other human—realities may be said to inhabit the world. :

 

Although common sense tells us that the world is populated
with other humans, a rigorous philosophy must account for
their existence.

Solipsism is the term given to the point of view

which holds that these others are of no consequence for my

 

existence since outside of me nothing exists. In this view,
my relationship with the world is confined to the circle

of my own ideas, and I have no assurance that the world is
anything other than a personal mirage. Moreover, from the
solipsistic standpoint, my relationships with those common
sense souls who share my world have no significance since
they, like the remainder of the in—itself, are nothing more
than products of my own mental operations. If, however, I
can demonstrate the necessity for there to be what Sartre
calls the Other; that is, a separate subjective entity,

then I can reconstitute a universe which exists outside my
own consciousness. Unless this problem of solipsism can

be resolved, educational theory is restricted to the advocacy
Of the application of common sense; not a bad idea, except

that common sense in this case is too vulnerable to such

 

 

influences as l
emotion, and p]
In his
gsigg, Sartr
Solipsism." H
places the ego
to all other e
ness is consti
becomes aware
existents witl
dance that otl
if consciousne
thrown back i:
folding with
able from the

StatuS . "2 Sa

which Dewey In
effect: is nc
ot

%~ 1

A few

acknow1edge s

818111 and 00m

\

Jea:

‘ F0rre
Neonday

trans
The

3
Ibi

 

75

influences as whim, persuasion, accidents, imagination,
emotion, and physiology.

In his philosophical essay, The Transcendence of

 

the Ego, Sartre attempted an escape from the "reef of
Solipsism." He maintained that the Husserlian notion which

places the ego in consciousness also oppresses consciousness

 

to all other existents. In effect, for Husserl, conscious—
ness is constitutive of the world, and the fact that it
becomes aware of a structure of relationships between

existents within that world hardly can be accepted as evi—

 

 

dance that other iis inhabit the world. On the other hand,
if consciousness is emptied of its content, and the i is
thrown back into the world where it must exist on an equal
footing with all other existents, "solipsism becomes unthink-
able from the moment that the i no longer has a privileged

2 Sartre concludes the argument with a statement

status."
which Dewey might well have applauded. He writes, "My i, in

effect, is no more certain for consciousness than the I of
3

 

other men. It is only more intimate."

A few years later in Being and Nothingness he

 

acknowledges the weakness of this attempt at refuting solip—

sism and contrives a new argument. He states the case

 

2Jean-Paul Sartre, The Transcendance of the Ego,
trans. Forrest Williams and Robert Kirkpatrick (New York:
The Noonday Press, 1957), p. 104.

 

31bid.

 

for abandonim
clearly :

Formerly

refuting I
Transcend
since I 11
nothing r
to the Qt
that the

less and

bit to so
Even if 0
other the
transcend
that my a
the exist
cendental
SOlipSisn
cendental
by the ex
0f the SE

In tl
W.
b0th fail in
posits the 01
world and the
through a pn
isa'represe:
knowledge Wh
other: hOWev
pmbability-
he realiSt

establish th

\

4
Hillel E J66

p.235 ' Bar

76

for abandoning his first refutation of solipsism quite
clearly:

Formerly I believed that I could escape solipsism by
refuting Husserl‘s concept of the existence of the
Transcendental "Ego." At that time I thought that

since I had emptied my consciousness of its subject,
nothing remained there which was privileged as compared
to the Other. But actually although I am still persuaded
that the hypothesis of a transcendental subject is use-
less and disastrous, abandoning it does not help one

bit to solve the question of the existence of Others.
Even if outside the empirical Ego there is nothing

other than the consciousness of that Ego——that is, a
transcendental field without a subject——the fact remains
that my affirmation of the Other demands and requires
the existence beyond the world of a similar trans—
cendental field. Consequently the only way to escape
solipsism would be here again to prove that my trans-
cendental consciousness is in its very being, affected
by the extra—mundane existence of other consciousnesses
of the same type.

In the discussion which he presents in Being and
Nothingness, Sartre points out that idealism and realism
both fail in attempting to escape solipsism. The realist
posits the Other much as he would any other object in his
world and then goes on to identify this object as Other
through a process of analogy. The appearance of the Other
iS a representation which has features analogous to the
knowledge which I have of myself. The existence of the
Other, however, can never achieve more than some degree of
Probability——it remains nothing more than a hypothesis.
The realist ultimately must turn to idealism in order to

establish the existence of the Other. In order for the

 

4Jean—Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness, trans.
Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956),
P. 235.

 

 

 

idealist to es
resort to a re
ship between a
depend upon tl
external. Boc'
aschairs and
demands the "a.
the Other see]
ultimate thir.
he issue of -
SUbjects rema
Centric predi
are between m
Behav
eeternal rela
"brackets" ar
directly obse
A Psycho:

like the
SoliPSisr

the prOblem .

Sart

r9801ving th

that my re 1a

of know
Edge
\

5
Ibi

77

idealist to establish the existence of the Other, he must
resort to a relationship of exteriority. The relation—
ship between a knowing subject and the Other (since it must
depend upon the relationship of one body to another) is
external. Bodies are externally related in the same way

as chairs and tables——the indifference of externality
demands the "third man theme." Ultimately the existence of
the Other seems to call for an appeal to God, God the
ultimate third man. However, God as witness does not settle
the issue of externality. As long as relations between
subjects remain external, there is no escape from the ego—
centric predicament, regardless of whether these relations
are between man and man or man and God.

Behaviorist psychology, for example, is based on
external relations, and it must proceed by placing in
"brackets" any element of psychic activity which is not
directly observable. Sartre writes:

A psychology which wants to be exact and objective,
like the "behaviorism" of Watson, is really only
solipsism as a working hypothe51s.
Unless one is content to work with a psychology of objects,
the problem of solipsism must be bridged.

Sartre believes that the primary difficulty in
resolving the problem of solipsism has sprung from the fact
that my relation to the Other has been characterized as one

Of knowledge to knowledge rather than one of being to being.

 

51bid., p. 229.

 

 

 

 

   
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  

Husserl made
Hegel was mis
identity) kno
existence of
anything whic
through negat
of the Other,
external.

Moreo
an internal r

In other word

reciprocal ne
human-realiti
until a spiri
Although any
psychological
solitary Oth<
which is out:
ascounting.
There ca
to the 0
We do no
numberin

pure and
can be a

taneous

78

Husserl made the mistake of measuring being by knowledge;
Hegel was mistaken in identifying (in the sense of logical
identity) knowledge and being. In Sartre's View, the
existence of the Other is revealed through negation much as
anything which stands outside consciousness is revealed
through negation. However, in the problem of the existence
of the Other, the negation must be internal rather than
external.

Moreover, the relation between me and the Other is
an internal relation of reciprocity; therefore, a totality.
In other words, the for—itself of the Other has nihilated
me at the same time that I, as a for—itself, have nihilated
him. But the totality contained in the terms of this
reciprocal negation is a detotalized totality. Thus, these
human—realities are not linked together one after another
until a spiritual communion has unified all human souls.
Although any number of human beings may be tied together
psychologically, the conflict or tension which reveals a
solitary Other is a relationship of for—itself to Other
which is ontologically prior to such external relationships
as counting. Sartre writes:

There can be no question of viewing this opposition

to the Other in terms of a pure numerical determination.
We do not have two or several consciousnesses here;
numbering supposes an external witness and is the

pure and simple establishment of exteriority. There

can be an Other for the For-itself6only in an spon—
taneous and prenumerical negation.

 

6Ibid., p. 284.

 

 

 

 

    
  
  
 
   
  
  
     
  
  
  

Manking, then,
nor is a univ
On the contra
human existen

Consc'
is my existen

of the Other

existence
that is,
which is
of being
hension
facticit
facticit
theless
i.e., in
The encounter
we are not li
Sartr
the Other's e
certain as m:
about which ‘
tence of myS
no new conje

existence of

a proof but

 

79

Manking, then, is not a "synthetic unity" of individuals;
nor is a universal consciousness possible in this View.
On the contrary, it is possible to conceive of a solitary
human existence.
Consciousness is not constitutive of the Other, nor
is my existence dependent upon the Other. The appearance
of the Other in the world is a contingent event:
We encounter the Other; we do not constitute him. And
if this fact still appears to us in the form of a
necessity, yet it does not belong with those "con-
ditions of the possibility of our experience" or—-if
you prefer——with ontological necessity. If the Other's
existence is a necessity, it is a "contingent necessity";
that is, it is of the same type as the factual necessity
which is imposed on the cogity. If the Other is capable
of being given to us, it is by means of a direct appre—
hension which leaves to the encounter its character as
facticity, just as the cogito itself leaves all its
facticity to my own thought, a facticity which never—
theless shares in the apodicity of the cogito itself——
i.e., in its indubitability.

The encounter with the Other is a fact of my experience, but

we are not linked together in perpetuity.

Sartre has not refuted solipsism through a proof of
the Other's existence. The existence of the Other is as
certain as my own. One can validate or invalidate an object
about which new evidence can be accumulated, but the exis—
tence of myself and the Other is a circumstance about which
no new conjectures can be advanced. One does not prove the

existence of the self or the Other——Descartes' proof is not

a Proof but an affirmation.

 

7Ibid., p. 250.

 

 

 

 

 

..a; are! .~ I14-

.-_'u¢. f-a. :‘ crew...” .

 

object but as

he attempts t
myself, I esc

on the Other

a "look. "

 

Th
is not only t
solipsism, bu
which he buil
In 1'
the Other, Sa
significance
philosophy.
relationship ,
need to under
terms of coni
spiritual cox
ship, then tl
also be base
teacher and

eratively Se

beginning to

 

80

I become aware of the Other's existence, not as an
object but as a subject. I realize his presence each time
he attempts to objectify me. Unless I choose to degrade
myself, I escape objectivity at the moment I turn my gaze
on the Other and destroy his subjectivity through render—
ing him object. Although the for—itself of the Other is
outside my immediate experience, I, nevertheless, experience
the Other's factual necessity each time he fastens me with
a "look." This reciprocal tension between human—realities
is not only the basis on which Sartre resists the notion of
solipsism, but it is also the fundamental relationship on
which he builds his entire theory of human intercourse.

In resisting solipsism and affirming the existence of
the Other, Sartre has developed ideas which are of distinct
significance for a theory of curriculum based on his
philosophy. The concept of conflict as the basic human
relationship, for example, calls attention to the teacher's
need to understand the social dynamics of his classroom in
terms of conflict rather than in terms of a potential
spiritual communion. If conflict is the basic human relation-
ship, then the teacher's relations with his students will
also be based on interpersonal tension. How, then, can
teacher and students work together productively toward coop—
eratively selected goals if they are confined from the very
beginning to a relationship of conflict rather than commun—

ity? An answer to this question will be attempted later.

 

    

- JAN". ’1.- fi‘fiiw- abut-sewage... ..

.3». - .4

 

 

 

    

 

This

personal rela
Other cannot
Frequently, t
that the stud
Sartre's View
student--obje
his gaze upon
the teacher.
simply repres

relationships

Thus
has been conf
Epistemology ,
other problem

The :‘
the possibil:
is it possib;
world which
the world?
incorrectly r
ditional and
to this obje

We know

81

This reciprocal tension which characterizes inter—
personal relations also calls attention to the fact that the
Other cannot be finally regarded as either subject or object.
Frequently, the implication is stated in educational theory
that the student should not be treated as an object. In
Sartre's view, however, one cannot escape objectifying the
student-—objectification results each time the teacher turns
his gaze upon him. And, in turn, the student will objectify
the teacher. These are not damaging occurrences. They
simply represent the necessary context of man—to-man

relationships.

The Possibility of Knowledge

 

Thus far the discussion of the problem of knowledge
has been confined to Sartre's argument against solipsism.
Epistemology, or knowledge theory, however, also concerns
other problems.

The initial problem of all epistemology concerns
the possibility of knowing anything at all. In other words,
is it possible for man to achieve an understanding of the
world which squares absolutely with what is out there in
the world? Sartre might reply that this states the problem
incorrectly, that it loads the dice on the side of tra—
ditional and biased ways of looking at the question. It is
to this objection that he seems to refer when he writes:

We know that there is not a for—itself on the one hand

and a world on the other as two closed entities for
which we must subsequently seek some explanation as

 

 

 

 

 

"thises"

In th
pointed out t
to being star
of course, is
knowledge. F
not to ground
sciousness.
mention once
the question
metaphysical
"how“ there c
In a sense, h
Being and Not
and to answer

genuine knowl

At t]

cendence , “ it

Since th‘
the barn
the in-l

82

to how they communicate. The for—itself is a relation
to the world. The for-itself, by denying that it is
being, makes there be a world, and by surpassing this
negation toward its own possibilities it reveals the
"thises" as instrumental—things.

In the early stages of the quest for being, Sartre
pointed out that any theory which posits knowledge as prior
to being starts from an untenable premise. All knowledge,
of course, is consciousness; but not every consciousness is
knowledge. For Sartre, the first concern of philosophy is
not to ground knowledge, but to ground the being of con—
sciousness. Perhaps it is appropriate at this point to
mention once again that Sartre is not attempting to answer
the question of "why" there is consciousness; this is a
metaphysical question. His concern is with the question of
"how" there can be consciousness of the world of being.

In a sense, his entire essay on phenomenological ontology,

Being and Nothingness, is devoted to answering this question

 

and to answering the epistemological query concerning how

genuine knowledge is possible.

The Origin of Knowledge

 

At the beginning of a chapter entitled, "Trans-
cendence," in Being and Nothingness, Sartre asks:
Since the in-itself is what it is, how and why does

the being of the for-itself have to be a knowledge of
the in—itself? And what in general is knowledge?9

81bid., p. 306. 9Ibid., p. 172.

 

 

 

In the pages v
epistemologice
and we know f1
itself alone ‘
to being whici
As p0
idealist and
ing a relatio
of objectivit
existing o_u’_c_
waiting in a]
uPOIl a subjec
Which wishes
agency 0f su]
both idealis1
is only Bein
that unity,
be Considere
exist indepe
is the mam.
conSCiOUSnes
The
since it can
PresenCe of

is no ab
Str
\

10I

 

 

83

In the pages which follow, he spins out his answer to the
epistemological question concerning the origin of knowledge,
and we know from the very start that, “it is in the for—
itself alone that we must look for the key to that relation
10

to being which we call . . . knowing."

As pointed out previously, Sartre rejects both the

 

idealist and realist solutions to the problem of establish—
ing a relationship between an isolated subject and a world
of objectivity. He could not conceive of the world as
existing out there independently of anyone's knowing it,
waiting in all its instrumental complexity to affect or act
upon a subject. Neither could he accept a point of View
which wishes to construct the world out there through the
agency of subjective elements. Sartre's View, which makes

both idealism and realism superflous, contends that there

 

is only Being, and that knower and known represent modes of
that unity. The knower, represented by consciousness, may
be considered as an abstraction since consciousness cannot
exist independently of that which it is presence to. This
is the meaning of the principle, "Consciousness is always
consciousness of something.“

The known may also be looked upon as an abstraction
since it cannot be grasped as phenomena except through the
presence of consciousness to it. However, being-in-itself

is no abstraction; as previously indicated it is, and it
___________________

10

Ibid.

 

is what it is.
undifferentiat
emerges from t
rends it asunc'
gence of the i
being-in-itsel

two modes of 1

That
concept of le
also clear th
ally Psycholc
kTlOirJledge, 1
detotalized-t
as 391119. bui
its two aSpe(
Being‘fol‘it:
realized thr.
therefore, t
either on id
relationship
rejected.
0th Twist St
between COng
the goal of

IS the Char‘

84

is what it is. It is an undifferentiated plenitude, and
undifferentiated plenitude it remains, until consciousness
emerges from the depths of Being like a Polaris missile and
rends it asunder. In no sense, however, should the emer-
gence of the for—itself be thought of as constitutive of
being—in—itself. What kind of relationship between these

two modes of Being is knowledge?

Education and Knowledge

 

That curriculum theory embraces as a subtopic the
concept of learning is a rather obvious conclusion. It is
also clear that a theory of learning while, perhaps, basic-
ally psychological in structure implies also a theory of
knowledge. In Sartre's View the knowledge situation is a
detotalized—totality, which as a quasi—totality is expressed
as Being, but as a detotalized—totality it is expressed in
its two aspects as being—in—itself and being-for~itself.
Being—for-itself, i.e., consciousness, and being—in—itself as
realized through phenomena are not two isolated substances;
therefore, the traditional theories of learning which, based
either on idealism or realism, attempt to establish external
relationships between a subject and an object must be
rejected. A theory of learning based on Sartre's philos—
Ophy must start with the principle that the relationship
between consciousness and the phenomenon is internal. If
the goal of learning is the acquisition of knowledge, what

is the character of knowledge and knowing in Sartre's View?

 

 

Sartre

ll

edge. " In c

credit deducti
to quarrel wit
lishing knowle
devices for de
particular ini
be equated wi'
tion is a phe;
very close to
cant differen
ence of the p
to the presen

If someor
Others, t
"In Persc
0f the t}
ceding c1
But we he
by itsel;
ekStatic:
‘FOmpelie.
Intuitioj
thlng.12

Int

the Ego, For

intuition ir

l
lli

 

 

85

Intuition

 

Sartre holds that, "There is only intuitive knowl—

edge."11

In contending this, he does not purpose to dis-
credit deductive or inductive reasoning; he would not wish

to quarrel with Dewey's experimentalist pattern for estab-

 

lishing knowledge. He would look upon all of these as
devices for delivering consciousness to the door of a
particular intuition. Intuition in this sense should not
be equated with some flash of recognition. Sartre's intui-
tion is a phenomenological term, and he means by it something
very close to Husserl's meaning, but with one very signifi—
cant difference: For Husserl, intuition refers to the pres—
ence of the phenomenon to consciousness; for Sartre it refers
to the presence of consciousness to the phenomenon:
If someone asks for a definition of intuition, Husserl
will reply, in agreement with the majority of philos-
Ophers, that it is the presence of the thing (Sache)
"in person: to consciousness. Knowledge therefore is
of the type of being which we described in the pre-
ceding chapter under the title of "presence to . . . ."
But we have established that the in-itself can never
by itself be presence. Being-present, in fact, is an
ekstatic mode of being of the for-itself. We are then
compelled to reverse the terms of our definition:
intuition is the presence of consciousness to the
thing.
In their translation of Sartre's The Transcendence of
the Ego, Forrest Williams and Robert Kirkpatrick devote a

three and one-half page note to an explication of the term

intuition in its phenomenological sense as contrasted with

¥

llIbid. lzlbid.

 

 

 

 

 

its meaning in
The concluding
relevance for
The notior
necessari]
Tet the pi
inquiry m1
ogist, for
some of ti
psycholog:
Intui'

that consciou
This somethin
knower to kno
lated. Worse
Consciousness
The act of re
were aimed sq
In Se

to become cor
dyad“the re:
becomes refl‘
0n referS to
the refle C te
knowledge, 1
Circuit. Th
to something

1
3J6

glans. Forre
he Noon day

86

its meaning in traditional British and American philosophy.
The concluding statements of this note have particular
relevance for our concern with Knowledge. They write:
The notion of intuition in phenomenology does not
necessarily imply the notion of certain knowledge.
Yet the primary mode of evidence in any cognitive
inquiry must be intuitive, according to the phenomenol—
ogist, for to learn, one must at the very least confront
some of the objects in question, e.g., physical things,
psychological states, number, principles of logic.1
Intuition, then, is a concomitant of the principle
that consciousness must always be consciousness of something.
This something is an important link in the relationship of
knower to known. Without it, consciousness would be iso—
lated. Worse, without a "something" for consciousness to be
consciousness of——, self—consciousness would be impossible!
The act of reflection would be as empty as if two mirrors
were aimed squarely at each other with nothing intervening!
In Sartre's terminology, the effort of consciousness
to become consciousness of self results in "the phantom
dyad——the reflection—reflecting." When consciousness
becomes reflective, as in the game of mirrors, the reflected-
on refers to the reflecting, and the reflecting refers to
the reflected—on. If reflection is to be productive of
knowledge, it must be more than this infinite and empty

circuit. The reflected—on must be reflected as a relation

to something outside itself, something which it is not.

 

13Jean—Paul Sartre, The Transcendance of the Ego,
trans. Forrest Williams and Robert Kirkpatrick (New York:
The Noonday Press, 1957), p. 113.

 

 

 

 

The ref lected-
existent inclr

doubt. In alI

Sartrw
ence as the f
Sartre, this
specific enti
remainder of
or the PSYChc

To ur.
forms of nege
hegation is ;
empirical exI
“011 Detroit,
which can be
the dEtermin.
Crete facts
the Statemen
two beings,

however, pee

87

The reflected—on may be consciousness of any transcendent
existent including its own states; e.g., anger, love,

doubt. In all of this, the method remains that of intuition.

Internal and External Negations

 

Sartre has written, "The original relation of pres—
ence as the foundation of knowledge is negative."14 For
Sartre, this is a necessary and sufficient condition for a
specific entity to be theoretically split off from the
remainder of Being, whether in the epistemological sense
or the psychological.

To understand this clearly we need to examine two

forms of negation——internal.and external. An external

negation is quite simply a negative judgment drawn from

 

empirical experience. For example, the statement, "Lansing,
not Detroit, is the capital of Michigan," is a determination
which can be made by any informed student of geography, and
the determination does not change in any fashion the con—
crete facts about these two cities. The negative facet of
the statement establishes a kind of connection between the
two beings, but it is external to both. When a child,
however, peers ruefully at his report card on which con—
ventional marks spell out a story of failure, and when he

confesses to himself, "I am not a good student," the

 

14Jean—Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness, trans.
Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956),
P. 174.

 

 

negation is i]
in this case,
effect is not
and it is sig:
determination
does not belo
the for-itsel
"Knowing belo
that the for-

it knows. "16

In or
K is necesse
Prior to the

hOWQVer ’ th i

is, the know
which the kn
token, the f
30 that it c
being‘in~it5
theses the j
for-itSelf V

more nearly

\

l
5I]

l
7I?

88

negation is internal. It expresses itself as an absence;

in this case, the absence of academic achievement. The
effect is not external to the being involved; it is internal,
and it is significant for an entire sequence of subsequent
determinations which the child will make. Internal negation
does not belong to being—in—itself, but it is a product of
the for—itself,15 like negation in general. Sartre says,
"Knowing belongs to the for—itself alone, for the reason

that the for—itself can appear to itself as not being what

it knows.“16

Transcendence

In ordinary negation, e.g., a cube is not a sphere,
it is necessary that the terms of the negation must exist
prior to the negation. In the relation of knower to known,
however, this is not the case. Knowledge is negation; that
is, the knower or for—itself is the nothingness through
which the known is revealed as being there. By the same
token, the for—itself does not first exist as unextended
so that it can later enter into a relation with an extended
being—in—itself. If it were possible to place in paren—
theses the idea of extension in the in—itself, then the
for-itself would be neither extended nor unextended, but

more nearly aspacial.l7 Sartre holds that extension is a

 

lSIbid., p. 175. lerid.

l7rbid., p. 179.

 

 

 

.1 T33-

 

transcendent I
in the proces
extension. R
realize“ is t
being and kno
thing, to mak
live it, to m
refers to thi
itself while

interpreted,

bOY 1% the
through a ne<_
trapper and 1
the ope—ratio:
know that it
row: through
exists as no
row. In eit

negation,

 

89

transcendent determination which the for—itself must make

in the process of apprehending itself as not being that
extension. Relatedly, he holds that the expression "to
realize" is the best characterization of the relation between
being and knowing. To realize means to give being to a

thing, to make it real, and at the same time, it means to

18

live it, to make it be with my own being. Transcendence

refers to this realizing negation which reveals being-in-
itself while determining being—for-itself. Operationally
interpreted, Sartre could be saying that the fourth grade
boy kngws the project of the Hudson's Bay fur trapper
through a negative determination which makes him not be the
trapper and his project. More difficult to understand is
the Operational revelation which makes the fourth grade boy
know that it is he who occupies the second seat in the third
row, through a negating consciousness or for-itself which
exists as not being the occupant of the second seat, third
row. In either case, knowledge comes from an internal

negation.

Projects, Instruments, and Education
To be consistent with Sartre's theory of knowledge,
a theory of curriculum should give particular attention to
the instrumental character of the world and the character

Of human reality as project. Anything which is

‘

l8Ibid., p. 180.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

differentiate
possesses a q
consists of v
tools. Whate
tains are to
painted into
past, it joir
scientific fc
We he
PrOiect; thai
into the futt
the for-itsel
t0 the world
Thus man mov.
appear as ta
It w
the school p
for acceptan
projects of
Whil
deVeloped me
Sartre' that
for the Cur]
tools for t1

with Sartre

9O

differentiated out from that mass called being-in—itself
possesses a quality of utensility. Actually, the world
consists of vast complexes of instrumentality. Things are
tools. Whatever is at hand is for the use of man. Moun—
tains are to be climbed, to be tunneled through, to be
painted into a landscape. As experience slips into the
past, it joins the in—itself; therefore, language, history,
scientific formulae—-all ideas——are tools.

We have seen that man, according to Sartre, is a
project; that he lives his life through projecting himself
into the future. He projects himself for the reason that
the for—itself is lack. The relationship of the for—itself
to the world is that of a presence to lacks or absences.
Thus man moves ceaselessly forward to fill these gaps which
appear as tasks to be performed.

It would seem, then, that the tasks which constitute
the school program would have the greatest possibilities
for acceptance if they are closely related to the individual
projects of children.

While the pragmatic philosophy which John Dewey
developed may not square with the philosophy of Jean-Paul
Sartre, that facet of their educational theory which called
for the curriculum to be organized around tasks and the
tools for the achievement of those tasks seems compatible

with Sartre's theory of knowledge.

 

 

 

In a ‘
knowledge at
motivation, a
dom. Every c
that every ac
intends? Eve
related to my
This project
0f myself. I
argument, it
Choice is at
choices whic?
mYSEIE as ef
demands of m
nificant and
of my peers
qudcy. What

Man is 1
himSelf‘
free. 1
made~t0.
reality
Briefly, ma:
absolute Va
Whom esSenc

absolute Sy

19I

 

91

Choice and Appropriation

In a word, what is it that propels man to seek for

knowledge at some level of empirical effort? For Sartre,

motivation, act, and end constitute the continuum of free—

dom. Every consciousness intends something. It can be said

that every act is intentional. What is it that the act

intends? Every action intends an end which is integrally

related to my project, a project which is freely chosen.
This project is chosen on the ground of an original choice

of myself. While this is not the place to review the full

argument, it may be helpful to indicate that whereas the

choice is at bottom ontological it is made manifest in

choices which may be empirically described. I may choose

myself as effeminate and unable to face up to the masculine

demands of my environment. I may choose myself as insig—

nificant and defensive in a life situation where the power

of my peers seems to cast in bold relief my personal inade—

quacy. Whatever I choose, I choose freedom. Sartre writes:

Man is free because he is not himself but presence to
himself. The being which is what it is can not be
free. Freedom is precisely the nothingness which is
made—to-be at the heart of man and which forces human—

reality to make itself instead of to be.
Briefly, man‘s basic project is to ground being in the
absolute value, being—in—itself——for-itself. Only God, in

Whom essence and existence combine, can achieve this

absolute syncretism; thus, man is a desire to be God, and

 

lgIbid., p. 440.

 

 

 

it is in this
less passion.
Obvio
is ontologica
of external I
make them in
choose not tc
demned to be
man's lack o:
0f being thrw
and doing.

lengthy essa
"Having,
Tories 0
types of
m0dality
Through what
Categories a
“M or g
reduced to I
that having
What Can be
In 1

creatOr an d
tbought whi
This though
\
20I

92

 

it is in this sense that Sartre concludes, "Man is a use-

less passion."20

Obviously, man cannot escape his liberty. Freedom

is ontological; empirical or social freedom consists only

of external relationships, whatever choices I may make, I

make them in complete freedom. As Sartre points out, to

choose not to choose is still to have chosen; man is con-

demned to be free! It is desire which gives expression to

man's lack of being, and he attempts to achieve the unity
of being through the existential subcategories of having

and doing. Sartre opens the fourth and final part of his

lengthy essay, Being and Nothingness, with the statement:

"doing," and "being" are the cardinal cate-
Under them are subsumed all
Knowing, for example, is a

"Having,"
gories of human reality.
types of human conduct.
modality of having.
Through what he calls the ontological reduction these three
categories are first reduced to two, being and having, since

making or doing is only transitional. Finally, having is
reduced to being, since under careful analysis it turns out
that having is nothing more than appropriation of being.
What can be said of knowing as a form of appropriation?

In knowing as in the work of art, I am both the
creator and the professor, and as in the work of art, this

thought which I form pursues its own independent existence.

This thought is I as I relate to the world, and it is also

 

2° ZlIbid., p. 431.

Ibid., p. 615.

 

 

not me since
i that this syn
is meant by t
I There
appropriative
culture to pc
the knowing I
from its pri:
treasure to -
Every in
one brin.
obstacle
away the
0f Diana
a hunt.
tist is
who Viol
By takin
we shall
Perhaps
Sake of
Either s
with the
One devours
disgorges i1
that Someone
The
objeCt with.
PhOr, -
1%
objeCt must

dSSimilated

2
2]

 

 

93

not me since it reveals itself to me. Sartre maintains

that this synthesis of the self and the not—self is what

is meant by the term mine.
There is also an element of enjoyment in this

appropriative act. Sartre draws on the imagery of western

culture to point out the allusions to sexual activity in

the knowing process. The object of knowledge is delivered

from its pristine state almost as the virgin gives up her

treasure to the probings of the male:

Every investigation implies the idea of nudity which
one brings out into the open by clearing away the
obstacles which cover it, just as Actaeon clears

away the branches so that he can have a better View
of Diana at her bath. More than this, knowledge is

a hunt. Bacon called it the hunt of Pan. The scien—
tist is the hunter who surprises a white nudity and

who violates by looking at it . . . .
By taking this idea of the hunt as a guiding thread,
we shall discover another symbol of appropriation,
perhaps still more primitive: a person hunts for the
sake of eating. Curiosity in an animal is always
either sexual or alimentary. To know is to devour

with the eyes.

One devours books, digests articles, browses in the library,

disgorges information, and less commonly one hears it said

that someone has "mental indigestion."
The for—itself, however, wishes to assimilate the
object without really digesting it. To transpose a meta—

phor, it wants to eat its cake and have it, too. The

object must remain undigested. If the for—itself truly

assimilated its object, the in—itself would disappear and

 

221bid., p. 578.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

there would b
impossible si
the in-itself
Sartr
undigested is
the lower, it
equipped wit]
What iS :
less impl
beneath
This is
the smoo
is what

reforms
has pier

She must be
renewed. I
identity as
of absorptic
itself--in_.-
a Situation

one may EXpr

Knowled

a Super
from af

the est

of that
thing.
when I
as a t}.

\
23,

94

there would be only the for-itself. This is illogical and
impossible since the for—itself can be only as presence to
the in—itself.

Sartre notes that the symbolism of the ingested—
undigested is closely related to basic sexual drives. For
the lover, it is important that the loved one should be
equipped with thighs as smooth as marble:

What is smooth can be taken and felt but remains no
less impenetrable, does not give way in the least
beneath the appropriative caress——it is like water.
This is the reason why erotic descriptions insist on
the smooth whiteness of a woman's body. Smooth——it
is what re—forms itself under the caress, as water
reforms itself in its passage over the stone which
has pierced it.
She must be possessed—-"had" in slang terms——but perpetually
renewed. I desire the Other to become me without losing
identity as Other; I wish to achieve through the paradox
of absorption without dissolution the ideal value, for—
itself——in—itself. Thus, Sartre sees in scientific research
a situation in which through appropriation of an object
one may experience the promise of becoming in—itself while
remaining for—itself:
Knowledge is at one and the same time a penetration and
a superficial caress, a digestion and the contemplation
from afar of an object which will never lose its form,
the production of a thought by a continuous creation and
the establishment of the total objective independence
of that thought. The known object is my thought as
thing. This is precisely what I profoundly desire

when I undertake my research—-to apprehend my thought
as a thing and the thing as my thought. The syncretic

 

23Ibid., p. 579.

 

 

 

 

relation
such dive
appropria
matter hc
of approp
The acquisiti
manifestatior
as we have se
is a direct e
1g simultan:
A thv

ing. and a t:
vation. Sar
the remainde
more to avoi
Man's strivi
Simply to ti
ihdiwidual' g
reality is n
has Pointed
b“ he has 1
course, he 1
as a metaph:
that We hav.

\
24

95

relation which provides the basis for the ensemble of
such diverse tendencies can be only a relation of
appropriation. That is why the desire to know, no
matter how disinterested it may appear, is a relation
of appropriation.

The acquisition of knowledge, then, is simply one clear

manifestation of man's desire to appropriate things, and

as we have seen, man's compulsive need to possess things

is a direct expression of his futile quest to be and not to

be, simultaneously.

A theory of curriculum requires a theory of learn—
ing, and a theory of learning requires a theory of moti—
vation. Sartre's theory of motivation is consistent with
the remainder of his philosophy. He has attempted once
more to avoid the positions both idealism and materialism.
Man's striving toward future objectives cannot be attributed
simply to tissue needs; nor can it be accounted for by the
individual's participation in some universal idea. Human
reality is motivated by the desire to become God. Sartre
has pointed out a motivation for man's acquisitive tendencies,
but he has failed to answer the question of "why.“ Of
course, he has openly avoided the "why" or what he regards
as a metaphysical question. The fact remains, however,
that we have no universally accepted basis for knowing why

human reality should demand all of this and Heaven, too.

 

 

24Ibid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

No dc
knowledge lea
out. An epi:
grips squarei
edge of such
same appeara
universe phe
certainty th
ance with th
world meanin
absolute Trr
accept tradi
ence, or pre
dismisses t1
reality,

To :
man's livin.
know1edge i
man's invol
Sib“ity to
Sartre does
does he Suh
that absolu

p01“ Out t

96

“£2211

No doubt this discussion of Sartre's theory of
knowledge leaves much too much unsaid. One omission stands
out. An epistemology is incomplete if it does not come to
grips squarely with the question of truth. Is there knowl—
edge of such a nature that it provides substantially the
same appearance to all men at all times? Are there in the
universe phenomena on which we can depend with such absolute
certainty that we may confidently plan our lives in accord—
ance with them? Is it possible for man to discover in the
world meanings which in their stability can qualify as
absolute Truths? Sartre, of course, would be unwilling to
accept traditional theories of truth—-correspondence, coher—
ence, or pragmatic. This is not to say, however, that he
dismisses the possibility for there to be a truth for human
reality.

To seek for a truth, however, which is independent of
man's living it is the ultimate in futility. Genuine
knowledge is possible; but it is knowledge of existence, of
man's involvement in a world for which he has the respon-
sibility to accord meaning at every succeeding moment.
Sartre does not wish to imply that truth is relative; nor
does he subscribe to the point of View of skepticism——
that absolute truth is unattainable. He merely wishes to

point out that meanings are "man made“ and that absolute

truth can be

 

ofthe world

We can 5
ness; be
weighs d
ally ref
there is
that lan
this bei
This is
and nonk
make knc
I think
knowledg
in order
necessai
as it is
know; a]
is" woui
- . . K1
lute, a:
truth, .
nothing

 

 

If

 

 

 

 

and if he s
intellectua

truth for c

 

qualifies k
Strictly hr
reality, b1
making obje
human‘realz
ings are a
ation: and

inStrument

25

 

 

97

truth can be ascribed to Being but not to the objectivity

of the world. Sartre writes:

We can see the very particular position of conscious—
ness; being is everywhere, opposite me, around me; it
weighs down on me, it besieges me, and I am perpetu—
ally referred from being to being: that table which is
there is being and nothing more; that rock, that tree,
that landscape—-being and nothing else.

I want to grasp
this being and I no longer find anything but myself.

This is because knowledge, intermediate between being
and nonbeing, refers me to absolute being if I want to
make knowledge subjective and refers me to myself when
I think to grasp the absolute. The very meaning of
knowledge is what it is not and is not what it is; for
in order to know being such as it is, it would be
necessary to be that being. But there is this "such
as it is" only because I am not the being which I

know; and if I should become it, then the "such as it
is" would vanish and could no longer even be thought.

. . . Knowledge puts us in the presence of the abso—
lute, and there is a truth of knowledge. But this
truth, although releasing to us nothing more and 2
nothing less than the absolute, remains strictly human.

If truth for Sartre is the truth of absolute being
and if he seems to be an irrationalist or an anti—
intellectualist by virtue of not attempting to establish a

truth for objective reality, it should be recalled that he

qualifies his stand by the reminder that truth, "remains
strictly human." Truth in this sense is the truth of human

reality, but reason and intellection are concerned with
making objective knowledge instrumental to the project of a

human—reality and not with establishing its truth. Mean-

ings are assigned within the context of an individual situ—

ation, and they are meaningful only in so far as they are

instrumental. Knowledge stands for the presence of the

 

251bid., p. 218.

 

 

 

 

 

 

world to huma
for a truth w
being. The :
reasonably c2
world of pro}
literature, .
human knowle-
abstract, th
deny that th
in treating
enter the wc
hand, can cc
World of cex
the World of
its EXistenc
So I
tiVe world ;
ComPatible l
he regards
ObjECtive W
that the Sn
truth: and

Let

1118 Unique

98

world to human consciousness, and there is no apparent need
for a truth which reaches beyond the truth of absolute
being. The implications for curriculum in this view are
reasonably clear. The world of instrumental knowledge is a
world of probability. Science and technology, history,
literature, and the other traditional classifications of
human knowledge are hypothetical in nature; they are
abstract, theoretical, and probable. Sartre would not
deny that there is often merit in the behavioral sciences
in treating man as an object, but, again, to do so is to
enter the world of probability. Certainty, on the other
hand, can come only from the absolute, from Being. The
world of certainty exists at the level of absolute Being;
the world of probability is the objective world which owes
its existence to the original upsurge of being—for—itself.
So long as the curriculum person treats the objec—
tive world as only hypothetical and probable, his view is
compatible with Sartre's philosophical position. But when
he regards science, technology, or other facets of the
objective world as comprised of certainties, he has denied
that the subjective is the original and only source of
truth, and he is in conflict with Sartre's philosophy.
Let's now turn to Martin Buber's epistemology for

its unique contribution to existential thought.

 

 

 

For 1
sition that
irresolvable
crepancy bet
which one of
dilemma by a
into an alte
other as the
two are in 1
which is not
And it is m
the "betwee:

Thi
the more 11-
t0 the leve

diEilectic c

Acc
tional expe
holds here
ObJ'eCtive .
the Inborn
hands and
to bring h

 

 

99

Buberian Epistemology

 

For many, epistemology begins with the presuppo-
sition that the knowledge question must begin with the
irresolvable duality of idea and reality._ When a dis—
crepancy between the two is suspected, the question followed:
which one of the two is valid? Buber moved outside this
dilemma by accepting the duality, but placing its two poles
into an alternating dialectic in which each affected the
other as the two moved toward a yet unrealized unity. The
two are in relationship with each other, a relationship
which is not only epistemological, but ontological in base.
And it is neither idea nor reality, but the relationship,
the "between," which is our first concern.

This study will deal first with the dialectic on
the more limited level of individual knowledge, then advance
to the level of community knowledge and the "cosmos," the

dialectic of the world—view.

The Individual and His Knowledge
According to Buber, knowledge begins in the rela—

tional experience. As maintained in his ontology, Buber
holds here his principle that relation is prior to the
objective concept. Considered chronologically, we consider
the Inborn Thou of the child. The child first advances his
hands and eyes out into the world about himself, attempting
to bring himself into relation with whatever surrounds him.

"This very movement of the hands will win from a woolly

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Teddy-bear it
(he will) be«
plete body. "
object but a
over against
It is 51
ceives a
relatior
comes fi
saying c
is prodi
have bee
separate
On z
man who, Si]
available i:
as an exten
aSide’ gave
one need to
Age
M911 first j
out of the
com'mn'lcate
tem; of the
\

26

Smith (New

27

100

Teddy—bear its precise form, apparent to the senses, and
(he will) become lovingly and unforgettably aware of a com-

26 This embrace does not give the child an

plete body."
object but a correspondence to what is alive and effective
over against him.
It is simply not the case that the child first per-
ceives an object, then, as it were, puts himself in
relation with it. But the effort to establish relation
comes first . . . second is the actual relation, a
saying of Thou without words. The thing, like the I,
is produced late, arising after the original experiences
have been split asunder and the connecting partners
separated.2
On another occasion, Buber spoke of the primitive
man who, similar to the animal, used whatever material was
available in his situation as a tool or a weapon. It was
as an extension of himself. But then, he set this object
aside, gave it an identity of its own, and retained it from
one need to another.28
Again, Buber theorized on the emergence of language.
Men first found themselves together in situations. Then,
out of the particular nature or event of the situation, they

communicated to each other in one word sentences, the con—

tent of the situation. Finally, the term was retained for

 

. 26Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1958), P. 26.

27Ibid., p. 27.

28Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans.

 

Maurice Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc.,
1965), p. 68.

 

 

 

 

 

use from one
but situatior

The 1
epistemology
individual i
conceptualiz

the curricul

As 6
experience 11
and construc

What he
as an 0]
an orde:
tiVEly;
Store 0

Thi
Buber belie
Stands and
of teacher
a Sense of

The eXistex

Clarity or

29

30
(NEW York .

 

 

101

use from one comparative situation to another. "Not things

but situations are primary."29

The principle remains true throughout Buber's
epistemology: the experience of reality within which the
individual is involved stands prior to the distancing and

conceptualization of that reality. In the terminology of

the curriculum Specialist, process precedes content.

Concepts
As every Thou must become an It, every relational

experience must become a concept. This is the necessary

and constructive path of the development of knowledge.
What he beheld as present, he will have to comprehend
as an object, compare with objects, assign a place in
an order of objects, and describe and analyze objec-

tively; only as an It can it be absorbed into the
store of knowledge.

This is not a regretful, but a developmental step.
Buber believes that general concepts are the most important
stands and supports. He felt, for example, that the task
Of teacher training began by inculcating in the new teacher
a sense of responsibility for concepts and clear speech.
The existence of a community is largely determined by the

clarity or lack of clarity of concepts.

kw—

29Ibid., p. 116.

30Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Walter Kaufmann
(New York: Charles Scribner's and Sons, 1970), P. 90.

 

 

 

In ar
that, especiz
care is give]

I have 1:
terms. J
does not
somethin
thing, I

Mode
exact concep
more concerr

especially 1

t0 the Situa

The
its clarity
ence. The -
POints back
memory of t
and Stabili
also mask t
When one a;
as a true :
event in t2
validity.
Thou of th

as a Sign.
\
31

Friedman (
P. 179.

102

In an interview with Carl Rogers, he complained
that, especially in the field of psychology, too little
care is given to the concept.

I have learned in the course of my life to appreciate
terms. And I think that in modern psychology, this
does not exist in a sufficient measure. When I find
something that is essentially different from another
thing, I want to find a new term.

Modern science sometimes requires the making of new,
exact concepts to express some new factor, but Buber is ever
more concerned that the educator purify the old terms,
especially the basic, great concepts, by carrying them back
to the situational roots from which they were engendered.

The primary value of the concept does not lie in
its clarity but in its ability to lead us back into experi—
ence. The concept, in Buber's imagery, is like a sign which
points back to the experience of the past. It retains the
memory of the past. More, it gives intellectual clarity

and stability to the life—experience before it, but it can
also mask that experience from the eyes of the world. Only
when one approaches it, not as a thing for its own sake, but
as a true sign which leads one to re—encounter the past
event in the present, is the concept able to retain its
validity. The concept is an It form which points to the
Thou of the situation from which it came. If one meets it

as a sign, seeking to meet the experiential knowledge
___________________

Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans. Maurice

 

Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1965),
P. 179.

 

 

\ behind it, t
immediate.

Whoever

fulfills

somethin

But

the Thou ex;

. but as if ii

i is ultimatel

 

( objective c;
thing exter:
Knowled
how mat

how it
has bee
and use

1

for the
eventua

So

1 leading to
( ing the km
deriVed-_mE

but in Per:

to dominate

and t0 mas.

0f reality

\

32
(New York :

 

3E

 

’___7

103

behind it, then that knowledge again becomes present and

immediate.

Whoever unlocks it and beholds it again as present,
fulfills the meaning of that act of knowledge as32
something that is active and actual between men.

But the It concept can easily block the return to
the Thou experience by posing, not as a sign of reality,
but as if it were reality itself. It asserts that reality
is ultimately of the nature of abstract reason or of the
objective category and that it can be understood as some-

thing external, clearly defined, and entirely "objective."

Knowledge can also be pursued by stating: so that is
how matters stand; that is the name of things;

that is
how it is constituted; that is where it belongs. What
has become an It is then taken as an It, experienced
and

used as an It, employed along with other things
for

the project of finding one's way in the world, and
eventually for the project of "conquering" the world.33

So long as the dialectic is observed——experience
leading to the "distanced" concept, and the concept return—
ing the knower back to the experience from which it was

derived——man will continue to grow, not only in knowledge,

but in personality. To the extent that the concept is allowed

to dominate, to squeeze out the primal value of experience
and to masquerade itself as reality rather than as the sign

of reality, to that extent man's knowledge and man himself

E

32Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Walter Kaufmann
(New York: Charles Scribner's and Sons, 1970), p. 90.

33Ibid., p. 91.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

will be dece

Buber' s epis

Mode
of understar
are exact b3
rally, conce
in the comm)
called "the
about them.
Common mean
but cannot
guity or E
tWO use the
the essenti
ambiguity c
not Shared

Ou1
into Presei
abbiguity I
fruitfulne
is 61l'la].0go

Wh
oneself Ca
ontolog-lca

fIOm it: t

104

will be deceived and repressed. This is the heart of

Buber's epistemology.

The Aura

Modern science can manufacture concepts as a medium
of understanding within its limited sphere, concepts that
are exact by definition and without ambiguity. But gene—
rally, concepts are not "established" by men and engendered
in the community out of the human spirit. These concepts,
called "the spoken word," are not exact but have an ambiguity
about them. There is a "remainder" left over between their
common meaning and the experience they attempt to signify
but cannot completely or concisely incorporate. This ambi—
guity or aura becomes problematic in conversation for when
two use the same concept to communicate a common experience,
the essential is carried over well enough, but each holds an
ambiguity or difference based on his own unique experience
not shared by the other.

Out of this aura of conversation occurs——the coming
into presence of the "in between." The overcoming of this
ambiguity leads, not to assimilation, but to the creative
fruitfulness of conversation. The "aura" in epistemology
is analogous to the "in between" of Buber's ontology.

When asked, Buber once remarked that thinking within
oneself cannot be regarded as true dialogue because "the
ontological basic presupposition of conversation is missing

from it: the otherness, or more concretely, the moment of

 

 

 

 

. "34
surpr1se.
unpredictab]
au_na of his

. . . la

tension:

'speaki:

tension

So
moment of 8
true even w
each iconcep
will penetr

The
tension of
Thou will 1
be destroy
Creativity
destrOyed.
0f the Spc
TherEforel
which strj

allow fOr

Friedman
p. 113 .

105

34 The speaker, in genuine conversation, is

surprise."
unpredictable to some degree to his partner because of the
aura of his words.
. . . language by its nature is a system of possible
tensions«—and thinking is just for this reason not a
'speakingswith oneself‘ because it lacks the real
tenSIOn.

So the aura, the between, can be described as a
moment of surprise or a tension. Nor does this cease to be
true even when the two begin by agreeing on a definition of
each concept since the great fact of personal existence
will penetrate even into the definition.

The tension is the source of creativity. If the
tension of ambiguity is too great, the bridge between I and
Thou will not be able to be sustained and conversation will
be destroyed. If the words are too rigidly defined, the
creativity of the conversation will be diminished or even
destroyed. On the au£a_of the concept depends the vitality
of the spoken word and the creativity of the conversation.
Therefore, here again must be sensed the "line of demarcation"

which strives to keep the tension at its optimum height to

allow for its greatest creativity and growth.

 

34Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans. Maurice
Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1965),
P. 113.

 

35Ibid., p. 114.

 

 

 

Scie

I phizing are

in the devei

the essentie

of man. An.

Buber would
What I

tical m

indispe

phenome

knowled
circle

 

The
cision and

learn to p]

 

AnalYSis is

Sc]

i ObServe no
Scholar an
concrete s
remains in
relationsh

the thinks

the limits

As

i a presupm
) \

 

 

106
From Scientific Conceptualization to
Synthesizing Apperception
Science, scholarship, conceptualization, philoso-
phizing are all acceptable, important and necessary steps
in the development of mankind. They are comparative to
the essential step of distancing in the maturation process
of man. And only a critical distortion of the thought of
Buber would find him in contempt of these areas.
What I have just said is not an attack on the analy—
tical method of the human sciences, a method which is
indispensable wherever it furthers knowledge of a
phenomenon without impairing the essentially different
knowledge of its uniqueness that transcends the valid
circle of the method. '

The world of It need not be curtailed since pre-
cision and objectification are necessary, but man must
learn to plunge his work back into the truth of relation.
Analysis is only the gateway, nothing more.

Scholarship and science have a limit; they can
observe nothing beyond their subject—object area. But the
scholar and the scientist may and must look beyond to the
concrete situation. Science observes its own limits, yet
remains installed within the larger, integral, I and Thou
relationship. And so the scientist must avoid the sin of
the thinker of our time who not only refuses to look beyond
the limits of science, but denies all that is beyond.

As the principle of human life is twofold, the one

a presupposition of the other, so the principle of human

\§_—_

3

6Ibid., p. 81.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

knowledge is
ization a p]
experience <
hood relatic
not only sej
giving hims
tify that w
the parts w
of this ste
as to prepa

Cor
Partial and
tation and
Whole of m:
being.

Bu
must be hr
of Wholene
difficulty
Concept tc
Cap‘i‘fltw t
tions; We
Variety 01
the "life‘

routine r.

107

knowledge is two—fold, the first movement of conceptual—
ization a presupposition of the second movements toward an
experience of the wholeness of the world. From his child—
hood relationship to the Inborn Thou, the individual must
not only separate himself from the world over against him,
giving himself distance, but he must, in the process, iden—
tify that world as a thing—for—itself and identify each of
the parts within it. He must conceptualize. The purpose
of this step is the enlargement of the I and the object so
as to prepare for a more profound meeting.

Conceptual—knowledge gives something to man; it is
partial and categorized. It gives him structure, orien-
tation and security. Experiential—knowledge relates to the
whole of man and ontologically changes him in his whole
being.

But to achieve this, the conceptualized elements
must be brought back from objectivity to a new realization
of wholeness and unity in a present meeting. But the
difficulty lies with this second movement from abstract
concept to present reality. We become "adult" and lose the
capacity to sense the hidden presence within the abstrac—
tions; we lose the ability to meet the wholeness in the
Variety of categories; we lose the wonder which perceives
the "life" within so many objects. A planned and controlled

routine replaces real life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Man
enter into :
Epistemolog.
ception.

We may
into re
not wit
parts,
apperce
use of
synthes
a being
Ican do tr
do this on]
relation wj

(Illalities 1

wholeness a

Bu
or relaltiv
between th
exPressibl
remains , u
epistemolc
See that I

in the pre

108

Man must "turn" from the sterile concepts and re—
enter into relation with the life—experience within him.

Epistemologically, he must acquire a synthesizing apper-

 

ception.

We may characterize the act and the work of entering
into relation with the world as such——and, therefore,
not with parts of it, and not with the sums of its
parts, but with it as the world—-as synthesizing
apperception, by which we establish that this pregnant
use of the concept involves the function of unity; by
synthesizing apperception I mean the apperception of

a being as a whole and as a unity. 7

 

I can do this only with the wholeness of my being; I can
do this only by "turning" to the world and stepping into
relation with it. I perceive it, not as an aggregate of

qualities that can be added to at will, but in its genuine

 

wholeness and unity.

Tr_utn
Buber is asked if his concept of truth is absolute
or relative. He responds that his is the "narrow ridge"
between the either—or “where there is no sureness of
expressible knowledge but the certainty of meeting what

38 If we continue to follow his

remains, undisclosed."
epistemology as a paradigm of his basic ontology, we can
see that Buber accepts neither an absolute truth existing

in the present behind apparent contradiction, nor a

 

37Ibid., p. 62.

38Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 184.

 

 

#. ”—

permanent d1
reality. R.
gradually c
yet exist a
in the proc
Eac
"true." Br
signifies a
each time 1
the concep-
within his
idealized
T0
to see his
COncePtual
cOutradict
abode of 1
Order, whe
non‘h dark
and indet.
trine of
B
Isality C
aramble ar
example,

013 c<
the r

109

permanent dualism of relative concepts before an illusive
reality. Rather he proposes a dynamic dualism which is
gradually creative of an undisclosed truth which does not
yet exist and whose face cannot yet be seen, but which is
in the procesw of being realized through each meeting.

Each concept is a sign of a prior reality; it is
"true." But each concept is inadequate to the reality it
signifies and contains an aura of ambiguity. Nevertheless,
each time the Thou of the concept is met in conversation,
the concept is purified and man moves closer to realizing
within his experience the absolute truth who is not an
idealized abstraction but living Presence.

To exemplify Buber's "narrow ridge" it is helpful
to see his response to the basic law of contradiction.
Conceptual—knowledge, he says, stands under the law of
contradiction, while the experiential—knowledge is the
abode of the lived as one experiences it. In the first
order, where truth is turned into abstract logic, A and
non—A dare not dwell together. Here we have determinism
and indeterminism, a doctrine of predestination and a doc—
trine of freedom, each excluding the other.

But in the order of experiential-knowledge, the
reality of life as one lives it, the contraries are insep—
arable and must be embraced in their totality. For
example,

Of course God is the "wholly Other"; but He is also
the wholly Same, the wholly Present. Of course He

 

 

 

 

is the l
throws;
nearer 1
TN
the thing a
not simply
epistemolog
the truth It
turn, is be
person spee
18, means 1
Says what I
saying poi]
0f meaning
meaning-3a
other.

Tr
means fait
tinguished
relation 1
ized: fair
Second, t]

This refe:
\

3
Smith (Ne

4

Friedma
n
p: 119.

 

110

is the Mysterium Tremendum that appears and over-
throws; but He is also the mystery of the self—evident,
nearer to me than my I.

Truth is not conformity between a thing thought and
the thing as being; it is a participation in Being. It is
not simply intellectual, it is personal; it is not simply
epistemological, it is ontological. To say that one speaks
the truth means that one says what he means, and this, in
turn, is based on the integrity of the existence of the
person speaking: ". . . the speaker, because he is who he
is, means what he means, so also because he is who he is, he
says what he means."40 The relation between meaning and
saying points to the relation between the intended unity
of meaning and saying on the one hand, and between the
meaning—saying and the personal existence itself on the
other.

Truth, then, is the etymon of the Hebrews. Etymon
means faithfulness. Three different elements must be dis—
tinguished within it. There must first be faithfulness in
relation to the reality once expressed and now conceptual—
ized, faithfully bearing it to the hearer for re—encounter.
Second, there must be faithfulness to the person addressed.

This refers to the concept of inclusion. "To mean a man

 

39Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1958), p. 79.

. 40Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans, Maurice
Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1965),
p- 119.

 

means nothii

. even "

 

mm must rel
be maintain)
existence.
The hum
pours i
superpe
existen
life-Sp
ness fc
Trr
at the hear
Ceptual km
presence 0:

truet alon.

 

hm Certai

metaPhysic

of the una

 

 

 

 

of Meaning

E)
In hlS im
1t iS as ‘

develoroea
\

 

 

 

111

means nothing less than to stand by him and his insight
. even though at the same time one fundamentally remains
and must remain with oneself."41 Thirdly, faithfulness must
be maintained in relation to the speaker, to his factual
existence.
The human truth of which I speak is not pneuma that
pours itself out from above on a band of man now become
superpersona;: it opens itself to one just in one's
existence as a person. This concrete person, in the
life—space allotted to him, answers with his faithful—
ness for the word that is spoken by him.

Truth, then, is the existential trust which stands
at the heart of Buber's teaching. Its dichotomy of con—
ceptual knowing and experiential—knowing is rooted in the
presence or absence of basic human trust. Existential
trust alone enables man to meet his present situation in
all its concrete nature and receive from it true knowledge.
The certainty which it offers is not the certainty of dogma,
metaphysics, or science, but that of the "holy insecurity"

of the "narrow ridge" where one has no assured continuity

of meaning.

The Knowledge of the Community
Experiential—knowing always comes to man as an "I"
in his individual life—experiences with the other. "But

it is as We, ever again as We, that he has constructed and

developed a world out of his experiences."43 The individual
4lIbid., p. 120. 421bid.

43Ibid., p. 107.

 

 

 

 

“I" always :
engendered «
est develop:
The
the Thou an
extended in
case when c
a way that
this way; v
then on he
before; whe
that from *
ence and b)
All.th
reelpr
thus 1
1t ful
Part 1
they h
Buber desc
ehkindled
right imag
Tl
nor an oh:
the Saying
the I, it
PErSOn Th.

\
4

 

112

"I" always stands in the center, but man's concepts are
engendered out of the community and will reach their great-
est development in the genuine We of community.

The spoken word begins in the "between" of the I and
the Thou and their dialogue with one another, and is then
extended into the "spirit" of the communal We. Such is the
case when one shows another something of the world in such
a way that from then on he begins to really perceive it in
this way; when one gives another the insight so that from
then on he can recognize the situation as he could not
before; when one communicates to another his experience so

that from then on it enters the other's circle of experi-

 

ence and becomes part of his world.
All this flowing ever again into a great stream of
reciprocal sharing of knowledge—-thus came to be and
thus is the living We, the genuine We, which, where
it fulfills itself, embraces the dead who once took
part in colluquy and now take part in it through what
they have handed down to posterity..
Buber describes it analogously as a tiny flame which is
enkindled into a leaping fire. "Leaping fire is indeed the
right image for the dynamic between persons as We."45
The We is not a collective, a Kierkegaardian "group,"
nor an objectively exhibitable multitude. It is related to
the saying of We as the I is to the saying of I, and like
the I, it cannot factually be carried over into the third
person They. But unlike the I, it does not have the

44Ibid., p. 106. 45Ibid., p. 107.

 

 

' permanence <

appear.

Thr
developed a
anthropolog
ggdm, the
ins a wgglg
which he 11'
space as s}
as knowing

That d.
world
that a

world
becaus

Friedman
P. n.

113

permanence or continuity; communities arise, then dis-

appear.

Origins of Cosmos

 

Through the We, not the I, man has constructed and
developed a world out of his life—experiences. In his
anthropology, Buber observed that, while the animal has a
realm, the extension of itself in its environment, only man
has a world distanced from himself and yet a world within
which he lives. Only he knows the world as a unity, its
space as space, its time as time, and knows himself in it
as knowing it.

That does not mean, as has been asserted, that the
world exists over again in man's consciousness, but
that a world in our sense, a unified, spatio—temporal
world of the sense, only exists in virtue of man,
because only the human person is able to combine
into a cosmic unity the data of his own senses and
the traditional data of the whole race.40
He knows it as one who dwells in an enormous house which is
always being added to and whose limits he can never reach.
Yet he can grasp as a unit the whole, even that which he
has imagined but not yet experienced.47

This world, or cosmos, as Buber frequently calls

it, is from the order of the "in between" of man's community

 

46Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), P. 155.

_ 47Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans. Maurice
Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1965),
p. 61.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

conversatio
in each man
its corresp
"something
particular
more impor1
his own su]
of the hum.-
nomenon bu
Ma
view of th
dwelling w
stood the
man too he
the world
the "above
SPatial w<
conceives
eVen Obse:
in the W0
a1ienatio
and at ti

Set up a
\

4
Gregol“ Sn

 

%

114

conversation. It is relative to the world-view which exists

 

in each man's mind as an actual experience is relative to
its corresponding concept. The actual cosmos contains the
"something more" but yet undefined, which this or that
particular world-View has not been able to express. But
more important, a world-view eXists within each man; it is
his own subjective idea. The cosmos exists in the between
of the human community; it is not a mental, psychic phe—

nomenon but an ontologic reality.

 

Many generations contribute to a particular world-
view of the cosmos, and it establishes a culture's mode of
dwelling within the real world totality. The Greeks under-
stood the world as a static, self-contained space in which
man too had his fixed place,48 while the Christians divided
the world into the Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of Earth,
the "above" and the "below." In contrast to these earlier,
spatial world-views is the more recent Hegelian View which

49

conceives of the world in temporal dimensions. Buber

even observes periods of clear definition "when man lives

 

in the world as in a house, as in a home," and periods of
alienation when "man lives in the world as in an open field

and at times does not even have four pegs with which to

set up a tent."50

%

48Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 127.

 

49rbia., p. 139. 50Ibid., p. 126.

   

 

The

 

. these world
ongoing con
ordering of
indeed, the
And it is t
the composi
actually c1
of man. J1
Thou in hi;
actuality,
its identi
Cosmos mov
Th
h re¢iproc
Whole and

 

! COSmic. 11

Into bEinc

IQIate to

Le,’ to

 

 

 

alehce,

 

 

%

115

The "between," the true cosmos underlying each of
these world-views, is being realized and "purified" in the
ongoing conversation of the We community of mankind. That
ordering of known phenomena which we call the world is
indeed, the composite work of a thousand human generations. .
And it is to be stressed that this cosmos is not simply
the composite which exists in the mind of man, but which
actually creates world in its being and develOpment outside

of man. Just as in the I—Thou conversation, I confirm the

 

Thou in his identity, bringing him from potentiality to
actuality, and my "I" is also confirmed and actualized in
its identity, so in the conversation of the genuine We, the
cosmos moves from potentiality to actuality of being.

The cosmos develops and the individual man develOps.
A reciprocal relationship exists between the world as a
whole and each individual person within it, a parallel
relationship based on their common origin in the primeval
cosmic. Man and world initially were one and even now, in

some way include each other. .In each man, the world comes

 

into being all over again through the same dynamic process.

World—View and the Educator

 

On many occasions, each of us sees the need to

relate to the world about us from a political point of View,

 

i.e., to assert our world-view positively and without ambiv-

alence. Only in this manner can we act concisely and without

   

 

hesitation,

 

the opponer
But
relate to 1
view, i.e..
sensitive '
from image
education,
tinually e‘
relate it
through CO
PO
View. he c
“$03 of
developed
Has it bee

imaginatie

 

engenders
merit rec.
( is not pr.
T'
hear it,
VieW? Do
TodaY's p

crowd, be

 

Who haVe

 

 

 

116

hesitation, successfully maintaining our position against
the opponent.
But other, more vital occasions require that we

relate to the world about us from an educational point of

 

View, i.e., open to the limitations of our world—views,
sensitive to the cosmic meaning within, and serious to move
from image to reality and back again. In this realm of
education, Buber urges the teacher especially (1) to con—
tinually evaluate his own worldeview, (2) to continually
relate it back to reality, and (3) to ever again purify it
through conversation with other world—views.

For the first task of evaluation of our own world—
view, he offers two criteria. The first questions the
source of the world-view and asks: Upon what has it been
developed . . . life experience, or an awkward groping?

Has it been drawn out of men's experience or out of men's
imagination? Only a world-view which has validly been
engendered by the community out of actual experience can
merit recognition and following. The proof of a world view
is not proved in the clouds but in lived life.

The second questions the motivation of those who

 

bear it, and asks: What are you undertaking with your world-

view? Do you fight for, or live in your world-view?

 

Today's political world does not distinguish in the marching
crowd, between those who walk "in eloquent gesture" and those

who have "direction—moved existence." Yet this distinction

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

117

which cuts across each world—view group is more important
than that which distinguishes one group from another.
The great task for the teacher is to move from his

world-view, back to the cosmOs by searching the original

 

forces of his own experience. These involve his ethnic,

 

religious and cultural experiences, but many more. For
political relations, it is necessary that the individual
clearly differentiate his world—view and act from it con-

cisely and positively. In curriculum, one must always be

 

willing to move from this surface thinking, back down to
reality, yet always in the context of his immediate situ-
ation. Even the best image receives a thin crack when
brought into contact with reality, a hardly noticeable but
most important hairline. This emersion into reality is the
trial which determines its future and the future of those

who follow it. A world-view is good, but it is educa—

 

tionally good only if the person is "teachable," i.e., able
to look anew and open his View to the reality of the actual
world.

Finally, Buber urges that world-views not remain
off to themselves and contemplate reality through their own
common view, but rather seek the whglg (cosmos) by con-
fronting their world-view with other, opposing views. Today
each group wants to have its View accepted as the exclusive
one; it wants to become the whole and moves politically to

achieve this position. But the whole is not made, it grows;

 

 

 

 

118

it cannot be "established" but must be engendered through
conversation. Only when there is a growing in vision
through differing View points within the community and
between communities does each have an experience of the
whole which lies hidden behind all of them.

Reducing this to the particular, the student must
contend with the world—view of his teacher, not for the
purpose of adOpting it as his own, but as a point of con-

versation through which he can seek the genuine meeting and.

 

return with his own world—view, tested and matured.
The teacher must continually question himself: Am
I leading my student to a new world—view only, or within
it, to an experience, a meeting, of the real world?
Knowledge searches not facts or world—views, but
for the reality of the cosmos. Such a knowledge comes only

through a community meeting of a variety of differing minds

 

who wish to overcome otherness in living unity. These con-
versing minds are in no way a concerted team hitched to a
great wagon, but rather a strenuous tug of war for a wager.
Education is a tension, but it leads ever anew to "the

harmony of the lyre."

Existential Mistrust
Today, Buber sees community dialogue being destroyed

by an existential mistrust. We have forgotten the dia-

 

lectic between our world—view and reality. In our divided

world of we and they—-democracy and communism——we see our

 

 

119

world—view as identical with reality. We have forgotten as
well that our opponent has a demarcation line between his
world—view and the reality he realizes behind his world—
view. We therefore deduce that his is an ideology, a masked
role, and therefore not to be heard or trusted in genuine
conversation. All simulated conversation is to hear and
unmask his false position.

Such has always been the case between political
opponents; we have always suffered from this ancient mis—
trust. But in our time, something basically different has
been added. One no longer merely fears that the other
will voluntarily dissemble, but one simply takes it for
granted that he cannot, do otherwise. The mask is not
merely worn by him, but has been existentially imbued into
him, so that he is deceived in his own consciousness. The
integrity of his existence has been deceived; hs is exis—
tentially in a role. Trust is impossible; conversation is
pointless!

The resolution of this mistrust is not made by
returning to an uncritical acceptance of all men, but by
perceiving them in their wholeness, both their biased
world—image and the reality beyond, with the relation between
the two. We must also become sensitive to the fact that
there is also a demarcation line within ourselves, between

our world—view that suffers bias, and the world beyond.

 

120

There is a role in the world for the political,
but the hope of this hour lies in the educational. The
entrenched stand—off of one world—view against another
must be uprooted. The dialectic between world—image and
cosmic reality must be re—engaged. Both tasks will be
accomplished only when the teaching of existential trust

is restored to its position of priority.

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV

THE PROBLEM OF VALUE

Although in a broad sense education appears to be
the business of a wide variety of institutions and
agencies——family, church, clubs, libraries, and museums,
as examples—-the school, whether public or private, is the
agency organized specifically to facilitate the individ—
ual's present and future participation in the dominant
culture of his time and place. If culture is thought of as
the funded experience of a group of people, whether a tribe,
a nation or an entire civilization, it follows that such
diverse elements as language, beliefs, tools, laws, and
customs all are constitutive of that culture. At the risk
of over simplification, values may be regarded as the
preferences which individuals or groups express in con—
nection with the alternatives proffered by these elements
of the culture. If the work of the schools is thought to
consist of such things as reviewing, analyzing, inter—
preting, defending, and transmitting a society's culture for
the benefit of its children, the preferences (values) of
that society become inextricably involved in the activities

0f the school. A theory of education or curriculum, then,

121

 

 

122

if it is comprehensive, must attend to the problem of
values.

What should be the role of the school in connection
with these cultural preferences which we have alternatively
called values? Should values be transmitted with all the
force of indoctrination? Should children be taught to
question, criticize, and when so inclined, to reject the
values of their culture? These questions may not be dis—
missed lightly. The tremendous responsibility which the
adult community faces in the enculturation of its children
is made clear by the fact that children tend to accept
without question the culture which is offered to them.
Education's problem with values is compounded as the child
gains in knowledge of human culture and discovers that the

values of one society conflict with the values of another.

 

As a matter of fact, the values of one neighborhood may
conflict with those of another. The great diversity of
culture within a small area of time and space complicates
the role of the school in the transmission of a society's
values.

The problem also deepens when the child who has
accepted the values of the adult community without question
emerges into adulthood himself and clings through "bad

faith" to an image of himself which he is, in a sense,

free to abandon.

 

123

Previous discussions of the problems of being and of
knowledge in the philosophy of Jean—Paul Sartre have
revealed that human reality is being—for—itself. Human
reality is not a static event which can be sealed off and
described like any other object. Human reality is a dynamic
and future oriented project. As a consequence, it is not
determined by a closed value system from an inherited situ—
ation. What can schools do, then, to insure that these
human realities which come under its roofs are given maximum
opportunities to negotiate successfully that period of
frozen values in early childhood, to survive the rigors of
adolescence when the values of the infantile world collapse,
and to enter adulthood as authentic human beings? Sartre
has not specifically answered these problems, but an
analysis of his concepts of bad faith, freedom, and inter—
personal relationships may enable one to infer answers
which would give shape to an educational theory of curric—

ulum.

Sartre's Theory of Value

 

The final two paragraphs of Being and Nothingness
are reminiscent of those "soap operas" which dominated
daytime radio in its golden years just before the advent
Of television. It will be recalled that each episode
closed with a weries of questions designed to whet the
appetite of the listener and condition him to "tune in at

the same time tomorrow." In the final twenty—five lines of

 

 

 

 

 

 

124

the Barnes translation of Being and Nothingness, there are

 

a dozen interrogative sentences. Sartre concludes:

All these questions . . . can find their reply only

on the ethical plane. We shall devote to them a

future work.
As his critics are wont to point out, the years have slipped
past, and Sartre has failed to produce the volume which will
answer these dozen questions! The fact that this key work
has never appeared, however, does not mean that Sartre's
attention to value concerns has been inconsequential and
insignificant. Actually a theory of value has been adum—
brated in all his written work: in the dramas and the
novels, in the literary and political essays, and in the
philosophical essays. Again, the major source is Being and
Nothingness, and what one finds in all the other writing is
clarification and support for those viewpoints set forth in
this magnum-opus.

Under the stress of their taxonomic compulsions,
the philosophers of education have rather traditionally
made of axiology a generic term which includes as sub—
divisions ethics and aesthetics and sometimes political
philosophy. It is here, also, that the antinomy of free
will and determinism receives attention. Sartre's literary
and philosophical writing comes to grips with all of these

value questions, even if he has never succeeded in knitting
___________________

1Jean—Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness, trans.

Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956),
P. 628.

 

 

 

 

 

 

125

together the composite ethical theory promised in Being
and Nothingness.

In almost everything he has written, the question of
values looms large; but so do the question of being and the
question of knowledge. It is obvious, then, that one splits
his philosophy apart only as a matter of convenience and
does violence to the unity which he attempts constantly to
achieve. Although Sartre's fundamental concern is for the
problem of being, his phenomenological ontology attempts
even more; it is a tool kit with which to disassemble the
knowledge problem. It is also a map by which to find one's
way in a world of values.

Certainly, I have need for such a guide as I choose
my course in the world where, as Sartre says, "Values are
sown on my path as thousands of little real demands, like
the signs which order us to keep off the grass."2 A signifi—
cant thing to remember about these values is that they do
not have a foundation in being. If they did, then human
reality would no longer exist as freedom, but would be
determined by a series of ontologically independent demands
Or values. On the contrary, the foundation of value is
in human freedom, and this freedom is anguished before the
demand that it provide the foundation for values while
itself existing as foundation. As Sartre has said repeatedly,

I can find absolutely no justification outside myself for

 

21bid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

126

this choice or that one. My acts are keyed to values, of
course, but it is I who cause these values to exist:
The immediare is the world with its urgency; and in
this world where I engage myself, my acts cause values
to spring up like partridges.
It is I who give meaning to those countless little tugs
and pulls which steer me from one task to another. My
life is a project, an original choice of myself, and all

of the twistings and turnings of this life descend from

this original choice. Without foundation for its being,

 

the for-itself must strive ceaselessly to ground itself as
being—in—itself—for—itself. Anguished in the face of this
fruitless attempt to bring stability to human reality, the
for—itself attempts to escape through flight. The for—
itself may flee its anguish in order not to know it, but it
cannot escape the knowledge that it is fleeing, and so
flight becomes nothing more than, "a mode of becoming con—
scious of anguish."4 This paradox of the for—itself Sartre
labels, "bad faith." By flight, he means simply that man
strives to fix the responsibility for the world and for

his values, choices, and acts in some intelligible heaven
or in some set of circumstances over which he has no ulti-
mate authority. Somewhat in the manner of the apathetic
television audience to a brutal slaying, he prefers to pre~
tend that he is not involved in the course of events. But

he only pretends; and for that reason, Sartre says, his

31bid., p. 38. 41bid., p. 43.

 

 

 

 

 

127

flight is into "bad faith." It is this concept of bad
faith which provides one of the principle underpinnings

for Sartre's theory of value.

Bad Faith

Although bad faith may be construed as a falsehood
which one tells himself, it should not be equated with lying
in the ordinary sense. The ordinary lie is an external
relationship; it requires no ontOlogical explication. The
child who tells his teacher that he has not cheated on an
examination when, in fact, he has, misrepresents a past
action, and he knows that he has not been truthful. The
lie itself is negative, but the intent of the liar is
positive; he knows what it is that he wishes to accomplish.
The lie is external; it is transcendent. At the same time,
the liar who attempts to bring off his deception through
theatrical devices is transcendent. In other words, he is
not the character whom he portrays—-the liar as actor is a
transcendent. What about the man of whom we say, "He has
come to believe his lie?" Sartre holds that this is a
degenerate form of the lie, and while it might be said to
fall at one end of a scale with bad faith at the other,
the infinite gradations in between are populated with
related degenerate forms of the type example. He concludes,
"The lie is a behavior of transcendence."5

\h—

5Ibid., p. 48.

 

 

128

Sartre points out that falsehood can be a relation—
ship within what Heidegger terms "Mitsein," the relationship
of being-with—others. In this connection it makes capital
of the ontological duality of being—for—itself and being—
for—others. The intent of the for—itself is hidden from
the View of the Others. The lie to oneself, however, is a
different kind of relationship. It is not something which
happens to the for—itself as a consequence of extraneous
motivation. Neither is it something immanent which has
sprung up as mushrooms suddenly appear overnight in the sour
soil of a moist lawn. Bad faith is intentional; it is a
project of the for—itself; it has a structure, and it is a
pattern of behavior which has been adapted to cope with a
particular situation. Aside from occasional abrupt awaken—
ings or brief excursions into good faith, some people,
according to Sartre, are able to conduct their entire lives
at the level of bad faith. Perhaps it is this striving to
detach responsibility from human action which is involved
in the familiar dictum which advises against allowing the
left hand to know what the right hand is doing.

Sartre contends that Freudian psychoanalysis pre—
sents an escape from the impossibility of self—deception
through the intrusion of the concept of the unconscious:

- - . psychoanalysis substitutes for the notion of
bad faith, the idea of a lie without a liar; it allows
me to understand how it is possible for me to be lied

to without lying to myself since it places me in the
same relation to myself that the Other is in respect

 

 

 

 

129

to me; it replaces the duality of the deceiver and

the deceived, the essential condition of the lie,

by that of the "id" and the "ego."6
This cellar theory of human activity presents an epistemo-
logical paradox, "a knower which is ignorant of itself."7
Sartre concludes that Freud's "censor" does not bring off
the task of separating consciousness from the unconscious.
How can a repressed drive be disguised unless there is

knowledge of what it is that is being repressed, an aware-

ness that it has been buried because of what it is, and a

 

recognition of the repression as a project? The lie to
oneself cannot be explained by Freud's "I which is not-I."
The question which Sartre wishes to settle is, "What
must be the being of man if he is to be capable of bad
faith?"8 Essential to answering it, he believes, is the
necessity to provide clear descriptions of the patterns of

bad faith. One pattern is that in which bad faith attempts

 

to achieve the identity of facticity and transcendence while
maintaining their differences. This pattern is readily
identifiable as one which society compels the adolescent
girl to impose upon those aspects of her situation which

are flavored by emphasis on the attraction between the

sexes. The high school baton twirler, for example, who

tantalizingly struts in an abbreviated costume may not admit

61bid., p. 51. 7Ibid., p. 53.

Ibid., p. 55.

 

 

 

 

130

that the admiration of the males in the stands transcends
the finesse of her bodily actions toward the sexual activity
implied by her sensual undulations. The acclaim of the
crowd must be caught and held as the facticity of the
present moment. The whistles and the applause must be
thought to be for the expertise of her twirling and for the
precision and grace of her body movements. At the very

same moment the rhythmical contortions of shoulders and

hips and the alternating flexion and hyperextensional snap

 

of the knees increase in intensity in order to draw the
audience into surpassing the significations of the exhi-
bition. It begs the issue to speak of five-year—old girls
who imitate these actions. Obviously they only imitate.
All this, of course, is a superimposition on a skill which
does require long hours of practice, rigid self—discipline,
and dedication to an ideal. This duplicity of attempting

both to be (facticity) and to be beyond (transcendence) is

 

commonplace in the folkways of this generation. It is an
essential concomitant for beauty contests, queen compe—
titions, and other activities where fairness of face and
figure are pre—requisites for success. Winning form in
these instances seems to be based on the individual's skill
in carrying out the duplicity.

Can one, then, achieve an attitude of candor or
sincerity? Does one in achieving sincerity leave bad faith

behind? Sartre points out that if sincerity is posited as a

 

 

 

 

131

universal value, then man has the responsibility to be what
he is. Stated as a maxim this value would no longer demand
simply knowing what one is, but would necessitate being what
one is. Using an example which has become familiar through
its repetition by commentators, Sartre points out that the
waiter since he only plays at being a waiter transcends the
role and thus is a waiter only in the mode of not being one.
Sartre writes:

The child plays with his body in order to explore it,

to take inventory of it; the waiter in thegcafe plays

With his condition in order to realize it.
That society has come to identify the behaviors through
which one pretends to be that which he is, is manifested
in role playing, socio—dramas, and in the captivating per—
formances of interpretive modern dance. Sartre is referring
not to an amateur or professional performance but to what
one might call real life actions when he writes:

. . there is the dance of the grocer, of the tailor,
of the auctioneer, by which they endeavour to persuade
their clientele that they are nothing but a grocer, an
auctioneer, a tailor. A grocer who dreams is offensive

to the buyer, because such a grocer is not wholly a
grocer.

One can be a teacher only in the sense of being a
representation of that teacher which one is taken to be.
And at every instant, one is compelled to build through
free choices an imaginary teacher which he transcends
through being at any one time far more than just that
______________________

91bid., p. 59. 1016161.

 

132

teacher. One is compelled to admit, however, that there is
a sense in which I am that teacher, since I am not a plumber
or a gardener. Sartre concludes:
I am a waiter in the mode of being what I am not.
. . . Furthermore we are dealing with more than mere
social positions; I am never any one of my attitudes,
any one of my actions. The good speaker is the one
who plays at speaking, because he can not be speaking.
The attentive pupil who wishes to be attentive, his
eyes riveted on the teacher, his ears Open wide, so
exhausts himself in playing the attentive role that
he ends up by no longer hearing anything.

If one appeals to sincerity for rescue from the
dilemma of bad faith, it turns out to be a trap. In order
to be sincerely this or that, one must seek to abandon
being-for—itself in favor of being—in-itself. Since one is
inescapably consciousness—of—being, sincerity is a futile
quest. I can never be_anything in the way that the chalk or
the blackboard is. Bad faith and the futile quest for
sincerity are products of my being project. This is not to
say that I cannot strike a sincere attitude concerning what
I was yesterday. The sincere appraisal of my facticity is
present at every moment, but as we have seen, a sincere
pronouncement concerning my facticity slips into bad faith
when it aims at my transcendence.

The third structure of bad faith Sartre calls the
faith of bad faith. He points out that the very notion of

faith involves belief, but that the belief which undergirds

the faith of bad faith is a belief which does not quite

 

1116151., p. 60.

 

 

 

 

133

reach certainty. Bad faith must rely on evidence, but it is
never quite fulfilled by the available evidence. Too,
belief itself is impossible of achievement. "To believe is
to know that one believes, and to know that one believes is

no longer to believe."12

Sartre points out as support for
this contention the fact that one may use the word "believe"
in the sense of "I believe in God," which is an expression
of positiveness; or in answer to the question, "Was
Hammurabi a Babylonian?" a student might answer, "I don't
know, but I believe so." Either use indicates a point of
View based on insufficient evidence. In the first case,
this belief based on limited evidence is classified as faith
in God.

Significantly, Sartre mentions in connection with
this disbelieving—belief that, "science escapes by searching

for evidence."13

At this point, one can appreciate Dewey's
case for the efficacy of "warranted assertability." There

is a sense in which Sartre's treatment of bad faith, serious—
ness, and belief turns out to be an ontological support for
Dewey's View. If the destiny of consciousness "is to be
what it is not and not to be what it is,“ and, as a conse-
quence, to conceal "in its being a permanent risk of bad
faith,"l4 then science would seem to be on the right track

\E—

1 13

2Ibid., p. 69. Ibid., p. 70.

l4Ibid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

134

when in committed research it treats candidates for truth
as instrumental and relentlessly searches for support for
them on the grounds that the evidence is never all in.

At the end of the section on bad faith, Sartre
suggests that there may be an axiological escape from the
paradoxes of bad faith, belief, and seriousness. In a
footnote heavy with promise he writes:

If it is indifferent whether one is in good or in bad
faith, because bad faith reapprehends good faith and
slides to the very origin of the project of good
faith, that does not mean that we can not radically
escape bad faith. But this supposes a self—recovery
of being which was previously corrupted. This self—
recovery we shall call authenticity, the description
of which has no place here.15

Along with accounting for a goodly slice of human
behavior, then, the concept of bad faith implies a central
value, authenticity, which if achieved would have the power
to restore trust in human relationships. In none of

Sartre's works, however, is there a clear definition of

how this self—recovery may be accomplished.

Relevance for Curriculum

 

It is a commonplace in Sartre's philosophy that con—
flict is the basic human relationship. It should be equally
well understood that he does not mean by this that man

necessarily is pitted against man in machete wielding

combat.

 

 

135

Conflict seems to be implied even in the language
of much contemporary learning theory. Whether one invites
or coerces, if the instructional objective is to bring about
"desirable" changes in individual behavior, the assumption
is implicit that there is also the threat of alternative
behaviors which are "undesirable." Thus behavioral objec—
tives which are proposed by anyone other than the "behaver"
suggest immediately the conflict of subject against subject.
Actually, all relations between student and teacher or
between student and student are expressions of conflict
between consciousnesses. The ontological foundation of
this conflict is "the look," and while in many cases it may
never become more violent than an exchange of objectifying
glances, the acts which persons perform either to or for
others are based on the fundamental alternatives for
attempting to unite the for—itself and the in—itself.
Either one makes himself object in order to capture the
Other as subject, or as subject, he attempts to capture
the Other as object.

A classroom in which this inevitable tension is
recognized will present a different climate than one in
which the relationships of children are thought to be
imperfect experiences leading toward the ultimate objective
Of social cohesion emanating from the ideal of brotherly
love. Such a classroom will be far different also from one

in which social harmony is thought to be possible of

 

136

achievement through practice in criticizing and solving
social problems arising from the normal flow of experience.
The emphasis in the classroom where human conflict is
accepted as ontologically basic will most likely be directed
toward learning to withstand the pressures of a world in
which one intermittently is used as a means or uses someone
else as a means. Of course, the ultimate lesson to be
learned will be that any progress toward a personal or
social End necessitates that someone be used as a ngnnn.
By virtue of one's very presence in the world he threatens
the projects of his contemporaries; therefore, the man who
is sensitive to his involvement in mankind will wish to
advance the welfare of all men through authentic behavior.
The extreme situations which Sartre analyzes should
be important to the educator in his various helping roles;
that is, as teacher, counselor, coach, librarian, adminis—
trator. These extremes of interpersonal relationships
should be understood as type examples of behaviors which
one might expect to find in various degrees of intensity in
ordinary life situations. The responsibility of the school
in helping children to understand, to modify and to harness
their own behavior and that of others is as important in
an existentialist oriented classroom as in a classroom

organized according to theoriew of experimentalism, realism

Or idealism.

 

 

 

 

137

Freedom
The quest for a theory of value in Sartre's philos-
ophy must eventually come to grips with the problem of free—
dom. Although the contention that freedom is the summum
nnnnn in Sartre's philosophy misses the mark, it seems
certain that an understanding of his theory of freedom is
essential for understanding his moral theory.
Sartre holds that the age—old argument between

free will and determinism cannot be settled without first
turning to the structures contained in the idea of action;
and freedom, for him, is the first condition of action.
Concerning the act he writes:

To act is to modify the shape of the world; it is to

arrange means in View of an end; it is to produce an

organized instrumental complex such that by a series

of concatenations and connections the modification

effected on one of the links causes modifications

throughout the whole series and finally produces an

anticipated result.
It is not an act, however, unless it is intentionally carried
out as a conscious project. When a careless camper flicks
away his lighted cigarette butt, and a forest fire ensues,
he has acted only in so far as he ridded himself of the
Cigarette. The forest fire properly cannot be thought of
as a part of the camper's act although it is certainly a

consequence. One can never be certain of all the conse—

quences prior to an act; this is the risk of action.

 

16Ibid., p. 433.

 

138

If, then, every act must be intentional, what is
the motivating force which brings about an action? Sartre
holds that an act springs forth from a desideratum, an
objective lack. It does not arise from a factual state of
affairs; that is, from facticity itself. Its condition is
a double negation; an ideal situation is posited as nonbeing,
and the existing situation is posited as nonbeing in relation
to the ideal situation. Sartre's further clarification of
this point is also a strong argument for universal oppor—
tunity for education, since the ignorant man is incapable
of wrenching himself away from his situation in order to
posit an improved state of affairs:
It is on the day that we can conceive of a different
state of affairs that a new light falls on our troubles
and our suffering and that we decide that these are
unbearable. A worker in 1830 is capable of revolting
if his salary is lowered for he easily conceives of a
situation in which his wretched standard of living
would be not as low as the one which is about to be
imposed on him. But he does not represent his suffer—
ings to himself as unbearable; he adapts himself to
them not through resignation but because he lacks the
education and reflection necessary for him to conceive
of a social state in which these sufferings would not
exist. Consequently he does not act.
At this point, one might exclaim that Sartre has re-enforced
Dewey's contention that freedom achieves latitude through
an increase in the alternative choices available for decision
making or problem solving, an increase stemming from

additional knowledge or information. This is true so long

as the reference is to freedom's external relationships.
____________________

17

Ibid., p. 435.

 

 

 

 

139

Later, Sartre's discussion of freedom as it relates to
situation will disclose that it is the situation which is
enriched or broadened through increased knowledge or infor—
mation, and ontological freedom cannot be diminished or
increased since it is fundamental to human reality. The
for—itself stands beyond being-in—itself, it transcends

its essence; in Heidegger's terms, existence precedes and
commands essence. In the sense that man must go on creating
himself through his choices, Sartre can say, "I am condemned

to exist forever beyond my essence, beyond the causes and
18

 

motives of my act. I am condemned to be free."
Determinism, Sartre says, is an attempt to disclaim
freedom through reducing the for—itself to in—itself. Causes
and motives in this view are apprehended as things; they
exist ahead of the upsurge of human reality. By the same
token, ends are thought to be prehuman; they descend from
God, nature, or society. What the determinest fails to
see is that ends, causes, motives, or values have no perman—
ence beyond that which I ascribe to them. Whatever meanings
they possess they derive from my project. I assign them
their meanings through my acts. Although they belong to a
cultural tradition, I affirm them or reject them through
my acts within this cultural context. Human reality is
nothing more than an inescapable freedom to make oneself

through choosing among infinite alternative courses of

 

18

Ibid., p. 439.

 

 

140

action. So, for Sartre, freedom is not a separate being,

but it is the being of man himself:
If we start by conceiving of man as a plenum, it is
absurd to try to find in him afterwards moments or
psychic regions in which he would be free. As well
look for emptiness in a container which one has filled
beforehand up to the brim! Man can not be sometimes
slave and sometimes free; he is wholly and forever
free or he is not free at all.

Sartre rejects any and all forms of determinism,
including the Cartesian view which would make all volitional
acts free and all passional acts determined. How, he asks,
is it decided which situations permit the will to function

and which demand that emotion take over? As far as freedom

is concerned, there is no distinction between situations,

 

he contends. Courses of action are chosen with complete

freedom whether they be emotional or rational. He does

point out, however, a distinction between motive and cause:
We shall . . . use the term cause for the objective
apprehension of a determined situation as this situ—
ation is revealed in the light of a certain end as
being able to serve as the means for attaining this
end.
The motive, on the contrary, is generally considered
as a subjective fact. It is the ensemble of the
desires, emotions, and passions which urge me to
accomplish a certain act.

Actually cause, motive, and end are all caught up in a

unity which can be grasped across the act which reveals

them. Cause and motive are equally meaningless in separa—

tion from the values which the for-itself places upon them.

 

19

Ibid., p. 441. 201bid., p. 446.

 

141

At the same time, the for—itself chooses its ends in terms
of the fundamental project which it is——the project to be
in-itself—for-itself. As a consequence, if one wishes to
speak of voluntary deliberation on the part of the for—
itself, he is practicing a deception, because such deliber—
ation would be carried on in terms of motives, causes, and
ends upon which values already have been placed. Delibera-
tion is simply one alternative for realizing the means by
which an end is achieved. Other alternatives are reali—
zation of the means through passion or simply through the
act itself. In a particular situation, whether we choose
to act rationally or passionately amounts to the same thing
in so far as our freedom is concerned. In either case we
choose the manner in which we shall act to achieve a given
end, and at the same time, we choose the values which we
confer upon the means and the ends.

In the sense that human activity is performed always
by a consciousness, or, in slightly different terminology,
is accompanied always by consciousness, it must be either
reflective or nonreflective. In a nonreflective act, con—
sciousness is only nonthetically aware of the motive. Said
another way, a motive is merely a nonthetic consciousness.
However, it is nonthetic consciousness of the causality
behind the act, for action implies the recognition of an
Objective structure in the world. In a reflective act,

however, and this is what is meant by a voluntary act, the

 

 

 

 

 

142

reflective consciousness grasps the motive as a quasi—
object, and the cause since it is grasped originally by the
consciousness—reflected-on, appears as separate. Sartre
points out that for Husserl this meant that the cause was
placed in brackets; that is, an epoche was achieved in
connection with it. Thus, the cause being suspended in
brackets, the reflective consciousness appears to be carry-
ing out a deliberation. This is Sartre's meaning when he
holds that voluntary deliberation is a deception. Actually,
what we call the will is simply a reflective consciousness
which is attempting to realize itself as being—in—itself—
for—itself. The will is not concerned with choosing ends,
since these are already posited in terms of the choice which
I have already made of myself. What remains to be decided
is the means to an end already posited. What we term the
will, then, is simply a psychic event which like all such
events derives its support from a basic ontological freedom.
If my acts are not determined by the circumstances
presented by the world or if they are not determined by a
train of antecedent behaviors, they appear to be completely
gratuitous, according to traditional views of freedom.
Ordinarily, an act is said to be free if it could have been
otherwise. Sartre employs the illustration of a man suffer—
ing from fatigue to explain his disagreement with these
traditional views. If a man drops out of a long march and

is upbraided for not continuing, he may reply that he was

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

143

too tired to go on. Sartre suggests that any debate con-

cerning justification for the man's having dropped out of

the march is based on incorrect premises:
There is no doubt that I could have done otherwise,
but that is not the problem. It ought to be formu—
lated rather like this: could I have done otherwise
without perceptibly modifying the organic totality of
the projects which I am; or is the fact of resisting
my fatigue such that instead of remaining a purely
local and accidental modification of my behavior, it
could be effected only by means of a radical trans—
formation of my being—in—the—world—-a transformation,
moreover, which is possible? In other words: I could
have done otherwise. Agreed. But at what price?

The exercise of freedom must occur in the context of
a "given," and this given is simply the necessary connection
of the for—itself with the in—itself. This is what Sartre
has called the "facticity" of freedom. Therefore, each
decision will be influenced, although not determined, by
the total texture which constitutes the individual's being—
in—the—world.

This is a point which frequently has been overlooked
in discussions of Sartre's theory of freedom. The tendency
has been to interpret total freedom to mean that man chooses
and acts gratuitously. This is far removed from Sartre‘s
meaning; he has consistently held that man's future is con—
ditioned by his past, that his choices are influenced by
his situation.

Man encounters at every turn what Sartre has termed

the coefficient of adversity.22 He experiences a constant

 

21Ibid., p. 454. 221bid., p. 324.

 

 

144

confrontation of resistances and obstacles which impinge
upon the project which he is. Paradoxically, freedom can
exist only in a situation, and situation comes into being
only through the upsurge of freedom. There is no such thing
as an obstacle or a resistance which precedes consciousness.
The hurdle on the running track is manmade, and Mt. Everest,
as a mountain to climb, is freely projected by man. This

is not to deny that there is an ineffable stuff heaped up
there on the surface of the earth, but as brute existent

it is incomprehensible. For a consciousness, as it weaves
its project, the line of demarcation between this ineffable
stuff and the instrumental complexity of the world is not
discernible. For the climber, Everest is to climb; for the
aircraft pilot, it is to be avoided; for some, it has
spiritual significance. In each case, consciousness freely
chooses the meaning of Everest, and the choice is made

within the context of a unique situation.

Freedom and Responsibility
If Sartre is open to criticism for implying an

ethics without really stating one, there is little question
that his theory of freedom attacks certain ethical problems
with preciseness and clarity. However, the whole notion of
deontology is contradictory to his concept of freedom. A
person who is obligated to make certain choices cannot at
the same time be regarded as free. For Sartre the for—

itself chooses its values, and these values are choices of a

 

 

 

 

145

spontaneous freedom which enjoys no support or guidance.
As a consequence, man is totally responsible:

. . man being condemned to be free carries the weight
of the whole world on his shoulders; he is responsible
for the world and for himself as a way of being. We
are taking the word "responsibility" in its ordinary
sense as "consciousness (of) being the incontestable
author of an event or of an object." In this sense
the responsibility of the for—itself is overwhelming
since he is the one who makes himself he, then whatever
may be the situation in which he finds himself, the
for-itself must wholly assume this situation with its
peculiar coefficient of adversity, even though it be
insupportable. He must assume the situation with the
proud consciousness of being the author of it, for
the very worst disadvantages or the worst threats which
can endanger my person have meaning only in and through
my project; and it is on the ground of engagement which
I am that they appear. It is therefore senseless to
think of complaining since nothing foreign has decided
what we feel, what we live, or what we are.

This austere doctrine of personal responsibility is all—
inclusive:

. . since every event in the world can be revealed
to me only as an opportunity (an opportunity made use
of, lacked, neglected, etc. ), or better yet since
everything which happens to us can be considered as a
chance (i.e., can appear to us only as a way of real—
izing this being which is in question in our being)
and since others as transcendences—transcended are
themselves only opportunities and chances, the respon—
sibility of the for—itself extends to the entire world
as a peopled—world.

It is because of the all—inclusive nature of my respon—
sibility that I face the world in anguish. If I am respon—
sible for everything and everybody, how can I be certain
that my choices are in their best interests and thus in
mine. It is the dreadful magnitude of this responsibility
____________.______

4 .
23Ibid., p. 553. 2 Ibid., p. 556.

 

 

 

 

146

which casts one into anguish and which causes one to seek to

escape this anguish along the avenue of bad faith.

Formation of Character: Buber‘s Ethics

The ethical for Buber is located in experience, or
in his phraseology, in the situation which addresses man
in the here and now. Ethics are based on values, and
values are to be found in the concrete. It is the specific
answer to the question: "What ought I to do in this situ—
ation?"

There is a very close link between Buber's ethics
and his theory of knowledge. As the I—It thickens, we
regard others as objects, there for our use and exploitation.
But such "objectification" advances in two stages. First,
one views the other conceptually, seeing him abstracted from
his context and his wholeness. Secondly, he then acts upon
this "object“ approaching him for his own personal use and
exploitation. The first stage, of the order of knowledge,
leads into the second stage, of the order of the ethical.

On the other hand, Buber's ethics, linked with his theory
of knowledge, reverses the trend and restores man to the

alternative I—Thou pattern.25

m

_ 25Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans. Maurice
Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1965),
P. 25.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

147

Parallel to his approach in the theory of knowledge,
Buber denies that he has any system of ethics or scale of
criteria to offer his reader.

. I neither acknowledge a traditional framework nor
a system of ethics of my own. In fact the deficiency
exists; and it is so closely tied up with the totality
of my knowledge, that filling it is unthinkable. If I
sought to do so, I would injure thereby the core of
my View.
Rather than base his ethics on a set of principles which
need only to be applied to the situation, Buber bases it on
the authentic response of the individual in this situation
facing him here and now.

The ethical is found only where an individual con-
fronts a situation with the wholeness of his being. In that
confrontation, he must seize, out of all its potentiality,
that one direction which appears to him to be right in his
situation. The direction which he seizes, should he respond
to it with the wholeness of his being, is not only based
upon the authentic person that he is, but leads him to
become the person he potentially is meant to be. In this
sense, Buber's ethics are ontological in basis.

Neither Buber's anthropology nor his ethics, how—

ever, hold the "self" as the goal of life; rather authentic

 

26Martin Buber, The Philosophy of Martin Buber,
trans. Maurice Friedman (LaSalle, Illinois: Open Court
Publishing Company, 1967), p. 173.

 

 

 

 

 

 

148

existence has the "between“ of the I-Thou as its principle.27

The "ought“ of man's life is found in the relationship which
exists between man and man. This of course, embraces the
entire dialectic of the relationship.

So then for Buber, the ethical is not a set of
values which an individual may choose or not choose to
follow, but more accurately, the very basis of his onto-
logical fulfillment as a human being. But this point is not
enough to understand the particularity of Buber's ethics.

It is not only ontological in its basis, but religious as
well.

As the dialogical life is basically religious,
founded upon the primal dialogue between the I and the
eternal Thou, so the ethical life is also basically
religious, since it is founded on the dialogue between an
independent man, capable of free and spontaneous dialogue
and the God who addresses him through his concrete everyday.

Buber sees the ethical in this Hebrew frame of
reference. This address from God to man is called revel—
ation. To the Hebrew, every ethos has its origin in a
revelation, whether or not he is still aware of and obedient
to it. This revelation with God sends forth rays that

effect a structural change in the whole life of the

 

. 7Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans. Maurice
Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1965),
p. 85.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

149

individual. God bids his people to be holy as he is holy,
i.e., not to be gnnn, but to be like God.

In one sense, Buber argues, only God, an absolute
Person, can be the source of absolute value. Man, either
within himself or in his relationships with other men,
cannot give source to absolute values nor bind absolute
values on each other. Only God, the absolute Person, can
bind man absolutely. Accordingly, man cannot be said to
choose his values of his own accord, but "discovers" them
out of his relationship with the eternal Thou.

This is not to say that every act must be linked
with God to be morally significant, at least not con—
sciously. But it must be linked with the Thou of one's
life to which one responds with his whole being. "If a
man decides with his whole being, he can decide only for
the direction of God."28

In another sense, it is easily seen that the
reader's response to Buber, here as elsewhere, stands or
falls upon his basic response to life. It begins with an
act of faith (trust)—-trust that all the world is essen—
tially dialogical.

Do we accept life as consisting totally of an
invariable order of causality, time and space, or do we

trust that the world is essentially dialogical? Such trust

 

. 28Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribner—s, 195‘s) ,' p. 52.

 

 

 

 

 

150

is based upon experience. Do we experience life as essen—
tially cause—effect? or address—response? Those who agree
with Buber's basic analysis of reality will agree with his
view of ethics; those who do not will necessarily reject

all of his ethical postulates.

Revelation and Law

 

The above introduction permits us now to review the
essential elements of Buber's ethical thought. This
requires a clarification of revelation and law, respon—
sibility and freedom, good and evil, conscience and guilt,
and the ever occurring demand for criteria on which to base
one's moral decisions. Buber offers us no system, but his
ethical thought has been developed around these particular
pivotal terms. First let us begin with revelation and law.

In the covenant between God and man, man is taught
the way, not by the cosmic order, but by the personal
address of God to man. This meeting between God and man is

called revelation29

and is known by man directly and from
within. It is commonly understood under two forms which

differ, not in their nature, but in their degree of cer-

tainty: the historical, and the personal revelation.

Historical revelation comes from an event experienced

by an entire community and preserved in their memory over

generations. The natural event is not itself the
_________________~____
2

9Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 153.

 

 

 

 

 

151

revelation, but embodies God'w Word and bears it forth to
his people. The prime event to which Buber refers is the
covenant event of Sinai and the giving of the ten command—
ments.

In addition to this historic experience which can
be objectified and communicated, there is the parallel
experience each has in his own personal life. It does not
have the "objective" existence or embodiment of the his-
toric, but to the individual, it is just as real and valid.

One serious limitation is that God's "voice" is

 

heavily modified by the particular human being in whom it

 

is heard. “Revelation does not pour itself into the world

"30 The

through him who receives it as through a funnel.
“voice“ seizes this man in his whole elemental being. He

is not a tube but an organ who sounds and modifies the sound
according to his own nature. Only in this moment and situ—
ation do I hear the living address of the Thou; only in my
particular context. Therefore I cannot say with precision
and certainty what is God's voice and what is my modifi—
cation.31

The limitation placed on the degree of certainty

Of God's address is not only true of personal revelation,

 

_ 30Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smlth (New York: Scribners, 1958), p. 117.

31Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
GregOr Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 114.

 

152

but of historic revelation as well. Particularly today,
as we become conscious of this mixture of historic revela—
tion and human influence, do we grow cautious of a funda—
mentalist acceptance of revelation. Yet, while conscious
of a mixture, we have no grounds to reject this historic
revelation as a delusion.

Even during those periods when the Thou world is
nearly eclipsed, the spark of "life" remains hidden within
the embodying tradition which bears it down through the
centuries. True, the movement of It at times "threatens to
32

suppress and to smother the movement out again to the Thou,"

but only for a time. In our own day, revelation is weak and

 

we must make our ethical decisions in "fear and trembling,"
In time, the sensitivity to the voice of this fundamental
dialogue will emerge to the surface and men will hear the
voice with much more confidence.

But in any age, man never hears this voice with
certitude. The voice never speaks a prescript or a program,
but only addresses a question to which man, in his respon—
sibility, must give the answer. The ten commandments, as an
arch—example, are not part of an impersonal code, but
rather were uttered by an I and addressed to a Thou. God
is not a law—giver and it is only through man in his self—
contradiction that revelation becomes legislation. It is
.._____________________

' 32Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1958), p. 116.

 

 

 

 

 

153

not the legal transformation of man to which Buber sees
himself responsible, but to the unmediated word of God
directed to a specific hour of life. Society, too, has
transferred these commandments from the realm of religion
to that of the moral, hoping that the power of public
opinion will strengthen their enforcement, and again from
the moral to the political, again hoping that the state's
punitive powers will further increase their enforcement.
This is acceptable, so long as society does not claim the
authority of God for its actions. At all times, it remains
the man who hears in the concrete situation, and he who must
choose and freely respond to the address. When asked if
the fourth commandment is valid, Buber responds:

I never doubted the absolute validity of the command,

but to say that in fact one knows always and under

all circumstances what "to honor" means and what it

does not, of him I say that he does not know what he

is talking about. Man must expound the eternal values,
and, to be sure, with his own life. 3

 

Responsibility and Freedom

 

"The idea of responsibility," writes Buber, "is to
be brought back from the province of specialized ethics,
of an 'ought' that swings free in the air, into that of

lived life. Genuine responsibility exists only where

‘m—

33Martin Buber, The Philosophy of Martin Buber,
trans. Maurice Friedman (LaSalle, Illinois: Open Court
Publishing Company, 1967), p. 720.

 

154

34 Responsibility, then, in

there is real responding."
Buber's language, is not that moral obligation which I am
supposed to fulfill, but rather that Thou—response which I
make to this person before me in this particular situation.
I am responsible to the degree that I have come to see him
as he sees himself (inclusion). It means hearing the
unreduced claim of each hour, in all its confusion and
contradiction, and answering it with the wholeness of one's
being.

There are no criteria or principles one can consult
to tell him what should be done in this hour. Rather I
learn what God demands of me for the hour only in the hour.
Responsibility is the continuing quality of openness to the
Thou which my trust sustains in me, even when an actual
response is not presently being made.

The problematic of responsibility begins in the

situation which addresses the individual.

 

The situations have a word to speak. And the real
. . situations are not simple and plain, like
principles; they bear the contradiction in them—
selves, they lift it to our faces, and we may not 35
ignore it, for the reality stands in contradiction.

Once and for all answers are of no help to us here; the

individual facing the situation must penetrate into all its

 

34Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 18.

 

35Martin Buber, The Philosophy of Martin Buber,
trans. Maurice Friedman (LaSalle, Illinois: Open Court
Publishing Company, 1967), p. 722.

 

 

 

 

 

 

155

contradiction and, out of the many folded possibilities,
make his singular decision. On what basis does he come to
this particular decision? Not, says Buber, in terms of
usefulness or convenience, but according to intrinsic value.
And what is the source of ZElEE? The inherent awareness
within the individual of what he is and what he is intended
to be.

Traditional values are useful, suggestive, and are
followed in almost all cases, but one may not proceed from
them to the situation. They counsel me as I move from my
situation to my decision. Only in the situation can I
"hear" the living address of the Thou and become capable
of a genuine response; all my pre—situational information
and maxims cannot dictate the decision for me.

Yet we are not speaking here of an individualism
either. The community surrounding the individual is taken
into account in his decision; their counsel is sought and
enters into the context of the decision. In no way is it
meant that man must alone, without counsel, arrive at an
answer from within himself. Buber is simply insisting
that the community's advice may not replace his own
decision; at the moment of “yes" or "no," he alone must
utter the word.

Out of the flame of one's own inner awareness of
himself, he tentatively recognizes his direction and on

this basis, he makes his decision. It is no guarantee; he

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

156

may err. But if he errs, he will recognize this in the
effects of his decision and correct his self-understanding.
As he makes more and more decisions, he comes to see more
clearly his true direction, which in turn allows him to
give a whole person response to each new situation with no
more preparation than his presence and readiness to
response. "Inner awareness" does not refer to his place

in society or personality type, but to his one unique way
to the "Thou" of his life.36

It is not to be imagined that every decision is
made with a great struggle and inner conflict. While on
occasion this may be true, some decisions are made quickly
and decisively.

Buber's ethics are not for the elite only; God
addresses all men. But there is a distinction between the
simple man and the perfect man, a distinction of two dif—
ferent ways but with the same norm and the same dignity.
All must be "whole!"

The simple man is one who trusts God completely and
meets him in the world with an unperturbed soul. His per—
sonality might be compared to the child or primitive one
of Buber's anthropology. He knows the Thou and is immedi—
ately open to it. He has not yet reflected upon himself,
not yet stepped back and regarded the world as an It. The

totality of his life is the full, open relationship prior

 

3

6Ibid., p. 176.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

157

to distance. He is admired for his singular, total commit—
ment to the Thou.
In this regard, the other, the perfect man, envies
him and seeks to arrive once again to that point in life
when his now distanced personality will re—acquire this
integrity of personality. The perfect man is the concrete
realization of the full human potentiality. His very exis—
tence calls all others to become their human selves.
In our ethical context, Buber acknowledges, not
only the perfect man who bases his ethical decisions on a
mature understanding of what he is and what he is capable
of becoming, but also the simple, traditional man who bases
his response on his traditional, cultural norms, so long
as he genuinely hears God addressing him through these
norms in the here and now and holds fast to this address.
. . . when in his spontaneous believing he is able
righteously to equate the instruction transmitted by
the mothers and fathers with the divine command,
then I know nothing else to say to him than "Happy
you!" One thing only I object to: that a man should
hold fast as a command to a command traditionally
held divine, without really and truthfully "being
concerned about God." 7

In either way, the critical flame must make this an alive,

here and now choice, not a response to an It command of

the past.

\W

3

71bid., p. 724.

 

 

 

 

 

158

Good and Evil

The Good, for Buber, is not the permanent ideal
order of being. It is relationship, the primal, creative
element in reality. Evil, then, is not a counter reality
situated at its opposite pole-—a substantial reality never
to be reconciled——but an absence of relationship which can
and should be engaged.38

Evil lies primarily in the human heart. The
objective evil situations and actions we see in the world
are manifestations of this evil within; the heart of man
is their true source. Evil is a relative, redeemable
situation within man rather than an absolute, substantial
being outside. On the other hand, evil is not merely a
psychological phenomenon, but cosmic. The evil that exists
in the outside world is real, not illusion, and is an
expansion and effect of the evil within man.

Note that since Buber sees evil only in corres—
pondence to the good, and since he defines the good as
relationship, the prime factor or existence, then it must
follow that his valuation and ethics are of the ontological
order——the order of man's being and his becoming——rahter
than of a secondary, merely ethical order which is added

to the prior ontological realitY-

 

38Martin Buber, Good and Evil, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1952), p. 64.

 

 

 

 

159

Buber concluded that there are two types of evil
which he describes as decisionlessness and relationlessness.
The first is the state of a man who is caught up in the
confusion of possibility and never takes decision to orient
himself in one direction. He never selects and realizes
this one potentiality, and thus is never confirmed by his
fellow man. The second is the man who has achieved "dis-
tance," but then refuses to re-enter into relationship.

To use a contradiction, he relates to himself alone.

In discussing the first man more at length, Buber
explains that there are two instincts or "urges" in man,
one good and one evil. In his anthropological terms,
these compare to "direction" and "power." The evil urge
is man's aimless energy, originally without orientation.

As long as man allows the "evil urge"-—his unbridled
energy—~to dominate him, roaming about dissipating itself
where ever it will, he is "decisionless" and remains without
the relationships which confirm his personhood. When,
however, he coordinates these "urges" into a whole and
empowers his direction with all his energy, then he enters
relationship, man to man and man to God.

When a man has changed his heart and taken direction,
he receives a change in his view of reality. That which
before was meaningless now takes on meaning. He becomes
oriented within himself and in relation to the world about

him. Moreover, the world changes; its evil chaos recedes

 

 

 

 

160

and its cosmic unity becomes that much more realized. Man
is responsible, not only for himself, but for the world
about him as well.39
The second form of evil is called relationlessness.

It is the more severe state, sufficiently so to be prob—
lematic as to whether or not it is redeemable. Using the
terms "sinner" and "wicked" to differentiate the first and
second stages of evil, Buber says:

Sinners again and again miss God's way, the wicked

oppose it in accordance with the basic attitude of

their constitution. The sinner does evil, the wicked

man is evil . . . . Is the way, then, closed to the

wicked? It is not closed from God's side . . . but
it is closed from the side of the wicked themselves.

40
Once an individual has achieved distance, he is
faced with the problematic of re-entering into relation—
ship. The step is threatening since it means risk and
uncertainty, but without it, he will lack further con—
firmation of his personality. He has one of three options:
he can continue to endure this fragile and painful situ—
ation, neither deciding nor firmly rejecting decision; he
can turn and re—enter relationship; or he can withdraw
within himself and self-confirm his own image of himself.
That man, if he cannot readjust his self—knowledge by
his own conversion, must withdraw from it the power
of the Yes and No; he must render affirmation inde—

pendent of all findings and base it instead . .
on a sovereign willing oneself, he must choose himself,

M—

4 .
39Ibid., pp. 4—5. 0Ib1d., pp. 59—60.

 

 

 

 

 

 

161

and that not "as he is intended"—-but just as he is,

as he has himself resolved to intend himself.
This is the existential lie; the truth is no longer what
this man experiences, but what he has ordained it to be.
Evil has become radical. If genuine dialogue is the
ontological basis of reality, then the lie is the ultimate
evil act in the world. It is treason against one's self,
but more, it oppresses mankind under a falsification of

its being.42

Conscience and Guilt

While God may tender the situation, the response
must come from man. He must decide. Buber says that the
decision is made, not on the situation's usefulness or con-
venience, but on its intrinsic value. The basis or source
of this value is called conscience——a fundamental awareness
of what he is and what he is intended to be. This is not
his “self—concept" but his basic relational experience
which will later be conceptualized into his “self—concept."

This is not the surface, routine, discredited con—
science which forbids me this and that as a substitute
voice of authority, nor is it a "voice of God" speaking
within. It is my own voice, my own awareness. For this

reason it is human and can err.43 When it does, it is only

 

4lIbid., pp. 136—137. 421bid., p. 7.

. 43Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans. Maurice
Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1965),
P 148.

 

 

 

162

for man to see this reflected in the effects of his decision
and to adjust his self-understanding.

As the individual enters into relation with the
other and is confirmed in his awareness of himself, his
conscience comes into the full light of self—identity. This
presentiment of purpose is

. . . inherent in all men though in the most varied

strengths and degrees of consciousness, and for the

most part stifled by them.4
To the extent that a man's conscience is not stifled, he
cannot help but compare what he is with what he is called
upon to become. On this basis he distinguishes within him—
self those decisions of his which were right and those which
were wrong. The negative result of his self—analysis is
@-

Buber distinguishes between neurotic and existential
guilt. The first is subjective rather than relational,
encompassing feelings within man. It is of a psychic, sub-
conscious nature. This would be the guilt referred to by
Freud, who places it in the super—ego, and Jung, who grounds
it in the self. Both place it within the individual person.

Existential Guilt is of the ontological nature of
man, the whole being rather than his feelings alone, and is
founded in the "between." Located in his conscious memory,

conscience is the guilt a person has acknowledgingly taken

 

44Martin Buber, The Philosophy of Martin Buber,
trans. Maurice Friedman (LaSalle, Illinois: Open Court
Publishing Company, 1967), pp. 175—176.

 

 

 

163

on himself as a person as a result of his faulty response to
a situation. This guilt would embrace two elements: the
recognition of the disparity between what he is in fact and
what he is intended to be——a disparity he is responsible
for——and the recognition of the injury in the world about
him for which he is responsible.

An objective relationship in which two men stand to one

another can arise, by means of the existential partici—

pation of the two, to a personal relation; it can be

merely tolerated; it can be neglected; it can be

injured. Injuring a relationship means that at this

place the human order of being is injured. No one

other than he who inflicted the wound can heal it. He

who knows the fact of his guilt and is a helper can help

him try to heal the would. 5

Buber observes, not one, but three spheres in which
a man can reconcile his guilt: the sphere of society where
he confesses and pays his penalty; the sphere of faith where
he confesses, repents and does his penance, and the sphere
of conscience where he clarifies his guilt, perseveres in
his insight, and restores the damaged order.46 The third
sphere alone belongs to the field of ethics.
How does one resolve guilt ethically? First, the

individual is asked to clarify within himself the depths

of his guilt. He already has some insight, but as yet has

not come to see his guilt in its roots and in its full

 

45Martin Buber, The Knowledge of Man, trans. Maurice

Friedman (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1965),
p. 132.

 

46Ibid., p. 134.

 

 

 

 

 

 

164

meaning for his life. Since existential guilt remains on
the conscious level, and there are no barriers of a psychic
nature, he remembers the event well enough. But while his
memory has retained the original ingredients of the event,
it has re-arranged their pattern in a manner that protects
the individual from its original character. "Only when the
human person himself overcomes his inner resistance can he
attain to self-illumination."47 This is a hard trial, and

a person's allowing himself to see all the way in, is

described by Buber as like a door swinging opens-as a true

break through.48

Secondly, the individual is asked to persevere in
this self-illumination. This does not call for an ever
renewed scourging of his soul with the guilt of his past

offense, but rather "a calm perseverance in the clarity of

the great light."49

Finally the individual can restore the order of
being that has been injured by him through an active
devotion to the world. The original wounds need not be
sought out; "wounds can be healed in many places other

than there where it was inflicted."50

Buber carefully distinguishes the work of the

Psychotherapist, who helps the individual achieve clarity

471bia., p. 147. 481bid., p. 143.

491bid., p. 147. 501bid., p. 136.

 

 

 

 

 

165

of conscience, from that of the priest, who assists the
individual to restore his relationship with God through
confession and repentance. These seem to be the proper
spheres for each category of leadership.. But he raises an
interesting question when he states that the awakening of
conscience in its inner depths is also the work of the

educator.
And it is a great, not yet sufficiently recognized,
task of education to elevate the conscience from its
lower common form to conscience-vision and conscience-
courage. For it is innate to the conscience of man
that it can elevate itself.
Such a teacher must possess within himself a great con-
science; one that has become wholly personal and does not
shy away from the glance into the depths, but knows and can
communicate the way that lends access to it. But on the
other hand, this is not the sole possession of the perfect
man; the simple man also can have the integrity of conscience
that can penetrate the facile, accomplished deception of
another's vision. But the "vulgar conscience" which knows
well enough how "to torment and harass, but cannot arrive
at the ground and abyss of guilt," is incapable of the edu-

cator's responsibility.52

The Criteria Question

Buber agrees when Kierkegaard, in Fear and Trembling,

demonstrates that God's voice comes through the situation,

¥

511bid., p. 135. SZIbid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

166

not at all clear and unmistakable, and that the "Knight of

Faith" is left to his own resources, single and alone, and

therein lies the dreadful. But before the problematic of

faith lies the problematic of hearing: whose voice does one

hear?
In the past, a more or less valid image of the
Absolute stood before men's eyes and the right and the wrong

were easy to discern. But in our age, the traditional image

has declined so that each man is thrown back upon his own

personal conscience. He must summon all the power of his

spiritual insight to penetrate, again and again, the pseudo-

absolutes to reveal their limitedness.

Buber's Character Formation

Education worthy of the name is essentially education

of character, and character formation is the central interest

of the educator when he studies the ethical.

First and foremost, Buber underscores: education,
primarily, is not the instruction of information, nor is it

the training of the student to know or be capable of certain

utilitarian functions. Even to those who agree that its

first task is the formation of character, Buber must also

insist that he is not speaking about instructions in

ethics, either by introducing lessons or by cleverly insert—

ing it into the curriculum in a concealed manner. To all

these short sighted concepts, he responds, ". . . it is very

 

 

 

 

167

easy to understand how powerless modern educational science
is when faced by the sickness of man."53

The teacher's concern should be for the student as
a whole, both in his actuality which stands before the
teacher now, and in that potentiality which he can become
in his future years. Considered as a whole, however, he
can be viewed either as a personality or as a character.
Personality is that unique identity, actualized or yet
potential, with all its spiritual powers, incorporated as a
"whole." This remains what it is and grows to maturity
outside the influence of the educator. Character, on the
other hand, is the link between what the individual is and
the attitudes and actions that follow from this. It is the
pattern of response and growth developed by the student to
realize his unique personality and potentiality. The task
of the educator is to assist in the molding of character,
but he may have no direct power over the formation of the
student's personality. This remains unique to the student
himself.54

The educator must be careful; he dare not overesti—
mate his power or influence, even in this important task of
character formation. He may help the student in his

formation, but it remains the student's responsibility to

‘E—

53Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 112.

 

54Ibid., p. 104.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

168

find his way. What he can do is both quite limited and yet
far more demanding than any of the tasks listed by "content"
and "technique" oriented educators.

Only in his whole being, in all his spontaneity, can
the educator truly affect the whole being of his pupil.
For educating characters you do not need a moral genius,
but you do need a man who is wholly alive and able to
communicate himself directly to his fellow beings. His
aliveness streams out to them and affects them most
strongly and purely when he has no thought of affecting
them. 5

 

 

Character is taught, not by what he says or does of
its own sake, but.by what the educator is-—a whole person
himself. He is asked to be a "great character" himself and
to relate what he is to his students. By being this person,
present to his students, he forms character in them. The

task is simple and monumental.

This man who is wholly alive and able to communicate
himself is first the man of vision, the man who has pene—
trated to the depths of his own soul and in doing so, has
come to penetrate the meaning of all existence. His vision
is not intellectual, but existential, "known" in his relation
with others and with the world. Any conceptual-knowledge he
may attempt to form of his experience will be inferior to
the experiential—knowledge he possesses. Having achieved
this actualization of personality, he is alive, wholly alive.

The second characterization of this perfect man, as

Buber has come to envision him, is his ability to communicate

k.

55Ibid., p. 105.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

169

this vision of the meaning of life. Again, the communication
is not conceptual, but existential. It is a conviction, even
charism, which in his relationship with others, communicates
courage and trust; an atmosphere of trust in the other, and
a courage to risk Open meeting with the other.

"The world needs him, the perfected man; it awaits

"56 This is the man Buber has before his

him ever again.
mind as he describes the teacher as the "great character";
this is the manner of relationship he is describing when he
speaks of the essential character formation of education.

Moving to the more specific methodology of the great
character, Buber makes several observations of the edu—
cator's manner of relationship with the students.

The teacher must learn to understand the student
from his side (inclusion), but he is not thereby permitted
to lose sight of his own positiOn. This highest of ethical
actions does not call for altruism, self—denial, or imper—
sonal judgment on the part of the teacher. True love does
not mean self-denial anymore than it means denial of others.

The I is indispensable for any relationship, including
the highest, which always presupposes an I and the
(Thou). What has to be given up is not the I but that
false drive for self—affirmation which impels man to
flee from the unreliable, unsolid, unlasting, unpre—

dictable, dangerous world of relation into the having
of things.57

mm
56Ibid., p. 69.

57Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Walter Kaufmann
(New York: Charles Scribner's and Sons, 1970), p. 126.

 

 

 

 

170

And certainly, education has always been more comfortable
with having methods, materials, and techniques than it has
with being in genuine relationship.

The educator must also recognize that he is only
one of many character—shaping influences in the student's
life and, from this viewpoint, his influence is quite small.
On the other hand, of all these influences, his alone is a
conscious, willed selection of the world, the selection of
what is right, of what should be. He alone wantg to effect
the whole person of the student.

The teacher's one access to the student is through
his confidence. "For the adolescent who is frightened
and disappointed by an unreliable world, confidence means
the liberating insight that there is human truth, the truth

of human existence."58

When the student accepts the teacher
as a person and feels he may trust him, all his resistance
against being educated gives way. He begins to ask his
question.

Confidence cannot be intentionally sought after, nor
393 by an effort, but comes from a sincere participation in

the life of the people one is dealing with and by assuming

the responsibility which COmes from this participation.

E

58Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 106.

 

 

 

 

 

 

171

"It is not the educational intention but the educational
meeting which is fruitful."59

Confidence, of course, does not mean agreement on
all matters between the teacher and the student, but even
conflicts have an educational value. However, after a con-
frontation must come the healing which will enable the
student to feel a continuation of the accepting relation—
ship. This healing, remarks Buber, is a supreme test for
the teacher.

In a society dominantly formed by collectives in
which the individual has relinquished personal responsibility
for the security of "belonging," the teacher has a difficult

but crucial role. "Today, the great characters are still

 

'enemies of the people,‘ they who love their society, yet
wish not only to preserve it but to raise it to a higher
level."60
In time the student will come to see that when a

people no longer decide what they do, and no longer carry
their own responsibility, they become sterile in soul.

This is where the teacher begins. After creating the feel—
ing that something is lacking, he awakens a courage to

shoulder life again, a desire for discipline and order, a

Patience with growth, and a longing for unity of person.

K“

59Ibid., p. 117. 6OIbid., p. ll6.

 

 

 

172

"Unity itself, unity of the person, unity of the lived life,

has to be emphasized again and again."61
In this societal role, the teacher is not leading

the student out of a collectivism only to pass over into

a new individualism, but beyond the individualism and

collectivism into genuine community. "Genuine education of

“62 The

character is genuine education for community.
teacher who has helped in the formation of character of
this and that student, has participated in the formation

of a new society for mankind. He is the architect of a new

unity for mankind.

K“.—

6lIbid., p. 115. 621bid.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER V

IMPLICATIONS FOR CURRICULUM

One of the principal problems in linking theory with
practice is the obvious fact that what appear to be common—
alities in performance may have been arrived at by a multi—
plicity of routes. One is on shaky ground if he contends
that the link between a theory and an example of practice

is anything more than one of compatibility.

Sartrean Pedagogy

Implicit in the present study is an insinuation that
the philosophical bases for a Sartrean theory of education
or curriculum are at some points compatible enough with the
philosophical roots of progressivism that many similarities
in educational theory and practice might reasonably be
expected to follow. Consequently, a theory of curriculum
based on Sartre's philosophy runs the risk of appearing to
be little more than a circuitous route back to many of the
PrOgressive practices of American education in the first
half of the twentieth century. This is not an objective of
the present study, however, and if its pedagogy seems
regressive, it may be simply because Sartre's thrust is in

the same direction as that of the leaders of the progressive

173

 

 

174

movement, who were zealously concerned to develop and justify
an educational system in which individuals might achieve
maximum self—realization while simultaneously building strong

group and institutional relationships.

Learning

The topic of knowledge has been dealt with in this
study in one entire chapter, Chapter III, but the problem
of Sartrean learning has received little attention. There
is a suggestion in Chapter III that the mechanics of the
learning process in Sartre's terms will somehow involve
intuition (immediate presence to . . .) and what Sartre
terms internal and external negations. One learns what a
thing is through learning what it is not. This, however,
is more nearly a point of departure for a very specialized
investigation within learning psychology. A more important
concern for a general theory of pedagogy would seem to be
the relationship between learning and the purpose or praxis
of the individual.

There is certainly nothing new or unusual in the
notion that student goals are of prime concern in effective
learning situations. In Sartre's View, praxis in the con-
text of an original project supplies the cement which makes
of the Self a unity. Therefore, the Sartrean oriented
classroom should sponsor learning activities which are
meaningful in relation to each student's original project

and to the immediate needs and interests growing out of

 

 

 

175

that project. In this sense, the psycho—bio—physical ele-
ments of the learning process are simply tools in the employ

of the individual's purposes.

The School and the Child

 

The ways in which the school may be organized for
learning are the subject of a voluminous literature in pro—
fessional education, and the curriculum patterns and adminis—
trative arrangements which have been placed in actual prac—
tice in American schools during the past half century are
too numerous and too diverse even to summarize. In recent
times, a great amount of attention has been given to the
possibilities of instructing large groups of students
through employing electronic and visual aids and often
through a pedagogical system of "division of labor" known
as team teaching. Fear has been expressed that children
may become alienated in the resultant relationships where
greater importance seems to be placed on what is to be
learned and how it is to be presented than on who is doing
the learning. In reaction to this threat, some educators
recommend a return to the traditional self—contained class—
rooms wherein the teacher-pupil relationships have sometimes
been compared derisively to those of an old mother hen and
her chicks.

There is nothing in Sartre's philosophy, fiction,
or expository writing which woulc commend one form of school

Organization over another; nor is there anything in his

 

 

 

 

 

176

writing which could indicate that he had ever given any time
even to thinking about the topic. It is true that he was
once a pedagogue himself, but this job was more a means to
an end than it was a profession.

If Sartre does not have a theory of education, it
cannot be said that he does not have a theory of childhood.
Sartre believes that the influences of childhood mark the
individual so deeply that he will carry this childhood all_
the way to the grave. This message is quite clear in
Sartre's autobiography, The Words. If one were to draw a
single pedagogical principle from his deep concern for
childhood and the family relationships of childhood, that
principle would have to be that the school's best and surest
route to the child is through his family.

Sartre sometimes refers to an original crisis in
childhood which tends to influence the individual's behavior
for the remainder of his life. This is not to say that the
original crisis is akin to the imprinting which experimental
psychologists have thought to have identified in ducklings
and in infants of other species, but this crisis is the
child's achievement of an awareness of his personality, his
individuality. He may chip and chisel at this figure for
the remainder of his life, but he will never forget the
outline which he saw in those first experiences of aware—
ness. If childhood contains this crisis which is so

important to the individual's self—concept, then it would

 

 

 

 

 

177

seem important for the school to provide a sheltered context
in which this "shock of recognition“ might occur.
Because this original crisis has sometimes been
referred to as an "existential moment," one should not be
misled into believing that it must occur all that fast.
Sartre writes:
Many people have testified to the fact that, around
the age of ten, they discovered their individuality
with amazement or anguish . . . . But this discovery
is usually made without much damage. Adults have
nothing to do with it. The child playing alone, a
slight change in the landscape, an event, a fleeting
thought, is enough to give rise to thelreflective
awareness which reveals our Ego to us.

In a word, society may set the stage even though unable to

write the script.

The term, "existential moment," has been interest—
ingly discussed in Van Cleve Morris' book, Existentialism
in Education.2 Morris believes that this moment, the moment
when the child discovers his individuality, occurs sometime
around the age of puberty, but he admits that it may occur
as early as the age of four. Morris, however, does draw a
distinction between the child's "existential moment" and

the critical experiences of adolescence. Although every

life must have its origins and undoubtedly certain

 

1Jean—Paul Sartre, Saint Genet: Actor and Martyr,
trans. Bernard Frechtman (New York: George Braziller, Inc.,
1963), p. 32.

2Van Cleve Morris, Existentialism in Education (New
York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1966), p. 111.

 

 

 

 

 

 

178

experiences are more critical than others, it may be more
accurate, using Sartre's imagery, to think of an individ—
ual‘s life as unfolding in spirals.

Perhaps what is represented in these moments of
significance is not so much an abrupt leaving—off and a
beginning as a signal experience which one establishes in
retrospect to account for a spiral. In any case, in
Sartre's view it appears that the concatenation of moments
which constitutes a life is segmented by periods of
transition, and the needs of the child will undoubtedly
vary with each of these periods. The teacher who strives
to comprehend the child will watch for these "critical
incidents“ as one watches for signs along an unfamiliar
and tortuous route.

Perhaps there is a lesson for the educator in
Sartre's analysis of Genet's painful childhood. Sartre
points out that the good folk of Genet's community pro—
jected the negative moments of their own personalities into
the ein personality of the little boy. Genet was their
scapegoat. They cast out their own evil and into him.
They needed him in order to preserve the dichotomy of good
and evil. Is it possible also that the community (society)
has need to project the negative aspect of intellection
into the personalities of scapegoats in order to preserve
the entire structure of intelligence and stupidity? Can

society identify the intelligent, if it does not mark the

 

 

 

 

 

179

stupid? Do not the members of the academic community look

upon themselves as "intelligent?" What they have in common
as contributors to the educative process is a freedom from

mental dullness.

Obviously, there are children who solve problems
with greater eagerness and accuracy than others. But does
this difference justify the establishment of a system of
value judgments which in its universal acceptance over—
powers the child and causes him to accept the objectifi—
cation as a disvalue——in this case, low scholastic aptitude?

Out of submission or respect, we take information
which, in any event, is only probable as being an
unconditional certainty. On the other hand, we are
tempted to regard the information of our conscious—
ness as dubious and obscure. This means that we have
given primacy to the object which we are to Others
over the subject we are to ourself.
The damage which results from this acceptance by the child
of his objectivity for Others is difficult to assess,
because in many cases he tends to work it out in a variety
of rationalizations; or suddenly when school days lie far
behind, he escapes the curse through the creation of his own
hierarchy of values. But escape is not always possible.
When children are subjected, from their earliest days,

to great social pressure, when their Being—for-Others
is the subject of a collective image accompanied by

 

3Jean—Paul Sartre, Saint Genet: Actor and Martyr,

 

trans. Bernard Frechtman (New York: George Braziller, Inc.,
1963), p. 43.

 

 

 

 

 

180
value judgments and social prohibitions, the alienation
is sometimes total and definitive.

That period in American education when the predomi-
nant trend of pedagogical theory was toward an emphasis on
the successful social adjustment of individual children
was all too brief. Once public education had been scape—
goated into responsibility for the failure of American
science and technology to surpass the Russians in the race
for space, the schools were compelled to quash their
interest in social adjustment and expeditiously to take up
the cause of pure intellection. Whereas the emphasis of
preprimary education was once rather generally devoted to
assisting children in the development of social skills, the
present trend seems to incline more toward the development
of intellectual readiness for the "solid" subjects; attention
is directed toward teaching preprimary children to read, to
employ set theory, or to do problems in elementary algebra.
The once criticized ability groups have matured into
"tracks," and the child is given an early opportunity to
objectify himself as a gifted student, a mediocre student,
or a "slow learner." At least an acknowledgment of the
importance of social adjustment in the educative process
has been manifested in the "Head Start" preprimary programs

for culturally deprived children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

181

How the school is organized for learning will be
dependent upon what society sees as the primary goals of
the school. If the main concern is for the development of
an intellectual elite with highly developed powers of
abstraction and an encyclopedic grasp of universal laws and
statements, the development of a support group which is
competent in the routine employment of the tools of the
culture, and the development of a lumpen labor force for
the performance of menial tasks and services, then the
emphasis should remain on subject matter and the methods
for transmitting this subject matter with greatest speed
and accuracy to those minds which are most capable of
utilizing it. Social adjustment will come to mean the
acceptance of the role which has been assigned to the student
throughout his school life on the basis of his intellectual
competence. Such objectives will, perhaps, be most effec-
tively reached through graded classes, tracking, instruction
by subject matter specialists, and the subordination of
such "frills" as music, art, physical education, and special
interest classes.

If, on the other hand, schools should become con-
cerned once more for the individual child's opportunities
for maximum self—realization; if once more, society should
see the importance of education for social adjustment—-
the development of humanitarian skills for coping with the

inevitable clash of man with man; if society is willing to

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

182

make of the schools a refuge where children may find ful-
fillment for their basic needs, then schools will afford
situations in which children will be more apt to discover
their individuality with amazement than with anguish.

It is difficult to say exactly what kinds of
administrative arrangements or curriculum organization such
a school should have in order to afford maximum protection
to the terribly insecure and at the same time to offer an
optimum environment for the children from less violent

circumstances. Certainly, it should minimize invidious

 

labels. It should, perhaps, be nongraded, and children
should be brought together for instruction in a variety of
special groups based on a multiplicity of special interests
and characteristics. In so far as practical, instruction
should be individualized, but there should also be oppor—
tunities for children to work together. For the sake of
continuity, the curriculum should be sliced up into large
blocks, but students should be encouraged to select indi-
vidual or group projects within these large units.

The instructional resources and materials should

offer maximum possibilities for children to pursue their

 

own interests. And fgrgg should have no place in the pro—
gram of this school inspired by Sartre's philosophy. This‘
does not mean that the school program inspired by Sartre's

philosophy should condone an anarchy of children's whims.

As he has pointed out, education compels the child whether

 

 

 

183

it proceeds through force or gentleness. Therefore, there
must be responsible direction for the school program.

Thus far, the discussion of formal education has tended to
focus on the relationships of the school to pre-adolescent
children. But childhood cannot last forever, and even-
tually the feet of the child's idols turn to clay, and he
realizes that the great truths which he has been absorbing
day by day are only man—made and that the man-idols are not
infallible.

The educational program for the adolescent should,
perhaps, afford expanded opportunities for revolution. He
should be permitted to appraise, to criticize, and figura—
tively to disassemble his cultural heritage. This should be
the period for examining men and movements in their recip—
rocal influences. In a real sense, adolescence should be
an age of revolt. Recognizing his responsibility for struc-
turing his own life and his future, the adolescent needs
encouragement to set aside the "truths" of his predecessors
and to build his own world. The school should stand ready
to assist him in his battle against the reactionism of those
who would enslave him. The curriculum for the adolescent
must strike a most delicate balance. It must attempt to
reveal for the individual the origins of himself, his con-
temporaries, and their institutions, but it must also
encourage him toward a vision of a future which surpasses

in satisfactions his past and his present.

 

 

184

Recalling Sartre's distinction between intellection
and comprehension, one might readily conclude that the
instructional processes, curricular patterns, and adminis—
trative arrangements for the transmission of conceptual
knowledge are of less importance than the opportunities which
are built into the school program for enabling teachers and
students to achieve an understanding of one another as
unique human realities. Actually, a distinction should
not be drawn between the two roles. Knowledge includes
both intellection and comprehension. Sartre attempts to
explain that, "Man is, for himself and for others, a sig—

"5 and that the various objects and facts in

nifying being,
the world,

are never entirely passive realities; the work of

other people has given to them their meaning, has

made out of them instruments, possibilities for

an other (any other).
Thus, the chemistry formulae which the student strives to
memorize during a period of independent study are signifi—
cations. They point toward certain possibilities, certain
instrumental capabilities, but they are not understandable
in separation from directed human activity. The formula,

2 x 2 = 4, may sometimes seem almost as if it were a reality

independent of human activity, but it merely signifies a

 

5Jean—Paul Sartre, Search for a Method, trans.
Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1963),
p. 152.

 

6

Ibid., p. 153.

 

185

possibility for quantification on the part of an existing
human being. Man is the giver of meanings, and no subject
matter is meaningful except as it relates to human enter—
prises.

Much of education will involve the analysis, the
memorization, and the application of significations and
instruments, but this does not mean that the teacher may
disregard the importance of what Sartre refers to as
comprehension, that is, the understanding of a human
reality through living the relationship. The chemistry
teacher, the mathematics teacher, the typing teacher, all

who teach, will need to be able to search out the origins

 

of a student's fundamental project and catch a glimpse of
the ends which define it. This is the basic requirement
and the defining principle for a theory of curriculum based

on the philosophy of Jean—Paul Sartre.

Buberian Pedagogy

 

What the educator wants to hear is the "how to" of
pedagogy. In this context, Buber's educational writings
will be deeply frustrating and disappointing to the average
reader for he has none of these to offer, nor does he even
write in this vein.

Even the few descriptions he offers of his own
applications of his theory would mislead the reader if he
were to see them as patterns for imitation. They should

remain Buber's applications, developed by his particular

 

186

personality out of big situation. Buber communicates to us
a philosophy, not his own applications; a way, not a spe-
cific methodology. Should we accept his contention that
his philosophy is inherent in each of us, validated by our
own experience, we must follow, each by finding his own
unique application.

Education, to Buber is an art far more than a
science; a meeting of persons more than an application of a
technique or a giving of information; a realization of
human potential more than a training of the mind or body.

Martin Buber's contribution to education, then, is

not on the surface of technique, but in the basic area of

 

a philosophical foundation for education. And as one truly
comes to focus education into this deeper, anthropological
level, he sees how close is the connection between philos—
ophy and education. Following Buber, he also sees that such
a philosophy of education is profoundly dynamic and relevant
because it answers the radical needs of the present situ—
ation. What Buber offers us, then, is the foundation out

of which our educational work can successfully and effec—
tively proceed.

The intent of this section of the chapter is not so
much to introduce new material, although this will be done,
but to weave into the educational situation the variety of
threads drawn from the prior Buberian philosophical con-

siderations. First, we will look at education through

 

 

187

Buber's dialogical—dialectical frame of reference, then
follow by an exposition of the critical teacher-student
relationship, and conclude with a study of the "world"

selected and embodied by the teacher. Under these three

points can we best survey Buber's theory of curriculum.

Dialogical Education

 

Education in our time has been dominated by the
"transmission of values" concept, a euphemism for a politi—

cal education in which one generation imposes its values

 

on the next in such a manner that the younger assumes them
as if these values were their own. This concept is both
inspired by and fosters in others a political vision of
life, man to man. Each sees every other man as a being

of productivity of varying capacity. Each is to be met and
employed in his specific capacity in whatever way will
further the first individual's ends.

All of our public life and all of its relations are
patterned on this basic political model. It pervades even
our personal life which allows only now and then, the
instrusion of love and friendship-—a momentary experience
Of the Thou-—“after which man, as if nothing has happened,

resumes at any given time the usual practice."7 When we

 

apply this political pattern to a relation between adult

and child, we have what is generally called "education":

F

‘ 7Martin Buber, Believing Humanism, trans. Maurice
Friedman (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967), p. 99.

 

 

 

 

188

a utilitarian relationship in which the child is recognized
to have certain capacities for productivity which are to

be nurtured, managed and exploited for some local or national
purpose.

Man is experiencing a turning and a breaking-through
of this political dominance into a new social order. And
within it, Buber sees a new education opening up, based on
an entirely new valuation, man to man. For all his common
traits, each is to be recognized as a unique person. He

is to be made conscious of this value which he alone is and

 

is capable of becoming. He is to be made conscious of the
world of Thou which waits and meets him in every situation.
In this new form, it is not instruction which edu-
cates, but the instructor. Contact is the primary word.
The teacher is to be the medium of the new education, not
as a conveyor of information, but as a human being before
human beings. And the teacher, not as a director from above
to the uninformed below, but in genuine interaction. This
is what Buber calls the dialogical principle in education.
It does not form the exclusive element in his new form of
education which he perceives, but it is the heart and soul

of it. The "political" remains but not as the dominant, let

 

alone exclusive, theme. That which truly educates is the
relationship "between" teacher and student. It is the person
of the teacher more than his content, in his being more than

in his calculated intention which educates the student. The

 

189

goal of the curriculum is the formation of a man capable of
a Thou relationship with his environment. The individual
as an object of knowledge lying before the It world, is to
be transformed into a person who encounters the Thou world.
Education, then, is far more the present formation of
character than the communication of past information or
past values. In a word, Buber awakens us to a dialogical

education.

Embracing the Polarities

Not only is Buber's educational philosophy dialog—
igal, but dialectical as well, following a dialectical
development which clearly parallels the dialectical alter—
nation of all existence. This can be more clearly exposed
by first discussing the two educational polarities dealt
with by Buber, and then by placing them into his dynamically
unfolding pattern.

Under a variety of descriptive terms, each with its
own nuance, Buber sees the first pole occupied by the
traditional form of education, which concerns itself with
content, with the giving of knowledge, and with clear and
distinct concepts. This form pours education into the
student in the manner of a "funnel." Its teacher is a
"sculptor" who wishes to impress his preconceived image on
to his student.

The first pole of instruction is opposed by Buber

to its alternate pole, the formation of character. This

 

 

 

190

second polarity, closer to Buber's concept but lacking the
dialectic, is occupied by the progressive form of edu—
cation, and concerns itself with process, with the creative
freedom of the student, and with "doing." This form draws
education out of the student in the manner of a "pump," and
its teacher is a "gardener" who provides for the student
but trusts his inner natural growth without interference.

Educationally, Buber can identify with much of the
thinking of either polarity, but not with all of it, nor
can he accept either exclusive of the other.

Sculptors have too much confidence in themselves
and their pre—set patterns, thinks Buber, and have for—
gotten the creativity of the student. Students have many
potentialities, not one; they are plastic and should be
given greater initiative and responsibility. A resolute
opponent to the compulsive rigidity of this polarity, Buber
nevertheless respects and endorses their concern for the
clarification of concepts as a presupposition of education
and their desire to meet the "great ideas" of other ages.
As noted, one of the accents of Buber's education is the
need to encounter other world—views in true dialogue rather
than to exclude them as affronts to one's own "valid"
world—View.

The Gardener has not enough confidence in himself;
he believes in the goodness of the student, but also that

he is predetermined by his potentialities. This makes the

 

 

 

 

 

fir

191

teacher a humble but passive educator who often falls into
excessive indulgence. Responding to the child's creative
instinct, the progressive educator raises the standard of
"freedom" as the great panacea of all education's ills.
But like its counterpart in Buber's philoSOphy, the world
of Thou, freedom would be disastrous if left to its own
ways. Buber appraises it:

I love freedom, but I do not believe in it. How could

one believe in it after looking in its face: It is

the flash of a significance comprising all meanings,

of a possibility comprising all potentiality. For it

we fight, again and again, from of old, victorious
and in vain.

 

Freedom is imaginative of all possibilities, but it lacks
direction——the necessary It to give it structure, solidarity,
and continuity. Freedom is a foot—bridge, not a dwelling
place for education; it is the means which leads us to the

end of communion. Communion alone bridges sculptor and

 

gardener, funnel and pump, traditional and progressive.
Communion, not freedom, is the fundamental task of education.

In response to a Hutchins or a Maritain, Buber is

 

uncomfortable with the permanent division of man into body

and soul, as he is with a theory of curriculum which seeks

 

to develop the mind of man as something separate from the
remainder of his personality. But on the other hand, the
"whole man" of a Dewey, considered as an individuality

collected as so many parts from the natural environment,

g

8Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), P. 91.

 

 

 

192

is only the substratum for the personal “whole man" intended
by Buber. And the object of Dewey's education, the
empirical world to be verified by scientific investigation,
closely resembles Buber's world of It, not his world of
Thou. The object of Buber's education is rather the
authentification of the student‘s own truth in the whole

of his personal life.

Clearly, Buber would not have opposed the teaching
machines and programmed education of B. F. Skinner when
used as instrumental methods to give knowledge and con—
cepts, but he would be opposed to their exclusive or even
dominant use in a "scientific education" which places the
teacher to one side allowing the far more effective machine
to do the central work of "teaching." On the other hand,
he would have equally opposed Carl Rogers who also places
the teacher to one side as a resource provider and facili—
tator of the educational process, admitting that he cannot
teach and that the student learns far better when left to
his own devices. For Buber, the teacher and the relation—
ship between teacher and student, is the indispensable
heart of education. Without this relation, education masks
as attempted magic which "desires to obtain its effects
without entering into relation, and practices its tricks

in the void."9

 

9Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1958), P. 83.

 

 

 

 

 

193

The Dialectical Alternation of Education
Originally, remarks Buber, there was no "educa—

tional system" but only the "master." Bearing a semblance
to the original state of the primeval Thou, Buber describes
this medieval educational situation as a simple, instinctive
and unconscious education where the apprentice and journey—
man lived with the master, whether philosopher or craftsman,
learning his handiwork and brainwork.

But they also learned, without either their or his

being concerned with it, they learned, without

noticing they did, the mystery of personal life:

they received the spirit.
But in the process of growth, society's education has
become "distanced" and we have now separated original edu-
cation into formal school, the institutional, and personal
formation, the educational. And unfortunately, it is the
distanced institution which usually dominates the relational
education. While the present state is often far less satis-
factory than the former, we cannot realistically think of
returning to that earlier, unified relationship. Rather we
must accept reality as it stands here and now, and yet seek
some transformation of it by awakening the dialogical
relationship within it. "Education has lost the paradise
Of pure instinctiveness and now consciously serves as the

plough of the bread of life."ll

 

loMartin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), pp. 89—90.

llIbid.

 

 

 

194

Social development away from more organic forms and
into an industrialized society has required this conscious,
formal institution for education called schooling. Here,
the content of an education, the concepts and information,
skills and cultural patterns, are consciously imposed into
the student. The genuine education, unconsciously communi—
cated through the personal relationship with the "master"
has been pressed to one side and made that exceptional
”something" which occurs only "on the heights.“

It is clearly unrealistic to condemn the schooling
and propose a return to the structureless education of the
past, just as it is unrealistic to condemn the It and pro—

pose a life with the structureless Thou. Such a venture,

 

so strongly recommended by contemporary romantic educators,
could never survive for long. Rather, one must enter into
‘ the dialectical alternation, meet the formalized schooling
‘ with personal relationship, and gradually humanize it
through alternation. As the simple man, who has distanced
himself, must begin his long, patient growth to become the
perfect man, so education, once distanced from the "master"
experience, must begin its gradual ascent, continually
humanizing its institutions, until it becomes a matured,
relational education.
The fact of life of this dialectic is the presence
Of tension. Those concerned with demonstrable progress in

content and order will see the nebulous concerns of the

 

195

humanizers as threats to their stability. In turn, the
humanizers will see all order and structure as threats to
spontaneous relationships. It is always the line of
demarcation which must be sought, the point of tension which
will achieve the optimum of growth.

The key factor in Buber's humanizing dialectic,
then, is the teacher. It is he who must strive to bring
his "content" and "information" within himself, personal—
izing it and thereby making himself "a selection of the
effective world." He alone, in his relationship with his
students, partially restores the spiritual quality of the
"master," educates the student, and humanizes the school.

Buber‘s education is essentially dialogical, not in

 

a static, uniform sense, but rather in the dynamic alter—

nating pattern of the dialectic.

The Teacher—Student Relationship

 

The personality of the teacher occupies the central
position in Buber's educational picture. Understandably,
if education is to be founded on mutuality, people rather
than systems must be the key factor. And the one person
who occupies the immediate relational role and bears the
responsibility for mutuality in the actual educational
situation is the teacher. Yet it becomes immediately
obvious that the qualities of personality called for by
Buber, are rare indeed. If there is to be a change in

education, there must be a change in the educator, and this

 

196

 

means that we must begin with the education of the educator.
If the teacher must be a personality of unusually human—
istic quality, the teacher of teachers, the college and
university professor must above all be a man of great quality
and stature. Can the dynamics of the educational relation—
ship required of this teacher be more precisely defined?
What is unique about this educational relationship?

As a professional, the teacher comes to the class—
room armed with his expertise——a fund of knowledge and a
methodology——with which he strives to objectivize the abyss
of energy and confusion which sits before him into a program
which can, to some degree, be handled. And he does make a
contribution when he clarifies concepts and brings new
information and resources to the student. But there comes
a moment when the educator begins to suspect than, at least
in this situation, then perhaps in all, something entirely
other is demanded of him. He must step out of his correct
methodological objectification and out of his professional
superiority, achieved and guaranteed by training and prac—
tice, "into the elementary situation between one who calls
and one who is called." Once having "met" and helped his
student in this particular educational relationship, the
teacher returns to his former mode of operation, but as a
changed person. He returns to it as one for whom the neces~
sity of genuine personal meetings in the depths of human

existence between one in need of help and the helper has

 

 

197

 

been revealed. As a result, he both modifies his method
according to his experience and is himself modified into a
realizing man as well.

This relationship, newly discovered and realized
to be the true educational relationship, is not that of
full mutuality. Such would be a relationship of friendship
and not educative. In the "Postscript" added to I and Thou,
Buber says, "there are some I—Thou relationships which in

their nature may not unfold to full maturity if they are to

persist in their nature."12

In order to help the realization of the best potential-
ities in the pupil's life, the teacher must really mean
him as the definite person he is in his potentiality
and his actuality; more precisely, he must not know him
as a mere sum of qualities, striving and inhibitions,
he must be aware of him as a whole being and affirm him
in this wholeness. But he can only do this if he meets
him again and again as his partner in a bipolar situ—
ation. And in order that his effect upon him may be a
unified and significant one he must also live this situ—
ation, again and again, in all its moments not merely
from his own end, but also from that of his partner; he
must practice the kind of realization which I call
inclusion.

 

The educator must stand well grounded at his own pole in

this bi—polar relationship, but also, with his strength, make
present the other side. He must reach over and experience
the effect of his own action as the student experiences it.

He experiences the student's being educated, but the

 

12Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. Ronald Gregor
Smith (New York: Scribners, 1958), p. 131.

13

Ibid., p. 132.

 

 

198

student cannot experience the educating of the teacher.14
The specific educational quality of the relationship would
come to an end the moment the student thought of and suc-
ceeded in practicing inclusion, experiencing the event from
the teacher's pole as well. Education is only possible to
the one who lives over against the other, and yet is
detached.

This conception of Buber's does not exclude a feel-
ing of equality and mutuality between teacher and student.
The feeling of mutuality is not the same as being in full
mutuality with the student. There is a distinction between
the ontological, often unconscious but real situation of
onesidedness between teacher and student, and the psychic
situation in which the attitude of the teacher is one of
Openness to learning and equality of relationship. The
interchange between the matured mind and the mind that is
still in the process of formation must be genuine; the
experiences of both sides are of importance. The teacher
does not question to evaluate the student's knowledge, nor
to "Socratically" lead him to a new truth known beforehand
by the teacher, but questions genuinely to seek information
from the experience and concerns of the student. And the
teacher's reply to the student's questions should, in turn,
proceed from the teacher's own personal experience.

M

14Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, trans. Ronald
Gregor Smith (New York: Macmillan Company, 1965), p. 100.

 

 

 

 

 

199

Nevertheless, more important than his feeling of
equality and mutuality is the involuntary influence the
teacher has on the student through his mature life. This
ontological relationship of inclusion, epitomized in Buber's
Hasidic Zaddik, is found in society, especially in the three
helping relationships of the priest with his parishioner,
the psychotherapist with his patient, and teacher with his
student. As their inclusive relationship is the same, so
their task of existential healing is the same.

The two enemies of the powerful inclusive relation—
ship of the teacher are Eros and the will—to—power. EEQE
is a subjective attitude which seeks to experience and enjoy
his students. He selects and possesses, but all from his
own side and without the perception of inclusion. Eros
chooses, but his choice is made on self—inclusion.

Similar to the propagandist, will—to—power seeks to
use the student by imposing the teacher's will and opinions
on him and thereby shape him into the teacher's image
rather than confirming him in his own. This will—to—power
often inflates itself by claiming the authority of history,
but when this authority begins to decay, the will becomes
near—dictatorial as it seeks to maintain the passing his—
toric realm through the student.

Both Eros and will-to—power are destructive of the

educative relationship; only through inclusion can they be

transformed.

 

 

200

Only an inclusive will to power is able to take the
lead; only an inclusive Eros is love. Inclusiveness
is the complete realization of the submissive person,
the desired person, the "partner" not by fancy but by
the actuality of the being.
Buber calls this practice the asceticism of teaching,
or again, the tragic role of the teacher. In his meeting,
the teacher must put aside all desire to dominate or enjoy
the student, for this will destroy the student's educative
growth. ". . . either he takes on himself the tragedy of
the person, and offers an unblemished daily sacrifice, or
the fire enters his works and consumes it."16 He must
practice that asceticism which does not select those with
whom he will enter relation, but must accept them as they
are presented to him.
He sees them crouching at the desks, indiscriminately
flung together, the misshapen and the well—proportioned,
animal faces, empty faces, and the noble faces in indis—
criminate confusion, like the presence of the created
universe; the glance of the educator accepts and
receives them all.

His asceticism requires him to embrace the "worlds" before

him, and to assume his responsibility to influence them,

but not to interfere in their growth.

The role of the teacher is tragic also because he
can never achieve perfection in his work of teaching. In

most cases, learning is too fragmentary and seldom evidences

itself in a completely existential healing as is the case

 

15Ibid., p. 97. l6Ibid., p. 94.

17

Ibid.

 

 

201

with psychotherapy. One meets; one embraces; one confirms
his student, but seldom may one perceive and experience the
full personal transformation that is sought in the educa—
tional relationship.

The inclusive relationship is not at all common;
some never offer it and some offer it ever again in vain.
But once the teacher has experienced the inclusive relation—
ship, a mere elaboration of further subjective relationships
of Eros and will-to—power are never again possible nor toler-
able to him.18

Although he cannot continue without interruption in
this inclusive relationship with each student, he now has
realized within himself a capacity of Thou—openness for the
student which spans over each individual encounter. This
is the teacher's responsibility for the student, a continuum
based on his confidence in the Thou existence of reality
as evidenced in this particular student. Responsibility is
the continuum in the teacher which binds together each
spontaneous inclusive Thou meeting and allows the entire
educative relationship to survive the inevitable, inter—
mittent returns to the world of It.

What is the educative effect experienced by the
student who lives in this inclusive relationship?

First, let it be said clearly that the goal of

inclusion is not self—realization. Self—realization is a

 

l8Ibid., p. 97.

 

 

 

 

202

by—product but the goal is completing distance by relation
and relation means confirmation, mutuality, and genuine
dialogue.

The primary task of education is to awaken in the
student the need to communicate. There is in the child an
instinct for communion, i.e., a longing for the world to
become present to him as a person "which goes out to us as
to it, which chooses and recognizes us as we do it, which

19 It is the task of edu—

is confirmed in us as we in it."
cation to keep this longing, this "pain" alive in the
individual and to encourage him to bring it into fulfill-
ment.

This task is called primary in a chronological
rather than an hierarchical sense; it is the presupposition
to the task of education, the necessary step that enables
this individual to become a person and thus make real edu—
cation possible. How is it accomplished? Through the
educator's own life in which he meets the everyday and its
actions with his open participation. Through the teacher's
trustworthiness, the student learns confidence; through the
teacher's lived courage, the student learns courage, the
courage to communicate himself.

The educator must also foster the other original
forces, primarily the originator instinct, in which the

child shares in the creation of forms. When encouraged to

 

lgIbid., p. 88.

 

 

203

the exclusion of the instinct for communion, the creative
instinct leads to solitude and self—contradiction, but
nevertheless, it is a prime force within the child and an
essential "way" to the educated life.

The teacher must see the child as a creative event—-
a new potentiality. True, he is heavily conditioned by what
has come before——his social background, his parents, etc.;
the causal I—It cannot be discounted——but the teacher must

"20

also see "in every hour, the human race begins. The

child is a creative event if ever there was one, newness
rising up, primal potential might.
This potentiality, streaming unconquered, however much
it is squandered, is the reality child: this phenomenon

of uniqueness, which is more than just begetting and21
birth, this grace of beginning again and ever again.

 

The educator must never allow himself to become
blind to the immense possibility which sits before him in
his classroom.

Future history is not inscribed already by the pen of

a causal law on a roll which merely awaits unrolling;
its characters are stamped by the unforeseeable deci-
sions of future generations. The part to be played in
this by everyone alive today, by every adolescent and
child, is immeasurable, and immeasurable is our part if
we are educators.

A further task for the teacher is to balance the
"line of demarcation" of the tension "between" him and his

student in this educative inclusive relationship. There is

 

20Ibid., p. 83. 2lipid.

22Ibid., p. 84.

 

 

 

 

 

204

an optimum level which allows the student the highest degree
of learning and growth. If by the teacher's confirmation,
the student achieves too much self—identity and "distance,"
he will be reluctant to risk new realizations and venture
further encounters with the teacher. The inclusive relation—
ship will collapse and the creative growth, education will
come to an end.

If on the other hand, his relationship with his
teacher lacks the corresponding distance and confirmation,
the student will over—identify and tend backwards toward the
primitive Thou. The educative relationship will dissolve
into a unity and learning will cease. In the first case,
the tension will be too great, in the second, too light.

It is for the teacher to sense out the "line of demarcation“
between the two, here encouraging more openness to the world
of relationship, there confirming the student into more
distance and self—identity, but ever seeking that optimum
level of relation "between" where his student will enjoy

the greatest learning.

This tension level should also be viewed inclusively
from within the student: the tension between what he is and
what he is able to become. Too little tension secures him
in his present self—identity and he shuns all impetus to
meeting new experiences and realizing further potentialities.
But if he goes out to these potentialities too far too fast,

he will lose his orientation and become dangerously anxious

 

 

 

 

 

 

205

and frustrated. The tension level will have become too
intense and existential—learning will not occur. The stu—
dent must make the necessary effort to incorporate what he
learns; he must not lose his own "world," an essential
basis of the learning dialectic. Education requires a
healthy balance of tension between the present and the
future, between the actual and the potential; it needs the
properly monitored alternation. It needs the presence of
the teacher to wrestle with the student against his less
experienced self. And each situation requires that the
teacher draw ever again the optimum "line of demarcation"
between the two.

A fourth role of the teacher is that of confirmation.
This response could superficially be described as the
teacher's acceptance of the student and the communication
of that acceptance. The student presents himself to the
teacher, either honestly in his bgigg or masked behind a
seeming person. Then it is for the teacher (1) to communi—
cate to the student out of himself the courage to disclose
his true bgigg in some manner, (2) to apperceive in a syn—
thetic "wholeness" the true being of the student, both
actual and potential, then (3) to confirm that bgigg by
consciously identifying with it, communicating this con-
firmation back to the student, and by demonstrably approving
of his authentic being. This enables the student to know

and be himself as he could not have done without his

 

 

206

relationship with the teacher to confirm him. As this is

the primal responsibility among men——to confirm each other

in their being, without which there is no human development——
it is especially the primal task of the teacher.

But the work of confirmation goes beyond the sur—
face description just given. The value of the student is
not only what he ig but equally all that he is capable of
becoming. All of this goes to make up his human identity.
The teacher must perceive the totality—~not parts or a sum
of parts, but a totalitye—the whole person. When his
inclusive relationship allows him to respond to his student
on the basis of this "whole vision," he is said to have mggg
the student present. It is this "making present“ which gives
confirmation its educative power and importance.

Finally, in his individual relationships with his
students, the teacher must strive to develop in each a
conscience, i.e., he helps each become aware of his own
value-~who he is and what he is capable of becoming—-by a
variety of related tasks. His courage enables the student
to see beyond the seeming man to his true being. He enables
him to see his existential guilt by going beyond an objec—
tive statement into a full perception of the roots of his
failure to become himself in the past and a full acceptance
of the injury this has imposed upon the world about him.

Both, conscience-vision and conscience—courage, are taught,

 

207

not through the teacher's instruction, but by his own
existential Vision and courage.

The teacher's responsibility is not exclusive to
each student, one by one, but also to the class as a whole.
Again, it is unfortunate that so many have misread Buber to
insist that his I—Thou, and therefore his educative relation—
ship, must be thought of on the one to one level. Community
is essential in the educative process. As the teacher steps
before his class for the first time, he sees what resembles
far more Kierkegaard's public or Heidegger's mass than
Buber's community. Yet, no device or technique can trans—
form this group into a community. It cannot be established
from without but must be responded to from within.

Community forms from the center, the teacher, and
only secondarily extends around the periphery, student to
student. It is the teacher who turns this collective or
mass of individuals into a community by meeting each, one
by one, and acquiring their confidence. They become com—
munity by responding to the need of the moment, to the con—
cern of their present situation under the helping leadership
of the teacher. Again, it is far more his qualities of
personality "present" to them, his trust and confidence,
rather than his directions which create this human bond.
Community is the environment in which learning takes place;
but more, it is the interpersonal dynamic of relationship
itself under the encompassing responsibility and inclusive

relationship of the teacher.

 

208

The community serves not only to create the optimum
environment for the educative process, but responds to the
needs of contemporary society at large. If the common form
of education today is a type of propaganda called "education
for citizenship" which attempts to impose an image precon—
ceived as "idea" by the political, then the task of the
Buberian teacher is to educate a generation with a true
social outlook and will. This outlook comes from those who
have experienced community and who intend to transform life
from the political to the social by developing genuine com—
munal "We's" as the pattern of society. Education is natu—
rally social, not political, and the teacher today need only
awaken anew in his students the desire and experience of
community and thereby educate them for tomorrow's society.

The teacher is the here and now realization—-in
this situation and among these students——of the true helper,
who, through his vision of the meaning of life, and courage
to meet life in openness, communicates these two qualities
to his students. While he refrains from moralizing, lectur-
ing, or imposing, he nevertheless enables them to develop
these qualities in their own lives. True education is the
formation of character. It is based on a primal EEEEE
enabling the student to follow the teacher in confidence.
True education is not technique, but genuine, inclusive

relationship.

 

 

209

Teacher as a Selection of the World

 

The preceding discussion on the educative relation-
ship between teacher and student must not lead the reader
to think of education solely as an unfolding of latent
potentialities before the teacher. "The growth of the
spirit is no more an unfolding than that of the body."23
Rather it is the EQElQ which educates; it is the world which
engenders personhood out of the individual. "The world,
that is the whole environment, nature and society, 'educates'
the human being; it draws out his powers and makes him grasp

and penetrate its objections."24

Education, true education,
is not autonomous but one form of the entire culture.

Education is only the epitomy of a large complex of relation-

 

ships whose sum and "totality" is the culture.

What is properly called "education," means a
selection by man of the effective world. Out of the endless
variety of things which stream by the individual in a rather
purposeless fashion, the educator consciously selects those
which he feels forms a representative whole of the world
totality. These forces are not only selected by the edu-
cator, they are selected within him. He becomes a living
selection of the world. "He distinguishes, rejects, and

confirms in himself, in his self which is filled with the

 

23Ibid., p. 89. 24Ibid.

 

210

world . . . . The educator educates himself to be their
vehicle."25

In other discussions by Buber, the teacher is said
to possess a world—view or a vision of the meaning of

reality. The point to be stressed is that this selection

of the world is not primarily intellectual or conceptual,

 

but is existentially lived by the educators and existenti—
ally communicated to his students. He embodies this world
selection in the authenticity of his personality. "In this
way, through the educator, the world for the first time
becomes the true subject of its effect."26

Buber, therefore, stresses that the teacher must

first of all acquire the trust and confidence of his student.

 

In his personality, the teacher bears into the classroom
this embodiment of the world so that the student may
encounter it and be educated by it through the teacher.
But this requires that the student first freely giyg hig

confidence to the selection. He need not agree to toto with

the content or accuracy of the teacher's world—view, but
only that the teacher‘s world is a valid, authentic repre—
sentation; that the selection has been faithfully drawn.
Once this necessary confidence has been conferred,
the educative process can advance. The student begins by
gaining access to his teacher's world—view and testing it

with reality itself. In so doing, the student begins to

 

25 26

Ibid., p. 101.

Ibid., p. 89.

 

 

211

forge his own world—view for himself. Only by using a
world-view, can the educator point to the real world; no
other way is possible. He knows that one cannot have a
world, but only a world-view. The question is always raised
before both teacher and student: does my world-view further
my living relationship with the world that is "viewed" or
does it obstruct it?

And so the teacher has a two-fold influence upon his
students: a founding one and a postulating one. He first
helps the student found his own world—view tested deep in
the soil of reality and enriching him in perspective and
confidence. It offers him an access to the world and its
working forces. Further, he educates the student to a
"world-View conscience," i.e., to continually authenticate
his world—view in the obligation of the thousand small
realizations of it.

The teacher, in making himself a selection of the
world, shall consider the above as preparatory to entering
the classroom. But Buber offers further descriptions of
how he should conduct himself in the classroom situation.

His first admonition is to preserve, in this situation, the
identity—indifference pattern basic to his ontology. Com—
munity is not a unity of like—minded individuals, but a
genuine living together of men of complementary natures but

different minds. Community is based on otherness bridged in

 

 

 

 

212

relationship. Differences are respected—~they are the basis
of relationship.

So in the classroom, Buber feels that the work of
educators is to set groups with different world—views in
direct relation to one another so that, in their dialogical
exchanges with one another, each might refine his own self—
identity and yet remain conscious of where its conceptual
limitations fail to express the reality of the world itself.
Only when world—views are set opposed to one another, or
only when they are brought into a 'lived—relationship' with
real life, can this fine "dialectical inner line," the new
problematic peculiar to this world—view make itself visible.

In this situation with opposing world—views side
by side, the teacher should never be anxious to solve obvious
contradictions prematurely. One must embrace the whole,
bear the contradiction, and allow the resolution to develop
out of the embrace rather than artificially settle it by
electing one side or another.

Conflicts will inevitably result from such a form of
education where different world—views are encouraged, stu—
dent to student, and student to teacher. But conflicts,
when set in a healthy atmosphere, have an educational value.27
The test of the teacher is his ability to not lessen the
piercing impact of the knowledge in question, yet have on

hand the healing word for the ego which advances this point

 

27

Ibid., p. 107.

 

 

 

 

213

of View. If his opinion prevails over the student, he must
support the student's acceptance; if the discussion ends

in a stand off, he must "find the word of life which alone
can help to overcome so difficult a situation."28

The teacher must help the student distinguish
between a political use of a world—view, and an educational
use. In the political, one holds his view rigidly and with
a certainty of mind that allows him to defend it without
hesitation and ambivalence to all attacks. He acts upon
his world-view with complete confidence in its validity.

But such an attitude would be destructive of the
educational situation. Here, the student must ever recog—
nize the gap which lies between the limits of his View and
the real world itself. He must be willing to continually
adjust, out of the class experience, his View to a more
radical reflection of reality. This flexibility is essen—
tial to learning.

The teacher's work of forming and testing world—
views with his students is not limited in its importance to
the classroom. This conversation extends to the community,
over the land, and over generations. It develops a cultural
view and gradually gives birth to a new cosmos with its
accompanying new image of man. Such a world-to~live—in can
never be invested by man, but is engendered by a culture——

principally through its work of education. This is found

 

28Ibid., p. 108.

 

 

 

214

not only in the grammar schools, but throughout education's
institutions, especially in the education of adults. Edu—
cation not only develops character and gives identity, it
not only forms and gives evaluation of men's world—views,

it not only stirs up an image of man for a future tradition,
but it actually gives birth to the very world in which man
will live his future. It is the world which educates, but

it is the dialogue of education which engenders the world.

Personal Reflections

 

It is very difficult to effectively investigate all
of the various interesting aspects of this study. Without
doubt this study of two tremendous individuals, outstanding
because of their impact on existential thinking, could con—
tinue indefinitely. My regret is that_since I have placed

my own timetable on this particular study, I have not dealt

 

with some of those interesting problems.

Several areas I feel need more investigation and
thought are these: How would Sartre ensure that students
avail themselves of all possible options in the area of
subject matter to be mastered? In what areas are Sartre
and Buber compatible in the discussion of curriculum theory?
Where do they differ and why?

A complex and important task, I feel, would be to
examine the implications for curriculum of a philosophy

which states, "Hell is other people,‘ and one that states,

"In other people I find God." Here we find Sartre and

 

 

215

Buber in direct contrast as far as interpersonal relation—
ships are concerned. How might they resolve this conflict?
How do we?

This study was not meant to compare two outstanding
individuals but to bring out the best of each in my search

for an existential philosophy of curriculum.

 

 

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

 

 

 

 

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

I. Selected English Translations of
Sartre's and Buber's Works

 

Books

Buber, Martin. "Autobiographical Fragments." "Replies."

The Philosophy of Martin Buber. Translated by
Maurice Friedman. LaSalle, Illinois: Open Court
Publishing Company, 1967.

A Believing Humanism. Translated by Maurice
Friedman. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1967.

. Between Man and Man. Translated by Ronald Gregor

 

Smith. New York: Macmillan Co., 1965.

. Good and Evil. Translated by Ronald Gregor

 

Smith. New York: Scribners, 1952.

. I and Thou. Translated by Ronald Gregor Smith.

 

2nd Edition. New York: Scribners, 1958.

. I and Thou. Translated by Walter Kaufmann. New

 

Sartre,

York: Charles Scribners and Sons, 1970.

. The Knowledge of Man. Translated by Ronald
Gregor Smith and Maurice Friedman. New York:
Harper and Row, 1955.

. Pointing the Way. Edited and translated by
Maurice Friedman. New York: Harper and Row, 1963.

Jean—Paul. Being and Nothingness, An Essay on
Phenomenological Ontology. Translated by Hazel E.
Barnes. New York: The Philosophical Library, 1956.

. Existentialism and Human Emotions. Translated
by Bernard Frechtman and Hazel E. Barnes. New
York: The Philosophical Library, Inc., 1957.

. Existential Psychoanalysis. Translated by
Hazel E. Barnes. New York: PhilOSOphical Library,
Inc., 1953.

216

217

 

Sartre, Jean—Paul. Nausea. Translated by Lloyd Alexander.
Norfolk, Connecticut: New Directions, 1959.

. No Exit and Three Other Plays. Translated by
Stuart Gilbert. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.,
1948.

 

. Saint Genet: Actor and Martyr. Translated by
Bernard Frechtman. New York: George Braziller,
Inc., 1963.

 

. Search for a Method. Translated by Hazel E.
Barnes. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1963.

 

. The Transcendence of the Ego, An Existentialist
Theory of Consciousness. Translated by Forrest
Williams and Robert Kirkpatrick. New York: The
Noonday Press, 1957.

 

II. General Commentary of Existentialism

Books

Greene, Norman. Jean-Paul Sartre, The Existentialist Ethic.
Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 1960.

Kaufmann, Walter. Existentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre.
Cleveland: The World Publishing Company, 1956.

Marcel, Gabriel. The Philosophy of Existentialism. Trans—
lated by Manya Harari. New York: The Citadel Press,

1956.

Molina, Fernando. Existentialism as Philosophy. Englewood
Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1962.

Olson, Robert G. An Introduction to Existentialism. New
York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1962.

Solomon, Robert C. (ed.). Existentialism. New York:
Random House, Inc., 1974.

Warnock, Mary. Existentialism. London: Oxford University
Press, 1970.

. Existentialist Ethics. London: Macmillan and
Co. Ltd., 1967.

. The Philosophy of Sartre. New York: Barnes &
Noble, Inc., 1967.

218

III. Commentary on Existentialism
and Education
Books

Greene, Maxine (ed.). Existential Encounters for Teachers.
New York: Random House, 1967.

 

Teacher as Stranger. Belmont, California:
Wadsworth Publishing Company, Inc., 1973.

Harper, Ralph. "Significance of Existence and Recognition
for Education." Modern Philosophies and Education.
The Fifty—Fourth Yearbook of the National Society
for the Study of Education, Part I. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1955.

 

 

 

Kneller, George F. Existentialism and Education. New York:
The Philosophical Library, 1958.

 

Morris, Van Cleve. Existentialism in Education. New York:
Harper & Row, Publishers, 1966.

 

IV. Selected References on
Educational Theory

 

 

Books

Brameld, Theodore. Philosophies of Education in Cultural
Perspective. New York: Henry Holt and Company,
Inc., 1955.

Dewey, John. Democracy and Education. New York: The
Macmillan Company, 1916.

. Experience and Education. New York: The Macmillan
Company, 1938.

 

Flanders, Ned A. Teacher Influence, Pupil Attitudes, and
Achievement. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Department of
Health, Education, and Welfare, 1965.

Frankena, William K. Philosophy of Education. Toronto:
The Macmillan Company, 1965.

Nettleship, Richard Lewis. The Theory of Education in the
Republic of Plato. Chicago: The Univer51ty of
Chicago Press, 1968.

 

219
Scheffler, Israel. The Language of Education. Springfield,
Illln01s: Charles C. Thomas, Publisher, 1960.

. Reason and Teaching. Indianapolis: The Bobbs—
Merrill Company, Inc., 1973.

 

Wolff, Robert Paul. The Ideal of the University. Boston:
Beacon Press, 1969.

V. General Literature Related to the Study

Books

Allport, Gordon W. Becoming. New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1955.

Combs, Arthur W., and Snygg, Donald. Individual Behavior:
A Perceptual Approach to Behavior. New York:
Harper & Brothers, Revised Edition, 1959.

Combs, Arthur W. (ed.). Perceiving, Behaving, Becoming.
Washington, D.C.: Association for Supervision and
Curriculum Development, NBA, 1962.

Combs, Arthur W. The Professional Education of Teachers:
A Humanistic Approach to Teacher Preparation.
Boston: Allyn and Bacon, Inc., 1965.

Cornfold, Francis MacDonald (trans.). The Republic of Plato.
London: Oxford University Press, 1941.

Freire, Paulo. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Translated by
Myra Bergman Ramos. New York: The Seabury Press,

1970.

Jersild, Arthur T. When Teachers Face Themselves. New York:

Teachers College Press, 1955.

Maslow, Abraham H. Toward a Psychology of Being. New York:
D. Van Nostrand Company, 1968.

May, Rollo. Man's Search for Himself. New York: W. W.
Norton & Company, Inc., 1953.

Nelson, Benjamin (ed.). Soren Kierkegaard, The Point of
View for My Work as An Author: A Report to History.
New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, Inc., 1962.

 

220
Rogers, Carl R. Freedom to Learn. Columbus: Charles E.
Merrill Publishing Company, 1969.

. On Becoming a Person. Boston: Houghton Mifflin
Company, 1961.

 

 

Saint Exupery, Antoine de. The Little Prince. Translated
by Katherine Woods. New York: Harcourt, Brace &
World, Inc., 1943.

 

 

Tillich, Paul. Love, Power, and Justice. London: Oxford
University Press, 1954.

 

. The Courage to Be. New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1952.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11111111111“