Nuraan Davids

Teaching and Learning as a Pedagogic Pilgrimage is premised on an argument that if higher education is to remain responsive to a public good, then teaching and learning must be in a perpetual state of reflection and change. It argues in defence of teaching and learning as constitutive of a pedagogic pilgrimage and draws on a range of scholars and theories to explore concepts such as transcendental journeys, belief, hope and imagination. The main objective of the book is to show how teaching and learning ought to be reconsidered in relation to that which lies beyond the parameters of the encounters, as well as that which is intrinsic to the encounters. This book gives shape to rituals and routines of engagement and debate, before extending the limitations in deliberative pedagogic encounters to offer desirable outcomes in which both student and teacher can practice a spiritual take on teaching and learning along a continuum of ongoing action. Themes explored in the chapters include the following: Faith and deliberative encounters Post-human ethics of care in teaching and learning Diffracted teaching and learning This book will be of great interest to academics, researchers and post-graduate students in the fields of philosophy of education, and teaching and learning in the philosophy of education. It will also appeal to school and university educators, policymakers and prospective teachers.

ABSTRACT As academics, we do not only produce and reproduce knowledge; we also produce our citizenship as a social and agonistic space. There are nuances embedded within academic citizenship – unqualifiable, but compelling in their production and reproduction of power dynamics, bringing into disrepute notions of academic citizenship as a homogenous or inclusive space. There are ways of being and becoming within citizenship that might be less readily conceivable, and hence, slip beneath the radar of scholarly scrutiny and debates.We have yet to delve into how we come into the presence of one another. In offering an expanded understanding of academic citizenship as alterity, I argue that academic citizenship has to involve wading into a curious uncertainty about the other so that the immensity of diversity, its unknown-ness, is brought to bear on the university, not as fear and estrangement, but as a rupture with a continuity of Othering.

The belief that we are living in a post-truth age raises a number of complex, paradoxical questions. Does it suggest, for example, that truth no longer matters? Or, that the idea of truth no longer exists? The university, of course, has long been associated with the interests of truth – not only in searching for truth, but in telling the truth. This is made evident in its emphasis on logic, rationality, deliberation, debate, reason, contemplation, reflection and academic freedom. Truth, and its ensuing perspectives, perceptions, agreements and conflicts, are what makes a university what it is. As such, the university is as enmeshed in versions of truth, as it is in versions of power – which serves only to confirm the necessity for a continuous interrogation of these truths, and hence, power. In principle, academic freedom infers that both members of staff and students at universities have the right to engage in intellectual engagement and debate, without fear of censorship. In practice, however, when we take stock of academic freedom in spaces of higher education, we see growing patterns of shutting down, and closing off, rather than opening up. The interest of this article, therefore, is to consider how the university can remain discursively open to that which is new, unfamiliar and unpopular, while simultaneously, doing no harm – either to itself or its students.

In our pursuits to find and attach meaning to the world around us, philosophers of education often refer to or build on a particular position of a philosopher or philosopher of education. As such, we recognise that how we understand a particular encounter or concept is always open to another interpretation and another way of constructing meaning. In opening a platform for the building on past voices, and offering new and re-considered voices, this section consists of 36 original chapters in which the author describe the relevance of the position of the philosopher to current important questions in the theory or practice of education. To this end, each chapter describes the theory of the philosopher or philosopher of education, and relates it to a particular question, problem or theory, so that what is constructed and contributed addresses a particular debate. The vast volume of theorists, theories, dilemmas and controversies addressed in the 36 chapters offers some insight into the scope and potential contribution of philosophy in relation to education, and its highly complex contexts and contestations.

The question about what Islamic philosophy actually is, might best be answered by looking at the Qurān. In this text, one encounters terms like ‘ilm, hikmah, ‘aql and tafakkur, which are generally associated with actions of inquiry and hence attuned to philosophical inquiry. It is important to bear in mind that, although the Islamic faith came into contact with a number of other civilisations – such as Greek, Persian, Syrian, Egyptian and Indian cultures – thanks to the rapid expansion of the Muslim Arab civilisation, following the death of the Prophet Muhammad, these contacts should be not overestimated in relation to their philosophical influence. While the seminal thoughts of Socrates, Aristotle and Plato are widely evident in the works of Islamic philosophers such as al-Kindi, al-Fārābī, ibn Sīnā, ibn Rushd, ibn Miskawayh, al-Ghazzālī’ and ibn ‘Arabi, philosophy in Islam is focused expansively on hermeneutical expositions of the Qurān and most commonly related to the notion of hikmah.In considering, therefore, what an Islamic philosophy of education might embody and propagate, this chapter will use the Qurān to offer particular ethical insights into, firstly, how education is conceived in Islam and, indeed, what constitutes an educated person. Secondly, I consider why the pursuit of education is obligatory on all Muslims and why the Qurān is explicit in its stance that without knowledge an individual can know neither him- or herself nor God. Thirdly, I attempt to establish what the Qurān hopes to achieve through its insistence on the pursuit of education.

Conventional teacher education programmes do not equip practitioners adequately to navigate ethically complex situations that arise in teaching. One initiative responding to this deficit is ‘Philosophy for Teachers’ (‘P4T’), a 24-hour residential approach to community philosophy. Piloted originally in England, a further workshop took place in South Africa in October 2017, comprising student teachers, teacher educators and philosophers from three historically different universities in the Western Cape. Significant new insights to emerge included greater clarity on the respective contributions of P4T and other initiatives already applying ‘P4C’ to address professional ethics within teacher education. In particular, P4T re-framed within this new context can be seen to create shared space for reflection on teacher identity and the complexity of difference and ‘otherness’ in classroom practice.

In May 2017, yet another South African university became a site of hate speech. Three students chose to display Nazi-inspired posters, which advertised an ‘Anglo-Afrikaner student’ event, under the motto ‘Fight for Stellenbosch’. That the posters provoked the response which it so obviously sought, was evident in the student outrage, and the swift condemnation from university management. Neither the prevalence of hate speech, nor its predictable responses, is new. The central concern of this article is to consider the extent to which tolerance can offer a plausible response to hate speech. The questions which arise, however, are: Does the right to divergent viewpoints hold the same legitimacy as antagonistic ones? When is the boundary between legitimate and hate speech breached? Does a democracy imply the tolerance of all forms of speech? Or, are there limits to the forms of speech that a democracy ought to tolerate?

The teaching profession in South Africa, like elsewhere in the world, is regulated by the specific codes of conduct, as stipulated by the South African Council for Educators. While common criticisms against SACE include failing to ensure the registration of all teachers, and not adequately dealing with the unprofessional conduct of teachers, it is the question of whether SACE can act as an ethical regulator, which attracts the most attention. Seemingly, there exists a tension between the legalistic approach to ethical deliberation, as contained in SACE, and the real experiences of teachers, which teachers argue, are neither understood nor taken into account by SACE. In considering whether it is at all possible to teach teachers how to act ethically, or how to use their ethical judgement, the article turns its attention to the inter-related practices of deliberation, belonging and inclusion, as manifestations of ethical teaching.

Women’s bodies, states Benhabib (Dignity in adversity: human rights in troubled times, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2011: 168), have become the site of symbolic confrontations between a re-essentialized understanding of religious and cultural differences and the forces of state power, whether in their civic-republican, liberal-democratic or multicultural form. One of the main reasons for the emergence of these confrontations or public debates, says Benhabib (2011: 169), is because of the actual location of ‘political theology’. She asserts that within the context of globalization, the concept of ‘political theology’ is complicated by its unstable location between religion and the public square; between the private and official; and between individual rights to freedom of religion versus state security and public well-being. Ultimately, therefore, the nature of the tension between religion as a political theology and the forces of state power can at best be described as a clash between identities of a collective nature (as envisaged by the nation-state) and identities of an individual nature (as manifested in different religions and cultures). Ongoing attempts to counter the ascendancy of religion, and as will be discussed in this article, specifically the ascendancy and visibility of Islamic identity as practiced by Muslim women, has brought into serious debate the notion of a (post) secular society and its implications for religious rights. What emerges from the state’s insistence that individuals not be allowed to enter the public discourse as religious beings, are, on the one hand, the constraints imposed on Muslim women by liberal democracies, and on the other hand, that Islam, as represented by Muslim women, is not constitutive of democratic citizenship. Will the inclusion and recognition of Muslim women, therefore, necessarily augment a democratic citizenship agenda, and will it lead to an alleviation of the conflict? Then, in exploring a re-articulation of an inclusive citizenship—one which is held accountable by its minimization of social inequality—what ought to be the parameters of inclusion and how should it unfold differently to what is already happening in liberal democracies?

Education in democratic South Africa has been saddled with the extraordinary task of sanitising a once dehumanising and splintered education system into a singular narrative of social justice and creative, problem-solving individuals. This extraordinary effort has witnessed a pendulum swing from the openness of outcomes-based education, to a less flexible National Curriculum Statement, and recently, to what has been criticised as a too restrictive Curriculum Assessment Policy Statement. In its narrow focus on ‘assessment for learning’, CAPS appears to be trapped in a particular understanding of teaching and learning that can be understood only in terms of measurement, thereby discounting education as happening outside that which can be measured. In this article, I contend, firstly, that while education is not averse to measurement, it cannot be allowed to dominate the educative process. Instead, it is possible to reconcile measurement, as expressed through a ‘language of needs’ with a language of ‘coming into presence’, which recognises that learners enter the education arena with their own ideas of what is known and yet to be known. Secondly, I argue, that if a post-apartheid education system hopes to re-humanise its citizens and society, then this will only be possible through cultivating a curriculum, which is understood as a process of socially just encounters—one which is always in becoming, and therefore not necessarily measurable.