philosophy of student discipline essay

Encyclopedia of Educational Philosophy and Theory pp 1–6 Cite as

Discipline in Education

• James MacAllister 2  
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• First Online: 26 August 2019

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Introduction

This entry documents four different philosophies of discipline in education: a punishment philosophy, a rule-driven philosophy, a motive-content philosophy, and a personal-relational philosophy. In respect to each philosophy, discussion focuses on (1) what discipline is and (2) how its use in education might be justifiable. It is argued that there are at least three ways of justifying the use of discipline in formal educational contexts: when it is rules-based in a way that is morally educational, when it connects student interests and motives to the material to be learned, and when it helps students to overcome the human tendency toward egocentricity. It is also noted that behavior management approaches problematically dominate disciplinary practices in many Western schools. As such, it is concluded that discipline in education might need to be done very differently in practice, if it is to be educationally justifiable in practice.

Discipline and Punishment

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MacAllister, J. (2019). Discipline in Education. In: Peters, M. (eds) Encyclopedia of Educational Philosophy and Theory. Springer, Singapore. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-287-532-7_653-1

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A Proactive Approach to Discipline

Restorative discipline seeks to create an environment in which problem behavior is less likely to occur.

Educators who’ve had success with restorative practices find them to be much more than an alternative to suspension. Restorative practices encourage us to engage with our students not only when there’s an incident but throughout the school day. They’re part of a system of discipline that takes us back to the root of that word, the Latin disciplina , meaning instruction and knowledge. They draw on what we as teachers do naturally—teach.

Restorative discipline, then, is proactive and supportive as much as it is responsive. It aims to create conditions in which issues are less likely to arise, and in which, when they do arise, we have the connections and skills needed to handle them and restore the community as needed.

What does it take to adopt an approach to discipline that is proactive and supportive as well as responsive to problems in school? There are several key steps.

Steps to Proactive Discipline

Get to know your students: For both teachers and students to be our best selves, we must get to know each other. Teaching and learning occur through relationships. The stronger the relationship and the better we understand our students, the more knowledge and goodwill we have to draw on when the going gets tough.

Share and teach into classroom expectations: We want to make sure our students know and understand our classroom expectations. Discussing them early on promotes buy-in and allows us to better assess what skills and support students need to live up to our expectations.

Develop classroom norms collaboratively: There is a power in deciding together which norms you and your students need to do your best work. Once you’ve come up with a manageable list, spend some time exploring it. For example, what does respect look, feel, and sound like? Which norms will be easy to follow, and which more challenging? Why? Spend some time problem-solving the more challenging norms, and consider together how you might support one another when challenges arise.

Steps to Supportive and Responsive Discipline

Model kind, supportive, and respectful behavior: Having come up with a list of classroom norms, it’s important that you, as the adult, lead the way and show students how to uphold them consistently.

Review classroom norms and expectations: Be sure to provide reminders about your norms, especially early on. Learning happens over time, and most students need reminders. While standing at the door to welcome your students to class, for example, you might urge them to change putdowns you observed in the hall into kind, supportive language. Remind them of the discussion you had around respect early in the year.

Redirect student behavior using positive language: Such direction can help students get back on track. To a student who’s off task: “I need you to go to page 35, read the first paragraph, and then turn to the questions at the bottom of the page.” To a student who’s disrespectful: “You seem frustrated. I’d be happy to sit with you and problem-solve. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Recognize student effort and growth: Noticing that a student is trying or is making some headway is important—this growth deserves to be celebrated. If a student has trouble focusing for the duration of class, going from five minutes of focused work in September to 10 minutes in October is progress that should be recognized even as we encourage the student to make it to 15 minutes in November.

Signal nonverbal support, recognition, or redirection: If you’ve built a problem-solving relationship with students, you may be able to use proximity or prearranged signals to help a student get back on track or to encourage them, all without saying a word.

Check in and offer gestures of support: Young people in our care often complain about not being seen or heard by adults, especially in middle and high school, which can be lonely, impersonal places. Notice if a student seems troubled. Check in with them: “Are you OK?” or “You look upset—do you need a few minutes to collect yourself in the hallway?” This sends a message that you care, that you see the student and are interested in their well-being.

Have a restorative chat: A one-on-one chat in which you actively listen can help you better understand a student who’s struggling with behavior. Active listening has the additional benefit of helping people calm down, which can encourage them to be more introspective and open to problem-solving.

Imagine a student who spills into class several minutes after the bell, disrupting your lesson. Consider asking if they’re OK. Welcome them to class and direct them to quietly take their seat. When you have a few minutes, pull up a chair. Ask them what happened—why were they late? Express concern about what happened or about this becoming a habit. Have the student reflect on the effects of being late and problem-solve getting to class on time.

The goal of these disciplinary interventions is to teach into behavior while building and maintaining our relationships with students and strengthening the community as a whole. When more serious problems arise or harm is done, we can then draw on the relationships and skills we’ve built to come to a resolution and repair the harm. Meanwhile, our work has had the positive effects of supporting students’ social and emotional growth and creating a more congenial and productive classroom climate.

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The Goals of Campus Discipline

This essay will be published in the forthcoming book Academic Ethics Today: Problems, Policies, and Prospects for University Life , ed. Steven M. Cahn (Rowman & Littlefield, 2022). This collection of thirty-one new essays will focus on ethical questions raised by institutional policies of colleges and universities. As a service to readers, over the next several months the APA Blog will publish four of these essays in their entirety, including articles on the role of adjuncts (Alexandra Bradner), assessing publications for tenure (David Shatz), student discipline (David Hoekema), and the responsibilities of administrators (Karen Hanson). All materials​ are copyrighted by the publisher and reprinted with permission. The entire list of topics and authors can be found online.​ 

Considering the system of student discipline in its broadest application, ranging from physical or sexual assault to stolen textbooks and offensive graffiti, it is helpful to identify three distinct goals that a system of campus discipline seeks to achieve. In both practice and theory they are separable yet closely related. Measures that advance one of the three are likely to contribute to the others as well.

To Prevent Exploitation and Harm

The first goal of a system of student discipline is to prevent exploitation and harm to students . Policies and procedures related to student conduct should protect students so far as is reasonably possible from others who would prey on their vulnerability if given the opportunity. This is the foundation for rules prohibiting many kinds of serious misconduct such as theft, physical violence, sexual assault, verbal harassment and denigration, and sale of mind-altering drugs. Academic dishonesty is also a form of exploitation. A student who copies another’s work not only deprives the source of proper credit for her work but also undermines the essential but fragile system of academic evaluation in the institution. By enacting and enforcing policies against exploitation and harm, the university seeks to protect students against others’ malevolence.

What is the moral ground for a university’s concern with preventing harm? No more and no less than our fundamental obligation to protect others from injury, especially in circumstances in which another is vulnerable to harm that could be averted by one’s words and actions. Every ethical system recognizes this basic duty to prevent harm, whether it then traces the ultimate ground of this obligation to a Kantian conception of autonomy and universalizability , an Aristotelian concept of virtuous habits forming a virtuous character, a theological concept of the respect due to all created persons, or a morality based on the weighing of good and bad consequences.

Those who govern an institution such as a university have the same duty to protect others that applies to them as individuals. But their official capacity to set policies and direct practices on campus greatly enlarges the consequences of their actions and therefore their responsibility to act. Of course, it is impossible to prevent all harmful and hurtful acts committed by members of an academic community or of any other community. But a carefully framed and rigorously enforced policy regarding physical assault, for example, may deter many attacks that would have occurred under circumstances of institutional laxness and inattention.

The primary goal of campus rules of conduct is to prevent students from harming fellow students. The reason is not that students are more prone to misconduct than outsiders. Indeed, they are surely less likely to injure each other intentionally than are a random collection of individuals, since their shared status as students contributes to a sense of common purpose and their shared participation in campus life makes them something more than strangers to each other. Only students, however, are directly answerable to the institutional code of conduct. Campus disciplinary officers can impose potent disincentives to deter students from harming others and a range of sanctions if they do. Their authority over outsiders is far more limited.

Note the overlap, but also a great deal of difference, between what is legitimately prohibited in a campus environment and what is prohibited by law. Actions liable to criminal prosecution—rape, assault, theft, embezzlement—are not the primary focus of a university disciplinary code. When these crimes occur on campus, administrators must cooperate with local authorities in conducting an appropriate investigation. Universities should remind students that living on campus is not living outside the law. Students gain no immunity from criminal law and surrender none of the protections of those charged with breaking the law.

Prevention of crime should be a priority, all the same, in other aspects of the life of a university. Building design, campus lighting and landscaping, student transportation options, and the work of campus safety officers can greatly enhance the safety of students and reduce the incidence of violent crime. This is not the domain of disciplinary codes but an important contribution to their effectiveness.

Students are especially vulnerable to some sorts of harm that fall outside—or just at the borders of—the criminal code. The possibility that one’s work will be stolen and used dishonestly, for example, is an inherent risk in any academic enterprise. Undergraduates, graduate students, and established researchers sometimes succumb to this temptation. Some institutions, including many elite undergraduate colleges and the nation’s military academies, seek to combat plagiarism through promulgation of an honor code to which all students must subscribe. Others disseminate detailed guidelines that distinguish legitimate from illegitimate borrowing in academic research and writing. Studies that I reviewed in writing my book on student conduct indicated that neither system was, in general, more effective than the other. A newly drafted honor code, however, seems to be less effective than one that has long been part of campus culture.

Consider too the issue of acquaintance rape. It is by no means unique to university communities, but the close personal relationships and powerful peer pressures that obtain in college, together with ready availability of alcohol, heighten the danger of such assault. Whenever one person is induced to engage in sexual activity through coercion or threats, a sexual assault has occurred. But campus cultures too often discount the testimony of victims and give too much credence to an assailant’s assertion that the act was entirely consensual.

The rules for responding to allegations of sexual harassment in educational settings have become a contentious issue as three U.S. administrations sought to interpret the requirements of Title IX of the Higher Education Act, which guarantees equal treatment and protection against harassment. In brief, the Department of Education under President Obama issued guidelines for investigating and adjudicating allegations of abuse that were intended to uphold victims’ rights and remove impractical evidence requirements, but under President Trump new guidelines were issued that set a higher standard for evidence of wrongdoing and allowed alleged perpetrators to question anyone testifying against them. Under President Biden, as a major policy review moves forward, the last requirement was revoked in August 2021. Universities will no longer be required to allow the accused to cross-examine the complainant, and more extensive revisions are expected soon.

In many cases of plagiarism and acquaintance rape, no laws have been broken, so victims cannot call on the police or the courts to come to their assistance. Copyright laws are not intended to apply to unpublished work by students. Criminal penalties for rape are severe, but the circumstances of acquaintance rape make it difficult for the victim to prove that an assault has occurred and easy for the guilty to escape punishment. Institutions have a special obligation to address the issues of cheating and sexual assault because there is little likelihood of legal redress for these harms imposed by some students on other students.

The same is true of the prevention of alcohol abuse and illegal drug use. No academic community can hope to be entirely free from such practices, which are widespread on campus and off. But the intense social pressures that bear on students in a campus setting need to be balanced by clear and firm campus rules, backed by effective measures of enforcement and consistent penalties when violated.

The aim of averting harm is inevitably to a certain extent paternalistic. The university no longer claims to be a moral arbiter standing in loco parentis , an institutional chaperone guiding young men and women on the path of virtue. With rare exceptions, no institution today wants to reclaim this role, and in any case, students would not tolerate it. The college’s concern, however, is not limited to protecting students against harm done to them by others. It extends also to protection of students against themselves, antiquated and condescending as that phrase may sound today.

The harm of drug and alcohol abuse is suffered primarily by the individual who engages in such behaviors, not inflicted on others. All the same, it is a serious form of harm and a legitimate concern of a university, not merely because it is likely to be a contributing factor in other graver harms, such as physical injury and, especially in the case of alcohol, sexual assault. Diminished capacity for academic work and for responsible behavior due to such substance abuse is itself a harm to the individual and to others that the institution should seek to prevent.

An institution places itself in a position very similar to that of a parent in saying to students: We seek to protect you from grave harm, even when you bring it upon yourself and would suffer it willingly. The goal of disciplinary rules in this instance is to deter students from acting in a way that amounts to an assault against themselves and a diminishment of their future prospects. In my study of student discipline I suggested, with tongue in cheek, that institutions that want to disavow their role in loco parentis as a vestige of the distant past might adopt a change to the metaphor. Consider the difference between advice given by a parent and that offered by a grandparent, for example, which is likely to be less directive and more empathetic. Or think about how one might intervene to dissuade a niece or nephew from making foolish choices, knowing that one cannot directly tell them how to behave but can expect them to consider one’s counsel seriously. Perhaps today the university should stand in loco avi (in place of a grandfather), then, or in loco avunculi (in place of an uncle). Although not as familiar as the parental variant, these Latin phrases may be more appropriate.

So much for prevention of harm. To acknowledge this first goal and no others, however, would be to confuse the function of the entire system of student discipline with that of a campus security department. Colleges and universities also pursue two additional goals no less important to the life of the institution.

To Promote an Atmosphere of Dialogue and Debate

A second essential goal of student conduct rules is to sustain an environment conducive to free discussion and mutual learning. The campus is not merely a place where students can go about their lives and studies relatively free from fear of assault and exploitation. It is also characterized by free and open exchange of ideas, arguments, and ideologies. A university is a place for vigorous debate of issues important to students and their communities, where ruling orthodoxies confront new evidence and new interpretations. Even one’s most cherished beliefs and ideals are open to challenge and possible revision in a healthy academic environment.

The moral ground of this second purpose is different from that underlying the first, but it too is a principle widely embraced: A healthy community grants its members as broad a range of personal and political freedom as is consistent with respect for the rights and the liberties of others. Although similar ideals of religious and intellectual freedom motivated the founding of the United States, they have frequently been compromised because of the pressures of social conformity. From their inception, universities have held themselves up as beacons for a broader vision of freedom. Yet there is a continual struggle on many campuses between the ideal of free and open discourse and the tendency of institutions to adopt and enforce an official ideological vision.

Cultural critics on the political right make this point frequently and stridently. They allege that universities pay only lip service to academic freedom and open dialogue while imposing a stultifying intellectual orthodoxy. Instructors who venerate Marx and Foucault and scorn Friedman and Hayek, they claim, force-feed students a diet of socialism, secularism, and radical feminism. Conservative voices are silenced or scorned.

Are these allegations accurate? Surveys of the political leanings of college and university faculty do indeed show a tilt to the left but not an absence of voices on the right. In a 2006 survey, 44% of faculty respondents identified as liberal, 46% as moderate, and 9% as conservative. Periodic surveys of undergraduate faculty conducted by the Higher Education Research Institute at UCLA show, over recent decades, greater numbers calling themselves “liberal” and “far left” than “conservative” and “far right.” In the 1990s, the largest number selected “moderate/middle of the road,” followed by a shift to the left and then, in the most recent surveys, a shift back to the center. One notable finding in 2016–2017 was a substantial increase in those choosing “encouraging students to think and act critically” as an important priority.

Allegations of liberal bias also highlight campus agitation against controversial speakers. In 2016 conservative watchdog groups counted forty-three incidents in which students and faculty demanded “disinvitation” of speakers, most of them identified with the political right. But only half these efforts succeeded. Moreover, according to a nonpolitical organization, by 2018 the number of such incidents had dropped to just nine, five of them successful. The organization also noted that, where twenty-eight faculty members had been dismissed or demoted in 2017 for inappropriate political speech, that number dropped to just eight in 2018, four of them targeted by conservatives and three by liberals.

Conservative perceptions of a liberal stranglehold on campus are unfounded. And yet the right’s critique of campus culture serves as an important reminder that free and open discourse requires active monitoring and vigilant defense. On every campus, some factions seek from time to time to silence others, and the danger that a ruling orthodoxy will stifle dissent is never wholly absent. Claims that a particular party line has gained the ascendency on the nation’s campuses, whether that be an ideology of the left or the right, Marxism or libertarianism, should provoke our skepticism. All the same, the atmosphere of openness and readiness to listen to others who hold sharply different views is a rare and fragile thing, not just on campus but in other communities as well. It needs to be nurtured and defended against social and political pressures that threaten it.

The goal of upholding freedom of thought and expression mandates broad discretion for students—and faculty members—in planning debates, inviting speakers, publishing opinions in campus newspapers, and the like. Some student codes of conduct underscore the importance of these provisions by including a formal “bill of student rights” in their discipline code, setting out the extent of students’ freedom to speak and act.

The goal of facilitating open discourse entails another objective with which it might appear initially to be in conflict: minimizing the incidence of abusive and degrading speech and writing. Conflict does occur between these two objectives, but it need not. If carelessly and vaguely written, a speech code intended to prohibit racial and gender abuse can cast a pall over discussion of controversial issues and deter open expression of unpopular ideas. Disciplinary rules need to target precisely those rare sorts of abusive speech that cast some out of the community of discourse and treat them as less than human. If narrowly worded and carefully framed, hate speech policies contribute to an environment conducive to learning and constructive discourse, barring the door only to those who by their very choice of words would exclude others on the basis of race, gender identity, or sexual orientation.

Upholding an atmosphere conducive to free and honest discourse has implications in what might appear to be an unrelated realm, that of on-campus housing. Clear rules, consistently applied, concerning alcohol use and overnight guests in residence halls contribute to an ethos in which students’ social and academic lives are closely integrated, each supporting and advancing the other. Absence of such rules, on the other hand, or their effective absence owing to lax or inconsistent enforcement, makes residence halls essentially useless for purposes of study, especially in evening hours. On far more campuses than the admissions brochures and student life administrators acknowledge, drinking and partying and hooking up in dorm rooms effectively opens a wide gulf between the academic enterprise and the social community in which students live. Not only does it impede academic study, it also inhibits thoughtful political and intellectual discourse.

What sorts of regulations are appropriate in student housing? The traditions and the character of a particular institution make it difficult to generalize, as does the architecture of student housing. A building with a separate wing for study, well away from social gathering spaces, poses fewer challenges than a complex of small rooms. The parietal rules of earlier generations rested on moral dogmas that students might have rejected if asked. But we need not invoke an outmoded moralism to justify promoting a healthy environment for learning.

In effect, student life staff today are invoking old means to new ends. No campus administrators claim the prerogative of acting in loco parentis to prohibit drinking and cohabitation today. But if they do not set some rules for student life—acting in loco avunculi, like a concerned but not controlling uncle—then students must live in what are merely and literally “dormitories,” places for sleeping and partying but not for studying or serious conversation. To leave students to behave as they will without restriction in on-campus housing is not merely to set aside the moralistic ambitions of an earlier era but to compromise the obligation of the university to maintain an atmosphere for students in which study and learning can flourish.

An interesting trend has emerged recently in campus housing: more and more campuses offer options for “substance-free housing,” residence halls whose residents promise not to use tobacco, alcohol, or recreational drugs. One source lists forty institutions offering this option, implicitly acknowledging that discipline codes alone do not guarantee an environment conducive to study, and no doubt there are many more. I have not found any studies assessing the effectiveness of offering such options—how many students choose them and how well they comply with the rules. On online forums, some students say they are glad to be in environments free from wild parties, but others say the wildest parties on their campuses tend to happen in the supposedly substance-free halls. Clearly much depends both on student compliance and on institutional oversight.

To Nurture a Sense of Community

A third essential goal of student conduct regulation is to instill a sense of mutual responsibility and moral community in students. This third aim is both more comprehensive and more controversial than the first two. Some would reject it as extending beyond the proper function of a modern university, which should stick to academics and not meddle in the private affairs and personal relationships of its students. But to neglect this third purpose would be an abdication of a critical responsibility of the college and university.

Formation of character was once upheld as a central, if not the primary, purpose of higher education. This tradition is honored rhetorically in the preamble to many a college catalog, where the language of character, citizenship, and moral community is laid on with a trowel. Yet today few colleges, and even fewer universities, take their own lofty rhetoric seriously in planning their programs, hiring new faculty, or shaping general education requirements.

A typical college of the eighteenth or nineteenth century made the behavior of students its business and sought to inculcate moral virtue, which a majority of institutions grounded in religious orthodoxy of one sort or another. In the 1860s, to cite one example, the student conduct code at Harvard was forty pages long. Many college presidents of that era taught a required course in ethics for graduating seniors.

A typical college or university of the twenty-first century proclaims its lofty goals of training responsible and engaged citizens and promoting a sense of moral and social accountability only in the first few pages of the catalog and in fundraising appeals to alumni, while its actions carry another message entirely. I do not intend to suggest that moral growth does not occur in universities, of course. Every issue of every alumni magazine highlights glowing testimonials to the inspiring example of instructors who opened students’ eyes to the pressing problems of the nation and the world, leading them into careers in public health or community development. Faculty and their employers can take pride in such stories.

But these stories may not reflect the operating principles of the institution. Indeed, they may result from the readiness of some faculty and administrators to defy an institutional culture of individualism and careerism. At many institutions the core message that can be discerned, in faint letters behind the inflated rhetoric of marketing brochures, might be summarized thus: “We hire excellent scholars for the faculty, we maintain a fine library and provide access to a world of online resources, we cherish our sports teams’ trophies, we fill the flower beds each year for parents’ weekend, and we sincerely hope that our students will turn out all right.”

Whether graduating seniors are paragons of virtue or cynical opportunists is a matter largely beyond the control of the institution and its faculty. Moral character has been largely shaped before students begin university studies, after all. Even in college, other factors—family, peer judgment, mass media, and personal reflection—are likely to exercise a more profound influence on students’ ethical commitments and sensibilities than will any acts or policies of the institution. For most students, a few faculty members will stand out, even a decade after graduation, as models of both intellectual and ethical integrity, and I do not mean to understate the effectiveness of faculty-student interaction both in and out of the classroom. But matters such as these cannot be effectively mandated by institutional rules or policies. The goal of producing ethical and engaged citizens is simply not realistically attainable by any institution, whatever the preamble to the college catalog may boast.

All the same, the university can and should seek to create a campus atmosphere of respect, openness, critical discourse, and mutual recognition of both rights and responsibilities. Students learn quickly, as much from unspoken signals as from handbooks and speeches, the limits of acceptable behavior. An instructor who overlooks rampant cheating on the first test of the semester cannot expect better behavior on the next one. An institution that takes no effective steps to prevent and punish alcohol abuse tells its students by its inaction that, notwithstanding the lofty ideals in the catalog, they are students at a party school. Conversely, if cribbing and excessive drinking meet firm and consistent discipline, students learn that they will be held responsible for their academic work and for their actions. And the behavior of administrators and faculty members speaks louder than the conduct code.

When students regularly observe their instructors engaging in spirited and open-minded debates with each other and with students over important moral and social issues of the day, they learn that the institution expects more than transmission and acquisition of knowledge. When a controversy over campus policies or governance is resolved through consultation and cooperation among students, staff, and faculty, students’ moral education is advanced, not by a required senior class, or a student handbook, or a presidential dictum ending the debate, but by seeing how the campus community functions. Even in cases where resolution is not reached and controversy continues, the character of a diverse campus community is evident in its modes of discourse.

Modern societies regard moral choices as fundamentally individual decisions. While this ideology has made indispensable contributions to the establishment and protection of a broad range of personal and political liberties, it is grossly inadequate as a description of our moral life and action. We make our choices in social and cultural contexts. Morality is both learned and exercised, above all, in relation to others. This is why a collaborative response to the challenges that confront a campus community is so vitally important: the community itself is the context in which morality arises, is articulated, and is put into practice.

Consider a hypothetical example. Suppose a crisis erupts when members of a fraternity taunt and harass transgender students. Their behavior elicits protests by student groups that serve as advocates for LGBTQ+ students, and then those protests provoke counterprotests from other fraternities. What should be done? Should the students responsible for the initial incidents of harassment be punished? Or should students work out their differences without interference from student life staff?

To allow such behavior to pass without comment suggests that the university either approves or tolerates behavior that falls far below a minimum standard of mutual respect. To do and say nothing is in effect to accept the fraternity members’ judgment that trans students are not deserving members of the student body. But disciplinary action alone, punishing the individuals involved without addressing what lies behind offensive behaviors, is also inadequate.

In a campus community that promotes mutual respect and open dialogue, such an incident might yield a process of deliberation and consultation leading to action more wide-ranging and more lasting than sanctions for a few individuals. In discussions that bring diverse viewpoints into conversation with each other, transgender students and their allies would gain a wider audience for their concerns, not just about isolated incidents of harassment but also about difficulties they face in classrooms, residence halls, and locker rooms. Leaders and members of fraternities would be challenged to identify aspects of their past behavior and rhetoric that made misbehavior more likely and to undertake changes in the future. Everyone who attends to this discussion on campus would learn more about the experience of those who face abuse because of others’ insecurities and fears.

A process in which all voices are heard, and then paths for future cooperation are mapped out, serves as a concrete demonstration that the campus community can face and resolve its problems. The goals of freedom of expression, freedom of association, and regard for the vulnerable may come into conflict. Balancing them requires patience and wisdom. When students participate in or observe a process that airs differences and finds common ground, they do not simply learn to respect differences and stop shouting insults. They learn what it means to be a member of a moral community.

I do not mean to suggest that every incident of petty harassment warrants such a full-court response. Context is crucial. An isolated incident on a campus where LGBTQ+ students feel fully a part of the community may offer no reason for alarm or for a public response. At the other extreme, if a pattern of repeated and damaging attacks on a campus minority becomes evident on campus, what is needed is a prompt and firm disciplinary response, prompting measures such as suspension and restitution, not an extended dialogue between offenders and victims. In incidents that fall between these extremes, however, what is initially no more than an unpleasant incident can be the catalyst for a vivid demonstration of how a healthy moral community on campus resolves problems.

Unique in American society, the community of learning that exists on campus—both intellectual and moral—is threatened from within and without. The suspicions of legislatures and anxious parents, the economic and political agendas of private and public donors, and the social-media carping of uninformed critics all seek to limit campus freedoms. No less grave a threat to the health of the campus community are the temptations that draw faculty and students themselves into a narrow vision of higher education, lapsing into individualism, careerism, and social and political apathy.

Nurturing an effective community conducive to moral growth is a vital third goal of student discipline systems, in addition to the prevention of harm and the facilitation of free and open dialogue. It is a worthwhile exercise on any campus to assess the effectiveness of rules, enforcement provisions, and daily practices in advancing each of these three objectives.

• David Hoekema

David A. Hoekema retired in 2018 from Calvin University, where he had served as Professor and Department Chair of Philosophy, Academic Dean, and Interim Vice-President for Student Life.  Previous faculty and administrative positions were at the American Philosophical Association and St. Olaf College.  The essay in this collection is adapted from one of his books.

• academic ethics
• campus discipline
• campus rules
• drug addiction
• harm reduction
• in loco parentis
• student life

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Philosophy of Education

Philosophy of education is the branch of applied or practical philosophy concerned with the nature and aims of education and the philosophical problems arising from educational theory and practice. Because that practice is ubiquitous in and across human societies, its social and individual manifestations so varied, and its influence so profound, the subject is wide-ranging, involving issues in ethics and social/political philosophy, epistemology, metaphysics, philosophy of mind and language, and other areas of philosophy. Because it looks both inward to the parent discipline and outward to educational practice and the social, legal, and institutional contexts in which it takes place, philosophy of education concerns itself with both sides of the traditional theory/practice divide. Its subject matter includes both basic philosophical issues (e.g., the nature of the knowledge worth teaching, the character of educational equality and justice, etc.) and problems concerning specific educational policies and practices (e.g., the desirability of standardized curricula and testing, the social, economic, legal and moral dimensions of specific funding arrangements, the justification of curriculum decisions, etc.). In all this the philosopher of education prizes conceptual clarity, argumentative rigor, the fair-minded consideration of the interests of all involved in or affected by educational efforts and arrangements, and informed and well-reasoned valuation of educational aims and interventions.

Philosophy of education has a long and distinguished history in the Western philosophical tradition, from Socrates’ battles with the sophists to the present day. Many of the most distinguished figures in that tradition incorporated educational concerns into their broader philosophical agendas (Curren 2000, 2018; Rorty 1998). While that history is not the focus here, it is worth noting that the ideals of reasoned inquiry championed by Socrates and his descendants have long informed the view that education should foster in all students, to the extent possible, the disposition to seek reasons and the ability to evaluate them cogently, and to be guided by their evaluations in matters of belief, action and judgment. This view, that education centrally involves the fostering of reason or rationality, has with varying articulations and qualifications been embraced by most of those historical figures; it continues to be defended by contemporary philosophers of education as well (Scheffler 1973 [1989]; Siegel 1988, 1997, 2007, 2017). As with any philosophical thesis it is controversial; some dimensions of the controversy are explored below.

This entry is a selective survey of important contemporary work in Anglophone philosophy of education; it does not treat in detail recent scholarship outside that context.

1. Problems in Delineating the Field

2. analytic philosophy of education and its influence, 3.1 the content of the curriculum and the aims and functions of schooling, 3.2 social, political and moral philosophy, 3.3 social epistemology, virtue epistemology, and the epistemology of education, 3.4 philosophical disputes concerning empirical education research, 4. concluding remarks, other internet resources, related entries.

The inward/outward looking nature of the field of philosophy of education alluded to above makes the task of delineating the field, of giving an over-all picture of the intellectual landscape, somewhat complicated (for a detailed account of this topography, see Phillips 1985, 2010). Suffice it to say that some philosophers, as well as focusing inward on the abstract philosophical issues that concern them, are drawn outwards to discuss or comment on issues that are more commonly regarded as falling within the purview of professional educators, educational researchers, policy-makers and the like. (An example is Michael Scriven, who in his early career was a prominent philosopher of science; later he became a central figure in the development of the field of evaluation of educational and social programs. See Scriven 1991a, 1991b.) At the same time, there are professionals in the educational or closely related spheres who are drawn to discuss one or another of the philosophical issues that they encounter in the course of their work. (An example here is the behaviorist psychologist B.F. Skinner, the central figure in the development of operant conditioning and programmed learning, who in works such as Walden Two (1948) and Beyond Freedom and Dignity (1972) grappled—albeit controversially—with major philosophical issues that were related to his work.)

What makes the field even more amorphous is the existence of works on educational topics, written by well-regarded philosophers who have made major contributions to their discipline; these educational reflections have little or no philosophical content, illustrating the truth that philosophers do not always write philosophy. However, despite this, works in this genre have often been treated as contributions to philosophy of education. (Examples include John Locke’s Some Thoughts Concerning Education [1693] and Bertrand Russell’s rollicking pieces written primarily to raise funds to support a progressive school he ran with his wife. (See Park 1965.)

Finally, as indicated earlier, the domain of education is vast, the issues it raises are almost overwhelmingly numerous and are of great complexity, and the social significance of the field is second to none. These features make the phenomena and problems of education of great interest to a wide range of socially-concerned intellectuals, who bring with them their own favored conceptual frameworks—concepts, theories and ideologies, methods of analysis and argumentation, metaphysical and other assumptions, and the like. It is not surprising that scholars who work in this broad genre also find a home in the field of philosophy of education.

As a result of these various factors, the significant intellectual and social trends of the past few centuries, together with the significant developments in philosophy, all have had an impact on the content of arguments and methods of argumentation in philosophy of education—Marxism, psycho-analysis, existentialism, phenomenology, positivism, post-modernism, pragmatism, neo-liberalism, the several waves of feminism, analytic philosophy in both its ordinary language and more formal guises, are merely the tip of the iceberg.

Conceptual analysis, careful assessment of arguments, the rooting out of ambiguity, the drawing of clarifying distinctions—all of which are at least part of the philosophical toolkit—have been respected activities within philosophy from the dawn of the field. No doubt it somewhat over-simplifies the complex path of intellectual history to suggest that what happened in the twentieth century—early on, in the home discipline itself, and with a lag of a decade or more in philosophy of education—is that philosophical analysis came to be viewed by some scholars as being the major philosophical activity (or set of activities), or even as being the only viable or reputable activity. In any case, as they gained prominence and for a time hegemonic influence during the rise of analytic philosophy early in the twentieth century analytic techniques came to dominate philosophy of education in the middle third of that century (Curren, Robertson, & Hager 2003).

The pioneering work in the modern period entirely in an analytic mode was the short monograph by C.D. Hardie, Truth and Fallacy in Educational Theory (1941; reissued in 1962). In his Introduction, Hardie (who had studied with C.D. Broad and I.A. Richards) made it clear that he was putting all his eggs into the ordinary-language-analysis basket:

The Cambridge analytical school, led by Moore, Broad and Wittgenstein, has attempted so to analyse propositions that it will always be apparent whether the disagreement between philosophers is one concerning matters of fact, or is one concerning the use of words, or is, as is frequently the case, a purely emotive one. It is time, I think, that a similar attitude became common in the field of educational theory. (Hardie 1962: xix)

About a decade after the end of the Second World War the floodgates opened and a stream of work in the analytic mode appeared; the following is merely a sample. D. J. O’Connor published An Introduction to Philosophy of Education (1957) in which, among other things, he argued that the word “theory” as it is used in educational contexts is merely a courtesy title, for educational theories are nothing like what bear this title in the natural sciences. Israel Scheffler, who became the paramount philosopher of education in North America, produced a number of important works including The Language of Education (1960), which contained clarifying and influential analyses of definitions (he distinguished reportive, stipulative, and programmatic types) and the logic of slogans (often these are literally meaningless, and, he argued, should be seen as truncated arguments), Conditions of Knowledge (1965), still the best introduction to the epistemological side of philosophy of education, and Reason and Teaching (1973 [1989]), which in a wide-ranging and influential series of essays makes the case for regarding the fostering of rationality/critical thinking as a fundamental educational ideal (cf. Siegel 2016). B. O. Smith and R. H. Ennis edited the volume Language and Concepts in Education (1961); and R.D. Archambault edited Philosophical Analysis and Education (1965), consisting of essays by a number of prominent British writers, most notably R. S. Peters (whose status in Britain paralleled that of Scheffler in the United States), Paul Hirst, and John Wilson. Topics covered in the Archambault volume were typical of those that became the “bread and butter” of analytic philosophy of education (APE) throughout the English-speaking world—education as a process of initiation, liberal education, the nature of knowledge, types of teaching, and instruction versus indoctrination.

Among the most influential products of APE was the analysis developed by Hirst and Peters (1970) and Peters (1973) of the concept of education itself. Using as a touchstone “normal English usage,” it was concluded that a person who has been educated (rather than instructed or indoctrinated) has been (i) changed for the better; (ii) this change has involved the acquisition of knowledge and intellectual skills and the development of understanding; and (iii) the person has come to care for, or be committed to, the domains of knowledge and skill into which he or she has been initiated. The method used by Hirst and Peters comes across clearly in their handling of the analogy with the concept of “reform”, one they sometimes drew upon for expository purposes. A criminal who has been reformed has changed for the better, and has developed a commitment to the new mode of life (if one or other of these conditions does not hold, a speaker of standard English would not say the criminal has been reformed). Clearly the analogy with reform breaks down with respect to the knowledge and understanding conditions. Elsewhere Peters developed the fruitful notion of “education as initiation”.

The concept of indoctrination was also of great interest to analytic philosophers of education, for, it was argued, getting clear about precisely what constitutes indoctrination also would serve to clarify the border that demarcates it from acceptable educational processes. Thus, whether or not an instructional episode was a case of indoctrination was determined by the content taught, the intention of the instructor, the methods of instruction used, the outcomes of the instruction, or by some combination of these. Adherents of the different analyses used the same general type of argument to make their case, namely, appeal to normal and aberrant usage. Unfortunately, ordinary language analysis did not lead to unanimity of opinion about where this border was located, and rival analyses of the concept were put forward (Snook 1972). The danger of restricting analysis to ordinary language (“normal English usage”) was recognized early on by Scheffler, whose preferred view of analysis emphasized

first, its greater sophistication as regards language, and the interpenetration of language and inquiry, second, its attempt to follow the modern example of the sciences in empirical spirit, in rigor, in attention to detail, in respect for alternatives, and in objectivity of method, and third, its use of techniques of symbolic logic brought to full development only in the last fifty years… It is…this union of scientific spirit and logical method applied toward the clarification of basic ideas that characterizes current analytic philosophy [and that ought to characterize analytic philosophy of education]. (Scheffler 1973 [1989: 9–10])

After a period of dominance, for a number of important reasons the influence of APE went into decline. First, there were growing criticisms that the work of analytic philosophers of education had become focused upon minutiae and in the main was bereft of practical import. (It is worth noting that a 1966 article in Time , reprinted in Lucas 1969, had put forward the same criticism of mainstream philosophy.) Second, in the early 1970’s radical students in Britain accused Peters’ brand of linguistic analysis of conservatism, and of tacitly giving support to “traditional values”—they raised the issue of whose English usage was being analyzed?

Third, criticisms of language analysis in mainstream philosophy had been mounting for some time, and finally after a lag of many years were reaching the attention of philosophers of education; there even had been a surprising degree of interest on the part of the general reading public in the United Kingdom as early as 1959, when Gilbert Ryle, editor of the journal Mind , refused to commission a review of Ernest Gellner’s Words and Things (1959)—a detailed and quite acerbic critique of Wittgenstein’s philosophy and its espousal of ordinary language analysis. (Ryle argued that Gellner’s book was too insulting, a view that drew Bertrand Russell into the fray on Gellner’s side—in the daily press, no less; Russell produced a list of insulting remarks drawn from the work of great philosophers of the past. See Mehta 1963.)

Richard Peters had been given warning that all was not well with APE at a conference in Canada in 1966; after delivering a paper on “The aims of education: A conceptual inquiry” that was based on ordinary language analysis, a philosopher in the audience (William Dray) asked Peters “ whose concepts do we analyze?” Dray went on to suggest that different people, and different groups within society, have different concepts of education. Five years before the radical students raised the same issue, Dray pointed to the possibility that what Peters had presented under the guise of a “logical analysis” was nothing but the favored usage of a certain class of persons—a class that Peters happened to identify with (see Peters 1973, where to the editor’s credit the interaction with Dray is reprinted).

Fourth, during the decade of the seventies when these various critiques of analytic philosophy were in the process of eroding its luster, a spate of translations from the Continent stimulated some philosophers of education in Britain and North America to set out in new directions, and to adopt a new style of writing and argumentation. Key works by Gadamer, Foucault and Derrida appeared in English, and these were followed in 1984 by Lyotard’s The Postmodern Condition . The classic works of Heidegger and Husserl also found new admirers; and feminist philosophers of education were finding their voices—Maxine Greene published a number of pieces in the 1970s and 1980s, including The Dialectic of Freedom (1988); the influential book by Nel Noddings, Caring: A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education , appeared the same year as the work by Lyotard, followed a year later by Jane Roland Martin’s Reclaiming a Conversation . In more recent years all these trends have continued. APE was and is no longer the center of interest, although, as indicated below, it still retains its voice.

3. Areas of Contemporary Activity

As was stressed at the outset, the field of education is huge and contains within it a virtually inexhaustible number of issues that are of philosophical interest. To attempt comprehensive coverage of how philosophers of education have been working within this thicket would be a quixotic task for a large single volume and is out of the question for a solitary encyclopedia entry. Nevertheless, a valiant attempt to give an overview was made in A Companion to the Philosophy of Education (Curren 2003), which contains more than six-hundred pages divided into forty-five chapters each of which surveys a subfield of work. The following random selection of chapter topics gives a sense of the enormous scope of the field: Sex education, special education, science education, aesthetic education, theories of teaching and learning, religious education, knowledge, truth and learning, cultivating reason, the measurement of learning, multicultural education, education and the politics of identity, education and standards of living, motivation and classroom management, feminism, critical theory, postmodernism, romanticism, the purposes of universities, affirmative action in higher education, and professional education. The Oxford Handbook of Philosophy of Education (Siegel 2009) contains a similarly broad range of articles on (among other things) the epistemic and moral aims of education, liberal education and its imminent demise, thinking and reasoning, fallibilism and fallibility, indoctrination, authenticity, the development of rationality, Socratic teaching, educating the imagination, caring and empathy in moral education, the limits of moral education, the cultivation of character, values education, curriculum and the value of knowledge, education and democracy, art and education, science education and religious toleration, constructivism and scientific methods, multicultural education, prejudice, authority and the interests of children, and on pragmatist, feminist, and postmodernist approaches to philosophy of education.

Given this enormous range, there is no non-arbitrary way to select a small number of topics for further discussion, nor can the topics that are chosen be pursued in great depth. The choice of those below has been made with an eye to highlighting contemporary work that makes solid contact with and contributes to important discussions in general philosophy and/or the academic educational and educational research communities.

The issue of what should be taught to students at all levels of education—the issue of curriculum content—obviously is a fundamental one, and it is an extraordinarily difficult one with which to grapple. In tackling it, care needs to be taken to distinguish between education and schooling—for although education can occur in schools, so can mis-education, and many other things can take place there that are educationally orthogonal (such as the provision of free or subsidized lunches and the development of social networks); and it also must be recognized that education can occur in the home, in libraries and museums, in churches and clubs, in solitary interaction with the public media, and the like.

In developing a curriculum (whether in a specific subject area, or more broadly as the whole range of offerings in an educational institution or system), a number of difficult decisions need to be made. Issues such as the proper ordering or sequencing of topics in the chosen subject, the time to be allocated to each topic, the lab work or excursions or projects that are appropriate for particular topics, can all be regarded as technical issues best resolved either by educationists who have a depth of experience with the target age group or by experts in the psychology of learning and the like. But there are deeper issues, ones concerning the validity of the justifications that have been given for including/excluding particular subjects or topics in the offerings of formal educational institutions. (Why should evolution or creation “science” be included, or excluded, as a topic within the standard high school subject Biology? Is the justification that is given for teaching Economics in some schools coherent and convincing? Do the justifications for including/excluding materials on birth control, patriotism, the Holocaust or wartime atrocities in the curriculum in some school districts stand up to critical scrutiny?)

The different justifications for particular items of curriculum content that have been put forward by philosophers and others since Plato’s pioneering efforts all draw, explicitly or implicitly, upon the positions that the respective theorists hold about at least three sets of issues.

First, what are the aims and/or functions of education (aims and functions are not necessarily the same)? Many aims have been proposed; a short list includes the production of knowledge and knowledgeable students, the fostering of curiosity and inquisitiveness, the enhancement of understanding, the enlargement of the imagination, the civilizing of students, the fostering of rationality and/or autonomy, and the development in students of care, concern and associated dispositions and attitudes (see Siegel 2007 for a longer list). The justifications offered for all such aims have been controversial, and alternative justifications of a single proposed aim can provoke philosophical controversy. Consider the aim of autonomy. Aristotle asked, what constitutes the good life and/or human flourishing, such that education should foster these (Curren 2013)? These two formulations are related, for it is arguable that our educational institutions should aim to equip individuals to pursue this good life—although this is not obvious, both because it is not clear that there is one conception of the good or flourishing life that is the good or flourishing life for everyone, and it is not clear that this is a question that should be settled in advance rather than determined by students for themselves. Thus, for example, if our view of human flourishing includes the capacity to think and act autonomously, then the case can be made that educational institutions—and their curricula—should aim to prepare, or help to prepare, autonomous individuals. A rival justification of the aim of autonomy, associated with Kant, champions the educational fostering of autonomy not on the basis of its contribution to human flourishing, but rather the obligation to treat students with respect as persons (Scheffler 1973 [1989]; Siegel 1988). Still others urge the fostering of autonomy on the basis of students’ fundamental interests, in ways that draw upon both Aristotelian and Kantian conceptual resources (Brighouse 2005, 2009). It is also possible to reject the fostering of autonomy as an educational aim (Hand 2006).

Assuming that the aim can be justified, how students should be helped to become autonomous or develop a conception of the good life and pursue it is of course not immediately obvious, and much philosophical ink has been spilled on the general question of how best to determine curriculum content. One influential line of argument was developed by Paul Hirst, who argued that knowledge is essential for developing and then pursuing a conception of the good life, and because logical analysis shows, he argued, that there are seven basic forms of knowledge, the case can be made that the function of the curriculum is to introduce students to each of these forms (Hirst 1965; see Phillips 1987: ch. 11). Another, suggested by Scheffler, is that curriculum content should be selected so as “to help the learner attain maximum self-sufficiency as economically as possible.” The relevant sorts of economy include those of resources, teacher effort, student effort, and the generalizability or transfer value of content, while the self-sufficiency in question includes

self-awareness, imaginative weighing of alternative courses of action, understanding of other people’s choices and ways of life, decisiveness without rigidity, emancipation from stereotyped ways of thinking and perceiving…empathy… intuition, criticism and independent judgment. (Scheffler 1973 [1989: 123–5])

Both impose important constraints on the curricular content to be taught.

Second, is it justifiable to treat the curriculum of an educational institution as a vehicle for furthering the socio-political interests and goals of a dominant group, or any particular group, including one’s own; and relatedly, is it justifiable to design the curriculum so that it serves as an instrument of control or of social engineering? In the closing decades of the twentieth century there were numerous discussions of curriculum theory, particularly from Marxist and postmodern perspectives, that offered the sobering analysis that in many educational systems, including those in Western democracies, the curriculum did indeed reflect and serve the interests of powerful cultural elites. What to do about this situation (if it is indeed the situation of contemporary educational institutions) is far from clear and is the focus of much work at the interface of philosophy of education and social/political philosophy, some of which is discussed in the next section. A closely related question is this: ought educational institutions be designed to further pre-determined social ends, or rather to enable students to competently evaluate all such ends? Scheffler argued that we should opt for the latter: we must

surrender the idea of shaping or molding the mind of the pupil. The function of education…is rather to liberate the mind, strengthen its critical powers, [and] inform it with knowledge and the capacity for independent inquiry. (Scheffler 1973 [1989: 139])

Third, should educational programs at the elementary and secondary levels be made up of a number of disparate offerings, so that individuals with different interests and abilities and affinities for learning can pursue curricula that are suitable? Or should every student pursue the same curriculum as far as each is able?—a curriculum, it should be noted, that in past cases nearly always was based on the needs or interests of those students who were academically inclined or were destined for elite social roles. Mortimer Adler and others in the late twentieth century sometimes used the aphorism “the best education for the best is the best education for all.”

The thinking here can be explicated in terms of the analogy of an out-of-control virulent disease, for which there is only one type of medicine available; taking a large dose of this medicine is extremely beneficial, and the hope is that taking only a little—while less effective—is better than taking none at all. Medically, this is dubious, while the educational version—forcing students to work, until they exit the system, on topics that do not interest them and for which they have no facility or motivation—has even less merit. (For a critique of Adler and his Paideia Proposal , see Noddings 2015.) It is interesting to compare the modern “one curriculum track for all” position with Plato’s system outlined in the Republic , according to which all students—and importantly this included girls—set out on the same course of study. Over time, as they moved up the educational ladder it would become obvious that some had reached the limit imposed upon them by nature, and they would be directed off into appropriate social roles in which they would find fulfillment, for their abilities would match the demands of these roles. Those who continued on with their education would eventually become members of the ruling class of Guardians.

The publication of John Rawls’s A Theory of Justice in 1971 was the most notable event in the history of political philosophy over the last century. The book spurred a period of ferment in political philosophy that included, among other things, new research on educationally fundamental themes. The principles of justice in educational distribution have perhaps been the dominant theme in this literature, and Rawls’s influence on its development has been pervasive.

Rawls’s theory of justice made so-called “fair equality of opportunity” one of its constitutive principles. Fair equality of opportunity entailed that the distribution of education would not put the children of those who currently occupied coveted social positions at any competitive advantage over other, equally talented and motivated children seeking the qualifications for those positions (Rawls 1971: 72–75). Its purpose was to prevent socio-economic differences from hardening into social castes that were perpetuated across generations. One obvious criticism of fair equality of opportunity is that it does not prohibit an educational distribution that lavished resources on the most talented children while offering minimal opportunities to others. So long as untalented students from wealthy families were assigned opportunities no better than those available to their untalented peers among the poor, no breach of the principle would occur. Even the most moderate egalitarians might find such a distributive regime to be intuitively repugnant.

Repugnance might be mitigated somewhat by the ways in which the overall structure of Rawls’s conception of justice protects the interests of those who fare badly in educational competition. All citizens must enjoy the same basic liberties, and equal liberty always has moral priority over equal opportunity: the former can never be compromised to advance the latter. Further, inequality in the distribution of income and wealth are permitted only to the degree that it serves the interests of the least advantaged group in society. But even with these qualifications, fair equality of opportunity is arguably less than really fair to anyone. The fact that their education should secure ends other than access to the most selective social positions—ends such as artistic appreciation, the kind of self-knowledge that humanistic study can furnish, or civic virtue—is deemed irrelevant according to Rawls’s principle. But surely it is relevant, given that a principle of educational justice must be responsive to the full range of educationally important goods.

Suppose we revise our account of the goods included in educational distribution so that aesthetic appreciation, say, and the necessary understanding and virtue for conscientious citizenship count for just as much as job-related skills. An interesting implication of doing so is that the rationale for requiring equality under any just distribution becomes decreasingly clear. That is because job-related skills are positional whereas the other educational goods are not (Hollis 1982). If you and I both aspire to a career in business management for which we are equally qualified, any increase in your job-related skills is a corresponding disadvantage to me unless I can catch up. Positional goods have a competitive structure by definition, though the ends of civic or aesthetic education do not fit that structure. If you and I aspire to be good citizens and are equal in civic understanding and virtue, an advance in your civic education is no disadvantage to me. On the contrary, it is easier to be a good citizen the better other citizens learn to be. At the very least, so far as non-positional goods figure in our conception of what counts as a good education, the moral stakes of inequality are thereby lowered.

In fact, an emerging alternative to fair equality of opportunity is a principle that stipulates some benchmark of adequacy in achievement or opportunity as the relevant standard of distribution. But it is misleading to represent this as a contrast between egalitarian and sufficientarian conceptions. Philosophically serious interpretations of adequacy derive from the ideal of equal citizenship (Satz 2007; Anderson 2007). Then again, fair equality of opportunity in Rawls’s theory is derived from a more fundamental ideal of equality among citizens. This was arguably true in A Theory of Justice but it is certainly true in his later work (Dworkin 1977: 150–183; Rawls 1993). So, both Rawls’s principle and the emerging alternative share an egalitarian foundation. The debate between adherents of equal opportunity and those misnamed as sufficientarians is certainly not over (e.g., Brighouse & Swift 2009; Jacobs 2010; Warnick 2015). Further progress will likely hinge on explicating the most compelling conception of the egalitarian foundation from which distributive principles are to be inferred. Another Rawls-inspired alternative is that a “prioritarian” distribution of achievement or opportunity might turn out to be the best principle we can come up with—i.e., one that favors the interests of the least advantaged students (Schouten 2012).

The publication of Rawls’s Political Liberalism in 1993 signaled a decisive turning point in his thinking about justice. In his earlier book, the theory of justice had been presented as if it were universally valid. But Rawls had come to think that any theory of justice presented as such was open to reasonable rejection. A more circumspect approach to justification would seek grounds for justice as fairness in an overlapping consensus between the many reasonable values and doctrines that thrive in a democratic political culture. Rawls argued that such a culture is informed by a shared ideal of free and equal citizenship that provided a new, distinctively democratic framework for justifying a conception of justice. The shift to political liberalism involved little revision on Rawls’s part to the content of the principles he favored. But the salience it gave to questions about citizenship in the fabric of liberal political theory had important educational implications. How was the ideal of free and equal citizenship to be instantiated in education in a way that accommodated the range of reasonable values and doctrines encompassed in an overlapping consensus? Political Liberalism has inspired a range of answers to that question (cf. Callan 1997; Clayton 2006; Bull 2008).

Other philosophers besides Rawls in the 1990s took up a cluster of questions about civic education, and not always from a liberal perspective. Alasdair Macintyre’s After Virtue (1984) strongly influenced the development of communitarian political theory which, as its very name might suggest, argued that the cultivation of community could preempt many of the problems with conflicting individual rights at the core of liberalism. As a full-standing alternative to liberalism, communitarianism might have little to recommend it. But it was a spur for liberal philosophers to think about how communities could be built and sustained to support the more familiar projects of liberal politics (e.g., Strike 2010). Furthermore, its arguments often converged with those advanced by feminist exponents of the ethic of care (Noddings 1984; Gilligan 1982). Noddings’ work is particularly notable because she inferred a cogent and radical agenda for the reform of schools from her conception of care (Noddings 1992).

One persistent controversy in citizenship theory has been about whether patriotism is correctly deemed a virtue, given our obligations to those who are not our fellow citizens in an increasingly interdependent world and the sordid history of xenophobia with which modern nation states are associated. The controversy is partly about what we should teach in our schools and is commonly discussed by philosophers in that context (Galston 1991; Ben-Porath 2006; Callan 2006; Miller 2007; Curren & Dorn 2018). The controversy is related to a deeper and more pervasive question about how morally or intellectually taxing the best conception of our citizenship should be. The more taxing it is, the more constraining its derivative conception of civic education will be. Contemporary political philosophers offer divergent arguments about these matters. For example, Gutmann and Thompson claim that citizens of diverse democracies need to “understand the diverse ways of life of their fellow citizens” (Gutmann & Thompson 1996: 66). The need arises from the obligation of reciprocity which they (like Rawls) believe to be integral to citizenship. Because I must seek to cooperate with others politically on terms that make sense from their moral perspective as well as my own, I must be ready to enter that perspective imaginatively so as to grasp its distinctive content. Many such perspectives prosper in liberal democracies, and so the task of reciprocal understanding is necessarily onerous. Still, our actions qua deliberative citizen must be grounded in such reciprocity if political cooperation on terms acceptable to us as (diversely) morally motivated citizens is to be possible at all. This is tantamount to an imperative to think autonomously inside the role of citizen because I cannot close-mindedly resist critical consideration of moral views alien to my own without flouting my responsibilities as a deliberative citizen.

Civic education does not exhaust the domain of moral education, even though the more robust conceptions of equal citizenship have far-reaching implications for just relations in civil society and the family. The study of moral education has traditionally taken its bearings from normative ethics rather than political philosophy, and this is largely true of work undertaken in recent decades. The major development here has been the revival of virtue ethics as an alternative to the deontological and consequentialist theories that dominated discussion for much of the twentieth century.

The defining idea of virtue ethics is that our criterion of moral right and wrong must derive from a conception of how the ideally virtuous agent would distinguish between the two. Virtue ethics is thus an alternative to both consequentialism and deontology which locate the relevant criterion in producing good consequences or meeting the requirements of moral duty respectively. The debate about the comparative merits of these theories is not resolved, but from an educational perspective that may be less important than it has sometimes seemed to antagonists in the debate. To be sure, adjudicating between rival theories in normative ethics might shed light on how best to construe the process of moral education, and philosophical reflection on the process might help us to adjudicate between the theories. There has been extensive work on habituation and virtue, largely inspired by Aristotle (Burnyeat 1980; Peters 1981). But whether this does anything to establish the superiority of virtue ethics over its competitors is far from obvious. Other aspects of moral education—in particular, the paired processes of role-modelling and identification—deserve much more scrutiny than they have received (Audi 2017; Kristjánsson 2015, 2017).

Related to the issues concerning the aims and functions of education and schooling rehearsed above are those involving the specifically epistemic aims of education and attendant issues treated by social and virtue epistemologists. (The papers collected in Kotzee 2013 and Baehr 2016 highlight the current and growing interactions among social epistemologists, virtue epistemologists, and philosophers of education.)

There is, first, a lively debate concerning putative epistemic aims. Alvin Goldman argues that truth (or knowledge understood in the “weak” sense of true belief) is the fundamental epistemic aim of education (Goldman 1999). Others, including the majority of historically significant philosophers of education, hold that critical thinking or rationality and rational belief (or knowledge in the “strong” sense that includes justification) is the basic epistemic educational aim (Bailin & Siegel 2003; Scheffler 1965, 1973 [1989]; Siegel 1988, 1997, 2005, 2017). Catherine Z. Elgin (1999a,b) and Duncan Pritchard (2013, 2016; Carter & Pritchard 2017) have independently urged that understanding is the basic aim. Pritchard’s view combines understanding with intellectual virtue ; Jason Baehr (2011) systematically defends the fostering of the intellectual virtues as the fundamental epistemic aim of education. This cluster of views continues to engender ongoing discussion and debate. (Its complex literature is collected in Carter and Kotzee 2015, summarized in Siegel 2018, and helpfully analyzed in Watson 2016.)

A further controversy concerns the places of testimony and trust in the classroom: In what circumstances if any ought students to trust their teachers’ pronouncements, and why? Here the epistemology of education is informed by social epistemology, specifically the epistemology of testimony; the familiar reductionism/anti-reductionism controversy there is applicable to students and teachers. Anti-reductionists, who regard testimony as a basic source of justification, may with equanimity approve of students’ taking their teachers’ word at face value and believing what they say; reductionists may balk. Does teacher testimony itself constitute good reason for student belief?

The correct answer here seems clearly enough to be “it depends”. For very young children who have yet to acquire or develop the ability to subject teacher declarations to critical scrutiny, there seems to be little alternative to accepting what their teachers tell them. For older and more cognitively sophisticated students there seem to be more options: they can assess them for plausibility, compare them with other opinions, assess the teachers’ proffered reasons, subject them to independent evaluation, etc. Regarding “the teacher says that p ” as itself a good reason to believe it appears moreover to contravene the widely shared conviction that an important educational aim is helping students to become able to evaluate candidate beliefs for themselves and believe accordingly. That said, all sides agree that sometimes believers, including students, have good reasons simply to trust what others tell them. There is thus more work to do here by both social epistemologists and philosophers of education (for further discussion see Goldberg 2013; Siegel 2005, 2018).

A further cluster of questions, of long-standing interest to philosophers of education, concerns indoctrination : How if at all does it differ from legitimate teaching? Is it inevitable, and if so is it not always necessarily bad? First, what is it? As we saw earlier, extant analyses focus on the aims or intentions of the indoctrinator, the methods employed, or the content transmitted. If the indoctrination is successful, all have the result that students/victims either don’t, won’t, or can’t subject the indoctrinated material to proper epistemic evaluation. In this way it produces both belief that is evidentially unsupported or contravened and uncritical dispositions to believe. It might seem obvious that indoctrination, so understood, is educationally undesirable. But it equally seems that very young children, at least, have no alternative but to believe sans evidence; they have yet to acquire the dispositions to seek and evaluate evidence, or the abilities to recognize evidence or evaluate it. Thus we seem driven to the views that indoctrination is both unavoidable and yet bad and to be avoided. It is not obvious how this conundrum is best handled. One option is to distinguish between acceptable and unacceptable indoctrination. Another is to distinguish between indoctrination (which is always bad) and non-indoctrinating belief inculcation, the latter being such that students are taught some things without reasons (the alphabet, the numbers, how to read and count, etc.), but in such a way that critical evaluation of all such material (and everything else) is prized and fostered (Siegel 1988: ch. 5). In the end the distinctions required by the two options might be extensionally equivalent (Siegel 2018).

Education, it is generally granted, fosters belief : in the typical propositional case, Smith teaches Jones that p , and if all goes well Jones learns it and comes to believe it. Education also has the task of fostering open-mindedness and an appreciation of our fallibility : All the theorists mentioned thus far, especially those in the critical thinking and intellectual virtue camps, urge their importance. But these two might seem at odds. If Jones (fully) believes that p , can she also be open-minded about it? Can she believe, for example, that earthquakes are caused by the movements of tectonic plates, while also believing that perhaps they aren’t? This cluster of italicized notions requires careful handling; it is helpfully discussed by Jonathan Adler (2002, 2003), who recommends regarding the latter two as meta-attitudes concerning one’s first-order beliefs rather than lessened degrees of belief or commitments to those beliefs.

Other traditional epistemological worries that impinge upon the epistemology of education concern (a) absolutism , pluralism and relativism with respect to knowledge, truth and justification as these relate to what is taught, (b) the character and status of group epistemologies and the prospects for understanding such epistemic goods “universalistically” in the face of “particularist” challenges, (c) the relation between “knowledge-how” and “knowledge-that” and their respective places in the curriculum, (d) concerns raised by multiculturalism and the inclusion/exclusion of marginalized perspectives in curriculum content and the classroom, and (e) further issues concerning teaching and learning. (There is more here than can be briefly summarized; for more references and systematic treatment cf. Bailin & Siegel 2003; Carter & Kotzee 2015; Cleverley & Phillips 1986; Robertson 2009; Siegel 2004, 2017; and Watson 2016.)

The educational research enterprise has been criticized for a century or more by politicians, policymakers, administrators, curriculum developers, teachers, philosophers of education, and by researchers themselves—but the criticisms have been contradictory. Charges of being “too ivory tower and theory-oriented” are found alongside “too focused on practice and too atheoretical”; but in light of the views of John Dewey and William James that the function of theory is to guide intelligent practice and problem-solving, it is becoming more fashionable to hold that the “theory v. practice” dichotomy is a false one. (For an illuminating account of the historical development of educational research and its tribulations, see Lagemann 2000.)

A similar trend can be discerned with respect to the long warfare between two rival groups of research methods—on one hand quantitative/statistical approaches to research, and on the other hand the qualitative/ethnographic family. (The choice of labels here is not entirely risk-free, for they have been contested; furthermore the first approach is quite often associated with “experimental” studies, and the latter with “case studies”, but this is an over-simplification.) For several decades these two rival methodological camps were treated by researchers and a few philosophers of education as being rival paradigms (Kuhn’s ideas, albeit in a very loose form, have been influential in the field of educational research), and the dispute between them was commonly referred to as “the paradigm wars”. In essence the issue at stake was epistemological: members of the quantitative/experimental camp believed that only their methods could lead to well-warranted knowledge claims, especially about the causal factors at play in educational phenomena, and on the whole they regarded qualitative methods as lacking in rigor; on the other hand the adherents of qualitative/ethnographic approaches held that the other camp was too “positivistic” and was operating with an inadequate view of causation in human affairs—one that ignored the role of motives and reasons, possession of relevant background knowledge, awareness of cultural norms, and the like. Few if any commentators in the “paradigm wars” suggested that there was anything prohibiting the use of both approaches in the one research program—provided that if both were used, they were used only sequentially or in parallel, for they were underwritten by different epistemologies and hence could not be blended together. But recently the trend has been towards rapprochement, towards the view that the two methodological families are, in fact, compatible and are not at all like paradigms in the Kuhnian sense(s) of the term; the melding of the two approaches is often called “mixed methods research”, and it is growing in popularity. (For more detailed discussion of these “wars” see Howe 2003 and Phillips 2009.)

The most lively contemporary debates about education research, however, were set in motion around the turn of the millennium when the US Federal Government moved in the direction of funding only rigorously scientific educational research—the kind that could establish causal factors which could then guide the development of practically effective policies. (It was held that such a causal knowledge base was available for medical decision-making.) The definition of “rigorously scientific”, however, was decided by politicians and not by the research community, and it was given in terms of the use of a specific research method—the net effect being that the only research projects to receive Federal funding were those that carried out randomized controlled experiments or field trials (RFTs). It has become common over the last decade to refer to the RFT as the “gold standard” methodology.

The National Research Council (NRC)—an arm of the US National Academies of Science—issued a report, influenced by postpostivistic philosophy of science (NRC 2002), that argued that this criterion was far too narrow. Numerous essays have appeared subsequently that point out how the “gold standard” account of scientific rigor distorts the history of science, how the complex nature of the relation between evidence and policy-making has been distorted and made to appear overly simple (for instance the role of value-judgments in linking empirical findings to policy directives is often overlooked), and qualitative researchers have insisted upon the scientific nature of their work. Nevertheless, and possibly because it tried to be balanced and supported the use of RFTs in some research contexts, the NRC report has been the subject of symposia in four journals, where it has been supported by a few and attacked from a variety of philosophical fronts: Its authors were positivists, they erroneously believed that educational inquiry could be value neutral and that it could ignore the ways in which the exercise of power constrains the research process, they misunderstood the nature of educational phenomena, and so on. This cluster of issues continues to be debated by educational researchers and by philosophers of education and of science, and often involves basic topics in philosophy of science: the constitution of warranting evidence, the nature of theories and of confirmation and explanation, etc. Nancy Cartwright’s important recent work on causation, evidence, and evidence-based policy adds layers of both philosophical sophistication and real world practical analysis to the central issues just discussed (Cartwright & Hardie 2012, Cartwright 2013; cf. Kvernbekk 2015 for an overview of the controversies regarding evidence in the education and philosophy of education literatures).

As stressed earlier, it is impossible to do justice to the whole field of philosophy of education in a single encyclopedia entry. Different countries around the world have their own intellectual traditions and their own ways of institutionalizing philosophy of education in the academic universe, and no discussion of any of this appears in the present essay. But even in the Anglo-American world there is such a diversity of approaches that any author attempting to produce a synoptic account will quickly run into the borders of his or her competence. Clearly this has happened in the present case.

Fortunately, in the last thirty years or so resources have become available that significantly alleviate these problems. There has been a flood of encyclopedia entries, both on the field as a whole and also on many specific topics not well-covered in the present essay (see, as a sample, Burbules 1994; Chambliss 1996b; Curren 1998, 2018; Phillips 1985, 2010; Siegel 2007; Smeyers 1994), two “Encyclopedias” (Chambliss 1996a; Phillips 2014), a “Guide” (Blake, Smeyers, Smith, & Standish 2003), a “Companion” (Curren 2003), two “Handbooks” (Siegel 2009; Bailey, Barrow, Carr, & McCarthy 2010), a comprehensive anthology (Curren 2007), a dictionary of key concepts in the field (Winch & Gingell 1999), and a good textbook or two (Carr 2003; Noddings 2015). In addition there are numerous volumes both of reprinted selections and of specially commissioned essays on specific topics, some of which were given short shrift here (for another sampling see A. Rorty 1998, Stone 1994), and several international journals, including Theory and Research in Education , Journal of Philosophy of Education , Educational Theory , Studies in Philosophy and Education , and Educational Philosophy and Theory . Thus there is more than enough material available to keep the interested reader busy.

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• Cartwright, Nancy D. and Jeremy Hardie, 2012, Evidence-based Policy: A Practical Guide to Doing It Better , Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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autonomy: personal | Dewey, John | feminist philosophy, interventions: ethics | feminist philosophy, interventions: liberal feminism | feminist philosophy, interventions: political philosophy | feminist philosophy, topics: perspectives on autonomy | feminist philosophy, topics: perspectives on disability | Foucault, Michel | Gadamer, Hans-Georg | liberalism | Locke, John | Lyotard, Jean François | -->ordinary language --> | Plato | postmodernism | Rawls, John | rights: of children | Rousseau, Jean Jacques

Acknowledgments

The authors and editors would like to thank Randall Curren for sending a number of constructive suggestions for the Summer 2018 update of this entry.

Copyright © 2018 by Harvey Siegel D.C. Phillips Eamonn Callan

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Writing a Teacher Philosophy of Discipline Statement

When writing a philosophy of discipline statement, remember that it’s not based only on control but the underlying topics that coincide with it – morals, ethics, values, and personal responsibility.

Parents or guardians should serve as the primary resource for instructing their children about these concepts. Some guardians don’t set a good example or could even neglect this critical parenting role. Guardians may even leave this responsibility to educators to take the lead and help develop tomorrow’s leaders.

There are many helpful writing tips to create an excellent discipline statement. Many teachers may call this statement a Philosophy of Behaviour Management and learn more about writing  one.  

What to Include In a Philosophy of Discipline Statement

In your philosophy of discipline statement, you may wish to include that you believe the classroom should be fair, consistent, and with immediate consequences of acting up. Students must know the rules and procedures right from day one and understand the resulting consequences for obeying and breaking the rules.

Education World, one of my favorite websites, has a post on Discipline With Dignity Stresses Positive Motivation.  Gaining ideas for what type of discipline procedures work for other teachers may help you in your teaching journey.

Manage your classroom in an orderly fashion, where students can maintain maximum focus, productivity, and learning. Discipline does not solely rest on the individual but is influenced by the class as a whole and the atmosphere of the learning environment.

There are ways teachers rank planning, discipline, methods , and evaluation, and this could be included in your statement. 

Communicate Your Values and Morals

Educators should exhibit good morals and values, display proper manners, teach right from wrong, mediate peer conflicts, employ effective and impartial listening, and show support for students and colleagues. Teachers should emphasize the importance of following the Golden Rule, promote acceptance and multiculturalism, and compassion, and strive to help each student reach their full potential via strong behavior management and focus.

Discuss Parental Relationships

Furthermore, it is an excellent idea that instructors maintain communication with parents, encourage parental involvement within the school community, and promote education in the home. Hopefully, parents will help their children at home if they know what their children are learning in school and how they behave in the classroom. 

If parents followed their child’s process, they would experience more academic and social success. The parents may set a good example for their children and reinforce the need to gain a solid education and develop into respectable, caring, and productive members of society.

Reflect on your time in the classroom and how your view and incorporate discipline will help you write your philosophy of discipline statement.

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40 Philosophy of Education Examples, Plus How To Write Your Own

Learn how to define and share your teaching philosophy.

These days, it’s become common for educators to be asked what their personal teaching philosophy is. Whether it’s for a job interview, a college class, or to share with your principal, crafting a philosophy of education can seem like a daunting task. So set aside some time to consider your own teaching philosophy (we’ll walk you through it), and be sure to look at philosophy of education examples from others (we’ve got those too!).

What is a philosophy of education?

Before we dive into the examples, it’s important to understand the purpose of a philosophy of education. This statement will provide an explanation of your teaching values and beliefs. Your teaching philosophy is ultimately a combination of the methods you studied in college and any professional experiences you’ve learned from since. It incorporates your own experiences (negative or positive) in education.

Many teachers have two versions of their teaching philosophy: a long form (a page or so of text) and a short form. The longer form is useful for job application cover letters or to include as part of your teacher portfolio. The short form distills the longer philosophy into a couple of succinct sentences that you can use to answer teacher job interview questions or even share with parents.

What’s the best teaching philosophy?

Here’s one key thing to remember: There’s no one right answer to “What’s your teaching philosophy?” Every teacher’s will be a little bit different, depending on their own teaching style, experiences, and expectations. And many teachers find that their philosophies change over time, as they learn and grow in their careers.

When someone asks for your philosophy of education, what they really want to know is that you’ve given thought to how you prepare lessons and interact with students in and out of the classroom. They’re interested in finding out what you expect from your students and from yourself, and how you’ll apply those expectations. And they want to hear examples of how you put your teaching philosophy into action.

What’s included in strong teaching philosophy examples?

Depending on who you ask, a philosophy of education statement can include a variety of values, beliefs, and information. As you build your own teaching philosophy statement, consider these aspects, and write down your answers to the questions.

Purpose of Education (Core Beliefs)

What do you believe is the purpose of teaching and learning? Why does education matter to today’s children? How will time spent in your classroom help prepare them for the future?

Use your answers to draft the opening statement of your philosophy of education, like these:

• Education isn’t just about what students learn, but about learning how to learn.
• A good education prepares students to be productive and empathetic members of society.
• Teachers help students embrace new information and new ways of seeing the world around them.
• A strong education with a focus on fundamentals ensures students can take on any challenges that come their way.
• I believe education is key to empowering today’s youth, so they’ll feel confident in their future careers, relationships, and duties as members of their community.
• Well-educated students are open-minded, welcoming the opinions of others and knowing how to evaluate information critically and carefully.

Teaching Style and Practices

Do you believe in student-led learning, or do you like to use the Socratic method instead? Is your classroom a place for quiet concentration or sociable collaboration? Do you focus on play-based learning, hands-on practice, debate and discussion, problem-solving, or project-based learning? All teachers use a mix of teaching practices and styles, of course, but there are some you’re likely more comfortable with than others. Possible examples:

• I frequently use project-based learning in my classrooms because I believe it helps make learning more relevant to my students. When students work together to address real-world problems, they use their [subject] knowledge and skills and develop communication and critical thinking abilities too.
• Play-based learning is a big part of my teaching philosophy. Kids who learn through play have more authentic experiences, exploring and discovering the world naturally in ways that make the process more engaging and likely to make a lasting impact.
• In my classroom, technology is key. I believe in teaching students how to use today’s technology in responsible ways, embracing new possibilities and using technology as a tool, not a crutch.
• While I believe in trying new teaching methods, I also find that traditional learning activities can still be effective. My teaching is mainly a mix of lecture, Socratic seminar, and small-group discussions.
• I’m a big believer in formative assessment , taking every opportunity to measure my students’ understanding and progress. I use tools like exit tickets and Kahoot! quizzes, and watch my students closely to see if they’re engaged and on track.
• Group work and discussions play a major role in my instructional style. Students who learn to work cooperatively at a young age are better equipped to succeed in school, in their future careers, and in their communities.

Students and Learning Styles

Why is it important to recognize all learning styles? How do you accommodate different learning styles in your classroom? What are your beliefs on diversity, equity, and inclusion? How do you ensure every student in your classroom receives the same opportunities to learn? How do you expect students to behave, and how do you measure success?

Sample teaching philosophy statements about students might sound like this:

• Every student has their own unique talents, skills, challenges, and background. By getting to know my students as individuals, I can help them find the learning styles that work best for them, now and throughout their education.
• I find that motivated students learn best. They’re more engaged in the classroom and more diligent when working alone. I work to motivate students by making learning relevant, meaningful, and enjoyable.
• We must give every student equal opportunities to learn and grow. Not all students have the same support outside the classroom. So as a teacher, I try to help bridge gaps when I see them and give struggling students a chance to succeed academically.
• I believe every student has their own story and deserves a chance to create and share it. I encourage my students to approach learning as individuals, and I know I’m succeeding when they show a real interest in showing up and learning more every day.
• In my classroom, students take responsibility for their own success. I help them craft their own learning goals, then encourage them to evaluate their progress honestly and ask for help when they need it.
• To me, the best classrooms are those that are the most diverse. Students learn to recognize and respect each other’s differences, celebrating what each brings to the community. They also have the opportunity to find common ground, sometimes in ways that surprise them.

How do I write my philosophy of education?

Think back to any essay you’ve ever written and follow a similar format. Write in the present tense; your philosophy isn’t aspirational, it’s something you already live and follow. This is true even if you’re applying for your first teaching job. Your philosophy is informed by your student teaching, internships, and other teaching experiences.

Lead with your core beliefs about teaching and learning. These beliefs should be reflected throughout the rest of your teaching philosophy statement.

Then, explain your teaching style and practices, being sure to include concrete examples of how you put those practices into action. Transition into your beliefs about students and learning styles, with more examples. Explain why you believe in these teaching and learning styles, and how you’ve seen them work in your experiences.

A long-form philosophy of education statement usually takes a few paragraphs (not generally more than a page or two). From that long-form philosophy, highlight a few key statements and phrases and use them to sum up your teaching philosophy in a couple of well-crafted sentences for your short-form teaching philosophy.

Still feeling overwhelmed? Try answering these three key questions:

• Why do you teach?
• What are your favorite, tried-and-true methods for teaching and learning?
• How do you help students of all abilities and backgrounds learn?

If you can answer those three questions, you can write your teaching philosophy!

Short Philosophy of Education Examples

We asked real educators in the We Are Teachers HELPLINE group on Facebook to share their teaching philosophy examples in a few sentences . Here’s what they had to say:

I am always trying to turn my students into self-sufficient learners who use their resources to figure it out instead of resorting to just asking someone for the answers. —Amy J.

My philosophy is that all students can learn. Good educators meet all students’ differentiated learning needs to help all students meet their maximum learning potential. —Lisa B.

I believe that all students are unique and need a teacher that caters to their individual needs in a safe and stimulating environment. I want to create a classroom where students can flourish and explore to reach their full potential. My goal is also to create a warm, loving environment, so students feel safe to take risks and express themselves. —Valerie T.

In my classroom, I like to focus on the student-teacher relationships/one-on-one interactions. Flexibility is a must, and I’ve learned that you do the best you can with the students you have for however long you have them in your class. —Elizabeth Y

I want to prepare my students to be able to get along without me and take ownership of their learning. I have implemented a growth mindset. —Kirk H.

My teaching philosophy is centered around seeing the whole student and allowing the student to use their whole self to direct their own learning. As a secondary teacher, I also believe strongly in exposing all students to the same core content of my subject so that they have equal opportunities for careers and other experiences dependent upon that content in the future. —Jacky B.

All children learn best when learning is hands-on. This works for the high students and the low students too, even the ones in between. I teach by creating experiences, not giving information. —Jessica R.

As teachers, it’s our job to foster creativity. In order to do that, it’s important for me to embrace the mistakes of my students, create a learning environment that allows them to feel comfortable enough to take chances, and try new methods. —Chelsie L.

I believe that every child can learn and deserves the best, well-trained teacher possible who has high expectations for them. I differentiate all my lessons and include all learning modalities. —Amy S.

All students can learn and want to learn. It is my job to meet them where they are and move them forward. —Holli A.

I believe learning comes from making sense of chaos. My job is to design work that will allow students to process, explore, and discuss concepts to own the learning. I need to be part of the process to guide and challenge perceptions. —Shelly G.

I want my students to know that they are valued members of our classroom community, and I want to teach each of them what they need to continue to grow in my classroom. —Doreen G.

Teach to every child’s passion and encourage a joy for and love of education and school. —Iris B.

I believe in creating a classroom culture of learning through mistakes and overcoming obstacles through teamwork. —Jenn B.

It’s our job to introduce our kids to many, many different things and help them find what they excel in and what they don’t. Then nurture their excellence and help them figure out how to compensate for their problem areas. That way, they will become happy, successful adults. —Haley T.

Longer Philosophy of Education Examples

Looking for longer teaching philosophy examples? Check out these selections from experienced teachers of all ages and grades.

• Learning To Wear the Big Shoes: One Step at a Time
• Nellie Edge: My Kindergarten Teaching Philosophy
• Faculty Focus: My Philosophy of Teaching
• Robinson Elementary School: My Teaching Philosophy
• David Orace Kelly: Philosophy of Education
• Explorations in Higher Education: My Teaching Philosophy Statement
• University of Washington Medical School Faculty Teaching Philosophy Statements

Do you have any philosophy of education examples? Share them in the We Are Teachers HELPLINE Group on Facebook!

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A More Compassionate Philosophy on Student Behavior

A compassionate approach

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Juan-Diego Estrada is the director of wellness and an upper school counselor at The John Cooper School in The Woodlands, Texas. He is a certified teacher of the mindfulness-based emotional intelligence and leadership program Search Inside Yourself and a Duke-trained health and well-being coach.

Gillian Crane is the dean of students and assistant head of Upper School at The John Cooper School in The Woodlands, Texas.

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Your teaching philosophy is a self-reflective statement of your beliefs about teaching and learning. It's a one to two page narrative that conveys your core ideas about being an effective teacher in the context of your discipline. It develops these ideas with specific, concrete examples of what the teacher and learners will do to achieve those goals. Importantly, your teaching philosophy statement also explains why you choose these options.

+ Getting Started

Your reasons for writing a teaching philosophy may vary. You might be writing it as an exercise in concisely documenting your beliefs so that you can easily articulate them to your students, peers, or a search committee. It might serve as the introduction to your teaching portfolio. Or, it can serve as a means of professional growth as it requires you to give examples of how you enact your philosophy, thus requiring you to consider the degree to which your teaching is congruent with your beliefs.

Generating ideas

Teaching philosophies express your values and beliefs about teaching. They are personal statements that introduce you, as a teacher, to your reader. As such, they are written in the first person and convey a confident, professional tone. When writing a teaching philosophy, use specific examples to illustrate your points. You should also discuss how your values and beliefs about teaching fit into the context of your discipline.

Below are categories you might address with prompts to help you begin generating ideas. Work through each category, spending time thinking about the prompts and writing your ideas down. These notes will comprise the material you’ll use to write the first draft of your teaching philosophy statement. It will help if you include both general ideas (‘I endeavor to create lifelong learners’) as well as specifics about how you will enact those goals. A teaching philosophy template is also available to help you get started.

Questions to prompt your thinking

Your concept of learning.

What do you mean by learning? What happens in a successful learning situation? Note what constitutes "learning" or "mastery" in your discipline.

Your concept of teaching

What are your values, beliefs, and aspirations as a teacher? Do you wish to encourage mastery, competency, transformational learning, lifelong learning, general transference of skills, critical thinking? What does a perfect teaching situation look like to you and why? How are the values and beliefs realized in classroom activities? You may discuss course materials, lesson plans, activities, assignments, and assessment instruments.

Your goals for students

What skills should students obtain as a result of your teaching? Think about your ideal student and what the outcomes of your teaching would be in terms of this student's knowledge or behavior. Address the goals you have for specific classes or curricula and that rational behind them (i.e., critical thinking, writing, or problem solving).

Your teaching methods

What methods will you consider to reach these goals and objectives? What are your beliefs regarding learning theory and specific strategies you would use, such as case studies, group work, simulations, interactive lectures? You might also want to include any new ideas or strategies you want to try.

Your interaction with students

What are you attitudes towards advising and mentoring students? How would an observer see you interact with students? Why do you want to work with students?

Assessing learning

How will you assess student growth and learning? What are your beliefs about grading? Do you grade students on a percentage scale (criterion referenced) or on a curve (norm referenced)? What different types of assessment will you use (i.e. traditional tests, projects, portfolios,  presentations) and why?

Professional growth

How will you continue growing as a teacher? What goals do you have for yourself and how will you reach them? How have your attitudes towards teaching and learning changed over time? How will you use student evaluations to improve your teaching? How might you learn new skills? How do you know when you've taught effectively?

+ Creating a Draft

Two ways of organizing your draft.

Now that you've written down your values, attitudes, and beliefs about teaching and learning, it's time to organize those thoughts into a coherent form. Perhaps the easiest way of organizing this material would be to write a paragraph covering each of the seven prompts you answered in the Getting Started section. These would then become the seven major sections of your teaching philosophy.

Another way of knitting your reflections together—and one that is more personal—is to read through your notes and underscore ideas or observations that come up more than once. Think of these as "themes" that might point you toward an organizational structure for the essay. For example, you read through your notes and realize that you spend a good deal of time writing about your interest in mentoring students. This might become one of the three or four major foci of your teaching philosophy. You should then discuss what it says about your attitudes toward teaching, learning, and what's important in your discipline.

No matter which style you choose, make sure to keep your writing succinct. Aim for two double-spaced pages. And don't forget to start with a "hook." Your job is to make your readers want to read more; their level of engagement is highest when they read your opening line. Hook your readers by beginning with a question, a statement, or even an event from your past.

Using specific examples

Remember to provide concrete examples from your teaching practice to illustrate the general claims you make in your teaching philosophy. The following general statements about teaching are intended as prompts to help you come up with examples to illustrate your claims about teaching. For each statement, how would you describe what happens in your classroom? Is your description specific enough to bring the scene to life in a teaching philosophy?

"I value helping my students understand difficult information. I am an expert, and my role is to model for them complex ways of thinking so that they can develop the same habits of mind as professionals in the medical field."

"I enjoy lecturing, and I'm good at it. I always make an effort to engage and motivate my students when I lecture."

"It is crucial for students of geology to learn the techniques of field research. An important part of my job as a professor of geology is to provide these opportunities."

"I believe that beginning physics students should be introduced to the principles of hypothesis generation, experimentation, data collection, and analysis. By learning the scientific method, they develop critical thinking skills they can apply to other areas of their lives. Small group work is a crucial tool for teaching the scientific method."

"As a teacher of writing, I am committed to using peer review in my classes. By reading and commenting on other students' work in small cooperative groups, my students learn to find their voice, to understand the important connection between writer and audience, and to hone their editing skills. Small group work is indispensible in the writing classroom."

Go back to the notes you made when getting started and underline the general statements you’ve made about teaching and learning. As you start drafting, make sure to note the specific approaches, methods, or products you use to realize those goals.

+ Assessing Your Draft

Assessing your draft teaching philosophy.

According to a survey of search committee chairs by the University of Michigan Center for Research on Learning and Teaching, there are five elements that are shared by strong teaching philosophy statements:

• They offer evidence of practice (specific examples)
• They are student-centered
• They demonstrate reflectiveness
• They demonstrate that the writer values teaching
• They are well written, clear, and readable

Now that you’ve completed an initial draft, ask whether your statement captures these elements and how well you articulate them.

You might find it useful to compare your draft to other teaching philosophies in your discipline. It can also be useful to have a colleague review your draft and offer recommendations for revision. Consider printing out a teaching philosophy rubric from our “Rubrics and Samples” tab to provide your reviewer with guidelines to assess your draft. These exercises will give you the critical distance necessary to see your teaching philosophy objectively and revise it accordingly.

+ Rubrics and Samples

Rubrics and sample teaching philosophies.

Here are links to three teaching philosophy rubrics to help you assess your statement. We have included four different rubrics for you to choose from. These rubrics cover similar elements, and one is not necessarily better than the other. Your choice of which to use should be guided by how comfortable you feel with the particular instrument and how usable you find it. 

• Teaching Philosophy Rubric 1   This rubric allows a reader to rate several elements of persuasiveness and format on a scale of 1 to 5.
• Teaching Philosophy Rubric 2   This rubric contains prompts for assessing purpose and audience, voice, beliefs and support, and conventions.
• Teaching Philosophy Rubric 3   This rubric contains prompts for assessing content, format, and writing quality.
• Rubric for Statements of Teaching Philosophy  This rubric was developed by Kaplan et. al. from the University of Michigan.
• Marisol Brito – philosophy 
• Benjamin Harrison – biology  
• Jamie Peterson – psychology
• The University of Michigan has a wide variety of  samples  organized by field of study.
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Essay on Discipline for Students and Children

500+ words essay on discipline.

Essay on Discipline – Discipline is something that keeps each person in control. It motivates a person to progress in life and achieve success . Everyone follow discipline in his/her life in a different form. Besides, everyone has his own prospect of discipline. Some people consider it a part of their life and some don’t. It is the guide that availability directs a person on the right path.

Importance and types of discipline

Without discipline, the life of a person will become dull and inactive. Also, a disciplined person can control and handle the situation of living in a sophisticated way than those who do not.

Moreover, if you have a plan and you want to implement it in your life then you need discipline. It makes things easy for you to handle and ultimately bring success to your life.

If talk about the types of discipline, then they are generally of two types. First one is induced discipline and the second one is self-discipline.

Induced discipline is something that others taught us or we learn by seeing others. While self- discipline comes from within and we learn it on our own self. Self-discipline requires a lot of motivation and support from others.

Above all, following your daily schedule without any mistake is also part of being disciplined.

Get the huge list of more than 500 Essay Topics and Ideas

The Need for Discipline

Moreover, the meaning of discipline changes with the stages of life and priority. Not everyone can be disciplined because it requires a lot of hard work and dedication. Also, it needs a positive mind and a healthy body . One has to be strict to discipline so that she/he can successfully complete the road of success.

Advantages of Discipline

The disciple is a staircase by which the person achieve success. It helps a person to focus on his/her goals in life. Also, it does not let him/her derivate from the goal.

Besides, it brings perfection in a person life by training and educating the mind and body of the person to respond to the rules and regulation, which will help him to be an ideal citizen of the society.

If we talk about professional life then, the disciplined person gets more opportunities than the person who is undisciplined. Also, it adds an exceptional dimension to the personality of the individual. Besides, the person leaves a positive impact on the mind of people wherever she/he goes.

In conclusion, we can say that discipline is one of the key elements of anyone’s life. A person can only be successful if she/he strictly live a healthy and disciplined life. Besides, the discipline also helps us in a lot of ways and motivates the person around us to be disciplined. Above all, discipline helps a person to achieve the success that she/he wants in life.

{ “@context”: “https://schema.org”, “@type”: “FAQPage”, “mainEntity”: [{ “@type”: “Question”, “name”: “Define discipline in simple words?”, “acceptedAnswer”: { “@type”: “Answer”, “text”: “In simple language we can say that discipline is the organizing of human tasks and objectives so that can be successful. Besides, different fields and different people have a different meaning of discipline.”} }, { “@type”: “Question”, “name”: “What are the three types of discipline according to the books?”, “acceptedAnswer”: { “@type”: “Answer”, “text”:”These 3 discipline relates to the school. According to the three types of discipline are prevention, corrective, and supportive. These 3 discipline helps teachers to maintain the order and regulation in the class.”} }] }

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Guest Essay

The Most Important Thing I Teach My Students Isn’t on the Syllabus

By Frank Bruni

Mr. Bruni is a contributing Opinion writer and the author of the forthcoming book “The Age of Grievance,” from which this essay is adapted.

I warn my students. At the start of every semester, on the first day of every course, I confess to certain passions and quirks and tell them to be ready: I’m a stickler for correct grammar, spelling and the like, so if they don’t have it in them to care about and patrol for such errors, they probably won’t end up with the grade they’re after. I want to hear everyone’s voice — I tell them that, too — but I don’t want to hear anybody’s voice so often and so loudly that the other voices don’t have a chance.

And I’m going to repeat one phrase more often than any other: “It’s complicated.” They’ll become familiar with that. They may even become bored with it. I’ll sometimes say it when we’re discussing the roots and branches of a social ill, the motivations of public (and private) actors and a whole lot else, and that’s because I’m standing before them not as an ambassador of certainty or a font of unassailable verities but as an emissary of doubt. I want to give them intelligent questions, not final answers. I want to teach them how much they have to learn — and how much they will always have to learn.

I’d been on the faculty of Duke University and delivering that spiel for more than two years before I realized that each component of it was about the same quality: humility. The grammar-and-spelling bit was about surrendering to an established and easily understood way of doing things that eschewed wild individualism in favor of a common mode of communication. It showed respect for tradition, which is a force that binds us, a folding of the self into a greater whole. The voices bit — well, that’s obvious. It’s a reminder that we share the stages of our communities, our countries, our worlds, with many other actors and should conduct ourselves in a manner that recognizes this fact. And “it’s complicated” is a bulwark against arrogance, absolutism, purity, zeal.

I’d also been delivering that spiel for more than two years before I realized that humility is the antidote to grievance.

We live in an era defined and overwhelmed by grievance — by too many Americans’ obsession with how they’ve been wronged and their insistence on wallowing in ire. This anger reflects a pessimism that previous generations didn’t feel. The ascent of identity politics and the influence of social media, it turned out, were better at inflaming us than uniting us. They promote a self-obsession at odds with community, civility, comity and compromise. It’s a problem of humility.

The Jan. 6 insurrectionists were delusional, frenzied, savage. But above all, they were unhumble. They decided that they held the truth, no matter all the evidence to the contrary. They couldn’t accept that their preference for one presidential candidate over another could possibly put them in the minority — or perhaps a few of them just reasoned that if it did, then everybody else was too misguided to matter. They elevated how they viewed the world and what they wanted over tradition, institutional stability, law, order.

It’s no accident that they were acting in the service of Donald Trump, whose pitch to Americans from the very start was a strikingly — even shockingly — unhumble one. “I alone can fix it,” he proclaimed in his 2016 speech accepting the Republican Party’s nomination for president; and at his inauguration in January of the following year, the word “humbled,” which had been present in the first inaugural remarks of both Barack Obama and George W. Bush, was nowhere to be found. Nor were any of its variants. That whole sentiment and politesse were missing, as they had been during a campaign centered on his supposed omniscience.

There are now mini-Trumps aplenty in American politics, but anti-Trumps will be our salvation, and I say that not along partisan or ideological lines. I’m talking about character and how a society holds itself together. It does that with concern for the common good, with respect for the institutions and procedures that protect that and with political leaders who ideally embody those traits or at least promote them.

Those leaders exist. When Charlie Baker, a former Massachusetts governor, was enjoying enormous favor and lofty approval ratings as a Republican in a predominantly Democratic state, he was also stressing the importance of humility. He was fond of quoting Philippians 2:3, which he invoked as a lodestar for his administration. “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit,” it says. “Rather, in humility value others above yourself.”

That’s great practical advice for anyone in government, where most meaningful success hinges on teamwork and significant progress requires consensus. Governing, as opposed to demagoguery, is about earning others’ trust and cooperation. Exhibiting a willingness to listen to and to hear them goes a long way toward that.

“Insight and knowledge come from curiosity and humility,” Mr. Baker wrote in a 2022 book, “Results,” coauthored with his chief of staff, Steve Kadish, a Democrat. “Snap judgments — about people or ideas — are fueled by arrogance and conceit. They create blind spots and missed opportunities. Good ideas and interesting ways to accomplish goals in public life exist all over the place if you have the will, the curiosity, and the humility to find them.”

Humble politicians don’t insist on one-size-fits-all answers when those aren’t necessary as a matter of basic rights and fundamental justice. Humble activists don’t either. The campaign for same-sex marriage — one of the most successful social movements of recent decades — showed that progress can be made not by shaming people, not by telling them how awful they are, but by suggesting how much better they could be. Marriage-equality advocates emphasized a brighter future that they wanted to create, not an ugly past that they wanted to litigate. They also wisely assured Americans that gay and lesbian people weren’t trying to explode a cherished institution and upend a system of values, but instead wanted in.

“I don’t want to disparage shouting and demands — everything has its place,” Evan Wolfson, the founder of the pivotal advocacy group Freedom to Marry, told me when we revisited the movement’s philosophy and tactics. At times, he acknowledged, champions of a cause “need to break the silence, we need to push, we need to force.”

“But I used to say, ‘Yes, there’s demanding, but there’s also asking,’” he recalled. “And one is not the enemy of the other. People don’t like being accused, people don’t like being condemned, people don’t like being alienated. It’s a matter of conversation and persuasion.”

That’s consistent with the message delivered by Loretta Ross, a longtime racial justice and human rights advocate, through her teaching, public speaking and writing. Troubled by the frequent targeting and pillorying of people on social media, she urged the practice of calling in rather than calling out those who’ve upset you. “Call-outs make people fearful of being targeted,” she wrote in a guest essay for Times Opinion . “People avoid meaningful conversations when hypervigilant perfectionists point out apparent mistakes, feeding the cannibalistic maw of the cancel culture.” Instead, she advised, engage them. If you believe they need enlightenment, try that route, “without the self-indulgence of drama,” she wrote.

She was preaching humility.

She was also recognizing other people’s right to disagree — to live differently, to talk differently. Pluralism is as much about that as it is about a multiracial, multifaith, multigender splendor. That doesn’t mean a surrender or even a compromise of principles; a person can hold on to those while practicing tolerance, which has been supplanted by grievance. Tolerance shares DNA with respect. It recognizes that other people have rights and inherent value even when we disagree vehemently with them.

We all carry wounds, and some of us carry wounds much graver than others. We confront obstacles, including unjust and senseless ones. We must tend to those wounds. We must push hard at those obstacles. But we mustn’t treat every wound, every obstacle, as some cosmic outrage or mortal danger. We mustn’t lose sight of the struggle, imperfection and randomness of life. We mustn’t overstate our vulnerability and exaggerate our due.

While grievance blows our concerns out of proportion, humility puts them in perspective. While grievance reduces the people with whom we disagree to caricature, humility acknowledges that they’re every bit as complex as we are — with as much of a stake in creating a more perfect union.

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Frank Bruni is a professor of journalism and public policy at Duke University, the author of the book "The Age of Grievance" and a contributing Opinion writer. He writes a weekly email newsletter .   Instagram   Threads   @ FrankBruni • Facebook