Here are two tales you may have heard about what's happening in higher education in countries like England at the moment. Excuse the lack of references, but I am concerned here to give a general gloss on these accounts in their simplest forms.

The first tale concerns the marketisation of higher education. The introduction and steady (and not-so-steady) increase of tuition fees has created a volatile environment where no quantity of students is enough and no student– staff ratio is too high. Treating higher education institutions as businesses has corrupted the system, resulting in a glut of overpaid, corporate managers and ill-prepared, instrumentalist students. Box-ticking exercises have replaced a genuine concern with students’ welfare, and basic research is rarely pursued due to the clamour of impact. Writing in this vein is sometimes described (though not always by the writers themselves) as ‘critical university studies’.

The second tale is, among other things, a critique of this critique. While in agreement that there are serious problems in higher education today, this second story takes aim at the diagnosis supplied by the first. It claims that to focus on the ever-growing, ever-hastening university as the problem is to indulge in nostalgia for a past before mass higher education. The first diagnosis tends not to dwell for too long on remedies for the ailment, but it seems to imply that everything was better in some specific time in the past. Thus, according to the second tale, the first tale hankers after an elitist and highly selective higher education system, and is, at best, ignorant of and, at worst, indifferent to that system's history of entanglement with empire, worker exploitation, racism and sexism. Writing of this sort is sometimes described as ‘abolitionist university studies’.

Both bodies of work (to which this hurried sketch does no justice whatsoever) show us important truths about higher education. Rarely does either tale claim to be the whole story. Yet, how do we account for the fact that so many who work or study in universities are so critical of both marketisation and elitism? Or, to flip over to the more cynical side of this coin, how can we account for the fact that so many of these critics (myself, for instance) continue to invest their lives in the pleasures and the pains (as well, of course, as the pay cheques) of higher education?

In this chapter, I address myself to the educational knot of the general and the particular for those who promote, teach on and study the liberal arts. Liberal arts degrees are presented on institutions’ promotional websites as fostering highly generic skills irrespective of the disciplines taken (as we saw in Chapter 2); yet, there is simultaneously a constant stress that liberal arts students are unique by virtue of the specific degree they study.

The desire to forge one's own path through education, work and, more broadly, interests and style can take on a decidedly moral character. As Boltanski and Chiapello (2005: 504) note, there is a growing moral imperative to seek ‘autonomy, spontaneity, authenticity, self-fulfilment, creativity, life’ through work and other means, and one consequence in education is a moral stance against off-the-peg degrees. As Burke and McManus (2011) found in their study of art school admission interviews, some ill-defined ‘quirkiness’ easily becomes prized in this context.

Yet, this individualisation of learning choices happens alongside a homogenisation of the desired outcomes for all learners, irrespective of degree content. Generic personal competences are what should be fostered, such as lateral thinking, communication skills and the universally required capacity to ‘work well alone or as part of a team’. These are industrial values for the well-functioning workplace and quite distinct from inspirational ones about following one's personal passions.

Values that appear at first sight to be in contradiction, however, may in fact relate to similar processes: because the competences are generic and education as a generalised process (learning to learn) is being unmoored from disciplinary specificity, choices about what to learn are considered less important. Thus, they can fairly harmlessly be made by students themselves. This highly individualising approach is learner centred (European Commission, 2008) – part of what Gert Biesta (2010) calls ‘learnification’ – yet, it paradoxically diminishes the importance of the learner's choices. It might be summarised as ‘many routes to one destination’.

This relatively recent notion of generic competences, concerned with an efficient workplace, seems entirely divorced again from a much older set of values about general education: the English educational tradition of breadth, generalism and even suspicion of expertise (Young, 2008).

These two conceptualisations of the value of the liberal arts put forward by student Konstantina and academic Hélène suggest very different ways of thinking about who the liberal arts are for. For Konstantina, everyone should maintain a breadth of subjects. Helene, on the other hand, expresses two sorts of reservation about this. First, she notes that the pedagogical and pastoral style best suited to the liberal arts favours a low student–staff ratio. Second, she suggests some kind of pay-off between the quality and quantity of students, such that the value of the specific type of students attracted to the liberal arts is thought to outweigh the value of a large number of students in general. She describes it as a “very specific niche degree”, precisely not one likely to appeal to, or perhaps be suitable for, the majority of students.

This tension when it comes to advocacy for the liberal arts – considering it, often, to be an ideal type of education for all and yet somehow also only appropriate for a specific type of student – gets to the heart of a set of debates about elitism in a mass higher education system that will be the focus of this chapter. Here, the concept of massification is understood not only to mean a particular proportion of young people (say 40 per cent) accessing higher education, but also, more expansively, to refer to a general narrative of aspiration towards higher education for the majority (Scott, 2012) in a context where 97 per cent of new mothers want their children to attend university (Centre for Longitudinal Studies, 2010, cited in Scott, 2021). This context of massification creates tensions for institutions, which must weigh up competing pressures to recruit large numbers of students while trying to maintain league table positions.

Social Justice Education (SJE) has become the defining orientation of many educators and educational researchers, but is not without its detractors. Because of its overt political investments, SJE has been accused of brainwashing students and violating the terms of democratic legitimacy. In this chapter, I offer a philosophical defense of some SJE. Using Canada as an example and comprehensive liberalism as a framework, I argue that many practices that we wish to protect under the banner of SJE can be defended by appeal to the foundational values that are common to liberal democracies and find expression in contemporary legislation. I suggest five criteria for distinguishing between defensible and indefensible forms of political education, allowing that not all self-proclaimed SJE will be defensible, and some less progressive education will be. I conclude by anticipating two objections to this strategy.

This chapter offers an overview of some of the more important approaches to these questions in contemporary, mostly anglophone, conceptions of educational justice in primary and secondary education. Section 16.2 starts with some provisions of some important goals of education. Section 16.3 turns to educational justice in general. Section 16.4 asks about the spheres of educational justice: is it education and socialization in general, or the school system in particular? Section 16.5 distinguishes three different levels of education: basic education for all; the cultivation of individual talents and capacities; and selection for higher education and the job market. Section 16.6 outlines the differences between five principles of justice and equality in the field of education: strict equality; a conception of fair equality of opportunity, iii) a conception of luck-egalitarian equality of opportunity; iv) a prioritarian conception of educational justice; and democratic adequacy as a conception of educational justice.

The fact of religious pluralism is one of the most challenging questions for contemporary liberal democracies. Political theorists variously argue that religious belief and practice can be a support for prosocial morality, can cause social division, may prevent citizens from adopting important civic norms, or should simply be an area of civic competence. All of these positions carry significant consequences for democratic education. This chapter surveys a range of positions present in political theory and democratic education literature, drawing on historical and contemporary examples from Western democracies, particularly the American context. The chapter concludes by exploring the possibility that modern liberal democratic regimes are properly considered religious themselves, and by considering the implications of this notion for debates regarding democratic education.

Democratic education is central to the functioning and flourishing of modern multicultural democracies, and yet it is subject to increasing public controversy and political pressure. Waning public trust in government institutions, sustained attacks on democratic values and customs from populist politicians and organizations, political sectarianism, and increasing trends toward privatization and chartering in the educational landscape have placed immense strain on the existing structures of public education and generally worked to undermine public confidence in democratic education. In light of these developments, it seems to us to be of central importance to return to the essential concepts, theories and values of democratic education, both as a social ideal and a political institution. This Handbook aims to offer an expansive view of the formation of individuals for democratic life and includes a diversity of theoretical traditions, topics, and thinkers that are relevant to the theory and practice of democratic education.

The COVID-19 pandemic has led to far-reaching challenges in the field of (democratic) education. This chapter focuses on two aspects. First, as a measure to contain the spread of the coronavirus, schools in many countries were closed for extended periods of time. In this chapter, school closures are discussed as an issue of educational justice, with particular attention to the problem of an education for democratic participation. Second, the pandemic has raised questions of democratic legitimacy: The political measures taken to combat the virus were seen as illegitimate by parts of the population. In this context, there is disagreement about the basic facts regarding the virus and the response to it. The chapter discusses how teachers should deal with this kind of disagreement, in the classroom.

When teachers address controversial issues with their students in class, parents, society, and the teaching profession often expect them to adopt a neutral or impartial pedagogical stance. However, scholars have expressed doubts about whether this duty of impartiality is realistic and questioned whether it is educationally desirable. This chapter defends the duty of impartiality by arguing that the key reservations voiced against it in the academic literature are based on different misconceptions about impartial teaching and teacher neutrality: about the meaning of “controversial issue,” about the educational value of being flexible about neutrality in teaching situations, and about what constitutes a reasonable standard of impartiality. Drawing on the legal concept of evenhandedness, the chapter concludes by putting forward an alternative standard of teacher impartiality that walks the line between the inevitably value-laden nature of teaching and the expectation that teachers exercise their authority in a reasonable and responsible way.

Both democratic education and moral education have significant formative components. That is to say, educators in both domains are concerned not only with imparting knowledge and understanding and equipping pupils with skills and competences, but also with cultivating dispositions and attitudes. A central aim of democratic education is to dispose children toward democracy and a central aim of moral education is to make children moral. My particular interest in this chapter is in how we should understand the relationship between these two formative projects. Is the cultivation of democratic dispositions and attitudes an exercise in moral formation? Are democratic educators, to that extent at least, also moral educators?

One of the most fundamental challenges to democratic education is the “epistocratic” challenge. According to proponents of epistocracy, the ordinary citizenry is too stupid, irrational, and demotivated to vote intelligently and better-quality government would result if the franchise were restricted to a small elite of the best informed, most rational, and best-motivated citizens. If correct, epistocracy would imply that many of the ideals of democratic education are misplaced and that the educational practice of preparing all citizens to vote would be pointless. In this chapter, I review the theory of epistocracy as it is presented in the work of historical and contemporary philosophers from Plato and John Stuart Mill to Bryan Caplan and – most notably – Jason Brennan. I also discuss the implications of epistocracy for democratic education. I hold that, even if Brennan is right that the franchise should be restricted to a small cognitive elite, the question of how one should educate that elite becomes even more important. In the final analysis, I hold that Brennan’s scheme for ensuring that the cognitive elite is representative of society will require a broadening of political education opportunities that will result in a reintroduction of a democratic form of education through the epistocratic back door.

In this chapter, I analyze the moral transformation of Derek Black in order to acquire insights into the capacities exercised by his friends in helping him overcome his racist ideology – capacities that democratic education should foster in students. Black grew up in the white nationalist movement, but then later repudiated it after college, citing the influence of close friends as a major factor. Analysis of this case suggests that Black’s college friends possessed at least two major sets of capacities, the first concerning friendship and the other regarding the promotion of truth and justice. Efforts aimed at democratic education that aspire to address racism would do well to incorporate the development of these two capacities among their objectives.

“Populism” is a much used but still rather vague term employed mostly in political but also in educational discourses. To understand what is meant by “populist challenges to democratic education” this chapter first analyzes the historical relations between liberal democracy and public education. I then refer to a discussion of “populism” using a social-political definition of the term that was coined by American sociologist Edward Shils. This is followed by a discussion of populist changes in public discourse and education created by new media. My main focus is on the populist challenges to systems education systems and the challenges of populist positions in education itself. Finally, I will suggest the perspectives that remain for democratic education.

In this chapter, I claim that the central question of global justice in education is which – if any – educational inequalities between citizens and non-citizens in a democratic state are morally legitimate, and which inequalities between them contradict the normative foundations of democratic education. By trying to find a convincing answer to this question, I first briefly recapitulate the controversy between the cosmopolitan and the state-nationalist approaches to it. Then I elaborate on the question, whether special obligations to a privileged treatment of cocitizens over noncitizens apply to institutionalized education. I make the claim that the answer to that question depends on how we understand education – whether we spell it out as a traditionalist-authoritarian, or as democratic social practice. I argue that democratic education necessarily implies moral universalism. It requires not only the recognition of the equal moral status of all students, but also the inclusion of their individual experiences, worldviews, and ideals, regardless of their nationalities, or ethnic or cultural backgrounds, in an open and “diversity-friendly” ethical discourse that should be established in every classroom. I conclude that since democratic education is necessarily cosmopolitan in its essence, democratic educational institutions should be supranationally orientated.