Autonomy-promoting indoctrination

Abstract

Liberals tend towards the belief that indoctrination in education is problematic because it undermines autonomy. People who had beliefs forced upon them through education, while not being equipped with the cognitive tools necessary to critique these beliefs, would not become autonomous; such people, not being capable of choosing the sorts of values they wish to live in accord with, would not be the authors of their own lives. Recent literature, however, questions this view of the relationship between autonomy and indoctrination. Indoctrination may not be possible to avoid within education; we all have biases as a result of the way in which we were raised, which we may struggle to critique. I argue that rather than attempting to avoid indoctrination within education, we should instead think about how to indoctrinate in the right way. This does not mean forcing people into beliefs, but attempting to shape the child’s emotional commitments to align with beliefs which can be justified in line with their own autonomy, while still encouraging the child to be critical. In this sense, we are indoctrinating people to be autonomous.

Introduction

Autonomy and indoctrination are often taken to be incompatible. The indoctrinated person could not be autonomous as her beliefs were forced upon her through her education, while she lacked the tools necessary to critique these beliefs. She would not be capable of assessing her beliefs critically, nor of living her life according to values which she chose for herself. Her life would be determined by the process of indoctrination she had undergone, a process she was incapable of challenging.

Those who become autonomous develop an ability to critique the beliefs they hold. This ability means they can revise their beliefs or choose to accept others in cases where they find flaws in their original beliefs. Through doing so, we see the autonomous person as living a life according to her own choosing, meaning she has a degree of control over her life the indoctrinated person lacks.

Following recent works reassessing the problem of indoctrination, I argue that this view of the relationship between indoctrination and autonomy is mistaken. We all struggle to attain an ability to assess our beliefs from a place of independence and impartiality. Through our education, our family and our culture, we hold biases that we cannot entirely overcome, many of which we may not realise we hold. In this sense, we are all somewhat indoctrinated.

A phrase common in the literature on indoctrination is ‘thinking for oneself’ (Hanks, 2008: 193; Merry, 2005: 405; Page, 1980: 78; Zembylas, 2022: 2482). Education aimed at avoiding indoctrination and promoting autonomy should lead a student to possess this ability. However, I argue here that truly thinking for oneself is an impossible aim. We do not think as isolated, atomised individuals but through our collective experiences and what we learn together. It would be impossible to know at what point one person is thinking for herself rather than her thinking being the result of what others have taught her.

If this is the case, attempting to avoid indoctrination in order to promote autonomy would be a mistake. We would do better to accept indoctrination is an inescapable part of education, while attempting to indoctrinate in the right way. Essentially, we would indoctrinate the person to be autonomous.

To begin, I provide an explanation of autonomy in the section Autonomy. I set out the reasons why autonomy and indoctrination are considered to be incompatible in the section Why indoctrination is thought to undermine autonomy. In the section Revising indoctrination, I explore recent works which challenge traditional conceptions of why indoctrination is a problem. Finally, in the section Autonomy-promoting indoctrination, I argue that autonomy and indoctrination are not necessarily incompatible. We may all struggle to see past our biases, but we may be able to become autonomous if we are emotionally and intellectually educated in the right way. This does not mean escaping indoctrination altogether, but indoctrinating the student with the tools she needs to be autonomous. At least some ideals may be taught uncritically in such a way that closes off a student’s mind to an alternative, yet, if this enhances the control the individual has over her life, it promotes the person’s autonomy. This is what is meant by autonomy-promoting indoctrination.

Autonomy

In this essay, I follow Johan Dahlbeck’s Spinozist account of autonomy. On this view, autonomy is relational rather than individualistic. We become autonomous through our experiences we share with others. The notion that we could become autonomous without the assistance of others is nonsensical. To flesh out this account of autonomy, I will begin by contrasting it with a more traditional, liberal definition of autonomy.

Whether it is central to their work or peripheral, most liberal philosophers consider autonomy important. The ideal is the free-minded, independent citizen, capable of making decisions guided by values she has chosen for herself, making her own way in life and not being subject to the whims of others. As Gerald Dworkin (1981) states, there are many different conceptions of autonomy, none of which meets universal agreement as definitive. However, Dworkin considers there to be common features among all conceptions of autonomy. He draws these commonalities from the etymology of the word itself: autos (self) and nomos (rule) (Dworkin, 1981: 207). We are autonomous when we rule ourselves; those who are ruled by others are not autonomous.

Those who propose a relational account of autonomy do so because they consider traditional conceptions of autonomy overly individualistic. On the traditional account of autonomy, a person is autonomous if she rules over her own life; there is no consideration of the social relationships that determine how she chooses to live her life. The relational account of autonomy which criticises this traditional conception emerges primarily out of a feminist critique of liberalism. Catriona Mackenzie and Natalie Stoljar (2000) note that the notion of autonomy itself had fallen out of favour with feminists by the turn of the twenty-first century (p. 3). What was previously thought to be a liberatory ideal began to be considered a masculine value, rooted in patriarchal notions of individualism and rationalism. In their work, Mackenzie and Stoljar aim to salvage the concept of autonomy, rethinking autonomy so that it can fit within a feminist perspective. As Mackenzie and Stoljar (2000) note, their main concern, along with those contributing to their volume, is the recognition of the social relationships that promote or undermine an agent’s ability to become autonomous (pp. 21–22). On the relational account of autonomy, it is not only the individual taking charge of her own life that matters, but how her social relations determine the way in which she is able to take charge. This acknowledges that while we are entangled in mutually dependent relations, we can still be autonomous; autonomy does not require our atomisation.

It is this understanding of autonomy which Dahlbeck endorses. Following Spinoza, Dahlbeck (2021) recognises that the mind cannot be fully self-sufficient, as there are external forces which shape the mind (p. 82). Rather than try to overcome or avoid these forces, it is a matter of how we make use of them which determines the way in which we become autonomous. Thus, we recognise that our agency will be to some degree dependent on phenomena outside of our control but do not consider this necessarily detrimental to our capacity for autonomy.

This is not to discount the more traditional accounts of autonomy, as John Christman recognises (2004). Even on an individualistic understanding of autonomy, we can still recognise the social influences which determine an agent’s sense of autonomy. Without attempting to resolve this debate between liberals and their critics, it can still be recognised that the way in which we are autonomous is socially determined. We are autonomous when we rule over our own selves, but the self which we rule, and indeed the way in which we rule, will be determined by forces external to us.

While I accept the relational account of autonomy, in what follows, my account of the conditions necessary for autonomy follows that of Jospeh Raz (1986). We are autonomous, or capable of self-rule, if we meet three conditions: we have a minimum level of rationality, we have a range of options from which to choose and we are not subject to manipulation or coercion (Raz, 1986: 372–373). With the relational account of autonomy in mind, it is recognised that meeting these three conditions can be difficult. Our rationality is influenced by our socialisation, which will affect how we consider the options available to us. Furthermore, our autonomy develops out of experiences during childhood prior to the acquisition of rationality. What counts as legitimate socialisation as opposed to manipulation at this stage of development is also questionable. This is why the justness of the social order matters for the development of autonomy. In order to reach the three conditions, we may need to be educated under a just social order. Of course, some people educated in abysmal circumstances may still meet the three conditions. What can be understood on the relational account of autonomy, though, is that attaining autonomy can be difficult; we need to help each other become autonomous.

Why indoctrination is thought to undermine autonomy

As Chris Hanks (2008) puts it, indoctrination and autonomy seem like opposing values (p. 193). While the autonomous person learns to think for herself, the indoctrinated person has her beliefs foisted on her by others which she accepts without question. For the majority of liberals, autonomy would be the aim of education, while indoctrination is what ought to be avoided. As Hábl (2017) notes, in the aftermath of the Second World War, liberal education was intended as a panacea for authoritarian forms of education which had gone before (p. 187). The new forms of education aimed to teach independence and critical thinking, rather than expecting students to accept the content of their lessons unquestioningly. It was believed that promoting the autonomy of the student would leave students feeling more intimately tied to the values which they came to accept for themselves. Indoctrination would undermine such a sense of autonomy. In this section, I sketch out the various ways in which indoctrination is thought to undermine autonomy. To begin, a brief definition of indoctrination is necessary.

Following Rachel Taylor (2017), I argue that the problem of indoctrination is close-mindedness. This means that, in order to understand indoctrination, we must look at the character of the indoctrinated person. This offers a more coherent understanding of indoctrination than does focusing on the process of education. As Eamonn Callan and Dylan Arena (2009) show, when we focus on processes of education which may look indoctrinatory, we can find examples of the same process which clearly are not indoctrinatory, while examples of non-indoctrinatory education can appear indoctrinatory. At the least, an account of indoctrination focusing on the method and aim requires that the method and aim were successful. An educator who aimed to indoctrinate her student could fail while the educator who intended not to indoctrinate could find her student unquestioningly accepted everything she taught. Beyond this, some argue that education using non-rational methods of teaching is indoctrinatory, but many political and religious groups have used rational methods of education to instil their beliefs into followers who accepted these beliefs uncritically. Through a rational education, students may be entirely rationally committed to their beliefs but unwilling to change them.

Thus, rather than focus on the process of education, we should focus on the outcome (Callan and Arena, 2009; Taylor, 2017). The indoctrinated person accepts what she has been taught uncritically; she lacks the intellectual tools necessary to question her own beliefs. This leaves her close-minded, as she will not accept anything which challenges the beliefs with which she has been indoctrinated. Nevertheless, while focusing on the outcome is useful for definitional purposes, this should not distract from education which aims to indoctrinate. If close-mindedness is the aim of education, we can say it is intended to be indoctrinatory.

The generally proposed solution to indoctrination is education which aims at open-mindedness. Simply put, open-mindedness means that a person is willing to change their mind. Through a scheme of education aimed at open-mindedness, the student would learn to defend her beliefs through argumentation. Where she finds better evidence or stronger arguments to the contrary, she will alter or revise her beliefs accordingly. If instead a person has become close-minded and unwilling to alter her beliefs whatever the evidence to the contrary due to her education, we can say that this education was indoctrinatory. There are several ways in which this could be seen to undermine autonomy.

The first problem, as noted by Hanks (2008), is that if education is to avoid the charge of indoctrination, the reasons to accept what is being taught must be presented. If you are to accept what I say, you must understand the reasons behind what I say. However, young children do not hold the capacity to understand the reasons lying behind what they are taught. In this sense, it seems all education of young children is indoctrinatory. If beliefs are instilled in a child before she has the opportunity to understand the reasoning behind the belief, we may be closing her mind off to the acceptance of alternative beliefs in the future, restricting her autonomy in later life.

Although he does not name it as such, Matthew Clayton has concerns about indoctrination undermining autonomy (Clayton, 2006, 2012). This regards what parents can justifiably teach to their children, rather than what moral doctrines can be taught to children more generally. Autonomy is what Clayton argues ought to be protected; a person educated to accept certain beliefs as a child may struggle to become autonomous as an adult. Clayton’s (2006) concern revolves around the ability to form a conception of the good (p. 89), or what John Rawls (2005) refers to as rational autonomy (pp. 72–77). For Clayton and Rawls, a person is autonomous, or rationally autonomous, if she is capable of forming a conception of the good, which then determines how she chooses to live her life. She should also be capable of reflecting on this conception and altering it if she wishes. As a child, then, a person needs to be equipped with the skills to reflect on the sorts of values which guide her life once she is an adult. To do so, she needs an appropriate sense of justice – an ability to decide right from wrong. Thus, an education system is justified in shaping a child’s sense of justice, but the values that constitute her conception of the good – religious and philosophical beliefs, along with other values that guide how she chooses to live her life – should be left outside the scope of education. With a developed sense of justice, an adult can then reflect on which values she wishes to endorse and which to reject.

A person enrolled into a comprehensive doctrine – a doctrine containing total conceptions of the good and the right – by her parents may lack the critical skills necessary to scrutinise her own beliefs to determine whether she rationally chooses to continue holding these beliefs. Following Norman Daniels (1996: 220–221), Clayton argues that even if an adult can rationally reflect on the beliefs she was taught as a child, it may be too costly for her to reject these beliefs (Clayton, 2006: 106–107). She may feel too guilty about such a rejection or fear alienating her parents. Furthermore, a child cannot consent to being taught beliefs, and there is no guarantee that she would retrospectively endorse such an education once she reaches adulthood (Clayton, 2012: 356). Thus, Clayton argues a child should not be enrolled in a comprehensive doctrine by her parents. Instead, the focus of education should be on developing the child’s sense of justice. Once a child becomes an adult, she will then have developed the necessary capacities to uphold a just social order, while acting as an autonomous agent within this order.

Hábl’s (2017) concerns about indoctrination also revolve around autonomy. However, Hábl is alert to the impossibility of avoiding indoctrination altogether. For Hábl, it is not only the educator – whether the school or the family – who indoctrinates; we can be indoctrinated by the culture we live in, whether that be through religious institutions, the media, advertisers or politicians. Again, the aim of education ought to be autonomy, although Hábl argues that absolute autonomy is an impossible ideal. We cannot develop to be autonomous regardless of the social and cultural influences surrounding us. However, we can still develop what Hábl calls ‘normal autonomy’. That is, we can develop autonomy which balances the freedom of the individual with the freedom of the collective. Through closing the student’s mind, indoctrinatory education places limits on the development of autonomy. To a degree, this is unavoidable – not every aspect of education can be taught critically and reflectively all of the time – but this concern needs to be balanced against the development of the child’s autonomy. If the child can develop to be normally autonomous, we need not worry too much about indoctrination.

In sum, there are three reasons why indoctrination might undermine autonomy. First, indoctrination causes close-mindedness, limiting the range of options available to the indoctrinated person. Second, indoctrination leads a person to be committed to beliefs without understanding the (lack of) reasoning behind these beliefs. Third, indoctrination undermines the motivation to pursue alternative paths. If autonomy means rule over one’s own life, these three problems would undermine our ability to become autonomous.

Revising indoctrination

Recent works have begun to challenge traditional understandings of indoctrination. As Hábl recognises, it seems impossible to avoid close-mindedness altogether and reach a state of ideal full autonomy. In his work, Johan Dahlbeck sees a danger in the attempt:

Instead of assuming that closed-mindedness is an anomaly and a vice that can be abolished through good education (see Taylor, 2017), we might instead assume that closed-mindedness is part and parcel of the human condition, and that we are better off acknowledging this than we are pretending otherwise. If closed-mindedness is our necessary starting point, we might ask how this natural (albeit unfortunate) deficit on the part of human cognition might be compensated for by a kind of indoctrinatory measure – in the guise of powerful collective narratives that resonate well with the affective composition (ingenium) of both teacher and students – that can prepare fertile breeding ground for a collective quest for increased intellectual freedom and relational autonomy (Dahlbeck, 2021: 95–96).

As Dahlbeck has it, indoctrination is a necessary part of our lives, meaning it is a matter of how we deal with the method and consequences of indoctrination, rather than how we try to avoid it altogether. I find much to agree with in Dahlbeck’s argument, and as I have previously argued (Armstrong, 2022), there is evidence in neuroscience and psychology to support the idea that indoctrination is inevitable but not necessarily negative.

Dahlbeck takes Spinoza as a guide to understanding indoctrination. For Spinoza, autonomy is a matter of our rational understanding of God and nature. According to Dahlbeck’s reading of Spinoza, while Spinoza thought freedom and autonomy were the highest aims for the individual, we are finite beings with finite understanding, hindering our ability to attain complete autonomy (Dahlbeck, 2021: 85; Spinoza, 1985). While we may never become fully autonomous, a consequence of conceiving autonomy in this way is that autonomy becomes relational; although we struggle to become autonomous as isolated individuals, we can help each other to become autonomous through helping each other understand and protecting each other from threats. It is only in such a community of mutual assistance that we could hope to become autonomous.

To achieve this, education cannot only be aimed at the intellect; we must pay attention to the student’s emotions, too. As Dahlbeck (2021) recognises, manipulating people’s emotions to encourage them to think and behave in certain ways seems like a classic case of indoctrination – such manipulation would entail leaving the student close-minded due to their emotional commitments – but such methods are a necessary beginning to a virtuous circle (p. 92). Spinoza views us as being guided by passions, which can be harmful if not moulded in the right way. If we are dominated by negative emotions, we can be led into a vicious circle whereby our acts reinforce those emotions. It is only through focusing on the constitution of the emotions that education can foster virtuous rather than vicious circles. An entirely rational education lacking an affective component would gain us no purchase on this problem. Although education aimed at fostering the right sorts of emotions in the student may leave the student close-minded, such education is necessary if we are to allow students to develop their autonomy.

Even if we taught every belief critically by presenting alternatives, similarly to Dahlbeck, I have argued that human rationality is itself too limiting to allow for complete open-mindedness (Armstrong, 2022). On our best understanding of the brain, it appears to work deterministically, with no centre of conscious control. There is no space within us from which we can reflect on our beliefs from a place of independence. Furthermore, as Hume (1751) argued, it is our emotions rather than reason that form the basis of our beliefs. Once we are emotionally committed to our beliefs, we will struggle to critically reflect on what we think is right. There are two problems here, one psychological, and the other, neuroscientific. The psychological problem, as witnessed in the work of Jonathan Haidt (2007), is that it is emotion, not reason, which determines our sense of morality. Our sense of morality develops during our childhood, as we experience emotional reactions to the events around us, coming to hold an emotional commitment to our moral convictions. The neuroscientific problem, as I found following the work of Patrick Haggard (2008, 2017), is that there are no uncaused causes within the brain; we cannot muster up our thoughts out of nowhere. We carry our biases with us, some of which will go unrecognised, which will influence how we assess the beliefs to which we are committed. Thus, we cannot critically assess our own beliefs from a space of independence, and as we are likely emotionally committed to the beliefs we hold, we will often remain steadfast in our beliefs. Complete open-mindedness, then, seems an impossible aim.

Similarly, Mirja Pérez de Calleja (2019) notes the omission of an account of the emotional conditions necessary within traditional accounts of both autonomy and indoctrination. Looking at the experiences of those who have been recruited by the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS), de Calleja notes that these recruits could be considered autonomous on the dominant conceptions of autonomy. Recruits could explain and justify their decision to join ISIS, while reflecting on their beliefs and demonstrating a good ability to critique previously held beliefs. If we consider only the rational conditions necessary for autonomy, these people look autonomous, yet, at the same time, they are essentially ruled by those who converted them. What this misses, however, is the use of emotion in cases of indoctrination. ISIS recruiters form emotional bonds with those they recruit, using these bonds to assist with their conversion. When therapists attempt to undo this conversion, they recognise the importance of emotion in de-conversion. For de Calleja, this means we are overlooking the role of emotion within autonomy. To be autonomous, our emotional constitution cannot be so dominated by negative emotions that we are at risk of converting to the doctrine of a fanatic. Although de Calleja does not identify the emotional conditions necessary for autonomy, she argues that there are emotional constitutions that undermine an agent’s ability to become autonomous.

The turn towards emotion in de Calleja’s account figures within a broader trend within the literature on indoctrination, what Michalinos Zembylas (2022) calls ‘affective indoctrination’. According to Zembylas, any system of indoctrination must be affective if it is to succeed. If the aim of indoctrination is to promote certain beliefs and values, the student must become emotionally committed to these beliefs and values (Zembylas, 2022: 2485). While I agree with Zembylas here, this is not to say the method of indoctrination must only be emotive; as noted earlier, indoctrinatory education can be rational in method. Instead, it is to say that the indoctrinated person must be close-minded yet emotionally tied to the beliefs and values that have closed her mind. Rational methods can be involved in systems of indoctrination, but they will only be successful if the indoctrination is also affective. Where I part with Zembylas, however, is in his acceptance that this is necessarily harmful. As Dahlbeck and others have pointed out, indoctrination is an unavoidable part of education, but whether or not this is harmful depends on the content of the indoctrination.

Others who challenge traditional understandings of indoctrination see the term itself as unhelpful. If indoctrination is an unavoidable part of education, it seems there is no clear distinction between indoctrination and education. Following a Wittgensteinian analysis, José María Ariso argues it is difficult to distinguish between persuasion and indoctrination, while persuasion is sometimes a necessary part of education. Ariso takes Wittgenstein’s understanding of certainty as his starting point (Ariso, 2019: 398–399). For Wittgenstein (1997), certainties are always ungrounded (p. 307). Although we may be able to find grounds for something of which we are certain, we could not be as sure of the grounds as we are of the thing of which we are certain. Furthermore, looking for grounds for a belief of which we are certain suggests that we would alter our understanding of the thing which we are certain if we found weak grounds. There are some things which we are so certain we would not do this. Dominant voices within the literature on indoctrination argue that all beliefs imparted through education must be open to challenge (Ariso, 2019: 402). If we are to teach children to be critical thinkers, we must teach children the grounds of the beliefs we teach along with how these grounds can be challenged. However, as Ariso argues, there are sometimes cases in education where ruling out alternatives is necessary. When teaching geography, for instance, we teach children that Germany is a European country while the US is an American country in order to build certainty (Ariso, 2019: 401). We would not need to teach the grounds for believing this, nor that it should be open to challenge. As there are no cases of education which appear exclusively indoctrinatory rather than persuasive, Ariso concludes that we should dispense with the term.

While distinguishing indoctrination from other forms of education is difficult, I do not follow Ariso in arguing we should avoid the term. There remains a distinction between education that enables a student to be open-minded and education which leaves a student close-minded, it is only that the latter is sometimes unavoidable, while the former is often an unattainable ideal. However, Ariso is right that ruling out alternatives is not always desirable within education, a point I consider in the following section.

In sum, avoiding indoctrination altogether within education is an impossible aim. Education will always involve leaving the student somewhat close-minded. This is partly due to the nature of human rationality, as Dahlbeck and I have argued. Our autonomy is constrained by our emotional commitments formed in our early development, which education will help foster. Zembylas and de Calleja also explore how it is emotional commitments which mean humans can be manipulated through indoctrination. The liberal ideal of the free, rational individual making independent choices is brought into doubt by these works, but indoctrination may also be a necessary part of education. As Ariso argues, it is sometimes necessary not to present alternatives when teaching students. Not every belief should be left open to question as part of education. If the upshot of this is that students are left close-minded, education has been indoctrinatory.

Autonomy-promoting indoctrination

If indoctrination cannot be avoided entirely within education, I argue that indoctrination should be used to promote autonomy. This means that autonomy and indoctrination could be complimentary rather than oppositional. I now turn to how autonomy could be promoted through education which could be considered indoctrinatory.

My approach here follows the original view of Tim Fowler (2014), who argues that we should be perfectionist for children, but anti-perfectionist for adults (in recent work however, Fowler, 2020 has modified this view). That is, while we should not attempt to impose perfectionist doctrines on adults – doctrines containing a comprehensive account of the good life, to which we expect people to live accordingly – we are not necessarily unjustified in imposing a perfectionist doctrine on children. Fowler argues that the traditional arguments against perfectionism do not hold for children. For instance, the argument that perfectionism is paternalistic does not hold, as we cannot be paternalistic towards children, as children are not moral equals in the same sense as adults; children are denied many rights granted to adults (Fowler, 2014: 310). Fowler also holds that Clayton’s argument for respecting autonomy does not rule out perfectionism for children. As children are not yet autonomous, which Clayton recognises, Fowler (2014) argues that their future autonomy will be determined by environmental factors over which they have no control, so ‘the state owes it to them to make sure these early experiences are conducive to their later flourishing’ (p. 314). To add to this, not only will a scheme of perfectionist education better enable children to later flourish as adults, such a scheme will also enable the development of citizens capable of upholding a just social order.

There are three reasons why indoctrination is thought to undermine autonomy: indoctrination induces close-mindedness, limiting our options; our understanding of our own beliefs is impeded; our motivation to pursue alternatives is reduced. I now consider why, on a revised understanding of indoctrination, these conditions do not necessarily undermine autonomy; instead, indoctrination could promote autonomy.

Perhaps the condition that is definitive of the indoctrinated person – close-mindedness – is also the main threat to autonomy. A close-minded person would lack the capacity to rule over her own life, which is reflected in each of the other two conditions. The close-minded person would be committed to a belief without understanding why, with a reduced motivation to question this belief. To a degree, Clayton’s concern captures all three of these problems. Clayton’s concern is that children enrolled into a comprehensive doctrine by their parents will struggle to become autonomous adults, as they will lack the skills necessary to rationally formulating a conception of the good. However, if the conclusions reached by Dahlbeck and me are accepted, we all struggle with this task.

Our conception of the good will likely be informed by our sense of morality. If our sense of morality is rooted in our childhood, as Haidt (2007) argues, our conception of the good will have similar roots. Regardless of whether we are enrolled in a comprehensive doctrine by our parents, the conception of the good we hold as adults will be informed by our childhood experiences, over which we had no control. The ability Clayton wishes us to have – to form a conception of the good as a rational adult and live our lives according to this conception – will be difficult, perhaps impossible, to realise. As Dahlbeck, following Spinoza, argues, if there is any hope of us becoming autonomous, we need our emotional constitution to be developed in the right way. Regardless of whether it is our parents or school system that takes responsibility for this task, we will not be forming our conception of the good as adults from tabula rasa.

Furthermore, if there is little sense in which we are in control of our thoughts, even as adults, as I have argued (2022), we will struggle to formulate a conception of the good individually. When we think about our conception of the good, we are not considering it from a place of independence, but from within a self which is bound to its prior biases. While it may feel that we all live our lives according to our own values and what we consider to be the good life, the thoughts that led us to hold these values were largely beyond our own agential control.

The sort of rational autonomy Clayton hopes us to attain is, then, difficult, if not impossible, to realise in the way in which he imagines. This is not to say we cannot formulate a conception of the good. Most of us do hold values important to us which influence how we wish to live our lives. These values and the way in which we come to hold them is, though, largely a result of processes outside of our control. In this sense, then, it does not matter whether our parents have explicitly enrolled us in their comprehensive doctrines; we all accept doctrines that we have been taught to accept, either implicitly or explicitly, through our social, cultural and educational experiences. The family is only one more factor within this problem. As John Tillson (2024: 144–145) argues, parents and teachers are equally problematic as originators of biases. None of us wholly determine our conception of the good from a place of independence as rationally informed adults. We carry with us the biases formed during our childhoods, which will narrow the range of options available to us and reduce our motivation to pursue alternatives. Tillson (2024) offers the well-established concept of confirmation-bias to show how difficult it is to revise entrenched beliefs (p. 144). Clayton (2012) introduces the notion of ‘retrospective consent’ to argue that the adult must be able to consent to the beliefs with which she was raised as a child. However, if the case I have argued is right, the adult is only offering this consent through the prism of her biases. The source of these biases, whether the family, the school or any other institution, is of little significance if it is inescapable.

However, even if we do struggle to critically reflect on our beliefs and values, the idea of the state forcing a doctrine on us still seems unpalatable. The case I have developed so far is not designed to support an argument for an authoritarian state forcing us to believe a doctrine to be true. Nevertheless, if the development of a sense of morality and autonomy are largely outside of the individual’s control, this should alter our approaches to education, moral development and the idea of autonomy. If we are all liable to indoctrination due to the problems assessed, we need to be indoctrinated in the right way. I now turn to how this ought to be approached.

As Michael Hand (2018) states, the problem with moral education is in finding aspects of morality on which all reasonable people agree. However, if these moral standards can be ascertained, it is not clear why indoctrination is unjustified, as Clayton and Stevens (2019) argue. If all reasonable people agree a moral doctrine is correct, it is not immediately obvious why this moral doctrine should not be taught to children uncritically. With some reservations, particularly regarding the lack of critical thought, this is the approach for which I argue. If a just social order is to be upheld, people are needed who are capable of upholding it. These people will need to possess the appropriate sense of morality for the task.

If Haidt (2007) is correct and people do develop their sense of morality primarily in childhood, and through emotional reactions rather than verbal reasoning, moral development would need to begin in early education. As David Copp (2016) proposes through the method of moral socialisation, this would involve encouraging children to feel the appropriate emotional responses to moral problems. Once the appropriate moral values have been determined, these values need to be taught within education so that children become emotionally committed to these values. If people lack full control of their thought processes, these emotional commitments will mean they will be less likely to be influenced by ideas detrimental to the existing social order. Though Copp sees this as an antidote to indoctrination, it looks to me more as another form of indoctrination; the student’s mind is being closed. However, it is being closed to values harmful to a liberal order; the student is being indoctrinated in the right way.

This picture of education may look authoritarian. However, this does not need to be the case. The education system can still be transparent. Parents can understand the function of the education system, and once children become adults, they can reflect on what they were taught. There is also no need for the education system to be beyond reproach. Parents and children alike should be capable of criticising the education system. Indeed, for life in a healthy liberal democracy, teaching children to be critical of authority would be a necessary part of moral education. Much like the scheme proposed by Copp, the result of this scheme should be adults capable of critical thought. What this scheme recognises, however, which I think other schemes attempting to avoid indoctrination often do not, is that critical evaluation from a place of independence is difficult, perhaps even impossible. In light of this, it may be the case that people are hesitant to criticise the education system under which they were taught, as they are committed to the moral values they have come to hold under the influence of this education. However, if this is the empirical reality in which we exist, it is all the more reason to take this problem seriously, rather than attempt to avoid what might be considered indoctrination within education. We must ensure that through their education and upbringing, children are taught moral values which encourage the development of autonomy.

Of course, this omits what these moral values should be. There is not space here to develop a thorough account of the contents of moral education. Perhaps it is likely that there are certain basic moral standards on which we can all agree, as Hand (2018) argues – we should not kill, steal, cheat or act unfairly towards others, for example. This still needs further explanation – when is the taking of life killing and what does it mean to cheat or act unfairly? – but if a just social order is to be upheld, it needs to be united around moral values on which people agree. In essence, through fostering the appropriate emotional reactions in the child, we attempt to close off the student’s mind to values which are harmful to the social order. This need not necessarily be problematic. As Ariso (2019) argues, when we teach a child that Germany is a European country, we do not need to teach this critically by encouraging the child to question whether Germany could be anything other than a European country. This is not to say it would necessarily be wrong to teach this way; it is just not necessary, as we do not need people to be open-minded regarding these sorts of facts. The same is perhaps true of murder or racism. We do not need people to be open-minded about whether murder is wrong or whether it is appropriate to be racist. Closing off the child’s mind to these possibilities is perhaps indoctrinatory, but it is indoctrinatory in an autonomy-promoting way. A student who leaves education committed to being anti-racist, for instance, as her mind has been closed to the alternative, may be considered as attaining a higher degree of autonomy than a student left unsure whether it is appropriate to be racist. The latter is left prey to those who may wish to manipulate her, while the former would be better prepared to counter attempts at manipulation. Thus, proponents of liberal democracy founded on egalitarian ideals or the value of fairness ought to take such a scheme of education seriously.

Where, then, does this leave open-mindedness? It should still be an aim of education; for the promotion of autonomy, people need to be open-minded regarding the values they wish to guide their lives. However, insofar as values are harmful to a just social order, being close-minded is not necessarily problematic. If racist ideas are discussed publicly, it would be beneficial if the majority were so close-minded about racism that they would not countenance such ideas. In regard to values which help guide people to lead reasonable, autonomous lives, open-mindedness is a virtue.

It might be thought that the consequence of this is not dissimilar to the scheme proposed by Clayton (2006, 2012); we focus on the child’s sense of justice, while avoiding enrolling the child into a comprehensive doctrine. However, I see comprehensive enrolment as inescapable, insofar as the notion of a comprehensive doctrine is coherent. As Iris Marion Young (1995) argues, most people do not live their lives strictly according to one doctrine. The beliefs most people hold are instilled in them across their lives and rarely come together to form one coherent belief-system which informs each aspect of how they live. This does not only happen within the family, but across the entirety of a person’s life. As the child encounters these beliefs, she may come to accept them uncritically before she reaches adulthood, meaning she would struggle to critically assess these beliefs as an adult. If we focus only on the child’s sense of justice to avoid comprehensive enrolment, we thwart the ambitions of religious fundamentalists who wish to raise their children in strict accordance with their religious doctrine. However, most people do not live according to such strict doctrines; their beliefs systems are relatively unordered. If, as Dahlbeck and I propose, we focus on the emotional constitution of the child, it seems unlikely education will only affect the child’s sense of justice. The child’s emotional constitution will partly determine the ideals she comes to accept as an adult; it seems unlikely this will only affect her sense of justice, as these emotional commitments will determine what she values across her life. Again, this is an inescapable part of education and our development; what matters is how these experiences shape us and inform our sense of relational autonomy.

As noted in the Introduction, a common aim of liberal education is the individual who is capable of thinking for herself. None of us think entirely for ourselves, however, but think through our collective experiences and what we learn from others. If being in control of our own lives means to have a sense of control which is independent of our social circumstances, none of us control our own lives. Thinking for ourselves as autonomous agents, then, needs to be something we learn to do through our collective experiences, understanding how our acts shape both our own autonomy and that of others. Rather than ‘thinking for oneself’, we think through the collective understanding of many selves.

In sum, education can be partly indoctrinatory – at least some teaching may be uncritical, and the student may become attached to some beliefs uncritically – while still promoting autonomy. We can encourage children to feel the appropriate moral responses to dilemmas, in effect closing the student’s mind to alternative responses, without necessarily undermining her autonomy. Rather than aim for the impossible end of an individual thinking for herself independently, having overcome the effects of external forces surrounding her, we should instead recognise that none of us think only for ourselves. Our thinking is shaped by our collective experiences; sometimes these experiences may be indoctrinatory. So long as these experiences shape our autonomy in the right way, we need not worry about indoctrination. This means becoming relationally autonomous; aware of how our autonomy is shaped by others, and how we shape the autonomy of others. Being autonomous, we rule over ourselves, but the way in which learn to rule ourselves is born out of our social relations. These social relations may close our minds, as might our education; if we are left better equipped to rule our own lives within a just social order, we need not worry about our closed minds.

Conclusion

If it is the case that indoctrination is inescapable within education, arguments against indoctrination in education cannot hold. There is little we can do to overcome our emotional commitments to our moral values, and there is no independent space from where we can critically assess these values. We have no independent capacity to control our thought processes or what we come to value that transcends our societal circumstances. Children will have little ability to critically assess the values they are being taught, and these values will then inform their ability to think critically as adults. This is not, however, to argue for a form of explicit state indoctrination which cannot be criticised. Moral education should be transparent, and citizens should understand how such a scheme functions. Citizens should be indoctrinated in the right way: the appropriate moral values should be taught to uphold a just social order, and citizens should understand, and be able to criticise, how moral education is conducted. The result of this is not dissimilar to that of the scheme proposed by Copp, an opponent of indoctrination in education. Citizens are taught how to think critically. What is recognised, however, is that no one thinks critically from an entirely independent space as a rationally minded individual. We all hold moral values of which we will struggle to be critical. What matters is shaping these values in the right way so that the individual becomes autonomous.