What do you think?
Rate this book
VOICE OF LIBERAL LEARNING, THE
Modern Political Philosophy
233 pages, Hardcover
First published October 1, 2001
11 people are currently reading
296 people want to read
About the author
Michael Oakeshott
61 books120 followersEnglish philosopher and political theorist who wrote about philosophy of history, philosophy of religion, aesthetics, and philosophy of law. He is widely regarded as one of the most important conservative thinkers of the 20th century, although he has sometimes been characterized as a liberal thinker.
Oakeshott was dismayed by the descent into political extremism that took place in Europe in the 1930s, and his surviving lectures from this period reveal a dislike of National Socialism and Marxism.
In 1945, Oakeshott was demobilized and returned to Cambridge for two years. In 1947, he left Cambridge for Nuffield College, Oxford. After only a year, he secured an appointment as Professor of Political Science at the London School of Economics (LSE), succeeding Harold Laski. He was deeply unsympathetic to the student action at LSE that occurred in the late 1960s, on the grounds that it disrupted the aims of the university. Oakeshott retired from LSE in 1969.
Oakeshott refused an offer of Knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II, for which he was proposed by Margaret Thatcher.
Oakeshott was dismayed by the descent into political extremism that took place in Europe in the 1930s, and his surviving lectures from this period reveal a dislike of National Socialism and Marxism.
In 1945, Oakeshott was demobilized and returned to Cambridge for two years. In 1947, he left Cambridge for Nuffield College, Oxford. After only a year, he secured an appointment as Professor of Political Science at the London School of Economics (LSE), succeeding Harold Laski. He was deeply unsympathetic to the student action at LSE that occurred in the late 1960s, on the grounds that it disrupted the aims of the university. Oakeshott retired from LSE in 1969.
Oakeshott refused an offer of Knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II, for which he was proposed by Margaret Thatcher.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
November 22, 2020
This is a collection of six essays by Michael Oakeshott, all published between 1949 and 1975, that were collected by Timothy Fuller and published by Liberty Fund. Most of them cover the subjects of philosophy of education, the meaning of purpose of a university, and what it means to occupy the role of teacher and student, and whatever it might mean to be “liberally educated.” The last essay veers off from this direction a bit and takes up the question of political socialization.
To summarize the essays and distill any one message from them is nearly impossible, but it’s clear from Oakeshott’s voice that he is nostalgic for what education was – until very recently. Under pressure to pick out one overarching theme, I would say it is bridging the gap between universalism and historicism – in other words, he sees a certain strain of traditionalism that argues for eternal human verities as overgeneralizations about what is only local and contingent while simultaneously favoring a curriculum that is deeply conscious of its own cultural inheritance. He resists ever becoming maudlin and remains doggedly pragmatic in his diagnoses.
He is resentful of what was for him for he recent trend of the increasing purpose-driven nature of the university: the university is meant to get you a good job, or turn you into a productive member of society, etc. A true conservative, he remains highly suspicious of government’s encroachments in education, saying in one of the essays, “Modern governments are not interested in education; they are concerned only to impose ‘socialization’ of one kind or another upon the surviving fragments of a once considerable educational engagement.” He especially disdains the increasing prevalence of courses meant for remedial learning and the blurring of the lines between the traditional four-year liberal arts university and the trade school, which seems to disappear a bit more with each passing year.
Through and with his philosophy of education, Oakeshott circumscribes what it means to be a human being: coming to assimilate the tradition into which we were born in order to cultivate a set of tools that aid us in the act of self-reflection. In defining what makes us human, he is particularly drawn to the dialectical nature of this assimilation and self-reflection, continually referring to it as a “conversation” that becomes more enriched the further that we can move away from the trivialities of quotidian life.
It’s hard to imagine the American university looking anything like the idealized type that Oakeshott sets out to detail in these essays. Its tool-like uses – to socialize, to create a model citizen, to shape students into jobseekers in the marketplace – have gone far too unquestioned. And as highly unsentimental Oakeshott would be the first to remind his readers, the university has always had its problems. There is no idyllic time to we can point back to and say, “This was when the university functioned exactly as it should.” To adopt misconception would be to fall prey to exact the kind of ahistorical thinking that he warns about.
I would highly recommend this, especially as a contrast to other conservative voices writing in the 1980s who were a bit more stentorian and screetchy in their diagnoses of education. As conservative as Oakeshott undeniably is, in these six pieces he never lets his ideas ossify or become inconsequential, which is a more forgiving assessment than could be given to some of his American contemporaries. I’m looking at you, Allan Bloom.
To summarize the essays and distill any one message from them is nearly impossible, but it’s clear from Oakeshott’s voice that he is nostalgic for what education was – until very recently. Under pressure to pick out one overarching theme, I would say it is bridging the gap between universalism and historicism – in other words, he sees a certain strain of traditionalism that argues for eternal human verities as overgeneralizations about what is only local and contingent while simultaneously favoring a curriculum that is deeply conscious of its own cultural inheritance. He resists ever becoming maudlin and remains doggedly pragmatic in his diagnoses.
He is resentful of what was for him for he recent trend of the increasing purpose-driven nature of the university: the university is meant to get you a good job, or turn you into a productive member of society, etc. A true conservative, he remains highly suspicious of government’s encroachments in education, saying in one of the essays, “Modern governments are not interested in education; they are concerned only to impose ‘socialization’ of one kind or another upon the surviving fragments of a once considerable educational engagement.” He especially disdains the increasing prevalence of courses meant for remedial learning and the blurring of the lines between the traditional four-year liberal arts university and the trade school, which seems to disappear a bit more with each passing year.
Through and with his philosophy of education, Oakeshott circumscribes what it means to be a human being: coming to assimilate the tradition into which we were born in order to cultivate a set of tools that aid us in the act of self-reflection. In defining what makes us human, he is particularly drawn to the dialectical nature of this assimilation and self-reflection, continually referring to it as a “conversation” that becomes more enriched the further that we can move away from the trivialities of quotidian life.
It’s hard to imagine the American university looking anything like the idealized type that Oakeshott sets out to detail in these essays. Its tool-like uses – to socialize, to create a model citizen, to shape students into jobseekers in the marketplace – have gone far too unquestioned. And as highly unsentimental Oakeshott would be the first to remind his readers, the university has always had its problems. There is no idyllic time to we can point back to and say, “This was when the university functioned exactly as it should.” To adopt misconception would be to fall prey to exact the kind of ahistorical thinking that he warns about.
I would highly recommend this, especially as a contrast to other conservative voices writing in the 1980s who were a bit more stentorian and screetchy in their diagnoses of education. As conservative as Oakeshott undeniably is, in these six pieces he never lets his ideas ossify or become inconsequential, which is a more forgiving assessment than could be given to some of his American contemporaries. I’m looking at you, Allan Bloom.
February 3, 2017
I didn't think I would enjoy this book as much as I did. Oakeshott and I share few prejudices, but it is impossible not to respect the rigour of his argument and the tenacity of his principles.
This is a challenging book on the nature of a liberal education. The first two essays are the strongest. "A Place of Learning" is powerful because it roots Oakeshott's ideas about liberal learning in a sophisticated theory of human agency. He rejects reductive accounts of the mind, and makes a strong case for the centrality of meaning to human life and action:
A good education makes a person free, by taking them on an "adventure" through their culture in which they can discover themselves.
"Learning and Teaching" is a powerful essay because it clearly draws on Oakeshott's own experience of teaching. His description of the teacher's role, the coaxing and encouragement and questioning that draws a student into their subject, is touching, even if he seems unduly sceptical of the student's ability to learn independently.
The remaining essays also hold much of value. One great advantage of this book over other conservative tracts about universities is its optimism and equanimity. Oakeshott cares not to conceal his contempt for any kind of progressive political ideals, but it is easy to extend his notion of tradition to include them. If cricket and Thatcherism are parts of British culture, then surely so is the radicalism of Milton, Byron, Wollstonecraft and the Webbs. Indeed, he rather turns Burke on his head at one point, when he claims that the ideals of 1789, for all their claim to abstract rationality, were also drawn from a practical tradition. This makes one wonder whether his concept of tradition has much content at all. He seems on occasion to argue, rather in the manner of a sub-Foucauldian postmodernist, that it is impossible to have a thought that hasn't been thought before in the receiver tradition.
These are quibbles. This is a great book, which offers original analysis on a vital topic. If only the modern proponents of "skills," "innovation" and "return on investment" would read this book and get some sense of why education might actually matter.
This is a challenging book on the nature of a liberal education. The first two essays are the strongest. "A Place of Learning" is powerful because it roots Oakeshott's ideas about liberal learning in a sophisticated theory of human agency. He rejects reductive accounts of the mind, and makes a strong case for the centrality of meaning to human life and action:
This inherent 'freedom' of a human being lies not only in his ability to make statements expressing his understanding, but also in the world's being for him what he understands it to be, and in his being what he understands himself to be. A human being is 'free', not because he has 'free will', but because he is in himself what he is for himself.
A good education makes a person free, by taking them on an "adventure" through their culture in which they can discover themselves.
"Learning and Teaching" is a powerful essay because it clearly draws on Oakeshott's own experience of teaching. His description of the teacher's role, the coaxing and encouragement and questioning that draws a student into their subject, is touching, even if he seems unduly sceptical of the student's ability to learn independently.
The remaining essays also hold much of value. One great advantage of this book over other conservative tracts about universities is its optimism and equanimity. Oakeshott cares not to conceal his contempt for any kind of progressive political ideals, but it is easy to extend his notion of tradition to include them. If cricket and Thatcherism are parts of British culture, then surely so is the radicalism of Milton, Byron, Wollstonecraft and the Webbs. Indeed, he rather turns Burke on his head at one point, when he claims that the ideals of 1789, for all their claim to abstract rationality, were also drawn from a practical tradition. This makes one wonder whether his concept of tradition has much content at all. He seems on occasion to argue, rather in the manner of a sub-Foucauldian postmodernist, that it is impossible to have a thought that hasn't been thought before in the receiver tradition.
These are quibbles. This is a great book, which offers original analysis on a vital topic. If only the modern proponents of "skills," "innovation" and "return on investment" would read this book and get some sense of why education might actually matter.
May 7, 2024
Given to me by Abraham Lincoln in the depths of a terrible time at Bowdoin, I finish this book as I sit on the Bowdoin quad, about to take my last day of classes at this glorious and stupid liberal arts institution.
Oakeshott gives a strong argument as to why the liberal learning is the project of the university - the project that is being overturn by the modern movement that sees uni as a means to an end instead of 'the middle path.' I am sympathetic to his call.
And yet, I sit here about the leave, going across the country to attend UBC for the rest of my 3 years in uni, with nothing of philosophy whatsoever. What, I ask, of the liberal ideal can I take with me and hold in my heart even as I leave the institution itself?
Goodbye Bowdoin. I'll miss you. May the voice of liberal learning sing on
Oakeshott gives a strong argument as to why the liberal learning is the project of the university - the project that is being overturn by the modern movement that sees uni as a means to an end instead of 'the middle path.' I am sympathetic to his call.
And yet, I sit here about the leave, going across the country to attend UBC for the rest of my 3 years in uni, with nothing of philosophy whatsoever. What, I ask, of the liberal ideal can I take with me and hold in my heart even as I leave the institution itself?
Goodbye Bowdoin. I'll miss you. May the voice of liberal learning sing on
April 10, 2021
This is one of the most important books I've read in the last few years. I love Oakeshott's exalted vision of what the educational engagement can be. A great, profound exploration of the nature of the Liberal Arts. Oakeshott instructed me with the ideal and now it is my turn to translate that into the practical.
February 4, 2024
4.25? A wide-ranging, ambitious, sometimes uneven but always engaging collection of essays on educational matters. Oakeshott is an occasionally difficult but a lively, humane, and winsome writer, and “Learning and Teaching” and “The Idea of a University” are just beautiful.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews