Tensions between inclusion and change in worldview education: can Joe F. Kincheloe’s bricolage help teachers navigate them?

ABSTRACT

This paper delineates tensions that arguably are inherent to integrative Worldview Education in plural societies, due to the subject’s dual commitment to imperatives of inclusion and change. The imperative of inclusion stems from the subject’s mandate to integrate the whole plurality of pupils in society, whereas the imperative of change stems from the subject’s mandate to promote certain aims and values over others. The task of handling such tensions can be daunting, and teachers need resources that enable them to do so. The main aim of this paper is thus to provide a critical examination of the metaphor of bricolage, as it was conceptualised by Joe L. Kincheloe, in search of such resources. The examination points to the following chain of argument: (1) Kincheloe’s bricolage contains its own tensions between inclusion and change, due to its application of multiple methods, methodologies, and perspectives, combined with a desire to promote social change. (2) There is a strong overlap between the two sets of tensions. (3) Teachers should be aware of the distinct political and philosophical underpinnings of Kincheloe’s bricolage, and how these can create new tensions, possibly productive ones, if teaching and learning in Worldview Education is framed as bricolage work.

KEYWORDS:

• Worldview education tensions
• bricolage
• Joe. F. Kincheloe
• multi-disciplinarity

Introduction

Integrative Worldview Education (WE)¹ in pluralistic and liberal societies must consider and handle tensions that sometimes rise between an ‘imperative of inclusion’ towards pupils who hold a manifold of worldviews and an ‘imperative of change’, stemming from aims and values expressed in curricula. Human rights legislation in some jurisdictions confers a parental right to secure that their children’s education is in line with their own religious and philosophical convictions (Lied, 2008; Moulin, 2009, von der Lippe, 2017). Some of those convictions, however, may contradict the subject’s aims and values, leaving teachers and schools with the challenge of promoting them without alienating pupils and families with incompatible viewpoints.² In this paper, we firstly explore the nature of these WE imperatives, ending in a delineation of a tension model for WE. Secondly, we turn our attention to the metaphor of ‘bricolage’, which we examine in search of resources that can help teachers and educators to handle tensions between inclusion and change in WE.

The metaphor ‘bricolage’, or ‘bricoleur’,³ is at times used to denote a researcher who critically evaluates and merges methods, ideas and concepts from multiple disciplines, methodologies, and theoretical perspectives into emergent and novel constructions (Freathy et al. 2017; Kincheloe 2001, 2005b). A further concern for bricoleurs is to expose destructive power structures and to give voice to groups that have been suppressed by them (Kincheloe 2001, 2005b). The metaphor was suggested as a new paradigmatic framework for qualitative research by Denzin and Lincoln in the 1999-edition of their Handbook of Qualitative Research (Denzin and Lincoln, 1999). Soon after, Joe L. Kincheloe took up the challenge to develop a bricolage framework for qualitative research and for education (Kincheloe 2001). His role as a kind of founding father justifies our choice to focus our investigation of bricolage on his conceptualisation and practice, even though there are several other ways of ‘doing the bricolage’ (See Rogers, 2012 for an overview).

The way Kincheloe’s bricolage embraces complexity, disagreement, and a plurality of methods seems to resonate with WE’s imperative of inclusion. Its critical evaluation of all perspectives and approaches to knowledge development, along with a commitment to increased social justice, seem to resonate with the subject’s imperative of change. However, the degree to which bricolage resources are useful also depends on how bricoleurs’ concern for inclusion and change corresponds to the paralleled concerns in WE. To reach a qualified conclusion on that matter, we will need to look into some deeper-lying political and philosophical issues. Kincheloe’s visions for more just and equal societies are deeply rooted in socialist and neo-Marxist thinking (Kincheloe, 2017). Teachers in WE, on the other hand, are compelled to ground the change they promote in aims and values in curricula, not their own visions or convictions, socialist or otherwise.⁴ Moreover, teachers must carry out their curriculum-founded work of change with a committed sensitivity towards pupils who might resist. This potential disparity between bricolage’s political and philosophical underpinnings, and those applicable for WE, will be part the investigations in this paper.

Throughout the paper, we will make reference to the national context in which we each operate, Norway for Andreassen and England for Doney. We will do so, not to set up any kind of ‘comparative’ study, but rather to exemplify how the discussion we undertake is rooted in the particularity of real places. This allows us to highlight commonalities and divergences that might affect the reader’s consideration and application of the approach we are exploring.⁵ Our discussions will have relevance for WE stakeholders at all levels of education, and for everyone with an interest in how one can promote change in school in ways that are sensitive towards the whole variety of pupils.

Part 1: developing a tension model for worldview education

In this section, we will present important tensions that arguably frame and inform debates about WE. We start with a more thorough delineation of what we view as the foundational tension between ‘the imperative of inclusion’ and ‘the imperative of change’ before we move on to a subsequent, connected tension between ‘risk’ and ‘control’. These tensions will then be connected to historical and temporary debates about WE, before a tension model for WE is presented.

Given the fact that integrative WE, in principle, assembles pupils from the whole range of worldviews represented in society, it is vital that the subject approaches this plurality in sufficiently inclusive ways. In the Norwegian context, this imperative has arguably been given extra force, due to how the 1997 curriculum was evaluated and convicted in international courts. Both the United Nations Human Rights Council and the European Court of Human Rights reached the conclusion that the curriculum did represent a breach on the parental right to secure that their children’s’ education is in line with their own religious and philosophical convictions. The verdicts were grounded in the subject’s explicit and implicit favouring of a Christian worldview, in combination with the limited rights of exemption (Høstmælingen 2005; Lied, 2008; von der Lippe, 2017). Whilst there have been no such cases arising from the English context, the cases from Norway (and elsewhere) have been carefully considered. For example, in the CORE report (Core, 2018), the authors highlight the possibility of legal challenges arising within the English context.

The implication of these cases is that teaching in integrative WE, with limited exemption opportunities, cannot be based on any one religion or worldview, whether religious or secular. Such teaching, then, is subject to an imperative of inclusion towards a manifold of worldviews, represented in society. However, WE, as any other school subject, cannot revolve solely around the imperative of inclusion. The mandate of education rests on its purposes (Biesta 2020), most clearly expressed through aims and values in curricula, and it is from this that we take our ‘imperative of change’. These aims and values, or nature and purpose, of WE are doubly-contested. They are – to differing extents in our different contexts – democratically determined (contestation one) and subject to a wide range of interpretations by those involved, from policy makers, teachers, parents and students (contestation two). That stated, there is a commonly held agreement (albeit perhaps a loose agreement) that the whole point of schooling is to facilitate change. We expect students; to develop and practice new skills; to become socialised in particular ways of behaving; to gain qualifications (Biesta 2020); in short, to be exposed to and respond to knowledge and perspectives they do not already (fully) possess (Brown 1992). We expect them to change. In England, WE is considered to make ‘a significant contribution to pupils’ academic and personal development. In both England and Norway, the subject plays a key role in promoting social cohesion and virtues like respect, tolerance and empathy (Ofsted 2013, The Norwegian Directorate of Education and Training, 2021). Such commitments to certain values and aims implies exclusion of others (Hilt and Bøyum 2015).⁶ The imperative of change is thus in tension with the imperative of inclusion.⁷

At times, of course, the imperative of change can point towards more inclusive societies and schools, leading to what we view as case-specific and surface-level fusions of the two imperatives. However, the tensions in discussion here are on a more fundamental level, between the school’s mandate to be inclusive towards the total, empirical plurality of pupils in society and its mandate to promote certain aims and values over others.

From the tension between inclusion and change another tension arises, between risk and control when pursuing the subject’s aim and values. Even though we are strongly drawn towards learning theories that forefront freedom over coercion, we still cannot escape this tension. How much disagreement and which kinds of disagreements should be allowed in the classroom? Certain perspectives or truth/knowledge claims might be in direct opposition to the subject’s aims and values and will require some sort of moderating action from the teacher. In other words, they will be hindered, blocked or modified by the subject’s ‘threshold of inclusion’, a term we will use to denote various kinds of hindrance or moderation of some viewpoints and perspectives, motivated by imperatives of change.⁸ Plurality entails risky divergences which can be either fruitful, destructive or a combination of both. Destructive divergence can be described as threats to the subject’s aims and values and can be of either an epistemological or an existential character’. In this paper we define ‘epistemological threats’ as convictions or perspectives that might harm pupils’ ability to develop important knowledge. Some religious positions reject scientific theories of evolution, for instance, and the subject’s threshold of inclusion is therefore needed to mitigate their potential threats to pupils’ development of knowledge about evolution. ‘Existential threats’, on the other hand, come from convictions that might harm the well-being of pupils, when expressed or acted upon. Different forms of dehumanising ideologies or speech would be clear cut examples of existential threats. In addition, different viewpoints can be experienced as existentially threatening for different reasons. With regards to transgender issues, for instance, some transpersons can view a binary understanding of gender as an undermining of their very existence. For some feminists, on the other hand, non-binary understandings are seen as an attempt to eradicate the material foundation for womanhood and therefore to undermine women’s gender-based rights (Rambøl and von Krogh, 2021). An important point to draw from this, is that pupils can be very different with regards to what they experience as existential threats (Flensner and von der Lippe 2019).

The tensions in discussion here are also present in literature on controversial issues in school. The Council of Europe in (Kerr and Huddelstone, 2015) clearly recommends that teachers address controversial issues, building on aims that have due regard for both inclusion and change, such as enhanced democratic citizenship, increased respect for human rights and better intercultural understanding. The Council defines controversial issues quite loosely as ‘issues which arouse strong feelings and divide communities and societies’ (Kerr and Huddelstone, 2015, 13). Michael Hand (2008, 213) shows a more substance-oriented understanding, when he states that ‘to teach something as controversial is to present it as a matter on which different views are or could be held’. Hand holds that questions that already are answered satisfactorily should not be taught as controversial, but as settled, even if they have the capacity to arouse strong emotions. Whether a topic should be taught as controversial or as settled may furthermore have very important normative and moral implications, according to Hand, and there are issues, like racism and holocaust, where teachers indeed should endorse some views over others. When approaching other issues, however, it might be harder to know whether they should be classified as controversial or settled, or perhaps a blend of both. In our vocabulary here, framing issues as settled can be a way to control epistemological or existential threats, whereas framing issues as controversial implies much higher risk.

The related tensions between inclusion and change, risk and control, can shed light on both historical and temporary debates about WE. For example, in both the English and the Norwegian context, the subject originated in less plural societies than today, and its imperatives of change were centred around explicitly Christian and confessional aims and values (Doney 2021). The central backdrop for the shift to non-confessional subjects, was the increasingly plural and secular character of our societies (B. O. Andreassen 2016, 67). A shift of weight towards the inclusion pole was necessary, a shift that also led to substantial changes in the change pole, where Lutheran Christian aims and values were substituted with universalist, liberal, and/or secular ones (Wright, 2016, ch.7). Furthermore, scholars developed and argued for new didactical approaches that could replace the outdated confessional approaches, often focused on settling on ‘the right one’ (Wright, 2016, ch.7; Brekke 2023, 49) Secular ‘right one’ approaches to WE may also carry with them confessional traits, however, through secularistic biases that might end up alienating pupils with religious worldviews (Moulin, 2009; Brekke 2018). Approaches that entail multiple perspectives, seem thus to respond better to imperatives of inclusion. Secular religious studies can in itself be viewed as multi-perspectival, being an evolving conglomerate of academic approaches (Aukland 2021). But as Brekke (2023, 203) has pointed out, religious studies’ reluctance to engage normatively with subject matter,⁹ might steer it away from issues of hermeneutics and Bildung that belong to the subject’s aims and values in both England and Norway. Brekke is himself part of a fairly new trend, namely an advocacy of a multi-disciplinary approach to WE as the best way to secure a subject that is sufficiently inclusive, and at the same time can equip pupils with abilities to perform their own normative evaluations (see Ø. S. Andreassen and Jørgensen 2022; Aukland 2021; Brekke 2023; Freathy et al. 2017; Pett, 2021-2022).

A fundamental marker of these multi-disciplinary approaches is their placement of epistemological lenses or filters under investigation. The central idea is that pupils who develop critical awareness of the way knowledges and convictions are connected to specific perspectives, worldviews, and or/methodologies, will also be better able to evaluate such connections, and thereby warrants for various claims. They should therefore encounter as many relevant perspectives, worldviews, and methodologies as possible. Pupils well equipped with such critical awareness can be given greater freedom in their quests for knowledge, even when they touch upon potential epistemological and moral threats. In this way, one can reduce control over pupils’ learning processes, without allowing unacceptable levels of risk. This focus on lenses is also present in contemporary school policy in our respective contexts. The second core element in the curriculum for Norwegian WE (The Norwegian Directorate of Education and Training, 2021), and the ‘ways of knowing’ – concept in the 2021 Ofsted report (Ofsted, 2021) are clear examples.

In Figure 1 we have tried to draw together all these societal, legal and theoretical frameworks into a tension model for WE. The plurality of pupils with human rights protected worldviews stretches the subject towards inclusion, whereas the aims and values of WE stretch pupils towards change and creates a threshold of inclusion that will work to moderate or block some ideas from entering the WE classroom. Teachers may on some occasions take the risk on engaging pupils in controversial issues, maybe even inviting challenging disagreements, which could be a way to signal inclusion of pupils with a plurality of viewpoints. Or, they may take measures to moderate some viewpoints for the sake of vulnerable pupils’ (feeling of) safety, or guide pupils towards certain viewpoints on settled issues. What the teacher should choose is almost solely dependent on contextual factors.¹⁰ The tensions between inclusion and change are ever present in WE and makes recipes and all-encompassing solutions impossible. We postulate that single-perspective pedagogical approaches to WE, religious or secular, can be well equipped to heed imperatives of change, but lack, to various degrees, resources to heed imperatives of inclusion. The opposite is the case for multi-perspective approaches, at least if they are paired with an avoidance of normativity. We view multi-disciplinary pedagogies that include evaluation of lenses as well suited to handle and enact on both imperatives. And we see trust between all actors in classrooms and schools as vital for successful navigation of the tensions in question.

Figure 1. A tension model for WE. The two imperatives of inclusion and change, with their affiliated terms, pull in opposite directions. Pedagogical approaches to WE must heed both imperatives. In this paper, we investigate Joe L Kincheloe’s bricolage in light of these tensions.

This tension model can now serve as a condensed picture of our starting point for the next section. As we turn our attention to Kincheloe’s bricolage, our aim is to search for resources that can aid WE teachers who must handle these tensions as part of their professional practice.

Part 2: evaluating resources embedded in the bricolage metaphor

Establishing relevance

For Kincheloe’s (2001, 2005b) bricolage, the use of multiple methods and perspectives and the promotion of awareness of epistemological connections, are unnegotiable parts of knowledge development. It therefore shares many traits with the lenses-evaluating multi-disciplinary approaches to WE described above. For one such approach, called the ‘RE-searchers’, bricolage is an explicit and central part of the theoretical foundation (Freathy et al. 2017). The RE-searchers approach was developed by Rob Freathy and others working on RE at the University of Exeter¹¹ (Freathy and Freathy 2013; Freathy et al. 2015; Freathy et al. 2017) and has since had influence on the development of other multi-disciplinary approaches to WE in both our countries¹² (Ø. S. Andreassen and Jørgensen 2022; Brekke 2023; Aukland 2021; Pett, 2021-2022). The relevance of bricolage for WE has therefore to some degree already been explored, but in this part of the paper we want to put it under closer scrutiny with regards to tensions between inclusion and change. We will start with a short presentation of basic bricolage features, as they were conceptualised by Kincheloe, to further establish the relevance of bricolage for WE, before we delineate possibly problematic features of bricolage in the context of integrative WE. Afterwards, we move into a more analytical part, where we evaluate, firstly, the correspondence between WE’s threshold of inclusion and that of Kincheloe’s bricolage, and secondly how Kincheloe approaches viewpoints that are blocked by his threshold.

For Kincheloe, the fundamentally complex reality can never be described exhaustively and ‘monologically’. Instead, one should aim for increasingly richer and ‘multilogical’ pictures by including more and more perspectives (Kincheloe, 2005b). Bricolage thus entails a ‘deep interdisciplinarity’ (Kincheloe, 2001), a term that signals something more than just the application of a variety of methodologies. Such deep interdisciplinarity requires a critical engagement with different disciplinary traditions, which includes studying the traditions’ socially constructed procedures and standards for constructing and evaluating knowledge and how these give voice and power to some groups and silence and oppress others (Kincheloe, 2001). Kincheloe positions himself explicitly as a critical pedagogue (Kincheloe, 2011a), and critical theories are foundational for his conceptualisation of the bricolage. However, there is no one-to-one relationship between Kincheloe’s bricolage and critical theories, as the aspect of deep interdisciplinarity pushes the bricoleur to include resources from a wider range of disciplines and paradigms. Another aspect of deep interdisciplinarity is engagement with positive features of given traditions; this could be well-thought models for knowledge production, important questions that have been asked and illuminated or examples of breakthroughs that have improved the human condition (Kincheloe, 2001). Traditional disciplines are not left pure and preserved, however, but are instead moulded, modified, and paired with other disciplines to fit specific contexts, questions, and values. Every discipline and perspective are in principle invited to join in the knowledge producing processes, but none will be left unchanged by doing so.

Bricolage’s deep interdisciplinarity can thus be viewed as a programme for inclusion and change, simultaneously, in ways that, at least on the surface, seem to resemble the above-described WE imperatives. The embrace of complexity, disagreement, and a plurality of methods and perspectives echo the imperative of inclusion. The critical evaluation of all perspectives and approaches to knowledge development, and the commitment to increased social justice, echo the imperative of change. The idea of using bricolage to handle WE tension thus looks promising. However, problems may exist on a deeper level.

What could be the problem? Using Dan Moulin’s veil of ignorance test

In Moulin’s search for ‘a suitable foundation for a pedagogy of WE¹³ in the context of the secular education system’ (2009, p. 153), he started by identifying problems that might put religion and worldview pedagogies¹⁴ in conflict with religious freedom and the freedom of expression and belief. The first regards pedagogies that are based on only one method (or one approach) which means that they, by necessity, exclude other methods and approaches. The second regards some pedagogies’ epistemological and methodological assumptions, which may conflict with some ‘reasonable religious and secular worldviews’ (Moulin, 2009, 154). Moulin provides two examples of pedagogies that are problematic in this second sense. The first is Erricker & Erricker’s interpretative approach (Erricker and Erricker 2000) which, according to Moulin, requires relativism and non-realism as preconditions. This approach thus limits pupils’ right to hold something as actually true. His second example is Wright’s critical realism approach (Wright, 2016) which, despite its more inclusive character, runs the risk of exclusion of pupils that do not share the critical realist views on reality. Both the interpretative and the critical realism approaches require specific philosophical or epistemological outlooks that unavoidably will, to some degree at least, suppress the views of pupils and parents that do not share those outlooks. Described with our tension model, the problem is that they are not sensitive enough to the imperative of inclusion.

In a search for better alternatives, Moulin then employs an adaptation of John Rawls ‘veil of ignorance’ thought experiment to extract principles for a subject that would be in accordance with human rights legislation. In the experiment, teachers, researchers, pupils, and other WE stakeholders are hypothetically placed in an ‘original position’ where they are aware of the pluralistic nature of their society, while their own backgrounds, worldview affiliations, abilities, or roles (teacher, pupil, parent, etc) are hidden behind a veil of ignorance. The question is then what kind of WE these stakeholders would wish for and agree on.

With regards to this paper, Moulin’s points prompt us to investigate whether the underlying outlooks and assumptions of bricolage are suitable for WE. We will do so through asking two analytical questions, which will be presented in the next section. Towards the end of the paper, we will sum up our findings and use Moulin’s veil of ignorance test on the idea of using bricolage as a framework for WE.

Developing analytical questions

Since bricolage entails its own tensions between imperatives of inclusion and change, our first question of analysis is how these tensions correspond to the WE tensions (Q1). To answer that question, we have reviewed the two articles which Kincheloe explicitly dedicated to description and exploration of the metaphor of bricolage as a suitable frame for sound research and knowledge production: ‘Describing the Bricolage. Conceptualizing a New Rigor in Qualitative Research’ (Kincheloe, 2001) and ‘On to the Next Level. Continuing conceptualizing the Bricolage’ (Kincheloe, 2005b). Here, we have looked for perspectives and approaches that are included in bricolage’s development of knowledge and those that are excluded, due to bricolage’s own imperative of change. In short, we have aimed to compare WE’s and bricolage’s thresholds of inclusion. To enable such a comparison, we developed a table where we could place sentences and paragraphs with possible relevance. ‘Excluding’ was reserved for expressions of total dismissal of viewpoints or perspectives as valid approaches to research and development of knowledge. ‘Demarcating’ was used for sections that expressed disagreement or opposition, without necessary implying dismissal and exclusion. Finally, sections that expressed the bricoleur’s intentions or desires to include different or competing perspectives and methods, were placed in the ‘invitational’ category. The table thus looks like this, one example of using the table 1 added:

Table 1. The table employed in the first part of analysis, one example of its use added.

Section	Page	Demarcating	Invitational	Excluding	Comments
‘My argument here is that we must operate in the ruins of the temple, in a postapocalyptic social, cultural, psychological, and educational science where certainty and stability have long departed for parts unknown’	179	x	x		Invitational towards anyone who accept this foundation, demarcating towards anyone who doesn’t.

Our second analytical question regards how Kincheloe approaches perspectives he wishes to exclude from knowledge development processes (Q2). This question is important, because, as we outlined in the first part of this paper, although not all perspectives and viewpoints are welcome in the WE classroom, pupils are always welcome. On some occasions, therefore, teachers must master the art of combining exclusion of viewpoints with inclusion of pupils who hold them. In our search for helpful bricolage resources on this matter, we have analysed Kincheloe’s treatment of two sets of viewpoints and perspectives he fiercely opposes: positivism and Christian fundamentalism. Our selected text for analysis of Kincheloe’s treatment of positivism, is ‘Critical Pedagogy and the Knowledge Wars of the Twenty-first Century’ (Kincheloe, 2011a), due to its explicit use of bricolage (p. 388–389). To explore Kincheloe’s treatment of Christian fundamentalism, we have analysed ‘Selling a New and Improved Jesus – Christotainment and the Power of Political Fundamentalism’ (Kincheloe, 2011b). Both these writings are of a polemical nature, so we did not expect a sensitivity applicable to school contexts. What we looked for instead was whether Kincheloe, despite his explicit aim to describe dark and dangerous traits of positivism and Christian fundamentalism, also makes efforts to shed light on nuances and possibly bright features.

Answering Q1: how do WE’s and bricolage’s thresholds of inclusion correspond?

The two tables below provide a condensed picture of bricolage’s threshold of inclusion, as it emerges from Kincheloe’s two foundational texts on bricolage. The table that contains invitational features of Kincheloe’s (2001, 2005b) conceptualisation of bricolage (Table 2) confirms and expands the impression of a researcher who embraces difference, disagreement, and a multitude of approaches to development of knowledge and understanding. Kincheloe presents a picture of the bricoleur as fundamentally open and interested in all perspectives and methods that can help develop knowledge and understanding of given objects of study. The traditional disciplines are therefore also included (row 3), although processes of critical examination and altering the disciplines into something less traditional is an unnegotiable part of the inclusion.

Table 2. Invitational features of Kincheloe’s (2001, 2005b) conceptualizationconceptualisation conceptualisation of bricolage.

Inviting towards	Invitational terms/aspects
Difference and divergence in general	Cultivate difference Divergence as fruitful Fruitful conceptual collisions Sidestep liberal eclecticism
Disciplines and methods	Fundamental openness Employ and engage as many as possible
Traditional disciplines	Study positive features Usable, after critical engagement
Epistemologies of marginalised groups	Understanding Transcending
Foundational notions and perspectives	Knowledge is both discovered and constructed

On the other hand, Table 3 contains examples of dismissal to such a degree that it seems unthinkable that they can be employed within the frame of bricolage research. We interpret Kincheloe’s labelling of monological knowledge as ‘harmful towards those with the least power’ and set recipes for knowledge production as ‘shackle[s] of human agency’ as signals of total dismissal. The same goes for terms as ‘refuse’, ‘avoid’ or ‘reject’. Such formulations clearly indicate that these older approaches to, or lenses for, knowledge production should be left behind. However – and this is a crucial point – this does not mean that Kincheloe’s bricoleur necessarily avoids methods, methodology or perspectives which have often been used in, say, reductive or monological ways. But those traits will no longer be a part of how the bricoleur employs them.

Table 3. Excluding features of Kincheloe’s (2001, 2005b) contextualization contextualisation contextualisation of bricolage.

Excluding towards	Dismissive terms/aspects
Reductionism	Transcend Refuse Avoid
Set recipes for knowledge production	Escape limitations of Shackle human agency Emancipation from tyranny of Refuse Avoid Steer clear
Monological knowledge	Reduces human life Harms those with the least power Sidestep
Objectivism	Avoid
Pronouncements of final truths	Avoid
Determinism	Reject

The two tables thus confirm a similar picture: The bricolage entails a fundamental openness towards starkly different approaches to knowledge production, except those approaches that cling to inflexible research procedures or pronouncements of final truths, or insist being reductionist, monological, deterministic or objectivist.

Implications for WE

Turning back to Q1, this is a threshold of inclusion that does not seem, at least at first glance, entirely fitting for integrative Worldview Education. The proposed epistemological and existential threats stemming from these traditional approaches do not seem grave enough to justify their exclusion from pupils’ knowledge work. We must not forget, however, the bricolage’s openness towards them if they are moulded and cleansed for hegemonic ambitions. This openness can also be interpreted as an invitation to the pupils with, say, monologically formed views to raise their voice. The classroom dialogue will then represent a moulding process where this voice does not control knowledge-making monologically but becomes a potentially fruitful voice amongst many. Arguably, this would be an example of creating a contingent space for monological viewpoints that matches the threshold of inclusion of both the WE subject and bricolage. Although this kind of treatment of monological viewpoints in the classroom seems to require a creative leap from Kincheloe’s exclusionary statements, we view the act of making creative leaps due to contextual factors as entirely consistent with Kincheloe’s conceptualisation of bricolage. However, this possibility of finding practical solutions to the seeming mismatch between thresholds of inclusion, does not allow us to conclude that the mismatch is unimportant. Instead, it creates a tension that we will come back to towards the end of this paper.

Answering Q2: how does Kincheloe approach excluded viewpoints?

Shifting to the second analytical question, the focus will not be on whether the bricolage’s adversaries should be considered as adversaries by teachers and pupils in WE. Instead, we aim to find out whether the bricolage’s treatment of them reveals resources that might help WE teachers to act on the subject’s threshold of inclusion in ways that are sensitive to the whole variety of pupils.

Kincheloe on positivism

In ‘Critical Pedagogy and the Knowledge Wars of the Twenty-first Century’ (Kincheloe, 2011a), uses the metaphor of ‘empire’ to show how the ‘power blocs’ (politicians and corporations) of Western societies work to uphold and increase their power. Positivism, now in the recovered, more elusive version of ‘crypto-positivism’, is portrayed as the epistemological tool, or weapon of knowledge, in the hands of the powerful. According to Kincheloe, the proponents of the empire use positivist terminology like ‘evidence-based research’ and ‘objective knowledge’ to justify political and military moves that enforce the dominance of the white, male upper class over various oppressed minority groups and populations. Exclusions of complexity, process and context leave a false impression of knowledge as static, and thus easier for the empire to regulate and control. This being a knowledge war, the empire also seeks control over the education system, through a whole apparatus of standardised tests and measurements founded on a crypto-positivist epistemology. Control is also exercised through political campaigns to defund public schools and to exclude critical approaches (which seek to expose such power moves) from curricula.¹⁵ Researchers who themselves make allegiances to some form of positivism are accomplices of the empire’s hegemonic actions, whether they have consciously sold their soul to it or are deceived by its forces.

In line with earlier described bricolage ideals, Kincheloe makes use of resources from several fields and disciplines¹⁶ to present a rich and sharp critique of positivism in American politics and school policy. And although we carry some reservations against his conspiratorial rhetoric, with terms like ‘empire’ and ‘crypto’, we view it as a well-established insight that power can be especially effective when its origins, tools and effects are concealed (Foucault 1991). However, despite employing several approaches, Kincheloe does not strive to use any of them to look for brighter sides or nuances to positivism. One could of course argue that some schools of thought are purely destructive, and that this could be the case for positivism. However, the question of possibly positive features of positivism is not even asked in this article, an omission that we interpret as a clear breach on his bricolage ideal of multilogical description and the ideal of engaging with positive features of traditional disciplines.

One way to heed those ideals, could be to include a discussion of whether this recovered crypto-positivism represents a fair or a distorted picture of the positivist approach. If positivist rhetoric is used to conceal how ideological and economic concerns compromise research, the main problem may not be positivism, but the rhetoric concealment and performance of bad science. Another road to a more multilogical description could be to explore how post-positivism relates to his concept of recovered positivism. Many of Kincheloe’s objections to positivism are also raised by post-positivists, who sees knowledge as fundamentally uncertain and promote sensitivity to the influence of social contexts, possible bias and (other) human error (Philips and Burbules, 2000, 14–25). Post-positivism is therefore clearly different from positivism when it comes to philosophical outlooks and foundations, sometimes even diametrically opposed. Still, post-positivists value objectivity, often look for causal chains (deterministic or probabilistic), aim to develop true descriptions of phenomena, make use of every method from the positivist toolbox, and hold established (although revisable) standards for research as crucial for measuring its quality (Philips and Burbules, 2000, 59ff). Given the severeness of Kincheloe’s critique, it would be of interest to know whether these aspects place post-positivists as targets for it, and thus part of the justification for oppression, murder, and ecological disaster, or whether they are free of charge, due to their very different philosophical outlooks.

Kincheloe on Christian fundamentalism

Whereas Kincheloe’s dark portrait of positivism is devoid of positives and nuances, his treatment of Christian fundamentalism is strikingly different. Before providing descriptions and definitions of Christian fundamentalism, he takes numerous precautions: First, he describes how ‘fundamentalists often feel that those who are establishing the definitions are individuals who despise their belief’ (Kincheloe, 2011b, 414). With such care for fundamentalists’ feelings, he states that although fundamentalism seem harmful and threatening for outsiders like him, he will make efforts to be as fair as possible in his further descriptions. He also brings vital nuances to his picture of fundamentalism by branching out two subgroups, namely evangelicalism and dominionism. The evangelicals¹⁷ receive by far the friendliest critique. Kincheloe stresses their honourable deeds in the past and in the present, for example how they ‘in the late nineteenth century embraced the social gospel movement [and how] many contemporary evangelicals act bravely against prevailing beliefs about the poor and the racially and sexually marginalized’ (Kincheloe, 2011b, 415). At various points in this book-chapter, the reader is reminded of the diversity within both evangelicalism and fundamentalism. However, this service is not extended to the dominionists. This is the branch of fundamentalism that Kincheloe sees as particularly dark and threatening, due to their visions for American politics and society and their use of mass media to seduce the population, not at least children and teenagers. Although we would argue that even dominionism could be treated with more nuance,¹⁸ the way dominionism is differentiated from fundamentalism and evangelicalism, surely helps the reader to notice important heterogeneity within and between these affiliated camps of Christianity.

Such distinctions and nuances are exactly what we find missing in Kincheloe’s portrait, or bricolage of positivism, and the result here is a far richer and more complex picture. Importantly, this does not seem to stem from a brighter view on fundamentalism. Throughout the chapter, he uses words as ‘harmful’ and ‘threatening’, he asserts that the actions of some fundamentalist groups ‘are changing the world in a dangerous manner’ (Kincheloe, 2011b, 416), and he asks questions about possible fascist tendencies in parts of the fundamentalist movement. Kincheloe’s opposition to Christian fundamentalism thus seem to be as fierce as his opposition to positivism.

What might explain this remarkable difference? Considering Kincheloe’s upbringing and younger years might shed some light on the issue, and simultaneously serve as a reminder to teachers and educators of the importance of cultivating reflexive awareness. Kincheloe grew up in a rural and poor area of Tennessee, an environment moulded by evangelical/fundamentalist Christianity (Fischetti and Dlamini, 2013). From a young age, he started travelling and preaching together with his uncle, a Methodist evangelist (Steinberg, in Kincheloe, 2011a). His renouncement of his preacher apprenticeship at age of twelve, along with other aspects of southern Christianity and culture, did not lead him to turn his back to his origins. Interestingly, his discovery as an undergraduate of Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed, made him see connections between Freire’s surroundings and his own, helping him to embrace them as vital part of his own persona and academic work (Kincheloe, 2005a). Hence, a clear feature of Kincheloe’s more biographical writings about the South, is that they are marked with a paradoxical blend of deep love for its ‘treasures’ and an equally deep disdain of its ‘ghosts’ (Kincheloe, 2011c). Kincheloe’s nuanced and multi-logical treatment of evangelical and fundamental Christianity seems to fall into this picture of his treatment of the South in general. Positivism, on the other hand, is not connected to his southern upbringing, which could at least partly explain why he treats it without the same level of nuance.

Implications for WE

We want to explore further what this difference in treatment of positivism and Christian fundamentalism might reveal about the bricolage’s resources to sensitively approach excluded viewpoints. In both cases, Kincheloe uses the critical aspects of bricolage to expose hidden structures of power in political, corporate, educational, scientific, and/or religious language and behaviour. Also in both cases, he reveals how these power-saturated structures work to marginalise various groups in society. But only in the case of Christian fundamentalism, does he seem to take the complexity of the object of study seriously enough. As described earlier, the bricoleur sees complexity as an irreducible and fundamental part of reality, which is the basis for stating that reality should be examined through complex and multilogical approaches. This ideal should arguably also be heeded in examinations of fierce opponents, since they, too, are within the realm of reality. However, we assert that the fact that Kincheloe managed to live up to such a challenging ideal in one of the cases, is just as important as his failure to do so in the other.

Through these two examples, Kincheloe shows both a possible pitfall and an ideal. This reveals, on the one hand, that teachers who want to use bricolage in the classroom should strive to develop a reflexive wariness towards elements in their own backgrounds and convictions that might influence their implementation. On the other hand, it provides a positive answer to Q2: Kincheloe’s bricolage does come with resources, although sometimes hard to use, to execute thresholds of inclusion in ways that do not exclude and alienate those that hold excluded viewpoints. Kincheloe’s multilogical treatment of Christian fundamentalism makes a directly transferrable example of how these resources can be put into action in Worldview Education. Teachers can give space for critique of aspects of religions and worldviews and at the same time let the voices of criticised groups be heard, be explicit on the diversity within these groups and shed light on possibly honourable features.

Non-concluding remarks: running the veil of ignorance test

Our investigation of whether and how Kincheloe’s bricolage can be of use in Worldview Education has nearly come to an end. It has shed light on bricolage’s threshold of inclusion (Q1) and its resources to approach those viewpoints and perspectives that are blocked by the threshold in a sensitive way, applicable for school settings (Q2). As declared earlier, we will end the investigation by a short discussion of Kincheloe’s bricolage in light of Moulin’s ‘veil of ignorance’ test.

How would WE stakeholders, discussing behind a veil of ignorance, consider bricolage as a possible framework for teaching and learning in the subject? Our analysis has confirmed an expected fundamental openness to a wide range of disciplines, methods, and perspectives that we imagine would draw these hypothetical considerers towards a positive conclusion. Still, our analysis has also shown features that could make them more wary. The underlying foundations and assumptions of bricolage are quite distinct, and possibly in opposition to legitimate alternatives represented in the classroom. Not all pupils (or their families) can accept the bricolage’s notions of fundamental complexity and reality as socially and discursively constructed. To demand such an acceptance, would be a breach on the right for an education in conformity with pupils’ and their families’ philosophical or religious convictions. This indicates that the foundation of bricolage might be narrower than what is expressed through its practical application. In these respects, bricolage share some reminiscences with Wright’s critical realist approach, which would fail the veil of ignorance test, according to Moulin. However, the bricolage ideal of providing nuanced descriptions of fierce opponents, along with its embrace of context and creative use of whatever contextual resources and limitations available, might turn the decision in bricolage’s favour. Although bricolage’s and Worldview Education’s thresholds for inclusion do not seem to be entirely in tune, bricolage also provide resources that can help tackling this incompatibility, and to find productive ways forward in challenging practical-didactical situations.

Still, tensions remain, and arguably they should. The tensions regard inclusion and change, risk and control, and thus mirror the tensions inherent in Worldview Education. When brought to attention, they can be vibrant sources for critique and reflexivity for both pupils, teachers, and researchers, and should therefore be kept alive, not resolved. Thus, instead of concluding on the question of whether bricolage passes the veil of ignorance test, we wish to embrace doubt, and to encourage teachers to be aware of tensions that may rise if they choose to frame learning as bricolage work, and to use those tensions productively.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Øyvind Soltun Andreassen

Øyvind Soltun Andreassen is a Phd candidate in religion and worldviews education, Institute of Teacher Education, NTNU. In his Phd project he investigates how disagreements can be utilised as resources for students’ and pupils’ learning and understanding in WE.

Jonathan Doney

Jonthan Doney is a senior lecturer in History of Education and Education Policy at the University of Exeter. He is the developer of Statement Archaeology, and researches and publishes on Religious Education in England, and the history of education policy development.

Notes

1. The term includes teaching and learning about both religious and non-religious worldviews, and also worldviews that might not easily fit into that binary categorisation (see Bråten 2021). In what follows, the abbreviation ‘WE’ will be used.

2. Hansen and Toft (2022), for example, reveal how the pupil’s individual religious freedom is put to the front and the parental right is made almost invisible in a popular TV-series promoted as a WE learning resource, made by the Norwegian national broadcaster (NRK) in cooperation with Save the Children. Although this choice by the producers was grounded more in journalistic criteria than in aims and values from the curriculum, it nonetheless shows an example of the tension between the imperative of inclusion and the imperative of change, played out in Worldview Education.

3. We will use ‘bricolage’ to describe this particular approach to research and knowledge development, whereas ‘bricoleur’ will denote persons performing a bricolage.

4. We do not hold the view that teachers’ own visions and convictions are inherently problematic in WE – often quite the contrary. Still, the foundation of teachers’ engagement for change must always be aims and values in curricula.

5. For a detailed account of the English context, see for example Doney (2021); for a similar account for the Norwegian context see for example Lied (2008)

6. The formulation «such as» before the list of values in the statutory law provides leverage to include other values. This signals an important invitation to keep the debate about these values alive, but it does not imply that anything goes. The point of exclusion thus remains despite this formulation.

7. We find it important to stress that the commitment to the values and aims of the curriculum rests on teachers and other school representatives, not the pupils. Teaching and learning must be organised in accordance with them, but pupils and their families are free to diverge and protest. There will always be various degrees of constraints to this freedom, however, for example through the curriculum itself or through school responses to divergence.

8. Such thresholds are reserved for ideas, not pupils.

9. A reluctance not shared by all religious studies scholars.

10. Some issues should always be seen and taught as settled. But even on those occasions, there will be contextually based imperatives of inclusion to consider.

11. This includes Doney, who also has been involved in carving out the theoretical foundation of the approach.

12. The RE searchers approach plays a central role in Andreassen’s ongoing PhD project.

13. Moulin uses the term Religious Education (RE) in this article. To avoid confusion, we keep the terminology we have established in this paper.

14. The context of Moulin’s discussions is British schools with no religious affiliation.

15. His analysis of the ‘knowledge war’ in American politics has arguably gained relevance recently, perhaps most explicitly through Florida’s governor, Ron DeSantis legislative moves to ban teaching of Critical Theories, not only in public schools, but also at universities. See his own government’s statements here: https://www.flgov.com/2023/01/31/governor-desantis-elevates-civil-discourse-and-intellectual-freedom-in-higher-education/

16. In all the three texts he draws, unsurprisingly, heavily on Critical Theories. Alongside of those, he makes quite rich use of indigenous perspectives, quantum insights and history of the philosophies of science. Connected to the statement the West need a ‘social psychoanalysis’, we also find psychoanalytic language throughout the texts. Lastly, Metaphors from sci-fi literature and movies are used extensively.

17. The fundamentalists predecessors, theologically and historically speaking.

18. What we find missing is clarity on what makes a fundamentalist a dominionist and efforts to make distinctions between worldly and spiritual warfare when he is talking about dominionists’ use of aggressive language.