Philosophical Perspectives on Social Cohesion: New Directions for Educational Policy 9781472553171, 9781441104465

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Acknowledgements I would like to express my gratitude to all those who have made it possible for me to complete this book  – they matter more than I can say. Putting all the names in would require a book in itself! I am profoundly indebted to my doctoral supervisor and friend Patricia White, whose unfailing support and encouragement have helped me throughout my doctoral thesis from which this book grew, and without whose friendship and patience, I would have given up long ago. She has been a guiding light and an inspiration. If there are any errors or misunderstandings in this text, they are mine and not hers! I enjoyed the warmth and friendship of the philosophy of education community at the IOE, benefiting enormously from the opportunity to present my work in seminars there as a student: Professor John White, Professor Paul Standish, Dr Michael Hand, Dr Graham Haydon, Dr Judith Suissa, Dr Nur Surayyah M. Abdullah, Jak Lee, Izah Isa, Dr Yen-Hsin Chen, Dr Rui Penha Pereira, Muna Golmohamad, Dr Shilpa Sharma and Jade Nguyen among many, many others; from the wider IOE community, Dr Patricia Smit and Dr Steve Cowan. I should also like to acknowledge the influence of Professor Terrence McLaughlin: a scholar and a gentleman, who is much missed by all who came in contact with him. I should like to thank the staff, governors, parents, and particularly the children, of The Leys Primary School, Stevenage. Many thanks to the head teachers of the school for their support in enabling me to continue my studies among my school commitments: Philip Hewett and Cheryl Salmon. Most of all, I want to acknowledge the importance and support of my ‘nearests and dearests’ among my colleagues, who have put up my sufferings, carried me through many a ‘dark night of the soul’, and fed me coffee and cake along the way: Kumu Chandraratna, Valerie Smith and Yvonne Strahan. I am indebted to the kindness and support shown by the Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain over the years in terms of funding and for the support they give to early career philosophers of education. The society and its members provide a supportive and increasingly critical role in attracting new members to the academic life, supporting their research and providing

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opportunities to present work in progress. My ideas have been refined over the years by discussions with Professor Michael Merry, Professor Michael Fielding and Professor Penny Enslin among many others at conferences. Thanks are also due to all who took part in the Second Stanford-Illinois Summer School in 2004 for their kind comments and suggestions on my work on civic friendship, especially to Professors Eamonn Callan, Walter Feinberg, Emily and John Robertson and Denis Philips. Particular thanks are due to the Spencer Foundation for their generous financial support of the project. I am grateful to the University of Roehampton for granting research leave to complete the writing of this book. Particular thanks are owed to my colleagues (past and present) for their support and encouragement: Dr Jason Blokhuis, Dr  Alice Bradbury, Dr Shaalan Farouk, Dr Kate Hoskins, Shirley Koster, Dr Roger Marples, Dr Christopher Martin, Dr Olympia Palikara, Dr Mary Richardson, Dr Carrie Winstanley, Dr Lorella Terzi and Professor Suzy Harris. I also owe thanks to all the students with whom I have engaged in conversations and debates on the issues raised here. In addition, I am indebted to Dr Mary Richardson for her kind reading and perceptive notes on a draft of this text. I must also thank those who signed me up and guided the book through to publication at Bloomsbury, particularly Alison Baker and Rosie Pattinson for their patience and advice. Finally, this is dedicated to my parents, Owen and Claire Healy, without whom this would have been, quite literally, impossible! I was fortunate to be born into a family that valued education and all that schools could provide. As part of the first generation of my family to have attended university, I am only one of three still involved in education. To my sisters Ann and Claire (both head teachers) and my brother Owen (plus their respective families), who have quietly put up with my long absences and silences on so many occasions over the past ten years, I owe an immeasurable debt of gratitude for your unwavering support and words of encouragement. In addition, my uncle, Alan Cadden, read many earlier drafts of work and has always showed great interest and pride in my writings. Not forgetting the bestest of best friends: Nur Surayyah M. Abdullah, Jak Lee, Karen Woods, Patricia Smit and Eileen Petrie: words fail me. For all my friends, civic and otherwise – you know who you are!

Permissions Please note that Chapter  3, ‘Civic Friendship’ originally appeared in Studies in Philosophy and Education as ‘Civic friendship’, Studies in Philosophy and Education, 30(3), (2011), pp. 229–40. The author would like to thank the journal for permission to reprint the article.

Introduction

In 2008, a French court denied citizenship to a Muslim woman from Morocco on the basis that her practice of ‘radical Islam’ was incompatible with French values. Her initial application for citizenship in 2005 was turned down on the basis she was ‘insufficiently assimilated’ into French society. The woman, married to a French national and with three French-born children, wore a burqa, lived as a virtual recluse, disconnected from French society and was considered to act in a submissive way to her male relatives. This was judged to be incompatible with the principle of equality of the sexes and the concept of laïcité (religious neutrality). The court said that the woman could reapply for citizenship when she had assimilated the values of French society.1 The challenge of ethnic and social diversity is considered to be one of the most pressing political concerns facing Western liberal democratic societies. The ongoing politics surrounding such questions of integration and immigration have particularly drawn attention to the importance of social cohesion and notions of belonging for policy making across the globe. Our global society has seen many changes in recent years with the spread of democracy to areas of the planet where previously it had not taken root: the Soviet Union has split into parts; the Berlin wall has been torn down; apartheid rule has ended in South Africa; Fukuyama even predicted the end of history with the prevalent spread of liberal free-market democracies. Global factors have caused millions of people to migrate to the West, many of whom may belong to traditions other than those previously associated with Western Europe and the USA (Feinberg, 2006, p.  234). The resulting diverse population and the transitory nature of many of these changes have highlighted the need for policy makers to debate the possible consequences for societal well-being, particularly under conditions of potentially conflicting ideas and commitments. Social cohesion, in many ways, is a new term applied to an old problem: the desire for a stable society. Political philosophy has always considered what

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Philosophical Perspectives on Social Cohesion

holds societies together, what provides unity and how we can live together in communities (Reich, 2002). Philosophers from Plato to Hobbes have considered how social order could be achieved and the reasoning underpinning our acceptance of the conditions by which this could be accomplished. The question of balancing the ‘associational bonds’ needed to support civic life while respecting and enabling the bonds that tie particular groups together still remains crucially important. However, there is a notable ambiguity in the use of the term ‘cohesion’ in much of the policy-driven debate, in which it is all too frequently thinly conceived and seen as unproblematic. Rarely does the literature contain a coherent conceptualization of what a socially cohesive society should look like. What is distinctive in the contemporary debate, however, is the increasing attention given to the role that education plays in supporting our desires for a cohesive society (Green, 2009; Green et al., 2006; Rogers and Muir, 2007). While the perceived interplay between civic relationships, social cohesion and school choice is an exceedingly complex one and, as such, is frequently the subject of much disagreement, there seems to be little doubt among academics that the consequences of school choice policies may have particular implications for this area. Much of the growing concern stems from empirical research which seems to indicate that certain features of school choice systems can have the unintended consequence of increasing social segregation resulting in an increase in social sorting into differing subpopulations, with parents seeking out schools with high standards of achievement and lower concentrations of pupils they see as different or undesirable and thus fraying social cohesion (Ball, 2003; Cheshire, 2007; Green et al., 2006).2 Evidence of the consequences of school choice from a number of different countries demonstrates that this is not particular to just the UK situation, but a widespread phenomenon. If my analysis were to remain merely at the level of the effects of school choice upon social cohesion, it would offer little difference to the already numerous school choice critiques. Behind the issues of equity and social justice frequently associated with this discourse, lies a more complex and relatively unwritten element of the debate about the model of belonging that underpins our beliefs and commitments to the socially cohesive society. Much existing theorizing in this area lacks an explicit analysis of the relationships needed between citizens to support a democratic life. Subsequently, there can be a lack of consideration of the models of bond that best encapsulate the relationship that allows us to speak of the collective as a ‘we’ within the civic realm. The term ‘civic relationship’ is often troubling in policy decision making in two ways: first, it has the potential to be an empty, meaningless term used merely rhetorically. Similarly and perhaps more

Introduction

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importantly, when people start to clarify what they mean by the civic relationship that of which they speak tends to dissipate and proves problematic in analysis. The lack of clarity found in the many uses of the term ‘social cohesion’ through policy, educational documents and curriculum frameworks all too often demonstrates a need for significant theoretical attention. In an attempt to bridge educational theory and practice, this book examines what it would mean to promote civic relationships in relation to school educational policy. This book then becomes a philosophical contribution towards a rich account of how we characterize these civic bonds and, leading from this, a consideration of the educational implications for how we best encourage and develop the models used to examine these bonds.

Making citizens The ideal of democracy is generally accepted as the political association that encompasses all of its citizens as opposed to a majority and/or a powerful few. As democracy gives decision-making powers to all relevant participants, more people are taken into account than under other systems of government, such as monarchy or tyranny. It is based on the simple premise that ‘people’ are the source of political authority, hence ruling authorities can be changed at regular intervals through the actions of citizens. The ability to make the choices needed to sustain a citizenry capable of exercising such rule requires more than the knowledge of alternatives within the decision-making process; it also requires a moral commitment to the collective values underpinning democracy itself. This formal view of democracy (as simply representational democracy) has been under attack for some time: many western countries report falling levels of voting patterns or civic engagement. Elections in November 2012 for Police Commissioners in the United Kingdom saw voting numbers fall to 12% in one area,3 with one polling station in Newport registering no voters at all!4 In the United Kingdom, the distain felt for politicians following press discoveries of electoral malfeasance, false allowance claims and over-familiarity with particular elements of the press among many others, has been a feature of much public hostility towards the political strata over recent years. In an ‘age of austerity’, this lack of trust and respect for the political life has been mirrored across Europe. A second commonly identified understanding of democracy, grounded in the active participation by all relevant members, offers a further dimension: that citizenship requires a duty on behalf of the citizen to ‘be involved’ in civic life.

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While active citizenship is not identical to volunteering or to taking part in local initiatives, it does have a requirement that in some way the citizenship is ‘lived’. Added to this mix, empirical evidence from researchers such as Robert Putnam has indicated a worrying drop in citizens engaging in associative life and the subsequent implications this may have for political life (Putnam, 2000). There clearly still exists a need for the citizenry to exhibit a ‘sufficient level of civic virtue’ (Stevens, 2001, p. 2) to enable society and its institutions to survive down through the generations. This ‘necessity of civic virtue’ (Stevens, 2001, p.  3) is considered to have particular implications for the education of future citizens upon which the liberal state depends. Democracy requires citizens: it requires citizens of a certain type, yet such citizens are not born, they are made (Callan, 1997). Making citizens, turning children into citizens, can be claimed to be one of the basic functions of any education system. It has long been accepted that pupils need some form of education in the skills, knowledge and attitudes required for this, and that schools and education systems can be the most systematic way to impart these citizenship values and commitments (Enslin et al., 2001). Just as democracy encompasses more people than other political systems, so is a democratic society responsible for the education of all its citizens, and not just some. Indeed, Gibson and Levine argue that schools, because of their capacity to bring together children from a variety of traditions, beliefs and backgrounds, going beyond both family and kinship commitments, to interact and cooperate together through common lessons, are unique in being the only institutions with the ability to reach most children in a country (Gibson and Levine, 2003). In many ways, education is a ‘cornerstone’ of democracy and the structure and practices of the institutions charged with this task assume supreme importance for the life and survival of democracy. This makes education and schooling our most important form of citizenship education and the means to address the social cohesion needed by the state. Much has been written on the making of citizens in philosophy of education already (Callan, 1997; Gutmann, 1987; Levinson, 1999; McPike, 2003). While some working in this area have centred on the content of democratic education, the cultivation of virtues needed in citizenship in a democracy, others have concentrated on the equity and commonality issues (that democratic education requires all children to be schooled together or educational resources of equal value), others again have focussed on the control of education systems. I do not propose to explore these areas, but to concentrate on an unwritten element of this debate: that of the conceptualization of the bond needed between these

Introduction

5

citizens to support the democratic life. Little has been written on the particular relationship needed between citizens to support a democratic framework and how school systems sustain this, and even less on the way the adoption of particular metaphors form the particular attitudes and dispositions emphasized. In so far as democracy requires a general citizenry committed to advancing the principles of democracy (Feinberg, 2006), underpinning this notion of democracy must be a further notion: that of a people bonded together in a particular way. There is, however, a lack of clarity as to how ‘a people’ can be understood in a pluralist, liberal democratic society: the ties that bind to us to some, whether based on culture, nationality, values, beliefs or practices can also serve to separate us from others. If democracy requires that citizens come to identify in some way with the political community and to learn and practice the civic virtues demanded by public life, the recognition of being bound to other people needs considerable attention. For Dewey, democracy is not solely a form of government but also a form of ‘associated living’ – it has a relational aspect (Dewey, 1916/1997). From this it can further be argued that when democracy is viewed as associated living, the ways in which citizens interact and associate can make a society more or less democratic (Dewey, 1916/1997). The ideal of democracy is an ideal of cooperation, implying more than merely acting or working together – a commitment to democracy in these terms also requires a particular affective commitment in regarding each citizen as being held or bound together in some way. This capacity to achieve such attachments over and above any narrow grouping/tradition and the commitment to communicate over multiple loyalties is argued to hold a modern liberal democracy together (Darlington-Hammond, 1997). Fraternity, I will argue, best represents this bond of citizens.

Outline of book With this in mind, this book seeks to answer three fundamental questions. First, what would it mean to take social cohesion seriously? Can we ascertain what the bond, the civic relationship, between citizens in a society deemed socially cohesive would look like? If we care about social cohesion, do we not also need to care about what is required to sustain and perpetuate it over generations? Do different models through which we envision these human relationships carry different implications for how we educate for and structure the bonds that support a civic relationship?

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Philosophical Perspectives on Social Cohesion

Leaving to one side the confusion within the concept of social cohesion, the argument develops the point that for societal cohesion within a framework of democracy, citizens need to have concern for the public way of relating to each other and that this in turn requires particular models of civic relationships. The study of kinship/non-kinship in subjects such as anthropology and sociology has formed the basis for considering social relationships and society for much of the twentieth century (and before). There is now a growing body of literature evolving in this domain that studies the importance of friendship as a model for society and/or civic relationships (Bell and Coleman, 1999a; Desai and Killick, 2010). To these two, I have added a modern alternative, that of market, which has gradually moved from economic parlance into aspects of public life. These three concepts (kinship, friendship and market) offer differing metaphors and insights for connectedness in the civic sphere.5 Any society seeking congruity between its guiding principles of democracy and liberalism, and equally desiring social cohesion at societal level, should aim to shape educational policy in appropriate ways, hence my second question becomes: what sort of school structures would meet this model? How should we organize education when we aim at encouraging and nurturing these relationships? Are there particular structures that can increase social cohesion or be more ‘friendly’ to the factors that nourish it? Likewise, do any particular arrangements or structures impede this aim? Thirdly, what pedagogy would we need to achieve the goal of social cohesion? Are there implications for the way we teach or what we teach in our public schools? How should the next generation of citizens be formed and with what type of values? Is the best way to tolerate and cope with differences in others by casual acquaintance and contact with others? To answer these questions, five perspectives run throughout this book, drawing on arguments across many different traditions in both philosophy and social research. The first perspective falls within the philosophical tradition: a consideration of some of the unclear notions within this area, necessitating an exploration of the notion of ‘we’. Such debates about how we relate to others in the world are all too frequently underpinned by unclear notions of who ‘we’ are, the commitments we are bound by and the values we share. How do different groupings in society, through relating to each other, enable society to act and function as one? The second significant perspective is an enquiry into how metaphors, models and social imaginaries give a framework for considering our interrelatedness. I draw on the contribution that can be offered by the study of metaphor as the

Introduction

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method we use to conceptualize our world, to govern our ways of perceiving and acting and thus shape educational practice. Do metaphors reveal unconscious beliefs that, in turn, influence our behaviours and actions? Can the way we conceive of the civic relationship directly affect the normative values and beliefs to be transmitted to future generations? If we value ourselves as being connected in particular ways, do we then create organizations and structures that reflect and nurture those ways of being connected? Equally, when we fail to value civic connectedness, do we create organizations and structures that disconnect or only pay lip-service to this feature of social life? The field of relationships between metaphors and policy, whether in education or elsewhere, is decidedly under-theorized at present. This book is a first step towards this goal, considering not only some of the prevalent metaphors for the civic relationship, but also studying how these particular metaphors shape practice with regard to school organization. Although writers in the field constantly emphasize that the language and concepts that we choose can arguably define how we structure our thoughts about subjects (Batstone, 2001; Lakoff and Johnson, 2003; Sergiovanni, 1994) this has not, as yet, been applied systematically within the field of school systems nor considered for possible contribution within this arena of civic discourse. As a way of leading into both the second and third questions, the third perspective draws on parallel arguments in empirical studies into social relationships as a way of understanding social networks as an account of what it is to be civically connected. The importance and definitions of these social relationships and their relationships to policy decisions have been explored through empirical studies with growing interest particularly through the notion of social capital. Using the insights of theorists such as Granovetter and Putnam (Granovetter, 1983; Putnam, 2000, 2001, 2007), I explore the underlying theories behind much of current thinking in this area. The fourth perspective involves a close examination of the concept of fraternity and a revision of the concept as a root metaphor in an understanding of democracy. While little has been heard specifically of fraternity per se in recent political literature, I shall argue that fraternity has to some extent become an unspoken value within the literature. It has been ‘smuggled’ back into modern social science discourse through newly emerging arguments of social capital (networks of trust, obligation and cooperation). The linkage I make between fraternity and democracy is not unknown in philosophy; fraternity has a long history in political life as a relationship between those bound together in ‘family’ groupings, bound by similarities and common heritage. As acknowledged

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throughout this book, part of this path has already been cleared through the work of theorists such as Gonthier, Barker, Fielding, Munoz-Dardé and Brunkhorst (Barker, 1951; Brunkhorst, 2005; Fielding, 1988; Gonthier, 2000; Munoz-Dardé, 1999). Nevertheless, I shall highlight a rather different aspect of the concept which I shall argue can help articulate how we can relate to others outside our immediate arena of concern. I shall not be considering a complete revision of the concept, taking it away from its existing meanings, but will be attempting to show how the history of the concept itself requires the move I will be suggesting here. The fifth perspective considers how this revised conception of fraternity can contribute to the discussion of school choice arguments through considering how schools can best be organized to promote, nurture and support this element of the civic relationship. I shall claim that when we consider what kind of a society the concept of democratic fraternity would embody, and the types of educational structure needed for its survival over generations, we may be led to reconsider our current method of organization of schooling. With these perspectives in mind, the main structure of my argument is as follows. Chapter  1 offers a coherent outline of the problem to be developed in the following chapters. As contemporary concerns about social cohesion centre on the role that education plays in realizing or damaging the possibility of a cohesive society (Green, 2009), this chapter draws attention to conceptual issues arising from social cohesion, drawing attention to the underpinning theories on association, social capital and belonging that permeate this text. It specifically highlights a ‘slippage in the thinking’ moving from community cohesion to social cohesion within much of the theorizing. Chapter 2 introduces the first of the metaphors for our social connectedness, that of personal friendship and outlines some necessary features of the concept. An outline of, and justification for, the general Aristotelian approach which underlies much of this literature is offered, together with a consideration of more recent challenges to this area. Friendship is then related to the Aristotelian notion of ‘the shared life’ as a prequel to considering it as a candidate for the civic bond. I elucidate that personal friendship requires personal contact and time spent to create the deep affection between friends. Chapter  3 extrapolates these features of friendship into the wider civic relationship. Starting from the long history of linking personal and civic friendship (Aristotle, NE, MacIntyre, 1985; Schwarzenbach, 2009), I situate this concept in its original historical context and subsequently explore its relevance in a modern liberal democracy. Chapters 2 and 3, when taken together, illustrate

Introduction

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some of the difficulties to be found when moving from particular relationships into the civic arena, even metaphorically, as such, a literal understanding of friendship cannot be a model for civic engagement. Critically, it goes some way to explaining why it is unlikely for community cohesion to easily expand into social cohesion. Chapter 4 starts from a consideration of loyalty as a model for the normative relationship between citizens (Fletcher, 1993; Oldenquist, 1982; Royce, 1908). After an exposition of the features of market metaphor in general, this chapter offers an account of the formation of loyalty before contrasting both civic loyalty and market loyalty in the field of education. Drawing on Albert Hirschman’s distinction between exit and voice and theories from market loyalty, I explore the implications for civic loyalty when the metaphor of market loyalty is in ascendance in educational parlance. I argue that civic loyalty is an essential component for social cohesion and as such, can be undermined by features of the market metaphor which serves to see ourselves as disconnected from others. Chapter 5 considers the bond of the family metaphor through that of fraternity, establishing the concept as both distinct and philosophically interesting in its own right as an imaginative way to embody some of our most revered values. Acknowledging some of the conceptual and practical difficulties it has in encapsulating civic relationships arising from a superficial consideration, I identify two contrasting spheres of fraternity and argue that democratic fraternity offers an alternative way to envision our civic engagement beyond the boundaries of family and friends. Many of the strongest criticisms of the usage of family metaphors comes from ‘feminist’ theorists (Clawson, 1980; Phillips, 1984, 1993; Schwarzenbach, 2009); it is important to both consider this critique seriously and counter the arguments by suggesting that by grounding fraternity in the conception of democracy itself, it can be ‘redeemed’ as a metaphoric sibling relationship. Chapter 6 steps back to develop the argument that all description of the civic relationship is necessarily metaphorical. Using Conceptual Metaphor Theory, based on the work of Lakoff and others (Lakoff and Johnson, 2003; Taylor, 2004) I argue that the metaphors we choose carry over images and values from one area to another enabling the discussion of basic political principle and consider the implications for education through the second and third questions set. If this holds, it is essential that the debate concerning socially cohesive ties is based upon a coherent view of the civic relationship using upon the best models available. In Chapter  7, I consider the implications for a democratic society which wants an appropriate education system that will nourish social cohesion against

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our current educational policies. If, when we consider what sort of structures would best enable us to meet our ends, and then reflect on how current policies of federations of schools, schools-within-schools, academies and ‘free schools’ function as possible first steps towards this, we may be forced to consider the ideal model of the common school. While structures are important in such considerations, we cannot neglect that what happens within the structure is equally important, hence I next explore what sort of pedagogy might best support social cohesion through a consideration of two increasingly popular approaches: The Just Community and Philosophy in Schools (Bleazby, 2006; Fisher, 2000; Kohlberg, 1985; Lind and Althof, 1992). Finally, in Chapter 8, I draw together the different strands of my argument and consider the implications of the arguments raised in this book. I argue that acknowledging the necessary rooting of the discourse within the domain of metaphor may shed new light on the dilemmas and issues affecting policy makers within the field of school choice.

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Social Cohesion

In 1994, 800,000 Rwandans were killed in the space of ten days. Most of the dead were Tutsis; most of the killers were Hutus. The two ethnic groups spoke the same language, lived in the same area and had the same traditions. Neighbours killed neighbours, encouraged by radio propaganda, the military, the police and other authorities.

Introduction Much of the concern surrounding issues of social cohesion has been attributed to the rise in social pluralism which, when taken together with the subsequent proliferation of group and social identities, has caused us to question how we can ensure such societies can hold together with a core set of values or principles common to all. The commonly held view is that the resulting increase in diversity of comprehensive commitments and theories creates tensions between groupings, which can lead to a fraying sense of ‘cohesion’. As this increasing diversity cannot be seen as a ‘transient phenomena’ (Stevens, 2001, p.  1), it naturally attracts a high political profile addressing concerns around possible social disintegration. There is, arguably, a dearth of material considering the topic from the philosophical point of view. This would be a curious omission, if true, in that this is perhaps, one of the fundamental topics in philosophy: a consideration of the relationship between the individual and the group. Liberals from Mills to Rawls have considered how the coexistence of persons and groups committed to different ends can be realized amidst these conditions. Despite the fact that social cohesion has attracted researchers over many years from different perspectives,

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many of the empirical texts considering the subject often lack a deep theoretical consideration of the concept itself and few empirical studies cite or refer to philosophical work in this area. The considerable flexibility in the usage of the term (often crossing a vast literature of equalities and exclusion, economic performance and democracy) has led to it being studied under a variety of guises: social capital theory, membership rates of organizations and civic participation, measures of trust, income distribution, ethnic homogeneity, senses of belonging to name but a few. Yet there continues to be no single way to define, determine or address the measurement of social cohesion as a unitary entity or to address concerns whether it functions as descriptive or as prescriptive of states of affairs. This chapter sets the stage for our part in that argument to proceed in several ways. The ideas outlined here on association, social capital and belonging form key ideas that will be returned to in future chapters, demonstrating how the philosophical concerns link to empirical findings in numerous ways, depending on the model adopted. In Section 1, a clear conceptualization of the concept is needed as a starting point: what does it mean for a society to be socially cohesive? Following this, in Section 2, we start to identify the relevance of these arguments for policy. Then, in Section 3, we consider how framing the argument in terms of ties of association and social capital theory impact on our understanding of how we envision and study the relationships between citizens in a socially cohesive society. This leads in turn to Section 4: what are the implications for a conceptualization of ‘belonging’ in this context? Do they then need further development to account for how we might belong? Might different models for our belonging imply different virtues, attitudes and dispositions? Finally, in Section 5, we identify gaps in the argument that subsequent chapters will throw fresh light onto from a philosophical perspective.

Section 1: What is social cohesion? Social cohesion has always been a disputed concept with numerous interpretations across literatures. This is not helped by the language surrounding issues of social cohesion often being ambiguous, open to interpretation and usage for a variety of purposes. For example, it can be used by the extreme right wing demanding a return to traditional values, by those who fear the individualism of the market metaphor or even by those who seek a more equal society. It can even be understood differently according to where you stand in society according to

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Pahl; those at the top confuse it with social control, whereas those at the bottom may be more concerned with issues of local identity against dominant groups (Pahl, 1991). Indeed, the very proliferation of definitions of social cohesion and areas in which it is studied adds to this confusion: as a multi-dimensional phenomenon; through micro-macro-interactions; as network theory among others. Where it is understood as collective identity (whether cultural or ethnic), the understanding of the concept tends to be directly linked to the function, usually: ‘to ensure that different groups get on well’ (CIC, 2007, p. 9). For example, Morreno and Jenkins defined it as ‘the forces holding the individuals within the groupings in which they are’, (Moreno and Jennings, 1937, p. 371), whereas Festinger defined it as ‘the resultant of all forces acting on the members of a group to remain in the group’ (Festinger, 1950, p.  274), (both cited in Friedkin, 2004). Again, Cartwright defined it as ‘the degree to which the members of a group desire to remain in the group’ (Cartwright, 1968, p. 91). Here, the focus is undoubtedly on social cohesion as membership – whether from the point of view of the group or of the individual member. This definitional confusion is not alleviated by more recent definitions: Green, Janmaat and Cheng define it as: ‘the property by which whole societies, and the individuals within them, are bound together through the action of specific attitudes, behaviours, rules and institutions which rely on consensus rather than pure coercion’ (Green et al., 2011, p. R6), whereas Jenson describes it as much more of a process than an end state: ‘involving a sense of commitment, and desire or capacity to live together in some harmony’ (Jenson, 1998, p. V). To some, it would be the stable society; here the shift in emphasis is towards the quality of life and issues of societal well-being. To others, social cohesion with a form of national unity, that in some way it describes how a nation acts as one. Others again would see it as the ‘equal society’, where each counts as one and none for more than one. Others, still, identify it as the well-ordered society, demonstrating toleration, civic co-operation among members. Crossing all of this is that having a strong shared identity is assumed to give motivation to participate in the life of the community, thus keeping the allegiance durable. Consider the following: a society needs unity for several interrelated reasons. Unless it is united and cohesive, it cannot act as a single community able either to take and enforce collectively binding decisions or to regulate and resolve inescapable conflicts between its constituent communities. It also needs unity and cohesion to provide a focus for collective self-consciousness, to encourage a sense of

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Philosophical Perspectives on Social Cohesion common belonging and citizenship, and to foster a spirit of shared national identity, without all of which its members lack mutual trust and goodwill and the willingness to make sacrifices and accept compromises required by the pursuit of the common good. (Parekh, 1996)

An obvious conclusion of all this is that part of the problem of social cohesion, is that it is so very widely used and rarely fully defined (Green et al., 2006). At a basic level, to talk of cohesion is to examine how something holds together, hence to talk of social cohesion is to talk about society holds together – indeed, a lack of cohesion is often identified with societies that are difficult to govern or unstable. A society would be considered to be cohesive that demonstrated a form of ‘social glue’ binding members of that society in some way each to another, when the associative bonds are strong enough to offer a level of mutual support and where civility exists. This ideal cohesive society is believed to depend on loyalties which citizens owe to each other through interdependency or solidarity of some form. The achievement of these cooperative behaviours desired in this cohesive society is considered to be more likely if among people who do not see each other as ‘strangers’ and who share some of the same norms and expectations of social life. It is usually taken from this that there appears to be a minimal level of ‘value consensus’ needed to support stability in society and enable it to handle conflict. In other words, social cohesion is said to be ‘high’ when nearly every member of a society ascribes to the same ‘rules of the game’.1 Whatever social cohesion is, it draws on the language of boundaries – a body of people bound together in some undefined way – and as such indicates those outside the bond as much as those joined together. Much of the empirical literature on the subject tends to fall into three distinct groups: as inclusion/exclusion from society (economic), as a study of institutions and governance (political) or as association, networks and belonging (sociocultural) all of which are interlinked in particular ways. In characterizing the subject so broadly, it is little wonder, perhaps, that in so many cases, it has become a ‘buzz word’ across political spectrums, all of which can equally claim ownership and attach it to their policies in one form or another. Nevertheless, all the literature agrees that social cohesion entails a sense that individuals are members of the same society: that a sense of belonging is important. Indeed, it is fairly symptomatic of the general literature domain that many suggested measures of social cohesion appear to encompass not just the forces acting on the group, but also the interpersonal ties between members (Lott and Lott,

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1965) or even the attitudes and beliefs of group members (Hogg, 1992). Take the following as a typical example: Groups are cohesive when group-level conditions are producing positive membership attitudes and behaviors and when group members’ interpersonal interactions are operating to maintain these group level conditions. Thus, cohesive groups are self-maintaining with respect to the production of strong membership attractions and attachments. (Friedkin, 2004, p. 410)

Interestingly, much of the literature here focusses on the attraction of the individual towards the group, centring round a form of loyalty. It is not possible to give a complete reading of the extensive literature and theorizing that has evolved over the past few decades in social cohesion: that would make this a very different book, belonging to a different realm of discourse altogether and offer little different to numerous existing texts. What can, however, be taken from this outline, is that social cohesion can be used to refer to some underlying sense of ‘community’ in a society and a degree of support for collective action (Corak et al., 2002) or an idea of an organic bond between members (Lepineux, 2005); that the term can vacillate between being a merely descriptive term, to being a value-laden or normative term. What is particularly pertinent in all of this for our purposes is the way in which it leads us to consider ‘the good life’ at societal level.

Section 2: Social cohesion and policy It is generally agreed in the philosophical literature linked to this discourse that some form of cohesion needs to be a consideration of any society that wishes to remain viable, maintaining itself over generations (Levinson, 1997)  and that some form of social cooperation is necessary to enable citizens to lead an acceptable life. This is supported and reflected in the empirical research across the research fields, forming the basis of governmental policy with good reason. A widely held belief underpinning much of this policy, according to Pahl, is that those societies: ‘. . . which have better organised reciprocities and civic solidarity also have better schools, faster economic growth, better health and well-being and more effective government. The precise social mechanisms which underlie such correlations are not yet very clear’ (Pahl, 2000, p.  6). It is often for this reason that the task of building socially cohesive societies is often linked to economic success in the minds of governments. For example,

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Easterly et al. argue socially cohesive societies historically have always grown faster than non-socially cohesive societies (Easterly et  al., 2006). Comparing data from a variety of international sources on previous global recessions, Easterly et al. reach three conclusions: first, that states with a common language have an advantage over those that are linguistically fragmented in terms of cohesion; secondly, that more equal societies are associated with a greater sense of well-being: large divides based on class or inequalities between an elite and the masses can negatively affect cohesion. Thirdly, and for our purposes, most importantly, that education plays a significant role in enhancing social cohesion. These factors, when taken together, undoubtedly explain why the promotion and maintenance of social cohesion has risen higher on governments’ agendas over the past decades. Social cohesion is not a new concept. French sociologist Emile Durkheim is often credited in general with the first usage of the concept ‘cohésion sociale’ in 1893 (Durkheim, 1893/1998 ). Here, he claimed that modern societies, with the growing dependency on the complex division of labour (diversity) created a more organic society promoting social cohesion, more so than traditional societies wherein a more homogenous, common heritage and values within the group would be found. The move from ‘mechanical solidarity’ in societies where life was lived ‘face-to-face’, to the new forms of ‘organic solidarity’ based on the need for the mutual interdependencies of the division of labour, led to an erosion of the close-binding ties between tight knit communities: a move from society based on relationships to one based on contract. Ratcliffe identifies the catalyst for disquiet on matters of cohesion as arising with the arrival of mass migration, particularly the Huguenots after 1685 and the Jewish migrants of the nineteenth century among many others (Ratcliffe, 2011). While the term itself has a long history, it achieved cross-over into common parlance linked with the work of Pierre Bourdieu and Ekkehart Schlicht in the 1980s, but more specifically for the purposes of this text, with the work of Robert Putnam with his bestseller Bowling Alone (Putnam, 2000). The topic started to become ‘policy rich’ in 1996 with the OECD (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development) calling for members to consider the impact on social cohesion of such factors such as high or persistent unemployment, the role of the public sector, social participation and social expenditures at a time of social policy reform (OECD, 1996). The first EU Strategy on Social Cohesion, drafted in 2000 and ratified by member states in 2004, is particularly of interest in evidencing a shift in focus from social policymaking to a greater attention to the role of diversity and potential threats to

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social stability: ‘.  .  . social cohesion is the capacity of a society to ensure the welfare of all its members, minimising disparities and avoiding polarisation. A cohesive society is a mutually supportive community of free individuals pursuing these common goals by democratic means’ (CDCS, 2004, p. 3). Here we can see how the term has almost become shorthand for ‘the good society’ with a linkage to the democratic process. What is pertinent however is the way in which the European discourse promotes a much broader conception of societal cohesion as opposed to in the United Kingdom, wherein community cohesion became the preferred discourse (that societal cohesion is somehow achieved by creating and nourishing strong local communities):2 By community cohesion, we mean working towards a society in which there is a common vision and sense of belonging by all communities; a society in which the diversity of people’s backgrounds and circumstances is appreciated and valued; a society in which similar life opportunities are available to all; and a society in which strong and positive relationships exist and continue to be developed in the workplace, in schools and in the wider community (DCSF, 2007, p. 3)3

In the United Kingdom, the concept achieved particular prominence in governmental thinking following the social unrest and outbreaks of civil disturbances in 2001. For example, the Cantle Report on Community Cohesion of 2001, in response to the riots in Bradford, Burnley and Oldham, highlighted the growing segregation of housing, schooling and employment and a growing unease as to the effects of this on cohesion: ‘. . . many communities operate on the basis of a series of parallel lives. Often, these lives did not seem to touch at any point, let  alone overlap and promote any meaningful interchanges’ (cited in Cantle, 2001, p. 9). What is important in this example is that high levels of segregation, inequalities of access to social and welfare benefits, cultural, social and religious differences are seen to be among the main causes of the riots: that those things that divide and separate people, that fragment us into disparate groupings, may then have social consequences for our sense of common belonging. By characterizing the problem in this way, cohesion is then placed in opposition to the ‘broken’ or fragmented society.4 These quoted words from the Cantle Report, which rapidly gained notoriety in press reports, came to symbolize a tendency to model civic society on how communities and their networks hold together – literally face-to-face encounters. Ratcliffe and Newman attribute the resulting assumption that the way to create the cohesive society would be through the creation of cohesive communities (that one necessarily leads to the other),

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to the growing interest in social capital theory and on associational relationships (Ratcliffe and Newman, 2011) to which we now turn.

Section 3: Associational bonds The political community has often been understood in terms of human relationships (Honohan, 2008). The capacity to achieve attachments over and above any narrow grouping/tradition and the commitment to communicate over multiple loyalties can be argued to be critical factors holding a democracy together (Darlington-Hammond, 1997). Democracy requires a level of ‘peoplehood’, a sense of ‘we’, more than other forms of government by its very nature. It offers a vision of all the people being included in governing themselves in the ideal. The move to a ‘we’ (first person plural) and away from a ‘you’ is towards an inclusion and away from exclusion. The question is not just one of current utility, but one of the expressions of our commitments of interconnectedness. The past decade has seen a growth in empirical studies looking at the idea of civic engagement and the effects this has in other areas. The central thesis to such empirical studies is that relationships and networks of relationships matter: that civic engagement, in some way, can be closely related to societal cohesion. Within the more traditional social sciences, studies of social cohesion start from the assumption that by studying the underlying patterns of the bonds, ties and interconnections between people that hold groups together, we can gain insight into society itself. It is these factors that have made social cohesion (and its polar opposite social fragmentation) a major feature in work on equality issues, integration, network theory, social capital and social policy. Let us briefly examine three areas that have particular resonance for this project and to which the following chapters refer  – social networks, social capital theory and civic engagement. According to the work of Granovetter, in one of the most influential of social networks papers, one of the characteristics of close primary relationships is their interdependence (Granovetter, 1983). Our social networks of primary relationships tend to be with mutual others. We usually know the friends of our friends, or they are similar sociologically: of similar ethnic origin, religion, social standing. Secondary relationships, on the other hand, being weaker ties, do not have so much overlap: we may not know the friends or the networks of these distant others. The strength of these ties is usually decided on by taking into account the amount of time characterized by the tie, the intimacy encouraged, the

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reciprocity and emotional intensity found within the relationship. The stronger the tie between two people, the greater percentage of people to whom they are both tied (‘the friends of my friends’). Ties, of course can become stronger or weaker as the relationship develops or changes over time. People can and do enter and leave a variety of relationships for many reasons: changes in circumstances, falling out, loss of initial interest etc. Significantly for our purposes, strong ties draw us together with similar others and to some extent, exclude distant others. However, the weaker ties are argued to be those that open us up to others in the wider community.5 Labaree, in discussing Granovetter, claims: Weak ties are what hold societies together in a complex web of connections and interactions, which make up in number and richness what they lack in intensity and duration .  .  . A rich network of weak ties is therefore the essential basis upon which citizens can construct a sense of public education as a public good. (Labaree, 2000, p. 128)

The ability to develop these important secondary relationships (or weaker ties) becomes diminished if we choose to only associate with similar others. These weak ties to a larger, wider society give us good reason to view education and state schooling as having a crucial role to play in both developing and nourishing opportunities to bring about these ties. It gives us the opportunity to meet, mingle and meld with those who may be different. This becomes more pertinent when it refers to schools of a particular kind, ones that are open to the public without restriction based on faith, finance or ability. The concept of social capital has been subject to much research for many years as a useful way of entering into dialogue for modelling civic society across many subject boundaries. Social capital is the term used to denote the benefits that accrue from our social interactions and relationships: the support mechanisms, access to information, the reciprocities, the connections that prove useful etc. This tends to be measured by membership of groups, trust and trustworthiness and adherence to moral rules or cultural values.6 It is taken very seriously in governmental circles as witnessed by a recent European Commission on the subject (Aldridge, 2002) and World Bank studies as being an important indicator of economic performance, impacting on health, education and crime. Here, Putnam’s definition of social capital can be seen to link to our philosophical concerns: connections among individuals – social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them. In that sense social capital is closely

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Philosophical Perspectives on Social Cohesion related to what some have called ‘civic virtue’. The difference is that ‘social capital’ calls attention to the fact that civic virtue is most powerful when embedded in a dense network of reciprocal social relations. A society of many virtuous but isolated individuals is not necessarily rich in social capital. (Putnam, 2000, p. 19)

The analysis of social relationships within this domain suggests three distinct categorizations of association: bonding, bridging and linking. Bonding social capital holds people together in groups and is characterized by strong ties usually within a homogenous community which shares a common identity usually within families or ethnic groups. It also refers to those close relationships to people like yourself: friends, work colleagues, people we turn to for help in a crisis in our personal life. These are the personal ties we need to lead a happy, flourishing life. Bridging social capital, on the other hand, allows us to connect across diversity. It is believed to enable reciprocity of generalized trust and to enable economic transactions to take place between strangers. This tends to be characterized as weaker links, loosely shared values within more heterogeneous relationships across social and ethnic groups, people who are not like you in some sense; they may be names in your email or address system who you rarely contact but who may be essential to your professional life. A certain level of bonding social capital is need for bridging to emerge. Finally, linking social capital occurs when such relationships cross social classes and/or power structures. A person’s ability to get things done, to seek advantage relies on these ties to these elites (van Staveren and Knorringa, 2006). These categorizations of associational bonds are potentially useful ways of understanding the utility of cooperative social networking relationships. The idea of civic engagement and the effects this has in other areas has received much attention in empirical studies over the past decade. While social scientists continue to gather evidence on the fraying of the ‘social fabric’ that makes a society, many of these studies argue that having a certain level of shared purposes and values is a requirement to sustain all interactions and relationships of trust. Robert Putnam has been examining the gradual disappearance of these joint ventures in civic and social life where citizens came together whether through social activities or civic engagement in the US for many years. In 2000, he published the largest, most comprehensive study of the phenomenon of civic erosion, Bowling Alone (Putnam, 2000). Using the example of bowling, he pointed out that while as many Americans were going bowling as in the 1950s, they were no longer joining bowling clubs – they were figuratively ‘bowling alone’.

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People were less deeply connected in the lives of their communities than post war, less civically engaged and less likely to vote. This highly influential work on associational membership argues that this element is key to building the socially cohesive society: those that join societies tend to be more politically engaged and exhibit higher levels of social trust (Brehm and Rahn, 1997; Putnam, 2000). Interestingly, Putnam did a follow-up study (less widely reported) in 2002 after the effects of 9/11 (Putnam, 2002) wherein he found that some elements of civic engagement were ‘repairing’ themselves as crisis brought the nation together (e.g. trust of government; unity). The ‘bowling alone’ phenomenon, showing the erosion of this particular element of civic life, over generations, is not limited to the United States. In 2002, a study by the Performance and Innovation Unit in the United Kingdom indicated a link could be shown between civic engagement and economic and business performance (Aldridge, 2002). A certain level of civic engagement would thus appear to affect not only individual well-being and life chances, but possibly the capacity to be a public. Interestingly, Putnam cites schools as one of the most important sites for building particular types of social capital, a crucial component in discussion of the utility of social relationships (Putnam, 2001). Where the relationships and mix of people are restricted through school choice systems, it is argued that our collective well-being is also negatively affected. Yet even theorists within the field acknowledge that all too often there is a lack of clarity and blurring of boundaries between the ways in which associations and organizations within the society prove vital to the production of social capital and the upholding of democracy (Putnam, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2007). However we define these associational bonds, whatever names we give them, they are an important part of both our psyche and how we choose to live our lives. The first observation from this would be that to feel bonded with others requires both a recognition and a disposition of a particular kind – a sense of belonging together. In addition, it also carries an inclination towards action or of working with others on shared interests based on the bond itself. It is important to note that some of these interests are short lived and may require a particular form of cooperative working such as that of workers at Visteon, who undertook a rooftop occupation on losing their jobs at the firm; or the workers in Woippy, France who, in protest at plant closure in 2009, ‘boss-napped’ five managers of FM Logistic.7 While these individuals are unlikely to share all of their interests in common, what is pertinent here is that the common problem they all faced motivated a common response. Once the interest or problem ceases to exist, the bond supporting the action is likely to fray and dissolve.

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The second observation would be that with specifically civic bonds, we are indicating the particular group that we are bound to in a complex web of mutual responsibilities and obligations going beyond one defined problem. For us to survive and flourish, and to generate reasons for cooperative behaviour, we need to see ourselves as bonded together. The civic bond marks out the grouping to be of special concern, thus grounding an obligation that I should, in some way, treat them differently than I treat those I am not bound to. The bonds themselves are presumed to indicate different normative claims of how we should live. The crucial point here is that different levels of attachment are believed to make particular claims on us as moral agents. One point arising from this highlights not just the recognition of the complexity of the problems involved, but the interlinking with considerations of how we might ‘belong’.

Section 4: Belonging The belief that human beings are motivated to form and maintain relationships and bonds with others, has a long history in philosophy, psychology and the human sciences (Ainsworth, 1988; Aristotle, NE; Baumeister and Leary, 1995; Bowlby, 1969; Sullivan, 1953). Recent studies in neuroscience seem to indicate that our brains have evolved to cope with group living; in other words we may have a biological precondition to trust each other through cooperative living (Grimes, 2003). The most notable contribution of this approach is that social bonding and other trust relationships appear to depend upon the production of a chemical in the brain, oxytocin and neuroactive hormones. Such chemicals act as ‘social glue’, enabling individuals to engage in trust-bond relationships and thus live in social groups (Broad et  al., 2006; Zak and Fakhar, 2006). While this empirical research (neuroeconomics) is obviously in its infancy and requires further development, at present it is still limited in both its outreach and analysis, yet it holds a future possibility of supporting a normative appraisal in this area. The need for citizens to identify with others and consider their fellow citizens has long been identified with creating the conditions under which we become willing to sacrifice some of our resources for the benefit of others. These ‘ties of solidarity’, as they are often referred to, give rise to a sense of belonging to large groupings. The basic belief is that when sufficient numbers of citizens share a sense of belonging to same political community, it strengthens our sense of cohesion (Leydet, 2006a). Those who feel part of the group are more likely to

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feel a sense of connectedness – to develop trust, respect etc (Ramodungoane and Aalome, 2010). The problem for social cohesion is that when the sense of citizens’ common belonging blurs or frays, it may adversely affect their willingness to compromise on important issues or to sacrifice for the collective good. The question of belonging, and the priority of attachments making claims on moral agents, has framed numerous discussions in numerous areas of contemporary theory. Indeed, questions of belonging, and the ‘politics of belonging’, are among the most complex that confront us. The question of priority of attachment runs through much of modern political and moral theory. Recent developments in ethical theory have highlighted relationships as an ‘important element of our moral landscape’ (Mokrosinska, 2012, p. 67). Significantly, the way in which we envision the bond of belonging draws attention to particular commitments and claims: ‘If they are predominantly derived from relationships of family or friendship, for example they support the impression that solidarity is based on close, face-to-face, emotionally charged relationships and that these dimensions of relationship are mutually entailed’ (Honohan, 2008, p. 70). While arguments for particular obligations are commonly made for relationships between intimates such as family and friends (e.g. Mason, 1997; Meyer, 1992), there have been considerable moves to extend the range of these to those outside this intimacy – to neighbours, colleagues, members of the same ethnic or religious grouping. Others seek to extend these further still – to encompass citizenship, seeing belonging as ‘a “thicker” concept than that of citizenship’ (Kannabiran et al., 2006, p. 189). Belonging intersects with many of our conceptualizations of personal and national identity, having multiple manifestations over a broad range of debates and has been the focus of much policy related to cohesion (e.g. DCLG, 2009) yet remains deeply controversial. While belonging may be ‘back on the agenda’ (Antonsich, 2010, p. 652), it is often vaguely defined. For some, it intersects with concerns on identity and citizenship, for others it links more clearly to theories of place and inclusion/exclusion. Four general claims are commonly referenced to justify this need for belonging: first, to avoid alienation from political institutions (when we identify with major institutions and practices, we are more likely to accept their authority to resolve differences or conflicts of interest when they arise); secondly to support the stability of liberal institutions through shared national identity; thirdly to enable compromise based on civic trust in the face of conflicting interests; fourthly as the basis for social justice and redistribution of resources (Mason, 2000).

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A more nuanced understanding of belonging is emerging whereby it is no longer seen as a fixed unitary factor and has become a much richer acknowledgement of the possibility of multiple belongings, coupled with an acknowledgement of a psychological aspect to social cohesion. The work of theorists such as Yuval-Davis and Antonsich, for example, draw attention to a distinction between the feeling of belonging (the emotional attachment, a feeling of ‘at home’) and membership belonging (the politics of belonging, often connected with issues of identity and citizenship) (Antonsich, 2010; Yuval-Davis et  al., 2005). However, just as being a member of the state no longer implies membership of the nation (Antonsich, 2009), it is logically possible to belong to a polity (in that one is a citizen of a state – one has formal belonging) to identify with most of most of its major institutions and yet not have any real sense that they belong together. Similarly, one can feel connected to the community and yet lack formal membership and citizenship rights (the problem of ‘unpapered’ persons). Richard Race reminds us that metaphors abound to enable us to discuss our belonging and how it might be achieved (Race, 2011). For example, until the 1980s, it was customary to speak of the American experience of creating the nation in the metaphorical language of the melting pot: that all different peoples became Americans by blending together into one whole as in a cooking pot: assimilation into the existing culture (Race, 2011). To expand the metaphor: in a melting pot, all the ingredients lose some of their own identity in mixing together, in the blending and mixing, they become a new reality. Since then, further metaphors have evolved: America as ‘the salad bowl’, whereby each keeps their individual identity but forms part of a larger body. Consider this metaphor further: all the ingredients of a salad contribute towards the end product – they can all be seen for what they are (the tomato, the lettuce, the onion), but still form part of the same salad. Transpose this metaphor to the political scene and we get the hyphenated citizen: Irish–American, Italian–American etc. With this metaphor, the newcomers retain their own national characteristics while integrating into a new society. What is interesting here is that both the newcomers and existing society are changed to varying degrees. Two contrasting images, melting pot and salad bowl, represent two contrasting kinds of loyalty. The melting pot only allows the vertical loyalty to the new state and requires the abandonment of previous ones; the salad bowl encourages both the vertical to the new state, but also permits horizontal loyalties to previous commitments. To this can be added the ‘mosiac’ nation, considered to be more multicultural and pluralistic than the ‘assimilationist’ melting pot metaphor (Race, 2011). In the mosiac metaphor,

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commonly used in Canada and similar to the salad bowl, people retain their ethnic and cultural heritage, but also view their sense of belonging to be to a larger grouping in which diversity is seen as tiles of a mosiac: the mosaic cannot exist nor can the pattern be observed without all the constitutive parts. ‘Belonging’ is not just a question of straight-forward participation in the practices of a democracy but raises two further questions concerning the models of connectedness adopted. First, the problem of boundaries: all conceptualizations have to account for the difficulties surrounding issues of inclusion and exclusion – who counts as one of ‘us’ – upheld by maintaining the boundaries between in-groups and out-groups (Honohan, 2008). The feeling of belonging is always associated with presuming a ‘they’ – those who do not belong; inclusion has as its shadow, exclusion. This emphasis on inclusion/exclusion not only addresses issues of ‘membership’, but considers how these may impact on a ‘life lived together’. Secondly, the problem of what is commonly referred to as ‘solidarity’ (that such relationships must be seen in terms of a ‘commonality’ between individuals, usually based on ethnic or cultural commonality): how do we account for the mutual commitments between those included within the identified sphere? A second tangential theme in this literature addressing belonging pinpoints the role of inequalities in undermining cohesion and fragmenting feelings of solidarity. Where vast inequalities exist, a society is assumed to become unstable and/or be less cohesive. Education is then typically seen as a means by which such inequalities can be narrowed and the provision of free high quality education plays an important role in achieving this (OECD, 2011). Where inequality and ‘distance’ between citizens are identified as evidencing a lack of social cohesion, it would have the implication that there may be something important about where and how we are educated together, not only as this is where we meet other diverse people, but also because schools are often where we form the attitudes and habits we carry through life. The relevance of this literature will become clearer in the chapter on fraternity.

Section 5: Conclusion What we can conclude from this discussion, however, is that the socially cohesive society in a liberal democratic country must demonstrate particular features: democracy must be a fundamental value of both policy and practice; there must be a sense of belonging and an inbuilt impetus to reduce inequality

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within that society in support of cohesion; it should entail our ‘personhood’ and understanding of how we see ourselves and our relations with others. Given that schools and education systems can be the greatest opportunity for intervention in securing the right kind of future citizens, correcting or ameliorating some of the more intolerant attitudes and equally as a possible site for reinforcement of family private values and experiences (Kymlicka, 2002), it is only to be expected that they play a role in the ongoing debate on social cohesion. With this in mind, when applied to the issues of social cohesion and school choice, the problem can be understood as not just the effects of other people’s choices on the whole public, but one of the very creation of a public. Where the relationships and mix of people are restricted, it is argued that our collective well-being is also negatively affected. This raises particular difficulties when applied to questions of school provision: do some choice systems undermine our parallel desires for social cohesion and social well-being? Nevertheless, there are decided gaps that can be identified in these arguments. First, the concentration on social bonds may not cover the same ground as civic bonds: while there undoubtedly is considerable overlap between the two, by failing to distinguish between them, we risk missing important elements that may be particular to just one area. Social cohesion may not be the same thing as societal cohesion. Secondly, the way in which bonds of association convert into macro-level bonds has yet to be properly demonstrated (problems inherent in this position have been voiced by those in the social sciences themselves (Gaffikin and Morrissey, 2011; Green et al., 2006, among others)). Despite this, the assumption that community cohesion will somehow transfer into social or societal cohesion continues to play a large role in governmental policy making.8 Thirdly, there can be a lack of consideration as to the model of bond that best encapsulates the civic relationship, allowing us to speak of the collective as being a ‘we’. As Chapters 6 and 7 clearly demonstrate, different models encapsulate a particular vision of how we might envisage our collective life and create a sympathetic education system to support such a vision. Fourthly, our understanding of social cohesion and stability of societies tends to have a causal dimension: that one necessarily leads to the other. Yet it somehow seems incoherent to claim otherwise than that even fairly homogenous communities contain considerable varieties of commitments, values and traditions. Neither should we automatically assume that social cohesion alone is the answer to the problem of stability and/or diversity. The recent ‘Arab Spring’ in many middle eastern countries illustrated for many that even seemingly cohesive societies might still contain conflict and division as to how the society should be governed or could be conceived.

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A central focus in what follows in future chapters is that the quintessentially metaphoric nature of how we envision associational bonds within conceptions of social cohesion, and the choice of metaphor of belonging used, can dominate and change the narrative in hidden ways. Horton argues that: ‘Our membership of a particular polity not only shapes our lives in a causal sense, it also enters conceptually and morally into the way we think about ourselves, our relationships with others, in what we feel and how we think about what we should do’ (Horton, 2007, p. 4). It is important to note that the way we view and think of our fellow citizens, the models we use for the civic relationship, are often reflected in the way we organize our social life. The disputed area of ‘special ties’ in our moral thinking underpins this exploration of three particular attachments (friendship, family and market) and their claims upon us. These different lenses, and the subsequent language employed, cross and negotiate boundaries of the political, social and economic in complex ways. Each metaphor for the bond highlights particular elements of the relationship that we judge to be of value; each one generates different commitments and aspirations for how we ought to live. As metaphor is the very language and substance of politics, it matters greatly as to which metaphor is used. It thus seems reasonable to assume that some metaphors for the ties and responsibilities between citizens are better than others. How this comes about and the implications for how we model these bonds will form the background in what follows.

2

A Concept of Friendship

In 2005, President George Bush nominated his friend and personal lawyer, Harriet Miers, for the job of Associate Justice of the US Supreme Court. The nomination met with stiff opposition from all sides of the political spectrum. Miers, who had previously been a corporate lawyer with no experience as a judge, was generally considered to be unqualified for this crucial role. Suspicions were voiced that her appointment to such a key post was being made on the grounds of her friendship with the president, and as such, was inappropriate.1

Introduction The concept of friendship has been regularly rediscovered and reinterpreted in a wide range of moral, ethical and political problems from Aristotle to Helm (Aristotle, NE; Helm, 2010). While the majority of this philosophical attention has focussed on interpretations of the Aristotelian typology of friendship (Pangle, 2003; Sherman, 1987), there have been numerous moves to re-centre the concept in line with emerging psychological, sociological and anthropological findings and interpretations (Gilbert, 1991; Pahl, 2000). Others have sought to use friendship as a heuristic device for discussing the political relationship between peoples (Cocking and Kennett, 2002; Hansot, 2000; Jenkins, 1999). Still others have concentrated on friendship as a model for morality (Blum, 1993; Cocking and Kennett, 2000; White, R. 1999). What has become clear from all of this is that ‘friendship’ is rapidly becoming a live topic. There is much empirical evidence linking the concept closely to conceptual frameworks of our personal well-being: that leading a happier, healthier life is

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dependent on the quantity and quality of our friendships (Pahl, 2000; Pahl and Spencer, 1997). This link to our personal well-being suggests that being with others is not only connected to our sense of self and who we are, but an essential part of being human or, as Patricia White puts it, friendship simply makes life go better (White, 1996). Although modern life has a tendency to see all kinds of amicable relationships as friendships, it is typically used in philosophy to only refer to relationships of a particular kind. In some interpretations, it has come to be seen as part of the common morality that applies to everyone, regardless of other personal values, thus elevating friendship to ‘an ethical ideal’. Could such a study of friendship throw light upon the bond needed to support the socially cohesive society? When discussing how humans relate to each other in society to elucidate the model of belonging, it is customary to go back to the simplest forms of relationship, that of family and friends. It is presumed that by studying these intimate relationships, one can learn and extrapolate from these to consider wider, looser forms of human interconnectedness (Macmurray, 1961). Philosophical studies of friendship tend to start with the work of Aristotle wherein one finds one of the richest treatments of the concept. All standard treatments of Aristotle, according to Cooper, point out that the Greek word ‘philia’ has a far wider range of meaning than our word ‘friendship’, covering intimate relationships, family relationships and what is commonly termed ‘civic friendship’ (Cooper, 1977a,b, 1999; MacIntyre, 1985). It is important to remember that this term is not reserved for voluntary relationships in Greek thought. This, in itself, makes it difficult to be sure exactly what it is that is being compared (King and Devere, 2000). The Aristotelian model of friendship draws a particular link between the personal and the civic. Not only does Aristotle hold that intimate relationships are a necessary part of the flourishing life (Aristotle, NE, 1155a5–20), but that civic friendship is ‘an essential human good’ (Cooper, 1977a, p. 622). Not only does one need to have personal friendships that have common, shared activities at the heart of the relationship, but fellow citizens should be predisposed to wish and do each other well (Aristotle, 1156a5). Tying together the two forms of friendship has a long line in political philosophy, from Aristotle to MacIntyre (Aristotle, MacIntyre, 1985; Schall, 1996; Schollmeier, 1994; Schwarzenbach, 1996, 2005). It can be a useful analogy to make in that it allows us to consider what draws people together, to look at issues of sameness or difference, to examine whether bonds of friendship between people can rest on matters other than shared values, goals and similar personalities. It is in this respect that friendship, as a metaphor, may approximate the desire for social cohesion.

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In this chapter, I seek to ground the concept of personal friendship through illustrating particular features and understandings prior to examining the concept as a metaphor for the civic relationship in the next chapter. Section 1 thus begins with an examination of the nature of friendship, looking at the features identified within the concept. Section 2 then considers the contribution to this area of Aristotle on the importance of friendship in the flourishing life of the individual and the forms of friendship. Section 3 explores the view that friendship is concerned with the concept of self as a moral being. Section 4 continues by further considering a conception of virtue friendship, concentrating on the features of Partiality, Trust, Equality, a Shared History and Reciprocity/Mutual Aid. In Section 5, draws together the features of friendship and suggest why this topic may be receiving current attention as a possible model for relationships within the civic sphere.

Section 1: The nature of friendship Friendship is an intriguing relationship, central in many considerations of personal well-being, which makes its neglect in public life all the more remarkable. Unlike relationships such as marriage, we rarely have public ceremonies to mark either the start or the demise of friendships (White, R. 1999). Despite this, we value our friendships dearly, not just for what they provide for us, but seeing our deepest friendships as having value in and of themselves in ‘a life lived together’. It is, perhaps, this element that encourages Pahl to refer to friendship as ‘a metaphor for morality’ (Pahl, 2000, p. 86), or that leads to claims that friendship ‘introduces a moral element into our behaviour with non-kin’ (Healy, 2011b, p. 443). At a basic level, the concept requires the existence of another person – one cannot be a friend in on one’s own, or as Goering puts it: ‘Friendship requires two consenting parties’ (Goering, 2003, p.  402). Friendship excludes a onesided relationship  – it has to be mutual and reciprocal. Unlike some other social relationships (such as marriage), there is no expectation of exclusivity in friendship: you can have more than one friend – it is often this element that very young children find hard to grasp or accept and can give rise to many problems in the early years of school. The dyadic relationship between each pairing is unique – similarly, there is no requirement to befriend the friends of friends. For example, Jane’s friend is Janet; Janet is also friends with Jo, but Jo may not even know Jane. Although it can be noted that friendships do exist between more than two, it should also be noted that they are not the same friendship.

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To the modern era, the ancient Greek practice of including a wide variety of relationships from intimate relationships between lovers, to casual relationships between fellow citizens all under the same term ‘philia’ seems somehow odd. While seemingly disparate and wide-ranging, what they all have in common is a sense of known, reciprocated goodwill between people, having both an affective and action generated dimension (Penha Pereira, 2006). It should be noted, however, that friendship differs from other goodwill relationships that might exist between colleagues and other interpersonal relationships, being a deeper, more intimate relationship (Helm, 2005). Friendship is undoubtedly preferential: we prefer some people to others; moreover, it must exclude some from the relationship – there are boundaries. It is not just an emotional attachment to another but also has implications for the status of that relationship: friendship is a privileged relationship, much sought after for the voluntary ties of association, recognition and mutual support. To call someone a friend is to acknowledge the relationship in particular ways: first, there is an evaluative element to the label – it shows the person to have a value to us above non-friends (that they are somehow ‘special’) but secondly, it gives some understanding about ways in which the dyad should behave towards each other (this partiality is one of the reasons the area has attracted such attention in recent years as will be explored later). Central to this, is that the emotional attachment has to be one of affection; for some philosophers, it is a form of love (Thomas, 1987, 1993). Friendships are not the kind of things that can be forced on someone by a third party (hence demands by parents of young children that their child befriend a particular child rarely have the desired outcome). They are essentially voluntary relationships, entered into by the persons concerned without written agreements or agendas: A relationship that is forced or assigned is not a friendship. Familial connections do not constitute friendship for this reason. We are born into families, and then we may choose to act in ways that acknowledge or ignore the unchosen relationships. Family members may become our friends, but they are not friends simply in virtue of their familial relation. (Goering, 2003, p. 402)

This emphasis on the voluntary nature of friendship becomes a crucial factor in considering how the metaphor expands outwards to the civic community (see Chapter 3). Friendship is a long-term rather than an instant relationship: there is rarely a moment at which we can say ‘now we are friends’. One cannot simply decide

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to be friends  – and then suddenly be friends  – that is to misunderstand how friendship evolves and comes to be. Few of us can recall how we ‘acquired’ our friends; some friendships we seem to fall into, others take more time and energy. We may choose our friends for many reasons: on the basis of shared interests, similarities or mutual pleasures. Maybe they are people we met at work, or at school, or through other mutual friends. Certain features are accepted in the considerable empirical literature as being critical to this choice: proximity (we come into contact with them on a regular basis); reciprocal affection (that both parties actually like each other); on the basis of some shared interests; sometimes, even physical attractiveness (the ‘look’ of them) or that they may be useful to us in some way – ‘strategic friendships’ (Furnham, 1989; Goering, 2003; Helm, 2005; Schutte and Light, 1978). Philosophy, however, considers friendship differently.

Section 2: Aristotle and friendship The ancient Greeks held friendship to be a virtuous, moral activity, revering it as a way of building character. Aristotle, for example, gives more space to a consideration of friendship than to other personal virtues, suggesting that being with others is not only desirable but also a fundamental condition of what it is to lead a flourishing life (Aristotle, 1155a5–20). It is generally accepted that the person without friends is less well off than the person with friends, with Aristotle going as far as to claim that no one would choose to live without friends, even if he had all other goods (Aristotle, 1155a5). Within the Aristotelian model, friendship is defined as recognized, reciprocal goodwill (Aristotle, 1155a30–35). Central to this Aristotelian model is the division of the concept into three categories – utility, pleasure and virtue friendships.2 The following section will take each of these sub-divisions in turn, highlighting and focussing in on a deeper understanding of this model which has proven central to much of subsequent thinking on the concept.

Friendships of utility If one were to summarize utility friendships, three general points usually arise. First, in utility friendships, each only loves the other incidentally, for the good they can get from each other. Secondly, because these friendships are based on personal interest, they are, of all friendships, the most easily dissolved. Take for example two colleagues, Ricky and Nikki, who work together at the

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same school. Suppose it fits their purpose to share a car to get to work. This car sharing forms the reason they have come together. They get on agreeably and try to fit in with each other’s timetables to enable their travel plans to coincide. Suppose one of them moves job to another school where it is no longer possible for the pair to share their travel arrangements. Now that the purpose that defined their ‘friendship’ no longer exists, the chances are that the two will no longer be the same sort of friends and will gradually drift apart. The friendship existed based on the purpose of utility – it was useful to both parties. This, in turn, gives rise to the third point: because what is useful to us can change over time and because we cannot depend on the utility derived from others these forms of friendship may equally quickly fall apart as circumstances change. Such friendships of utility are frequently found among those who are opposites. For example the colleague with a car, and the one who needs a lift; the friend who can cook and the one who likes to eat; the friend who is learned and the one who is ignorant. It is often argued that the friendship of young children tend to fall within this category being centred on the need for companionship or play (Buhrmester and Furman, 1987; Damon, 1977). Such empirical studies tend to agree that around the stage of adolescence, there is a distinct difference in the characteristics sought in playmates, with a shift towards more ‘other-centred’ aspects of character. But is this view of utility friendships adequate? Maybe the two colleagues sharing a car earlier will keep in touch. Maybe the utility served as a means to a deeper form of friendship. Just because the utility ceases, it does not always mean the end of the friendship. This may not take the same form as previously (as in the two colleagues now separated by jobs) but perhaps they will find a different reason to keep in touch. Or maybe it’s OK to have useful friends. If friends weren’t useful in times of need, questions Kapur Badhwar, in what sense are they still friends (Kapur Badhwar, 1987)? For it to be a friendship of any description surely there had to be some form of feeling between them however loosely defined or mild, a form of affection that goes beyond deriving benefit from the other? Even a friendship of utility has to have affection within the relationship. The usefulness or exchange of services may have been the initial reason for people coming together but that does not mean it has to remain the sole purpose. Robert Selman’s work on perspective taking seems to suggest that spending time together in this way can fulfil a crucial function in giving a space in which to gauge the character of the other (Selman, 1980; Selman et al., 1997).

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Returning to our two colleagues working in the same school. Suppose Vicki also lives nearby  – what reason could Ricky have for choosing to travel with Nikki as opposed to Vicki? Suppose that Nikki is a quiet, placid character, similar to Ricky, whereas Vicki is a loud, gossipy character. Is it not likely that Ricky would prefer to travel with Nikki simply because she likes her better? No matter how useful someone can be, there comes a point where sometimes the price you have to pay for his or her usefulness is greater than the benefit received. Studies such as those undertaken by Howes seem to indicate even the need for companionship may not be sufficient on its own: some children will prefer to play by themselves rather than to play with just anyone (Howes, 1996). We prefer our help to come from those we like where choice is possible.

Pleasure friendships Friendships of pleasure are motivated by the pleasure experienced or shared between the friends. Aristotle argues that pleasure friendships have a tendency to be more based on emotional responses (Aristotle, 1156b): as long as the pleasure continues, so does the friendship. These friendships are, according to Aristotle, symptomatic of the young who have a tendency to live by their emotions, which tend to be subject to rapid changes. Because these friendships tend to be based on joint activities and have an emotional factor, they can go deep. This can be problematic in that, as Aristotle points out, they are often assumed to be transient being prone to change as the object of their pleasure changes. Take, for example, a group of young people who go out every night together. Now suppose they take great pleasure in this joint entertainment, which forms a major part of their friendship: for example, the preparations to go out, the shared venture itself, the chat about it later. Then suppose that one of them loses their job (their source of financial support) and thus is unable to join the others in their joint revelries. That person is now excluded from the main source of their friendship, and in many cases, the friendship dissolves. Or two friends who enjoy ornithology when young, spending much time together on this venture. Now suppose, as they get older, they lose interest in this activity and discover new, unshared interests to spend their time on, gradually drifting apart. Or that first girlfriend/boyfriend that you fell madly in love with . . . and equally quickly fell out of love with! These previous friends have little reason to spend time together as the pleasure initially gained, wanes as changes occur. Taking pleasure in the company of our friends is surely a defining characteristic of what we look for in a friend. Only martyrs and masochists would think

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otherwise! However, just as we prefer to be helped by those we like, we also find pleasure in the company of people we like, much of which is derived from their character – who they are as a person.

Virtue friendship If we take utility friendships to be based on material advantage, and pleasure friendships to be based on emotional attachments and shared projects, how do we understand virtue friendship? It is clear that Aristotle views virtue friendship to go beyond utility and pleasure, to indicate those friendships held for the friends’ own sake (Aristotle, 1156b5–10). But what is it to say someone is virtuous? At a basic level, it is to make a judgement or evaluation about the character of the individual or to identify admirable traits that are central to one’s character (Millgram, 1987). Cooper gives a deeper explanation: ‘. . . the virtues are essential properties of humankind: a person realizes more or less fully his human nature according as he possesses more or less fully those properties of character which count as moral excellences’ (Cooper, 1977a, p. 635). Millgram argues that if virtues are a central part of the person’s character, we could reasonably expect them to be stable traits (Millgram, 1987). Yet, Aristotle further claims that even virtue friendships will last only as long as the persons involved are ‘good’ (Aristotle, NE, 1156b10–15). Indeed, Aristotle indicates that we can expect to dissolve or abandon the two lesser forms of friendship (utility and pleasure) and should see nothing odd in so doing when the grounds for the friendship no longer exist (Aristotle, NE). He recognizes that there are occasions when some, previously deemed virtuous, may be corrupted or fall from virtue: this would then mean that the person was no longer the same sort of person and hence could not be the friend they had been. Experience teaches us that our initial appraisals of someone’s character may turn out to be incorrect: we may believe them to be one person, who is then revealed over time to be quite different. In other words, we can be mistaken. Discovery of faults might not automatically lead us to totally abandon the friend and perhaps the growing affection for the person might aid us in helping them to overcome said flaws. It should be noted that Aristotle sees dissolving the friendship as the last resort, and not the first response! Friendships of virtue, in this view, would come only to the virtuous, which leaves rather a lot of us without! Most of us do our best in our friendships. Sometimes it is good enough; sometimes it is not. There are very few who do not at some point exhibit the odd vice or two, or who fail to be totally virtuous or

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who find moral goodness just a little bit too difficult 24 hours a day. That there are very few such paragons of virtue around capable of such friendship leads one to ask if all our friendships are merely pleasure centred or utility centred? Are we incapable of anything other than self-centred ‘friendships’? John Cooper argues that Aristotle’s vision of perfect virtue is better seen as within a wide variation of virtue friendships (Cooper, 1999). Ordinary mortals are capable of virtue friendships – the possible friend would not have to exhibit every kind of virtue possible, but to have sufficient morally good qualities to attract and hold their friend. One could, for example, be kind, considerate and generous to the less fortunate but also be impossible first thing in the morning. Such friendships could still count as part of a wide spectrum of virtue friendships, despite neither partner necessarily having a perfect character themselves. This would then make perfect friendship of the perfectly virtuous to be an extreme example of this friendship of character. If you are drawn together by each other’s character, what of situations where the two are drawn together by vices reflected in both their characters and reinforced by the practice of the friendship? Brett and Paolo are best friends at school. They see each other all the time outside of school, always play together, look out for each other, share everything together . . . and bully the other children together. In fact, bullying plays a major role in their friendship. They both enjoy making other children cry, smashing their toys and creating general mayhem. Could their relationship not be seen as a ‘friendship’? After all, it exhibits many of the identified features: loyalty, sharing, spending time together. Common experience tells us that not all friendships bring out ‘the best’ in the dyad: with Brett and Paolo, what brings them together, is their bullying behaviour and the pleasure they get from it. Many teachers will have memories of particular friendship occurrences among their charges that tend to end badly: where some children can incite each other into particular behaviours or situations as part of a dyad which neither would attempt on their own. It is important in friendship to share time together, to do things together, as acknowledged by Aristotle, yet it also is important to acknowledge that doing this has implications for how we develop this form of friendship. It would not be possible to devote either time or energy to ground the activities of pleasure friendship with many people: our lives are simply not long enough, leading one to assume that numbers of such friendships would ultimately be limited. The attractiveness of the Aristotelian typology of friendship is undoubtedly its simplicity and the way it seems to chime with common experiences of friendship.

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Nevertheless, the separation of the three forms of friendship is less clear cut in practice: friends can doubtlessly be useful and pleasant to be with but character traits count in all of our friendships. It is clear, even for Aristotle, that utility and pleasure friendships are real friendships – they are not solely based on these grounds. Both utility and pleasure friendships concern external reasons for the person being loved; a virtue friendship concerns the person being loved for who they are, not what they can do for someone else – or as Stevens explains it, virtue friendship exhibits fewer of the self-seeking interests than either advantage or pleasure alone (Stevens, 2001). The reasons we have for starting a friendship may be different from those for sustaining it. Both utility and pleasure may have been the starting point of the relationship, but that does not mean it must remain at that level. Ricky and Nikki (from earlier) had the utility of sharing a journey to give them the opportunity to discover each other’s character and to come to care for each other in such a way as to sustain the relationship past the original positioning. Bryan offers an alternative understanding of Aristotle’s model: there is only one form of friendship and that the other two are somehow ‘unfinished’ and hence not friendship at all (Bryan, 2009). For Aristotle, he argues, there is no difference between friendship and perfect/virtue friendship as ‘“perfected friendship” is simply friendship that has reached it telos’ (Bryan, 2009, p. 763) thus the other two forms cannot be friendship, but can only ‘seem’ as friendship. It would then follow, as Bryan argues, that it is only by getting past the two lesser forms that friendship proper can be achieved. At the crux of this argument is a belief that it is the ‘possibility of friendship (dunamis) and not its actuality (energeia)’ (Bryan, 2009, p. 756) that houses the possibility of friendship translating into politics. What can be deduced from this, however, is that friendships such as utility or pleasure are far more asymmetrical than that of perfect friendship. Aristotle’s theory of friendship, situated as it is in the exploration of how friendship helps us to become good, argues that as essentially social beings, it is only in friendship that the virtues can be fully exercised. Friendship, viewed this way, has a moral dimension in teaching us to see others as ‘ends in themselves’ (Kapur Badhwar, 1987) or, as Richard White suggests ‘.  .  .  . true friendship offers us an apprenticeship in virtue and an everyday training in the moral life’ (White, R. 1999, p. 79). While Aristotle’s discourse on friendship is useful in the many insights it offers into friendship, there are alternative views.

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Section 3: Friendship and the self Friendship has long been accorded a special role in both psychology and sociology as a lens through which to study how we learn about our social world and our place within it. Just as kinship, and the ties/obligations inherent in the relationship form a key element in understanding society in fields such as anthropology, so friendship has been argued to be pivotal in understanding the affective dimension of social life. Friendship is often placed within philosophy as standing at odds from the deontological and consequentialist theories of action guidance that see the separation of the agent from her valuable attachments as crucial in determining the moral worth of actions – different levels of attachment are held to make particular claims on moral agents. Dworkin, for example, argues that we gain obligations to others by virtue of the role we play in relation to them (Dworkin, 1986). This makes Aristotle’s reference to the friend as ‘another self ’ (Aristotle, 1166a30), which has long been held to be open to interpretation, highly pertinent. Central to Aristotle’s view, argues Cocking and Kennett, is a particular view of ‘the self ’ in which ‘the self ’ is disclosed to the other within the friendship (Cocking and Kennett, 1998). Here, friendship is a mutual revelation, each being ‘witness’ to the life of the other. This disclosure, in turn, is argued to create intimacy and to further cement bonds of trust between the individuals. The willingness of a friend to share their deepest thoughts and feelings with us is to a large extent a measure of their willingness to trust in our moral character. This mutual disclosure from one friend to another is one of the chief ways in which we contribute to each other’s character (Thomas, 1993). This intimacy has long been argued by empirical theorists such as Sullivan to depend on our ability to self-disclose our feelings and intimate thoughts (Sullivan, 1953). While the sharing of secrets allows for friends to offer emotional support, this can make the friends emotionally vulnerable to the possibility of betrayal if it falls apart. The common model of deep friendship, critiqued by Cocking and Kennett, presents two alternative interpretations of ‘companion friends’. The ‘secrets’ model of friendship indicates the fact that we share our deepest concerns with those whom we trust the most: the extent to which we disclose indicates the depth of trust and intimacy between close friends. Alternatively, the ‘mirror’ model of friendship indicates that the friend plays a role in reflecting back to us an image of our ‘self ’, how we compare to others, how we evaluate and see

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ourselves as reflected in our friends, but goes beyond this to claim that we are alike. Cocking and Kennett argue that this psychological model is inadequate: the mirror view misrepresents the depth and nature of the engagement which friends have with each other and the impact which each has on the other. For you do not passively reflect my own characteristics; what you give back to me is not a reflection, but an interpretation of me, and for this you do not need to be like me. . . . I do not see myself in you as the mirror view suggests, I see myself through you. We are thus, to some significant extent, each other’s creators. (Cocking and Kennett, 1998, p. 509)

What is significant here is that both of these models depend on disclosure: either ‘the disclosure of the self to the other or the self is disclosed in the other’ (Healy, 2011b, p. 449). Cocking and Kennett argue that what is significant and distinctive about companion friendship is openness to being directed: interacting with a friend over a period of time inevitably changes us in some way  – we change each other, helping to make us who we are both as selves and as moral agents. The assumption that the more alike we are in our characters and interests, the more likely we are to be friends (that ‘like calls to like’) may not always prove to be the case. Common experience teaches us that people may have very similar characters and interests and no interest in pursuing a friendship; others may have nothing tangible in common, and yet be drawn together. Annas points out that the phrase ‘another self ’ has to be interpreted less literally: while a friend cannot logically function as a second self in that the two are separate beings, it serves to position the relationship in particular ways. I can regard my friend in such a way that their wishes and desires and their achievement of them become part of my wishes and desires and hence I seek to bring them to fruition (Annas, 1977). As White argues: ‘. . . our commitment to friendship is an objective expression of our commitment to the moral life. Indeed, at a more basic level than the reflective choice of moral principles and explicit values, my friends give me recognition and make me immediately aware of myself as a moral being’ (White, R. 1999, p.  86). Sharing intimate details of the self is to open the self to the risk of disclosure of those intimate secrets should the friendship end. The tension between opening oneself up to the intimacy of secret-sharing and protection of the sensitive elements of the self has no easy answer (Healy, 2009). But it does open up an understanding of friendship as a way of moral development and as a way of practising our moral reasoning.

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Section 4: Friendship and the shared life Nancy Sherman argues that choosing a friend is not something to be lightly undertaken: it takes time and trust, needs careful consideration of character, a shared sense of the jointly held commitments and ends in life, some way in which a life can be woven together (Sherman, 1993). In choosing a friend, we are choosing someone to be part of our lives in a particular fashion, taking on a shared conception of eudaimonia even if it inconveniences us in some way. It is thus in the exercise of the virtues of friendship that we learn to become more virtuous in character. This seems to be asking a lot of friendship: how do we get to know each other’s character except through the ‘occasions’ of friendship? If we step back and reflect on our own experiences of friendship, most of us will have different friends from different stages of our lives. Some friendships last, others eventually wither away – our life-long friends from early childhood will be few in number. Those that last, tend to deepen as we share more of our ‘self ’ and build a common history of events, secrets and understandings. Here, friendship can be seen as a long term relationship, deepening and developing over time. It is no easy matter to come to know another: it requires time, energy and patience to learn who the friend really is, growing together and creating space to share elements of our lives. There is a sense in which we take on similar interests to our friends as part of the friendship bond. Spending time together to build the Aristotelian ‘jointly pursued life’ (Sherman, 1987, p.  596) is an important part of friendship: the actual activities shared are not themselves as important as the willingness to share and coordinate time spent together. My friend may be a running enthusiast, and despite my dislike of sports, because it is important to her, it may become important to me. This is not to say I have to develop an independent regard for sport as such, but through the friendship, and because I seek my friend’s good, I may develop an appreciation of what is likely to please my friend. Cocking and Kennett call this factor being ‘receptive to being directed and interpreted’ by our friends (Cocking and Kennett, 1998, p. 503). This moves the emphasis from a ‘static’, fully-formed self, to a relational, responsive self. The time spent together exploring each other’s character, tastes, likes, dislikes, opinions, etc. builds a bond between the two. This on-going sharing in each other’s life is unique to each pair of friends and creates a ‘shared history’. This time spent together creates ‘the language’ of the friendship.

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Similarly, this shared life of friendship has to be ongoing. To suggest a time limit demeans and devalues the relationship from one of virtue to one of utility. Subjecting the relationship to a timeframe misses an essential part of the relationship: that it is open to the possibility of growth and development over time. In the next section, five distinct features of friendship often referenced as a basis for metaphorizing to the civic sphere are explored: partiality, trust, equality, shared history and reciprocity (or mutual aid).

Section 5: Features of friendship To have a friendship is to see someone else as special. There is a sense in which friendship requires us to go over and beyond our duties/obligations to others; we are partial to our friends in a way we are not with strangers. In lots of situations we see nothing strange in giving preference to a friend, in choosing them first or giving them a better deal. When choosing to share an intimate secret, one would naturally choose a friend. When choosing to share some goods with another, it is natural to do so with friends. Personal teaching observation: when choosing a partner, young children choose their friends first. When given a choice as to whom to sit with, they will choose a friend. They play with . . . their friends. Should we as teachers condemn such partiality? Such individual partiality is helpful in building the friendship itself. When young children are giving out some good in the classroom (e.g. milk) they normally give it out to their friends first (in most classes the children tend to distribute goods on a rota) and as such, each person will have different friends to choose first. Only when there is a shortage of the good being distributed could there be a problem with equitability. The ship that you are sailing on sinks and you have found the only lifeboat (incidentally it only holds two), do you take in a stranger or your best friend? Most people would not have a problem: they would take their best friend over and above someone else. We would think them slightly odd if they did not and would probably make sure we never travelled with them if they would not show partiality to their friend! But if the choice was between one best friend and another, and we liked them both equally, it may be more difficult to choose and other factors come into play. Yet partiality can clash with the demands of justice. Take for example the case of a politician who appoints a close friend to a prominent position in government, despite there being other more qualified candidates (perhaps the case involving George Bush and Harriet Miers that we started the chapter with). Would we

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see such partiality to the friend as praiseworthy or are there areas where we think partiality should bow out? If the impetus towards moral impartiality is to reduce the possibility of bias towards those within our immediate circle, when is it permissible to give advantage to our family and friends? If we treat all people the same in all situations, then we are leaving nothing special for our friends . . . and friendship makes the other person special. However, avoiding partiality altogether and treating a friend with the detachment of an impartial observer, also seems somehow wrong. Indeed, Goering suggests that morality may require us ‘to give preferential treatment to our friends’ (Goering, 2003, p. 401). Friends promote each other’s good in a privileged way, each in the position to know each other best, yet respectful of the rational agency of each other, giving support without making choices for the other (Sherman, 1993). To ignore the autonomy of the other would be to take over the friend’s life or to ‘make one the slave of the other’ (Sherman, 1993, p. 104). If we did not show particular pleasure in their achievements, if we did not in some way show them special treatment, what would mark them out for the title of ‘friend’? While partiality may be a requirement in our friendships, it cannot alone justify all actions emanating from the relationship. The second feature essential to virtue friendship is that of mutual trust. Deep friendships require trust of the other, not just in terms of trusting each other with privileged information and being certain that the other will treat confidences appropriately, but being able to depend on and be sure of another. Where there is a marked disparity in the ability to share privileged information, there can be an indication of lack of trust or regard. Sullivan, for example, indicates that the ability to develop trust (and thus experience intimacy in friendship) depends on our ability to appropriately self-disclose and develop an affective bond (Sullivan, 1953). Trust between individuals tends to be something that is created over time as they get to know each other. Friends have reasons for trust; these reasons are built up through experience of trust in differing circumstances. When two friends have lost trust in each other’s character and capacity for virtuous behaviour, how do they repair the damage? As common experience teaches us, it takes time: talking to each other, explaining points of view, admitting and forgiving faults. Sometimes the trust cannot be repaired and the relationship ends. This brings me to the third feature, that of equality between friends. Aristotle put forward the view that it would not be possible for those with a wide gap between the parties, (whether of virtue or of affluence) to remain friends and that they do not expect to (Aristotle, 1158a25–1159a10). There are two differing ways in which this can be interpreted: the first that it would be unlikely for those

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at opposite ends of the economic sphere to have occasions to meet to develop a friendship. Neither the ultra-rich nor the merely wealthy tends to ‘hang out’ at the same places as the moderately financed or even the socially deprived. The rich man and Lazarus of the Gospels may never have had occasion to meet in order to become friends. The other interpretation, which is more interesting, is if they have met, could they have become friends without the richer feeling in some way obliged to help the poorer? Does friendship ‘attract’ an obligation to help the other where possible? Joe is a multi-millionaire who works in the city. Jerry is a homeless man who lives on the doorstep of Joe’s company. Could they ever be friends? Joe could say hello each morning as he steps over Jerry. But that is not being his friend. Friendship has to go beyond being friendly. There has to be an active commitment to seek the flourishing of the other. He has to care about his friend, he has to seek his good, and he is in a position to help Jerry. If Joe genuinely cared about Jerry, would he not want to see him decently housed etc? Would not the very nature of friendship itself have made the rich man automatically help the poorer and somehow equalize their positions one to the other? But why is equality so important to friendship? Goering, in discussing the work of Thomas states: ‘If we look at Thomas’s work, his main emphasis is that neither party in the friendship can be in a position of complete authority over the other (although the two parties need not be equal in all respects)’ (Goering, 2003, p. 403). Nevertheless, I do want to suggest there may be something valuable in danger of being missed here: the deeper the friendship goes, the more the most advantaged of the pair would feel impelled for the sake of the friendship to help the less advantaged. The commitment to the other in the friendship would motivate us to seek their flourishing. The fourth feature I wish to consider is that of a ‘shared history’. Aristotle emphasizes developing friendships through time and a shared history of activities leading to some notion of a shared common good. Friends spend time together; they do things together. This in turn creates the ‘shared history’. They have a unique ‘language’ of events that they can refer to as part of their friendship, whether of the ‘do you remember that holiday we took’ variety, the personal events they have shared (mutual good luck, new jobs, family events, births and deaths, etc.). These are among the things that bind friends together. Joint ventures, shared projects, an active participation in seeking each other’s good: these are all points drawn out by Aristotle as part of friendship as an ongoing, shared life (Aristotle). The fact that people share different events with different people contributes to the uniqueness of each friendship.

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The fifth attribute of virtue friendship to be discussed here is that of reciprocal goodwill. Friends help each other automatically. Two children are at school studying maths, one who finds it really easy and one who struggles even to spell the word. The nature of friendship will frequently make the more able help their less able friend where possible and common experience shows us many examples where one may aid another in the name of friendship. Friends automatically help each other – one does not stand by and see a friend suffer if one is in a position to help: it is part of what is meant by friendship. Yet it has to be reciprocal, and cannot all one-sided with one taking advantage of the kindness of another: each must seek the flourishing of the other. But suppose one had a friend, a good friend of many years standing, a kind, and generous person, good to little old ladies and small furry animals, who turns to a life of drugs. He is extremely happy in his lifestyle: he enjoys taking the drugs. His view of his well-being is centred on getting more and more drugs. We remonstrate with him, tell him all the dangers, and explain that the drugged state is different to reality for example, but he is still convinced that this is his proper end. Would we be bound to help him in his quest? Most of us would say he was mistaken in his view of what his well-being consisted in and that we were not required by reasons of the friendship to seek his good in this way. Reciprocity implies that I will do something for you if you will do something for me: it is centred on an advantage as the focus – we take part in common endeavours because we both benefit. What if friends were not in a position to offer help? Let us return to Joe and Jerry. Joe is in a position to help Jerry, but what realistically can Jerry ever do to help Joe? Friendship carries with it the implication that we help each other for each other’s sake, because of the relationship between the persons. It does not require that reciprocal actions are identical: anything Jerry does may not be of the same kind.

Section 6: Conclusion In this chapter, I have considered the concept of friendship in the private sphere of intimate relationships using both the Aristotelian framework and some modern insights. From this, certain conclusions can be drawn. First, the concept of virtue is tied in strongly with any concept of friendship in the Aristotelian framework: friendship is firmly tied with his idea of the good life. No one would choose to live without friends (Aristotle, 1151a5). Virtue friends are such not because they need each other, but because of each other.

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Secondly, the categories may not be as distinct as Aristotle would have us believe. Friends are useful, pleasant people by virtue of their being friends. What makes someone a friend is that we like them, and we like them for who they are. Even at a basic level, there is a need for character to come into play. Thirdly, friendship represents the point at which we meet unknown others for the first time outside the bonds of family. Friendship, at a basic level, binds us to another person. At the base of friendship is that we have to attach to another person who also attaches to us in some undefined way. It is this binding together that becomes philosophically interesting as perhaps a model enlightening us in the civic realm and thus providing a model for the cohesive society. Thus Aristotle’s connection of friendship, in this instance, with the desire to live together, creates a metaphorical model for the civic community, which can then be interpreted as the bridge between family kinships and society. From this stance, it would seem reasonable that it might then leap into the civic sphere (Cooper, 1999). It is this belief that has perhaps made the concept of friendship suddenly becomes ‘topical’, reigniting interest in both personal friendship as a virtue, and also as a model for the civic bond itself. In the next chapter, I shall further explore a more metaphoric version of friendship to see if the concept of ‘civic friendship’ can be made meaningful and thus function as a model for the civic relationship.

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Introduction The age-old question of what holds a society or community together is as pertinent today as previously. Most countries, with the opening of previously closed borders and with wider social mobility, have seen a rapidly changing and diverse populace created. This move towards a more globalized economy, plus the transitory nature of some immigration patterns, has encouraged public policy makers to consider how such societies can hold together and function as one with the coexistence of potentially conflicting ideas and commitments. Yet how this desire for unity should be realized has been open to much debate: through integration into the common life, assimilation or by identifying a core of common shared values. What is new in this on-going debate, however, is that recent literature highlights the role of education in achieving or undermining the cohesive society (Cheshire, 2007; Rogers and Muir, 2007; Stevens, 2001). If particular values, attitudes or virtues can be identified as being necessary to enable the civic relationship to exist and thrive, then the question of how these can be taught, developed and passed on from generation to generation is one of extreme interest and importance to educators. This chapter seeks to examine the plausibility of the concept of ‘Civic Friendship’ as such a philosophical model for this conceptualization of ‘belonging’. The tying together of personal and civic relationships has a long line in political philosophy based on the belief that the insights engendered from personal relationships can give us fresh insights into those in the civic domain. Two major recent books have shown renewed interest in this essentially Aristotelian concept (Brunkhorst, 2005; Schwarzenbach, 2009). While their motivation may

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differ – Brunkhorst traces the mainly historical development of the concept of solidarity while Schwarzenbach writes from a feminist political philosophy viewpoint – both draw the origins of their arguments from the concept of civic friendship as a particular model for understanding the ideal bond between free and equal citizens. Yet can the social matrix of friendship offer such a framework for understanding citizenship? In what follows, I highlight the use of a particular model used to underpin the discourse of social solidarity. I then evaluate both of the standard arguments for civic friendship: that it can be understood within the Aristotelian typology as either a form of utility friendship or as a form of virtue friendship. I consider the context within which the concept arose in Ancient Greece and query how this may, in turn, be interpreted within the modern context. Finally I argue that civic friendship may not be the most appropriate model for the civic relationship in a modern liberal democracy.

Section 1: The metaphor of civic friendship Political concepts influence our lives and are constantly being re-examined and redefined by politicians or theorists in the course of everyday life. The use of particular metaphors helps create and frame discourse in shifting political ideas. Undoubtedly the study of political life has always depended on the use of metaphors (Mio, 1997; Willson-Quayle, 1991) yet the question as to which metaphors are used can change over time in response to socio-historical contexts as drawn out by Brunkhorst (Brunkhorst, 2005). This understanding of metaphor as a focus for academic study has acquired new significance over the past two decades based on a growing interest in the work within Cognitive Linguistics. Built around the work of George Lakoff (Lakoff, 2002), metaphor (when perceived as a fundamental mechanism of the mind that allows us to use what we know about one area to affect our understanding of others in contrast to a literal understanding of the world around us) draws our attention to the importance of the models we adopt and of how they, in turn, may affect policy decisions (Beer and De Landtsheer, 2004; Taylor, 2004). Interestingly, evidence from anthropology on natural symbols in cultures lends credence to the view that most cultures and societies use the language of kinship and/or kinship-like relationships (such as friendship) as models for civic relationships (Bell and Coleman, 1999b; Todd, 1985). Within the discourse of political theory, metaphors (including that of civic friendship) play a particular

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role in framing accounts of social solidarity, particularly in Honohan’s account (Honohan, 2008; Miller, 1979). While there may be those who argue for a more concrete understanding of how we define and use metaphor, the use of metaphor adopted within this book derives from a consideration of this growing body of literature. Based as it is on the exemplar in the Nicomachean Ethics, civic friendship can be argued to have a certain ambiguity inherent to the concept itself (Hansot, 2000). Central to the usefulness of this model is that civic friendship must have some features from the realms of the civic and of friendship: each component of this definition needs to highlight an important aspect of the concept. The civic element means it must relate to the civic realm, how we relate as citizens. Here I concur with Spragens, who claims the adjective ‘civic’ is used to denote the politically relevant forms of friendship to distinguish between the private (individual) and public (political) realms (Spragens, 1999). The friendship element, on the other hand, puts it clearly within the definition of friendship: it must carry enough of the characteristics of friendship as to be clearly ‘of the same type’. The proponents of civic friendship acknowledge the importance of the models and metaphors we use in conceiving of ourselves (Schwarzenbach, 2009). Indeed, Schwarzenbach introduces her book by arguing for the need for a new metaphor. In what follows, I shall try to provide some conceptual clarification in this complex area by ‘seeing the metaphor through to its end–by exhausting its implication-complex as it were’ (Schwarzenbach, 2009, p. 13); that by examining both utility and virtue friendship for how we expand the properties from one area into the other, the appropriateness of the model itself can be questioned.

Section 2: Civic friendship as utility friendship The Aristotelian taxonomy of friendship (utility, pleasure and virtue) draws out a direct connection between the personal and the civic. For example, when citizens view each other as civic friends, they come together in a broad consensus on matters of public policy, of things that are advantageous to the community (Aristotle, NE 1167b1–5). While Aristotle does not explicitly state the relationship between civic friendship and the three personal forms, it is frequently argued to be a special case of utility (or advantage) friendship: that the civic community is formed because of the common advantage that its members derive from it (Cooper, 1977a, 1991, 1999). Central to this is that it is

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advantageous to be interested in the character of fellow citizens with whom one comes in contact (e.g. they should be trustworthy, honest), whether in economic or civic terms, because of the utility involved. The prosperity and well-being of each is interlinked (Cooper, 1977a, b): Civic friendship, then, as the special form of friendship characteristic of this kind of community, is founded on the experience and continued expectation, on the part of each citizen, of profit and advantage to himself, in common with the others, from membership in the civic association. This is to say that civic friendship is a kind of advantage-friendship. (Cooper, 1999, p. 333)

In such a community, as Cooper states, the citizens assume that all others, including those unknown or barely known, are supporters of the common institutions and contributors to these institutions from which all benefit. Significantly, this civic friendship would exist where citizens like each other, wish well to each other and are willing to confer benefits on others, recognizing that they in turn also benefit regularly from the actions of others (Cooper, 1977b). To counter this position, I want to make three points. First, we cannot tell in advance when or where we are going to need help. While I may not require a state pension, meals on wheels and a home help at present, I cannot anticipate that I never will, so it is to my utility to band together with fellow citizens to provide such assistance so that such help is there should I need it. Yet need this utility relationship be one of friendship? When dealing with unknown (or barely known) others, friendship need not be a consideration at all: I can achieve utility in cooperative working with others without it. Secondly, the Aristotelian insight into the personal concept of utility friendship acknowledges that these are the most fragile and easily dissolved of friendships; they last as long as the utility: when the advantage ends, so may the friendships (Aristotle, NE 1156a15–25). With this in mind, the metaphor is not the most appropriate model for the civic community. Thirdly, it is clear that Aristotle sees civic friendship as a real friendship and not a utility relationship devoid of the affective dimension (Schwarzenbach, 2009, p. 44). It would thus seem reasonable to assume that he wants utility friends to like and feel affection for each other. If friendship is a type of love (Thomas, 1993), if it requires an emotional attachment to another (Cooper, 1999; Long, 2003), it is difficult to see how this can be replicated in the civic sphere. I can be friendly without being friends: civic friendliness is a very different concept to civic friendship. Before dismissing the concept entirely, it is necessary to consider the alternative form of friendship, that of virtue.

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Section 3: Civic friendship as virtue friendship The confusion noted within the previous section spreads when we turn to virtue friendship. To elucidate, I shall explore five features of personal friendship identified by Aristotle and frequently used as a basis for extrapolating from personal friendship to that of the civic relationship: partiality, trust, equality, shared history and reciprocity (or mutual aid). Let us examine these in turn. Partiality is most certainly a feature of personal friendship, yet it may not easily translate from the private sphere into the public. First, we have the argument on the grounds of numerical inclusion: at a basic level, friendship demands that some are excluded from the relationship and it cannot include everyone. Friendship, by its very nature, indicates those who may be outside of family bonds (although family members can also be friends) but not strangers. Going further, when friendship is seen as a relationship of special obligations and significance, whereby friends have particular reasons to be able to call on my attention (whether for support or simply for time spent in each other’s company), and I in turn have good reason to treat them differently, it has to be numerically limited in some way. If I attempt to include everyone within the boundary of friendship, then who would count as being within the realm of my special attention? Secondly, there is a sense in which the civic membership has to be inclusive to a far greater extent than with personal friends: it has to include those we may not like. This is not to undermine nor negate the importance of friendship itself, merely to indicate that this may not be possible within the wider context of a liberal society. Thirdly, and perhaps more persuasively, there is the sense that within the public sphere, impartiality is more appropriate (Baron, 1991; Cocking and Kennett, 2000; Jeske, 1997). An example: a politician is in a position to influence the appointment of someone to a committee. The job carries a large salary, chauffeur-driven car, lots of travel, for example. Partiality suggests he should give the job to his best friend or even to a family member, thus keeping the ‘treats’ in the family. Recall the hue and outcry in the United Kingdom in 2009 towards Derek Conway, a Conservative politician, who hired both of his sons as ‘researchers’ at public expense.1 Indeed many UK politicians were highly criticized precisely for this offence during the expenses scandal of 2009. There is an expectation that ‘the public purse’ should be used to fund public offices impartially without recourse to nepotism.

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Turning to the concept of trust. It is only to be expected that we are willing to do things for people we trust that we might be reluctant to do for strangers, whether to lend possessions, to undertake joint ventures or as repositories for our secrets. It is undoubtedly true that trust and intimacy play a major part in friendship, with growing significance to the relationship as we age as further research seems to confirm (Buhrmester and Furman, 1987; Grimes, 2005; Selman et al., 1997). When we trust another individual, we are able to depend on and be sure of them in some way, having certain beliefs about how they will act/react. Research seems to indicate that the more confident we become of each other’s moral character, the more intimately we tend to trust (Barr, 1997; Selman, 1980). Yet there is always an element of risk or vulnerability involved in trusting others in that we risk betrayal or being let down (Lynch, 2005). To build trust and experience intimacy depends in no small part on the ability to self-disclose (the ability to share feelings, desires and intimate thoughts) (Sullivan, 1953). Yet failure to share secrets and other intimate information about ourselves indicates a lack of trust in the friend which can itself be damaging to the relationship and can prevent trust from developing (Helm, 2005). It should also be born in mind that the more we monitor another’s activities to reduce the risk of betrayal, the less we are deemed to be trusting of them (McLeod, 2006). Trust undoubtedly transcends the personal relationship, and as such looks on the surface as the most likely candidate to transpose neatly from the personal virtue to the public. Just as we need to be able to trust our friends, so we need to be able to trust beyond particular individuals. When ill, I need to be able to trust that the doctor is truly trying to make me better, without continually asking to see her qualifications and chasing up references. Where ‘public trust’ is strong, citizens are willing to try new ways of working and organizing (O’Hara, 2004). Yet public trust is arguably a much thinner concept based on and supported by a variety of laws and regulations giving justification for the trust unlike a relationship based on the moral characters of individuals. Public trust (going beyond particular individuals and groupings to encompass societal agencies) can be lost overnight, with disastrous repercussions for those involved. Just as a lack or betrayal of trust between friends can destroy the relationship, so the breakdown of public trust can fracture the civic relationship. But is personal trust the same thing as public trust? As recent events in the global ‘credit crunch’ have shown us, once trust between institutions is lost, rebuilding it comes at great costs and frequently requires legislation to prevent ‘civic misdeeds’. Yet the need for coercion (legal or otherwise) is itself problematic and can indeed be claimed to be the antithesis of the trust in ‘friendship’.

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Turning to the notion of equality between friends, I raise three different interpretations of how this may be perceived in the civic domain: as resource equality, as equality before the law or as considering another’s needs as being of equal worth. Should the civic relationship entail a redistribution of resources within a society, to create the relevant conditions in order that ‘civic friendship’ should prosper? To what extent should the ultra rich feel obliged to help those at the other end of the spectrum, and to do it willingly as ‘friends’ would?2 That the rich already contribute financially through progressive taxation systems is praiseworthy, but it is legally required: law has been needed to ensure this happens. As recent events have illustrated, the mega-rich would all too frequently manage to avoid paying any taxes if left to their own devices.3 Here, again, I concur with Spragens, who directs us to seek an answer within the domain of democracy wherein citizens are seen as political equals: they rule and are ruled in turn (Spragens, 1999). This gives civic friendship a weakened form of equality: a political equality not resource equality. While not wishing to dismiss this important line of enquiry it does raise equally troubling issues: what does it mean to be a political equal? Even advocates of the claim to the weaker sense of equality before the law accept that it does not answer the question of whether or not in practice the poor really are equal before the law with the rich. Yet I feel there is something valuable in danger of being lost within the complexities of this argument. Central to the ideal of virtue friendship is that friends regard the well-being of their friends as they do their own: they seek each other’s good. Sometimes the fact of friendship serves to put others first. When people look on each other as friends, this empathic bond allows them to step back from demanding the satisfaction of their own needs at all times and to consider the needs and the cost of decisions to others as being of equal worth. However, in friendship, this tends to be motivated by the deep love between friends and, again, it is hard to see how this would realistically expand into the civic community. Turning now to the idea of a ‘shared history’. It seems reasonable, on the surface, that a society might have a ‘shared history’ in the idea of the nation as an imagined community (Anderson, 1991) or as a people extended out over history (Fletcher, 1993). Similarly, the question arises about the time factor required to determine how long one needs to have to have lived in a country before one can claim to share in its history. Crucially, there are many minorities whose experience of the public sphere is one of exclusion; others may choose not to be a part of certain elements (Mason, interestingly, draws a distinction

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between citizens and long-term residents (Mason, 1997)). If this view of what it is to be a nation is correct, that it is both an historical fact and based on shared experiences, there may be no easy way of adapting the concept within a pluralist society that is both rapidly growing and changing. A weaker interpretation of a ‘shared history’ suggests it can be achieved by experiencing certain world events together, for instance the death of a public figure (e.g. Diana, Princess of Wales), public tragedies (the events of 9/11). But this in turn raises the question as to whether we experience these things in the same way, with the same responses in the public arena. The events that form the shared history between friends are experienced and lived by those particular individuals: it is quite possible in a large modern democracy for some members to be completely unaware of what is happening to their civic others. The plight of the Chinese cockle pickers, for example, brought the existence of a sub-culture of work-gangs and gang-masters to the attention of the British public; it had been assumed that such practices only happened in ‘other places’.4 Finally, we turn to the idea of mutual aid and support. Undoubtedly, personal friends help each other in times of trouble out of concern for each other’s welfare (Bigelow and La Gaipa, 1980; Blum, 1980; White, R. 1999). On the surface, the extrapolation of this concern to ground the provision of a minimum level of support to all citizens seems to have a certain logic about it. Most societies require a certain level of commitment, or reasonable anticipation of commitment, on the part of the beneficiary before allowing access to the aid (based on a certain length of residence, taxpaying among other regulations); not just anyone can be a civic ‘other’. Consider the argument concerning the extension of the EU to include many countries in Eastern Europe with a lower level of ‘living’ than the United Kingdom, leading to hasty, political moves to limit those who may benefit and significantly restricting the circumstances. Yet we need to consider the underlying rationale behind the mutual aid needed at societal level: at one extreme lies the seeking of the good of another for no reason other than that one can (purely altruistic actions), whereas at the other extreme lies a form of contributionist stance (that one should only aid those who can also in turn aid us). Taking the first pathway, altruistic actions do take place. Passers-by, seeing drowning children in rivers, do sometimes jump in at the risk of their own lives; people do donate to charities without knowing the recipient or without gaining anything in return. Virtuous individuals, who seek to ameliorate the ravages of poverty on a voluntary basis going beyond what is legally required, do exist: Carnegie, Vanderbilt, Peabody, Rockefeller, Guggenheim, Rowntree, Lever  – all seeking to improve life in some way for

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those less fortunate. While this is undoubtedly laudable, philanthropy, by its very nature, cannot be demanded. The wisdom of relying on the virtuous characters of individuals may not be the most advisable method of organizing the way a society interacts or how they distribute social resources. The second pathway, as an extreme contributionist view of distributive justice, is rightly criticized by Buchanan: the idea that an individual has a right to a share of social resources if that individual contributes or can contribute to the community surplus (Buchanan, 1990). This, as he points out, clashes with the sense we may have that even those who cannot contribute also deserve to be treated justly. We do have instincts that those, for example, who are profoundly disabled from birth in ways which may prevent them from contributing economically, should still deserve support from social resources, and that any theory of justice as fairness should allow and enable this. The privileging of economic value found within a strict form of mutual aid would rule out such views and would seem to destroy any notion of ‘civic friendship’. The point to note here is that while there may be a form of reciprocity and mutual aid common in both personal and civic sphere, the underlying motive is different. In the personal sphere, the motive is the relationship with the other as a person; in the public sphere, the character or person of the other is not always relevant: the motive is more of a utility relationship, which may not be mutual for all who benefit. To regard fellow citizens as in some way equating to ‘another self ’ in the Aristotelian framework is to suggest an unrealistic mode of engagement in the whole life of the other, as a form of caring for the whole of each person that would be unsustainable in a modern liberal democracy. Interestingly, Aristotle rejects both particular kinship and personal friendships as constituting a basis for citizenship bonds: ‘. . . friendship of kindred and that of comrades. Those of fellow citizens, fellow tribesmen, fellow voyagers, and the like are more like mere friendships of association; for they seem to rest on a sort of compact’ (Aristotle, NE 1161b). Yet it is unclear within The Ethics as to whether utility friendship or virtue friendship forms the basis of the model for the civic bond. I think that this is critical and perhaps deliberate. This can only be resolved by surmizing that for Aristotle, both utility and virtue may be involved in civic friendship. Does this mean that the notion of civic friendship can no longer contribute to our understanding of how we relate in large culturally diverse communities? The modern state contains many millions of others who may not share a common view, or trust each other, certainly not necessarily have a shared history, and probably not harbour mutual affection for each other (features of personal friendship).

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How could they possibly know each other’s character as friends would do? Is what we commonly call ‘civic friendship’ a form of friendship at all? To answer this, we turn to the original context and purpose of civic friendship and consider why there may be such difficulties in the application of this particular metaphor within modern liberal democracies.

Section 4: The ancient Greeks and civic friendship The historical exemplar of civic friendship lay within the Greco-Roman world as a model to alleviate superficially similar problems of social integration. In a world in which friendship was seen as a public matter as part of a much wider conception of philia (Brunkhorst, 2005, p. 13), the break between friendship and love and the community of citizens was not seen as desirable. Within this tradition lay the desire to import the obligations of friendships into the communal bond to address the disharmony of the classes within the aristocracy without recourse or dependency upon the bonds of tribal relationships (Brunkhorst, 2005). This networked bond was credited as being able to: ‘neutralize the mafialike bonds of clan and family, secure the peace, and promote the common good’ (Brunkhorst, 2005, p. 14). Arguably, the idea of friendship as a voluntary bond (as opposed to ties of blood) became an analogy for politics, separating the household from the polis (Brunkhorst, 2005). Nevertheless, in what follows, I will argue that it would be a serious error to try to align the Greek concept with that of our own situation. Undeniably, the arena within which Aristotle was writing was very different from the modern liberal democracy. According to Benjamin Constant, among the ancient Greeks, the individual was sovereign in public affairs having direct influence on law-making and issues of war and peace (Constant, 1806). The Athenian society was lived ‘face-to-face’, in a culturally homogenous community which in turn was upheld by vast quantities of slaves, creating the leisure conditions necessary for their deliberations. The size of the citizenry, as well as its composition (it omitted slaves, women, children and foreigners) meant that individuals could exercise real political power in a way not available within larger modern communities (Cartledge, 1993; Constant, 1806). Even here, the size of the citizenry would not have allowed for all fellow citizens to have direct friendship with each other, neither did Aristotle expect it to. It was the possibility of overlapping networks of friends between elite members of a city, freed of the constraints of work, that held the possibility of supporting

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alliances as counterparts to tribal or familial allegiances (Bell and Coleman, 1999b). The ancient Greek practice among aristocratic families of forming alliances with leading families of other cities called ‘guest-friendships’ (xenoi) often led to clashes between the state and powerful family commitments. These ‘xenoi ’, for example, would provide a refuge in exile should one offend or no longer be able to live in one’s own state. They were not built on friendship but on obligation that could override other obligations (Herman, 1987). These bonds of xenia outlasted the lives of individuals and could be inherited by their descendents, could lapse for many years and then be reactivated, binding not just individuals but families together over generations (Lynch, 2005). As ritual friendships became over time transformed into political friendships, the kinship ties of individuals created a tension with civic demands (Deneen, 2001; Herman, 1987; Konstan, 1997). Aristotle’s concept of civic friendship should thus be seen in this context, as an answer to the problem faced by the ancient city in which friendships of kin and guest-friendships endangered political stability within a particular political framework (Cartledge, 1993; Deneen, 2001; Herman, 1987).

Section 5: Conclusion Having followed the metaphor through to its end, it will be apparent that there are considerable difficulties in arguing for a re-evaluation of the concept of civic friendship. First, personal friendship has both an affective as well as a behavioural aspect. One of the overriding features of personal friendship is that of an affective, emotional attachment to another person, as a form of love (Fortier, 1971; Thomas, 1987, 1993). It is one thing to acknowledge the ‘affective dimension of social life’ (diZerega, 2003, p. 23), it is entirely another to suggest that the emotional intensity that is a defining feature of friendship can be replicated on a large scale. We cannot come to care for our civic others as individuals for we cannot get to know them as individuals because of the requirement of time to build an easy familiarity and trust with one another: no one’s life is long enough. At most, we can act in a way as if we care but care itself cannot be drummed up at will. Perhaps friendliness, or goodwill, is all we can ask for in the civic sphere but neither virtue equates solely with friendship. Secondly, the very concept ‘civic friendship’ seems to spiral downwards into a partialism/impartialism argument. Friendship requires a form of partiality to a particular other yet the civic relationship has to exclude this type of

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partiality; justice and fairness require a form of impartiality. Justice enables us to consider others as rights bearers, as having worth that does not depend on being liked. Schwarzenbach’s argument for an impartial civic friendship based in part on individual rights and a re-emphasis on relationships between citizens (Schwarzenbach, 2009) fails to acknowledge it would not qualify as a form of friendship. Any argument that our relationships with others should have an ethical dimension has to be made differently. Thirdly, friendship bonds can be equally susceptible to the same tensions as kinship and tribal allegiances (Deneen, 2001). The ideal friendship rarely exists without any squabbles or disagreements at some point. Indeed, the instability of friendship within the political sphere could lead to ‘an uneasy equilibrium of ever-shifting alliances’ (Hutter, 1978, p. 148). Finally, the value of the concept of civic friendship may be in viewing it metaphorically: somehow, when we consider our civic others, we should in some way, regard them as ‘friends’. In the case of civic friendship, to indicate a likeness, to comment on similar features, to indicate a ‘family resemblance’ is one thing; to suggest that it goes deeper than this and indicates a closer relationship, that the civic relationship is a type of friendship, is entirely another. It seems obvious that the concept of civic friendship cannot possibly be a literal form of friendship: a point acknowledged by Schwarzenbach who claims that many of the criticisms of the concept make the error of confusing personal and political friendship. It is undoubtedly true that we cannot know our civic others in the same way that we know our friends and families. Yet I question whether it can even act at a metaphorical level. Drawing on Brunkhorst’s research on of how metaphors transform in response to sociohistorical contexts, ‘civic friendship’ as a metaphor no longer fulfils its original function. While it is possible to speak of the civic relationship metaphorically, we have to remember the civic relationship is itself real, and has to be lived as such. The use of metaphor may be unavoidable—we still have to find a way of discussing these complex situations which necessitates the use of metaphoric models. However the use or overemphasis of a single metaphorical model risks binding perspectives and developments to that view alone. The general argument is of a need for clarity and consideration of the commitments inherent within particular models adopted (Lunt, 2005). The journey, however, is not without value. While Vernon indicates an impoverishment of popular discourse which has virtually privatized the concept of friendship in modern life (Vernon, 2005), we cannot ignore the complex interplay between past and present conceptions in this area. Aristotle’s expansion

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of philia into the civic arena in The Ethics directs us to consider the importance or otherwise of ‘the shared life’ in enabling public discourse in the civic space, a concern for the well-being of each other and shared desire for the good life. Wherein lies the role of the schools? One of the historic functions of public education in democracies has always been to connect people, build common values and drive the engines of democracy. Schools are still more or less a common experience and as such, they are one of the few vehicles available for the character development and reinforcement of the necessary features of our civic life. Schools in societies that purport to be democracies are obliged to develop public citizens, part of which is developing the necessary relationship between such citizens. If civic behaviour and dispositions form the background within which civic life takes place, then their development and reinforcement within the education system is a crucial challenge. Part of the appeal of civic friendship in attempting to fulfil that function lies in the attempt to expand an understanding of the ‘binding togetherness’ of friendship into civic life and to seemingly sidestep many of the perceived difficulties found within family metaphors (a further common metaphor for public relationships). However, the concept of ‘civic friendship’ promises more than it can deliver. We are left finally facing the crucial question: it may be civic . . . but is it friendship?

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Loyalty and the Market

In 2010, Wayne Rooney was accused of disloyalty by fans when he announced he was considering changing teams from Manchester United in search of a higher-paying team. Indeed, the papers were full of the story day after day.1 But beneath the sensationalism, there were several issues of philosophical interest. Did Rooney owe loyalty to the club that transcended his own selfinterest? Were the fans correct in accusing him of disloyalty? Issues of loyalty such as this are all around us in our everyday lives, endlessly entwined with ethical considerations and intimately connected to the ties and obligations of belonging. One of the most significant political and social developments over the past three decades has undoubtedly been the pervasive spread of market ideologies into areas traditionally thought of as ‘public’. The neo-liberal economic policies currently dominating much of Western policy-making signify for many a retreat from the public realm (and hence civic concerns) to the benefit of what has traditionally been thought of as ‘private associations’. Few areas affected by this attract more heated discussion than that of public schooling which is often seen as our most ‘deliberative form of human instruction’ (Gutmann, 1987, p. 15), where our private and public selves come together in a necessary tension. The uncritical outcome of the adoption of school choice schemes seen across many modern liberal democracies has served to encourage governments to adopt a strictly instrumental approach to education that articulates success in terms of the measurable and economic, of student achievement and cost-effectiveness. Less often examined, it also marks a significant retreat of the state’s responsibilities for future citizens with parents then shouldering responsibility for consequences of their poor choices as opposed to inadequacies of provision (Bosetti, 2005).

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Naismith contends that this arises partly as a result of governments redefining their roles from sole providers of essential services to that of regulating and controlling quality in more commercial ventures (Naismith, 1994). Whatever the reasoning behind it, these changes have brought about a radical reorganization and transformation of how schools see themselves and their relationships to the outside world, raising serious questions about our capacity to effectively fulfil the required bonds necessary for both social cohesion and the stable society. The subsequent rise of the atomistic market-led individualism associated with this move centres on an economically driven model of the self-interested individual choosing in a competitive market. This becomes particularly problematic in that schooling also operates as a ‘positional good’ in society. Education, as pointed out by Swift, converts into money (Swift, 2003, p. 12): the more you have, and the ‘better’ you have than others, the greater the social position. For example, the U.S. Congress Joint Economic Committee in January 2000 issued a report entitled Investment in Education: Private and Public Returns2 wherein they demonstrated the effect in economic terms of education: graduates earned up to $20,000 more per annum than workers with only high school diplomas, had better health and were more likely to be in paid employment. The basic belief underpinning this connection between academic attainment and future earnings is complex, but the two are generally accepted as closely intertwined in practice. That there are elements of education and school structures that have been exposed to real markets is now a common feature of our school systems in the United Kingdom in particular, and been subject to considerable research over the past two decades (e.g. Ball, 2003). The private sector now has considerable involvement with aspects of what happens in schools: many ancillary tasks have been opened to market mechanisms for provision of essential services: IT support, grounds maintenance, provision of financial management systems. Private companies have become involved in modernizing school infrastructure through programmes such as Building Schools for the Future, Private finance initiatives (PFIs) and the sponsored academy programme. Parents call on the private sector to provide ‘wrap-around-care’: breakfast clubs, after schools clubs, private tutoring, school trips, private music or dance classes to name but a few. The argument however, goes beyond mere organization matters, to consider how the turning of particular goods into commodities can ignore or downplay moral and political questions in pursuit of the economic ones. The argument for further market involvement, as evidenced in decisions by the recent Coalition government in the United Kingdom on further ‘school reform’, tends to be based on claims that this is the best, most efficient way to

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organize and run educating systems. The claim runs as follows: individuals win in that their well-being is improved in terms of their ability to achieve better paid jobs and to lead better flourishing lives; the state wins in that pupil employment improves, they become self-sufficient and contributors to the public coffers, thus then being less of a burden on the state; employers win as they are more likely to have employees ‘fit for employment’ with the skills and knowledge they need to improve their businesses. So what exactly is the problem? The problem is that when democratic values are made subservient to the whims of the market, which by their nature fail to be accountable to the demos, that something of value is lost: markets may erase the necessary structures of loyalty and ties between people which are not only essential for civic life, but also needed for schools to function as educators of a future citizenry. Similarly, when education is viewed only as a private consumer good, something that can be bought and sold on the market, that can be commodified and measured against other similar goods, it will inevitably affect relationships between those involved. Michael Sandel recently argued that while markets may be a reasonable mechanism for organizing the production and trading in particular types of goods, they are not ‘moral free’: they can have a moral impact on the very goods they trade (Sandel, 2012). The outcome of all this is that market values then tend to ‘crowd out’ non-market values, seeping into parts of social life (Sandel, 2012). Sandel critiques this move from ‘having a market economy to being a market society’ (Sandel, 2012, p.  10) as corrupting in that it alters the ways in which we approach particular social values.3 The commodification of everything then serves to make money matter more than other values, potentially corroding a civic commonality; the more money matters, the more the affluent disassociate themselves from the ‘common life.’ Thus models of belonging based on markets become a non-sequitur: markets require individuals to be disconnected from others in particular ways. Much of modern ethical theory considers whether or not particular relationships demand obligations and duties. Some argue that liberalism itself is premised on the self as an individual chooser: the now famous liberalcommunitarian argument having as its heart, a concern about the nature of the liberal self. From this viewpoint, the Kantian subject, in seeing the individual as a free and rational chooser, views particular interpersonal relationships as imperilling an objective commitment to duty. Others argue that all choices inevitably come from mere self-interest when chased back far enough. It is unsurprising then that many philosophers have sought a way out of this problem by attempting to create an alternative picture, often based round the concept of

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loyalty and ties of loyalty. Oldenquist, for example, situates loyalty squarely in the domain of the normative: ‘In terms of the logic of the reasons they provide, loyalties are a third category of the normative, distinct from both self-interest and impersonal morality’ (Oldenquist, 1982, p.  176). Can loyalty, as a study of the moral relationships between people, offer a model for the normative relationship between citizens allowing us to sidestep the problems of friendship and its partner civic friendship? This chapter explores the ways in which the language and practices of the marketplace have both influenced and gradually become part of educational practice. By taking the metaphor of markets (a modern metaphor for how social life can be ordered) and examining it through the civic virtue of loyalty, we can examine the particular implications for belonging that this may entail. The crux of the matter is that not only might the model of loyalty currently influencing our educational discourse in this area prove to be inappropriate, but that this may have long-term ramifications for the development of civic loyalty. In other words, the form of loyalty fostered and encouraged by market values (brand loyalty) may actively undermine the horizontal loyalty needed between citizens to sustain a democracy. Section 1 considers loyalty as a relationship to particular others. Following this, Section 2 considers the role that loyalty plays in the civic sphere as a partiality of special concern to a particular people, tradition or grouping. Section 3 then considers what makes us loyal and turn to empirical work on loyalty within the marketplace and economic theory, briefly drawing on two types of brand loyalty: inertial brand loyalty and cost brand loyalty, reinforcing this with Hirschman’s contribution in this area on Exit and Voice. Section 4 further analyses the metaphor of market and, following from this, Section 5, considers how this plays out in educational systems and in schools to help create identity-loyalties. Finally, Section 6 argues that the use of marketplace language and suppositions that schooling systems can be equated with business practices which are shown to be based on the misuse of a metaphor which may undermine civic cohesion. The section concludes that a rich account is needed of the public’s stake in public schooling and for careful consideration and development of appropriate civic bonds.

Section 1: Loyalty Loyalty is a complicated area of study. We often take for granted that to be a loyal person is somehow praiseworthy and to be disloyal is reproachable. Royce, for

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example, refers to loyalty as: ‘the heart of all virtues, the central duty amongst all duties’ (Royce, 1908, p. xxiv). But what exactly do we mean by loyalty? Loyalty is generally accepted as having particular features. First, it has to have some object. A loyalty, according to Simon Keller, depicts a particular relationship between a person and the object of their loyalty (Keller, 2007) – one has to be loyal to someone or something. Secondly, we are loyal for reasons  – we do not give our loyalty to persons, causes or projects at random. These reasons tend to be underpinned by seeing the object as being valuable or by benefiting personally in some way. Thirdly, in many cases, there is an emotional attachment to the object of our loyalty: we feel connected to the object of our loyalty, regarding it as being ‘ours’. Its value to me is partly connected to that sense of attachment: this is my friend, my community, my workplace. When it prospers, then I feel pride; when it suffers or is damaged, I feel the reflected pain. Think of the loyal football fan, following her team over the years  – overjoyed when they win; sorrowful when they lose. This attachment to the object serves a purpose: it can lead to a propensity to put the needs of another first above other choices available, sometimes even at the expense of one’s own well-being. Loyalty requires, when the chips are down, that we support our friend, relative or colleague before strangers. Fourthly, there are often competing loyalties, where our loyalty is called on by more than one object at the same time. The bond of loyalty requires particular actions to reinforce the bond: it helps us to separate out the people we should be partial to, from others for whom impartiality is more appropriate (Oldenquist, 1982). As such, it serves to place us within an intricate mesh of relationships that denote how we stand to one another. Loyalty was historically imposed upon people by virtue of who they were and where they lived: loyalty to tribe or clan members was based on an expectation of mutual benefit: of food, shelter and comfort, all needed to ensure survival – our loyalty to them was the price we paid. Loyalty takes time to develop: one does not suddenly choose to be loyal any more than one decides on the spur of the moment to be someone’s friend. For example, I cannot suddenly wake up one morning and decide to be loyal to France and its particular traditions and commitments. However, I can change my allegiance to that of France by investigating what being French might entail: I might consider the values and mores of French society and, finding them acceptable, might decide over time to adopt them. At some stage, as the new attachment forms, the old one falls back or withers, and change becomes possible: the attachments and ties take time to form from one object to another.

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When we care about someone, when we have an attachment that requires loyal behaviour on our part, this partiality may interfere with how we decide on and judge moral behaviour. While we expect a parent to be willing to sacrifice for their own child, because they are their children, we do not expect them to be willing to sacrifice for someone else’s child under normal circumstances. But how much do we expect them to sacrifice? Can their loyalty to their particular child warrant them over-riding the well-being of others?4 There is a distinct difference between self-sacrifice (parents frequently go without things to ensure their children are provided for) and sacrifice of others. Importantly, loyalty cannot excuse all behaviour nor can it substitute for good moral judgment: any attachment to the object or cause must come after judging it to be worthwhile. The difficulty arises in determining what is worth being loyal to, and apportioning how much loyalty to give. What can be concluded from this is that loyalty can give us motives for action. Underlying this is the assumption that some ties by their very nature demand actions of particular kinds. One obvious way in which this can have a bearing on wider, civic connections is that loyalty may blur our impartial moral judgements or even prove inappropriate on occasions where our attachments to particular others clash with the need for impartiality expected by Kantian ethics. For example, choosing to rescue our family members or our best friends from drowning before strangers are actions demanded by the ties, usually without questioning the reasoning behind the action: we just do it. All too often there is unease that those who falter and have to weigh up the moral justifications of what they should do before acting may somehow be reproachable. Indeed, the act of questioning itself then really would be as described by Bernard Williams, ‘one thought too many’.

Section 2: Loyalty in the civic sphere Loyalty forms an important part of our civic obligations to others, by enabling us to identify ourselves with particular groupings and giving us reasons to consider their needs and well-being. As loyalty aims at allegiances, it has benefits to others as well as to us. It affects our actions to the object of our loyalty, whether by promoting its interest, following its orders, or supporting it in some way over other possible choices (Keller, 2007); without this factor, allegiances could not hold. Associations that hold our loyalty are usually ones that we are deeply involved with or that we identify with. Because of this factor, it plays a large

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role in theories of ‘belonging’ sometimes even being described as ‘social glue’, binding disparate persons together. Aspects of our self-identity can be intimately connected with how we identify with others. By this, we usually mean those traits that make us different from others or unique (Olson, 1965). George Fletcher describes this as the ‘historical self ’: that our life stories or our personal histories impact on making us who we are (Fletcher, 1993, p. 16). Common sense tells us that our initial ‘self ’ cannot be self-chosen: we cannot choose which culture to be born into; neither can we choose our language, or childhood and familial obligations and allegiances  – these decisions are usually made by parents and family on our behalf. While aspects of our personal identities are undoubtedly connected to our perceived group loyalties, as Glover argues, there is also an identity that over time we ourselves create. This extended ‘self-creation’ gives us a sense of ownership of our own lives that we are in charge (Glover, 1999). Glover uses the metaphor of narrative to explain this further: ‘The story we tell about ourselves, partly by what we do and partly by how we edit the account of our past, is central to our sense of our own identity’ (Glover, 1999, p.  145). Within our ‘narratives’, our lives are intimately bound to those of others who also play a part in our stories. We draw on shared memories, frameworks of reference to events and histories, all of which makes these others important in our accounts. For an identity to be coherent in this view, it requires a loyalty to the source that gives meaning to that identity, and to perhaps act in ways to protect it. Before proceeding further, it is useful to use an historical perspective to draw on a distinction between different types of loyalty. Franck suggests that humans have historically defined themselves on the basis of loyalty, whether to a person (perhaps kings or religious leaders) or an institution (state, nation or religious organization) (Franck, 1999). He describes this loyalty as: ‘. . . law-based and religiously enforced, a duty, not a blossoming of common culture or affinity’ (Franck, 1999, p. 53). This form of loyalty to the king was real and personal, from ruled (subjects) to ruler: this strictly vertical loyalty to a social superior was demanded by rulers as theirs by ‘birthright’, frequently upheld by law or practices of tradition (e.g. oaths of fealty). The support or protection provided by rulers to ruled (vertical also) served to uphold this model. Following the revolutions in America and France in the late eighteenth century, a new concept of loyalty emerged: that of citizens. Franck attributes this move from the idea of the person as a subject to being a citizen, with loyalty owed by the citizen body to each other (a horizontal loyalty), as grounding an understanding of connection as expressed in the ideals of liberty,

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equality and fraternity (Franck, 1999). This ‘common bond of mutual loyalty’ (Franck, 1999, p.  54) became ‘one of the invisible ties that bind us together’ (Healy, 2007, p. 745). Group loyalties, in which the object of loyalty is shared by more than one person, arguably underpin much of social life. Olderquist describes this as an essential move in moral thinking from egoism (mine) to social values (ours) and: ‘. . . . defines a moral community in terms of a conception of a common good and a special commitment to the members of the group who share this good. . . . Those who share this common good comprise my tribe; the common good is its flourishing’ (Oldenquist, 1982, p.  177). This allows us to enter the domain of civic loyalty where the loyalty goes beyond an individual to the group, a particular nation or tradition of others like us. However, not all group loyalties provide opportunities for the nurture of skills, dispositions and attitudes needed for civic life: indeed, many groups can be internally undemocratic in their organization and/or practices, discriminating against particular groupings based on gender, race, etc. Some of these group loyalties could even be argued to undermine or be in tension with civic loyalty which demands that all actors are somehow equal and interdependent within the sphere of civic engagements (Healy, 2007, 2011a). This then becomes problematic for the modern liberal state which depends on citizens being able to identify with each other in order to bring about a willingness to sacrifice elements of their well-being for the sake of their fellow citizens, whether through the payment of taxes to provide common goods or the ultimate sacrifice demanded in warfare. The most widely written about group loyalty is that of patriotism. Michael Hand, in his recent and highly regarded IMPACT pamphlet, describes patriotism as ‘a certain kind of emotional attachment to a certain kind of object’ (Hand, 2011, p. 11). He points out that this emotional attachment can perform a useful task in motivating citizens to perform their civic duties (Hand, 2011). In a similar vein, Callan suggests that patriotism can make it easier for citizens to make those sacrifices that membership of a political community may require of its members (Callan, 1997). Patriotism is usually thought of as a special kind of loyalty and devotion to a cause (usually a country) and this loyalty is founded upon a particular relationship between the subject and the object of the patriotism. In some of the literature, this form of group loyalty is referred to as a partiality of special concern to a particular people, tradition or grouping. Indeed, Archard defines patriotism as: ‘. . . love of one’s country or nation, and this love is, in terms of the ideal, prescribed as a virtuous disposition to act in certain, often self-denying

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and self-sacrificial, ways on behalf of one’s country’ (Archard, 1999, p.  159). MacIntyre argues that this ‘action-generated regard’ (MacIntyre, 2003, p. 287) applies exclusively for those instances of loyalty to one’s own nation that are based on the characteristics, merits and achievements of that nation. Nations, he continues are not interchangeable. One wouldn’t switch allegiance for another nation exhibiting the same characteristics: ‘the particularity of the relationship is essential and ineliminable’ (MacIntyre, 2003, p.  288). In MacIntyre’s view, the person who lacks patriotic commitment to his country, is in some way, alienated from a particular ethical perspective shared among that community underpinning our ability to make ethical judgements about the best way to live. On a superficial level, this seems to require me to be devoted in a particular way to my country as it would a Canadian to be devoted to his: that patriotism would then be grounded solely in the ‘my-ness’ of the relationship, and not on particular characteristics of the object of patriotic devotion. This would be mistaken: it is quite possible to be patriotic to a despicable country or regime (the patriotic Nazi for example). Other attributes of loyalty need to be accounted for – the attachment to the cause comes after judging it to be worthwhile. The loyalty, even at macro level, does not guarantee that the devotion is either justified or desirable – and can be mistaken. The challenge we face is to generate the loyalties needed for civic life to exist and to develop sufficient horizontal loyalties without abandoning the vertical loyalties of individual commitments. A fine line has to be tread between the selfishness of too little loyalty and the horrific consequences of too much loyalty. The history of the twentieth century has been marred by one case history after another, as demonstrated by Jonathan Glover, of the consequences of how strong ‘tribal loyalties’ have broken down respect for people of other ‘tribes’ leading to a denial of their humanity with the most appalling consequences: Nazi Germany, Rwanda, Bosnia (Glover, 1999). Loyalties may indeed be the ties that ‘bind us together’; but that fact alone does not necessitate that all resultant actions will be virtuous.

Section 3: What makes us loyal? The majority of empirical studies on loyalty tend to focus on its usefulness, mostly from areas such as marketing and economic theory. These studies have become powerful elements for our understanding of basic economic theories of consumer behaviour and the psychology behind how human loyalties can be

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formed. Within this vast literature, the focus is on the mechanisms of loyalty that can be manipulated by market strategies to ensure that consumers return to the same brand time after time. In marketing discourse, a customer is seen as brand loyal: ‘if his purchasing pattern depends positively on the last brand purchased’ (Wernerfelt, 1991, p.  231). Birger Wernerfelt points out that within strategic marketing, brand loyalty is a fundamental concept from two perspectives (Wernerfelt, 1991). The first perspective (inertial brand loyalty) is typified as a lack of recognition or knowledge about the merits of alternatives (Healy, 2007). Here, the loyalty is based on habit: this may be the customer staying with their initial energy supplier and who never tries to compare services available elsewhere or to switch to a ‘better deal’. Similarly, this may be the voter who always votes the same way as their parents or because they have always voted that way. Within education, this might be the parent choosing the same school for their child as they went to themselves (or even on the criteria of it being their local school) without considering alternatives. In contrast, the second perspective (cost-based loyalty) is typified by weighing up the costs involved in switching (Healy, 2007). Here, the customer gathers information about alternatives, perhaps comparing prices or services, but eventually chooses not to switch . . . for now. For some, the costs of switching or inconvenience of change may retain their custom; for others, the current brand has some advantage that other ones do not yet offer. They might be the voter who attends the hustings and town meetings, watches the political programmes and then votes on the policies that benefit them most or that they best agree with on issues important to them. Similarly, this might be the parent who visits all the local schools and reads the Ofsted reports prior to making an ‘informed’ choice. This form of loyalty, however, is neither permanent nor can it be depended on: it is more akin to a floating loyalty. Central to this is the claim that ‘brand loyalty’ exists purely to prevent consumers looking elsewhere. Companies that wish to break into existing markets have to find ways to shift existing loyalties customers may already hold. This can entail working out the precise switching costs (inertial brand loyalty) of loyal consumers of other companies (perhaps by offering special offers or lower prices if paying annually). Others may choose to develop loyalties in those without any market loyalties (what would it cost to keep their custom long term) or even to entice those not currently engaged in the market into joining in (how to attract and retain new customers). What is noticeable in all of this is that brand loyalties are in many ways negative attachments: customers are loyal, not for value of the item in question

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(there is not an attitude of affection consistent with the map of loyalty drawn up previously); they see things as ‘mine . . . for now’. Most brand loyalties exist between the supplier and the consumer as a form of vertical loyalty. All that being said, it must be admitted that companies occasionally try to nurture a secondary horizontal bond between the consumers: that by purchasing this item, they become part of a grouping that says something about the persona they wish to portray (the Boden mum; the Volvo driver, the Apple user, etc.). This brand loyalty tends to be demonstrated through a variety of measures: easily identifiable logos on clothing or goods; company identities (which can include uniforms, company design in and of premises). By identifying others as purchasers of similar things, it reinforces our positive image of our self as a chooser but also reinforces the identity we wish to portray to others. While there can be a modicum of affection for fellow members, as people who share in this narrative, there is rarely a willingness to give up elements of one’s own wellbeing for the others that is associated with loyalty in the civic sphere.5 Albert Hirschman’s distinction between exit (leaving) and voice (staying and fighting) adds a further dimension to our understanding of cost-based loyalty (Hirschman, 1970). When a customer becomes dissatisfied with a product there are two options: first they can exit (leave and buy another similar product) or secondly, they can exercise voice (stay and try to influence change within the company). To prevent customer flight, many companies have developed particular strategies to encourage consumers to stay brand loyal – unsurprisingly, most of these are called ‘loyalty schemes’. In-store marketing environments can use the information gleaned from scanner data and/or loyalty card usage to monitor brand loyalty, price sensitivity and introduction of new brands as shown by research on a chain of supermarkets in Missouri, United States (Baron and Lock, 1995; Wernerfelt, 1991). Yet exit is credited with playing a useful role in free market theory; competition between companies is believed to drive down prices and thus benefit the customer (Fletcher, 1993). Exercising voice, on the other hand, requires a far greater commitment than exit from the consumer, covering activities as diverse as lodging complaints, media campaigns or banding together with others with similar problems to negotiate change in shareholder meetings – all time consuming activities. Voice has been argued to force companies to change policies, for example the boycott of companies involved in trading in South Africa under apartheid (bad publicity is to be avoided as it may increase exit). The exercise of voice, as Hirshmann describes it, can be ‘political action par excellence’ (Hirschman, 1970, p.  16). Despite this, exit is often seen to be the easier option and particularly suited in

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economic sectors (easy to achieve, avoids confrontation and can be relatively low cost). The cost of exit to the consumer can often be a major factor in determining between the two (there may not be a reasonable alternative), and sometimes neither is the exclusive response to a given problem (Labaree, 2000). Mark Warren reminds us that Hirschman’s purpose was to introduce the concept of voice to both economists and organizational theory which had tended to concentrate on exit (Warren, 2011). Hirschman’s argument pointed out that exit and voice were in many ways complementary concepts – the availability of exit could work to encourage companies to provide opportunity for voice (thus preventing exit). It should be remembered that Hirschman saw loyalty as the third part of the triad (exit, voice and loyalty) – that it is in the absence of loyalty that exit and voice could be traded off against each other. This upholds the view that loyalty is a resource that organizations use to dissuade customers from exit and thus stabilize membership.

Section 4: Markets and education Richard Pring critiques four particular features of markets (choice, relationships, competition and self interest) (Pring, 1996) that help to develop this discontinuity between markets and belonging, that would benefit from further conceptual clarification when applied to our project. First, Pring argues that to choose rationally requires there to be several items to choose from, all of which will serve a similar purpose. It makes little sense to talk of a choice where there is only one item that can be chosen. Similarly, it must be possible to exit from a choice that proves unsatisfactory and to take up an alternative. Choices require providers of the choices: however, it is unclear whether or not choice on its own requires different providers. It is conceptually possible to have choices from among a range of alternatives from the same provider. This point becomes particularly apposite when discussing ‘schools-within schools’ in Chapter 7. Secondly, markets emphasis particular relationships between providers and the consumer. The provider merely provides a good or service that can be acquired by the consumer; he is not required to like the consumer – just make their goods available to them. He can neither force purchase nor refuse his good in a reasonable market without good cause.6 The provider is likely to enter into a relationship of trust/loyalty with the consumer only under particular conditions. In many countries, this is required under consumer laws and is not a freely chosen bond. The bond tends to be time-generated: the provider will terminate the bond

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after a period of time judged as ‘reasonable’ under consumer protectionist laws. The recipient or consumer makes the judgement about the purchase and has the power to establish satisfaction with the good. The wise provider may want to keep the recipient happy and alter the terms and agreements made previously and do so should the consumer express dissatisfaction – this can then generate repeat business or good publicity to attract other customers. What is noteworthy here are the grounds of (and the type of) personal relationships that would be generated under these conditions when applied to the civic realm: the market metaphor transforms the individual from a citizen of the state (with an emphasis on both rights and responsibilities) to a client of the state (whereby we pay for services as taxpayers). Thirdly, perfect markets emphasize not only choice, but competition: there must be alternative providers should none of the choices available be deemed acceptable. Perfect markets demand that the alternative providers provide alternatives that the consumer could choose from. Conceptually, a market cannot operate where there are a variety of providers all providing exactly the same good: the provider has to compete for custom against other providers of similar goods. This may mean that they have to have particular features for their good that outshine those of others or offer slightly different services, thus giving reasons for choice. For perfect markets to work, providers cannot band together to affect supply and demand in ways that distort the structures (thus turning the market back into a version of a monopoly). Many countries have laws that forbid markets from operating in particular ways: for example businesses that may attempt to form cartels and fix prices against the principle of genuine competition, or the forming of monopolies where one provider has sole control of the sale of products. This has particular implications for instances where schools band together to form some types of federations – market competition would undermine this – or where schooling systems sit side by side with others that have differing admissions criteria that ‘cream off ’ particular grouping of pupils. Fourthly, perfect markets must also assume that the customer is operating purely on self-interest. Not only must the customer be in control of the purchase, rational (capable of weighing up choices available), they also are assumed to be trying to get the best good for themselves. This emphasis on self-interest serves to disconnect the individual from those around who would not be operating in their interest. To advance my self-interest requires me to ignore that of others. There are considerable difficulties when applying this model directly to education. First, it is unclear that the ‘customer’ is only or even solely motivated

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by their own interest. Secondly, the identity of the ‘consumer’ is unclear: is it the parent who frequently makes the choice on behalf of the child to be schooled or is it the child themselves by virtue of the fact they are being educated? Thirdly, it is unclear that all ‘consumers’ (however defined) want exactly the same thing from the good in question or value it in the same way. So why are markets so attractive as a method or organizing aspects of social life? Sandel claims that this can partly be explained by economics purporting to be ‘value free’ – that markets do not express judgements (Sandel, 2012). Yet, as he further argues: ‘. . . markets are not mere mechanisms. They embody certain norms. They presuppose- and promote- certain ways of valuing the goods being exchanged’ (Sandel, 2012, p. 64). Suffice it to say for now that ‘markets’ may have little to contribute to the question of how we want to live together and may lead to the neglect of the crucial horizontal loyalties required by our commitments to the civic sphere.

Section 5: Loyalty and schools The education of children, prior to the nineteenth century, was essentially a private affair in England (Walford, 2001): most of the early schools were feepaying or charity schools, many of which were provided by Christian faith groups. It was only following the 1870 Education Act that the state started to enter into universal provision and maintenance of its own schools; even so, there continued to be both faith and fee-paying schools. What is important to draw out here is that there has never been a golden age of just state school provision in England. But it is with the introduction of particular market mechanisms through neo-liberal conceptualizations of school autonomy and choice issues since the 1980s that we are most concerned in what follows. Previous research has extensively critiqued the ability of some groupings of parents to sidestep admission mechanisms designed to regulate school choice provision (Anton, 2000; Ball, 2003; Cuban and Shipps, 2000; Reay et al., 2007; Swift, 2003). For example, financially able parents can exit their children from particular schools by moving house into more attractive catchment areas. Or indeed, the ways in which others might buy second homes, or develop religious commitments where faith schools are seen to be superior in standards or reputation. Others, again, choose to opt out of state provision into private education or choose to home-school. This form of exit is possible but expensive and hence not an option available to more than a small minority.

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The prioritization of exit as a solution to parental dissatisfaction in state education is to be expected, argues Labaree: Reform initiatives for choice, charters, and vouchers offer educational consumers a variety of ways to leave schools they do not like and move to schools they do like. All of these reforms work by removing governmental barriers to the exercise of the exit option and increasing the responsiveness of schools to their exiting customers. (Labaree, 2000, p. 115)

Yet the cost of exit is not solely paid by the parent: it can also be paid by the school as pupils transfer and funding is lost or gained. Choice can actively offer reasons to be disloyal and to encourage exit: in terms of economic theory, to shift brand loyalties in seeking another, ‘better’ product. This can encourage parents to treat education as just another ‘consumer good’ and to exit one school for another. Exit trumps voice. It seems ironic that the prioritizing of exit should be the preferred solution to dissatisfaction when schools offer increasing numbers of ways in which to use voice: parent-teacher organizations, parent-governors, appeals or complaints to the governing body or LEA. Research seems to imply that it is the collective exercise of voice in education can be particularly effective. For example, Reay et al. recently reported on an ESRC research project on identities, choice and the white urban middle-classes (Reay et  al., 2008 ). The parents studied had each made the decision to support their local urban comprehensive school and not to use a private school system. They were committed to the comprehensive principle of education, believing that state education would only improve if parents actively chose to work within the system (exercising voice when problems arose). The parents argued that they could achieve this more effectively by acting collectively rather than individually (Reay et al., 2007, 2008). Voice trumps exit. Before proceeding further, it is important to acknowledge that schools cannot totally avoid being in the loyalty business in some way. The socialization of children, bringing them into acceptable ways of behaving in society, has always been a part of the functions of schools (White, 1972/1975). Numerous articles in the press reported how a previous UK Prime Minister, Tony Blair, wished to import practices of independent and public schools into the state school sector. Such suggestions have been echoed by his successors and subsequent secretaries of state for education. It is interesting to note that many of the practices referred to are associated with loyalty symbols: the wearing of uniforms, internal

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competition in school houses and competitive team sports. For example, by wearing a school uniform, pupils are encouraged to look the same in some respect, to be able to identify a commonality with the group. Similarly, many schools in the United Kingdom have mottos expressing some shared ideal, or logos found on items used by the group (badges, bags, scarves): again, another identity-forming device. All this leads to the children seeing themselves as part of a team: the formation of an ‘us’. Many schools have been encouraged to identify and develop particular selling points or specialisms: sports academies, ICT academies, schools of the performing arts, etc. This impetus has now been devolved downward to primary schools (brain-gym schools, brain-centred learning schools, Philosophy for Children schools, etc.). These features can be seen as part of the loyalty-forming process: the creation of a school corporate brand or identity. In addition to the whole school identity, schools aim to create other group identities. The sheer fact of referring to a class as Year 2 gives them a grouping to identify with, to belong to. It is common practice among many primary schools to have ‘table points’ awarded for good behaviour and subtracted for poor. By giving the points to those seated at the same table, each pupil is then responsible for the behaviour of the next. When one succeeds, they all succeed: there is ‘something in it for them’. There are times when schools are involved in attempts to exclude personal loyalties in order to create joint ‘civic loyalties’. The ‘hijab’ ruling in France banning the wearing of ostentatious religious symbols, is at one level concerned with creating conditions in schools for an equal citizenry unbound by personal or religious commitments, ensuring that pupils think of themselves as French citizens first and foremost. At another level it serves to introduce a new element into the argument: who we want to be (personal autonomy in choice over our future ends) over who we are (the sum of our allegiances, traditions and loyalties). While schools can provide a place in which to expose children to various ways of life and commitments, trying to prevent children from public displays of religious allegiance may end up making such displays more attractive by virtue of being forbidden! Most schools in the United Kingdom have got around such problems with identity-forming symbols by allowing religious dress, as long as it is in school colours. This allows for the principle sought of being the same (a group loyalty) and providing a common symbol (as in the same colours) yet allowing for other personal identity symbols (those of religious commitment). Although there may be much to be said in favour of such practices in creating a ‘community’ sense of belonging by shared identity symbols, the subconscious externalities of all this function to declare to others: this is who we are. We

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belong; those that are different do not belong to us. Loyalty serves to identify those that belong together but equally identifies those who are rejected as being ‘other’: excluding as well as including. Those who for one reason or another cannot keep the school or group identity may be singled out and made to feel different. This raises, however, several troubling issues: which strands of identityforming loyalties should schools have control over? And how much control is reasonable?

Section 6: Conclusion In summary, we have distinguished between loyalty as a personal value between individuals (horizontal) and loyalty within the economic arena (vertical brand loyalty). This raises questions over the influence of market loyalty on the development of civic loyalty in issues of social cohesion and schooling. First, we need to consider the function of loyalty: that it is useful for achieving allegiances. Our loyalties indicate those we have special obligations towards and who we can count on for help should we need it. Just as loyalty is a feature of belonging to those who are most like us, it also identifies those who fall outside of this boundary: those who do not belong. This then has implications for the model of cohesion being used and illustrates the difficulty of presuming community or local instances of cohesion will extend outwards to societal levels. But more than this: when markets are seen as the binding mechanism in society, it not only serves to disenfranchise those who may be dependent on the whims of the market for their everyday lives, but highlights their exclusion from issues of control and influence over these markets. Secondly, creating school systems around just one aspect of our identity can ignore other aspects, and the ties and obligations thereof. Similarly, we cannot assume that the loyalties found within such groups will necessarily be the same as those needed between groups to sustain the civic environment. There is nothing intrinsically wrong in schools developing their own identities and encouraging a sense of ‘ownership’ among pupils or in the use of identity-forming symbols and rituals. However, such schools run the danger of becoming exclusive schools, not in the sense of being ‘elite’ or ‘high-class’, but as being selective, that by their nature, exclude or restrict access (whether by fee, religion or geography). Perhaps school systems should extend and offer ways to spread out our loyalties and allegiances to best enable future citizens to develop important civic virtues.

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Thirdly, the idea of markets work best in situations where there is easy entry and exit in trading of simple goods. Market loyalties do not have the good of the customer at heart, but aim to maximize profits: a loyal customer will not leave even if the price rises slightly or they have slightly less favourable conditions. Markets function to identify the exact circumstances that would make previously loyal customers weaken their loyalty and either switch or avoid those circumstances: loyalty is neither fixed nor permanent, reflecting self-interest. This is not the best model for the civic arena: for a society to achieve cohesion, however understood, it has to go beyond a relationship based on simple exchange of services, to motivate, and encourage citizens towards doing what is good for the sake of other (Kaplan, 2007). Cooperative action may affect a better opportunity for change than exit: for example parents who band together to improve the school that their children are in rather than seek to opt out. Similarly, it may be more efficacious for schools to work together on shared projects or the sharing of ‘best practice’ against their need to hold a particular ‘brand position’ in the local education ‘market’. Fourthly, as Michael Sandel reminds us, markets embody particular norms (Reith Lectures, 2009). They can highlight or incentivize against particular values: consumer demand then articulates what is of value: in market parlance, the consumer is king. Yet recent global financial events have caused many to seriously reconsider the position of unfettered free markets in finance and to query whether free markets can really accommodate particular moral, social or community values. Education is one of society’s most central and important practices – the forming of the future society itself. Yet pure markets cannot but neglect the public good we need of education systems. Education, as Jonathan points out, ‘both reflects and produces social circumstance and values’ (Jonathan, 1997, p. 4). If we accept Margaret Thatcher’s often misquoted statement ‘there is no such thing as society’, markets may be seen as a reasonable way in which to assign the provision of education and schools within a given self-interested, competitive, disconnected citizenry. If, however, we reject this premise, then markets lose their sheen and can be seen to actively undermine the interests of what it is to be a society. In the next chapter, we turn to the third of the metaphors for civic relationships, that of family, and consider the possibility of fraternity acting as a normative political concept, situated within a conception of democracy, as best able to model our belonging.

5

Fraternity

On the 7th July, 2005, four ‘home-grown’ young men took part in a suicide attack in London. News reports were full of shock that the terrorists were British citizens killing their own fellow citizens. It had always been assumed that terrorists would be ‘others’, terrorists coming from outside of the country. In August 2005, Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans (and other coastal states) killing 1500 people and scattering the majority of the 450,000 prehurricane population. When an official evacuation of the city was called for on August 28th, over 10,000 citizens were unable to leave and crammed into the Superdome to wait for help to come. It did not come. It was nearly a week before a complete evacuation was achieved in the richest nation on the planet. Those who had the means to leave when the levees broke did so: those who could not, were without personal transport and/or had nowhere else to go; nine out of ten were poor and black. Political and press preoccupation with the ‘veil’ issue, as raised by Jack Straw in 2006,1 reiterated growing concerns with the fraying nature of our civic relationship and how certain features of our lives serve to separate us from each other. It had suddenly been ‘discovered’ that there are parallel communities living separate lives among us (despite the Cantle Report making precisely this point in 2001). This fact of pluralism has led to national soul-searching in the United Kingdom as to the ability of multiculturalism to serve as a solution to problems of integration. Against the political background of the 2010 general election in the United Kingdom, the Conservative party policy of ‘The Big Society’ sought to create a unifying set of approaches for how to remodel an alleged ‘broken society’. Yet the policy was heavily criticized by both politicians and political commentators

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for lacking depth and clarity of thought. The metaphor, in many ways, attempted to address the perennial problem in philosophy of balancing the relationship of the state and society. While to some commentators (and politicians) the argument seemed puzzling and disconnected from party policy; it seemed to argue for a vision of social cooperation without the state, to be achieved through a combination of volunteering, social action and community organization. This conflation of community action and societal action within the concept of the ‘Big Society’ had its roots in previous thinking by the Conservative Party. Just before his election in the Conservative leadership contest in 2005, David Cameron gave a speech called `Building a prosocial society’ to the National Council for Voluntary Organizations. The theme was continued in his victory speech after this election in December 2005, where he famously argued ‘there is such a thing as society – it’s just not the same thing as the state.’2 A further development can be seen in attempts by the Conservative Party in 2006 to claim the concept of fraternity as a political principle commensurate with their own particular values. Danny Kruger, special adviser to David Cameron, argued in Prospect magazine: our agonized debates about community cohesion, about the integration of immigrant groups and national identity, are debates about fraternity. How do we accommodate some, a cohesive and exclusive social grouping, if that grouping both suppresses one (the individual) and admits little allegiance to all (the nation, represented in the state)? But fraternity is also the ghost in the machine of the debates about health and education, about housing and the environment, and about crime and its causes. In each of these areas the vital issue is how communities themselves, not the individual or the state, can address the challenges that face them. (Kruger, 2006, p. 2)

Here we have the initial glimmers of ‘the big society’. It appeared remarkable that a Conservative party should attempt to take over what had previously been thought of as a particularly left-wing concept. However, if the previously neglected concept of fraternity is to provide a theoretical basis underpinning governmental policy, no matter how tangentially referenced, it needs further philosophical attention to fulfil the role thrust upon it amid often befuddled images of belonging and ‘the good society’ and the obligations and responsibilities attracted by such positioning. Although much has been written in political philosophy about liberty and equality, fraternity has not always had the same attention. Indeed, it has often

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been thought to be a subset of one of the two other values and not a political concept in its own right. Despite the lack of specific attention to fraternity per se in recent political literature, fraternity has to some extent become an unspoken value: in many ways, it has been ‘smuggled’ back through newly emerging arguments on social capital and cohesion (networks of trust, obligation and cooperation). With a general lack of prior attention to fraternity, and to enable us to proceed with clarity of vision in our identification of applications within education, the conceptual underpinnings and commitments that support our understandings of fraternity need untangling. Fraternity forms part of a group of ‘family’ relationships (including paternalism, brotherhood, fatherland, nation, etc.) that have been metaphorized in different ways. These metaphors stress interdependence, affection and belonging. Models of idealized family structures are argued to lie at the heart of political imaginings as a way of modelling how moral obligations to help each other can be expanded into civic understandings and frame discussions of political issues (Lakoff, 1995). These family metaphors are common because of their usefulness as specific images representing interactions in terms of the interactions of family members. John Horton, for example, claims that obligations within families share certain features with political obligation hence the use of the family provides a good context within which to examine non-voluntary undertakings (Horton, 2007). Despite this, many previous scholarly analyses of the metaphor have voiced misgivings about usage of fraternity, made uneasy by the linkage to paternalism, parent-child relationships and associated leader-follower imagery (Benne, 1961; Clawson, 1980; Gilligan and Richards, 2009). Indeed, many feminist theorists argue that this irredeemably damages the use of all family metaphors for the civic domain. Where the family group is a primary domain for how we organize social life, it can provide a powerful metaphor for how the civic relationship can be modelled. Indeed kinship, historically, has often been seen as a mode for understanding and organizing social relationships. These family metaphors represent interactions in terms of the interactions of family members and are present in the political language of most societies (Todd, 1985). The language and models of kinship, when applied to social bonds, are frequently based on similarities: feeling kin (of the same kind) is often based on mutual recognition of shared interests (Peters, 1966). Such models of idealized family structures are argued to lie at the heart of political imaginings as a way of modelling how moral obligations to help each other can be expanded to frame discussions of political issues (Lakoff, 1995).

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Where this treatment differs from previous accounts is to consider this in the context of differing civic bonds, arguing that democracy requires and entails a particular form of relationship. In this chapter, I shall indicate two different faces of fraternity that are muddled in the political discussion previously referred to. The first I call a strong version of fraternity  – connected to tight forms of interdependence, responsibility and obligation. As I will show, this is rooted in a strict interpretation of family metaphors. The second version I call democratic fraternity – an ideal metaphoric relationship between citizens who may not have the same identity ties. This dual nature of the concept has not gone completely unnoticed and has received some, albeit limited, previous attention: for example R. S. Peters, in analysing fraternity, noted that ‘.  .  . fellow feeling for another as a person is a more abstract sentiment than the fraternity felt by members of a cohesive face-to-face group’ (Peters, 1966, p. 226). Barker, on the other hand, makes the distinction between the ‘psychological fact of common emotion and the political principle of fraternity’ (Barker, 1951, p.  160). I highlight a rather different aspect to the concept, that any relationship of citizens in a liberal democracy must be firmly grounded within the notion of democracy itself. In Section 1, we start to place the concept in the context in which it arose. In Section 2, we consider ‘strong fraternity’, what it is that draws groups tightly together. This, in turn leads, in Section 3, into a consideration of the basis for the metaphor of democratic fraternity, situated within an historical exemplar of horizontal bonds and demonstrating the link to both belonging and the inequalities literature of social cohesion. In Section 4, we counter the feminist arguments against the use of fraternity as a political concept. Finally, in Section 5, I indicate that it is not an either/or choice between the two concepts of fraternity, but that both are needed within different realms and suggest the implications of this for education.

Section 1: A history of fraternity On the surface, fraternity is a concept whose nature is open to endless dispute. Derived from an original exemplar (that of the move from vertical to horizontal loyalties), fraternity has a long history in political life as a relationship between those bound together in ‘family’ groupings, by similarities and common heritage or by denoting particular ways of belonging. Indeed, the history of fraternity is almost a history of politics itself.

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Group loyalties and the sharing of resources existed long before terms were coined for this phenomenon (Stjernø, 2005). Many early societies based the duties and obligations of group living on kinship and familial ties. While this ‘brotherliness’ may have initially been familial or tribal, the metaphoric usage soon became detached from particular kinship relationships by the growth of Christianity. This promoted the mirroring of a vertical relationship of ruler and ruled for the relationship between creator (father) and created (brothers/ children) (Brunkhorst, 2005). Just as the growing Christian empire replaced that of the Ancients, so concepts associated with particular virtues valued by the prevailing orthodoxies also replaced each other. While brotherliness was originally familial, Brunkhorst claims it became detached from kinship relationships by the growth of Christianity to include the ‘brotherhood’ of all human beings (Brunkhorst, 2005). It used the metaphor of family relationships to illustrate the relationship between creator (father) and created (brothers/children). The paternalistic and vertical relationship of ruler and ruled mimicked this Christian model. It is undoubtedly true that much of this religious understanding of fraternity was reinforced by images of communities of friars, yet by the Middle Ages the concept started to become associated with people sharing the bond of the same profession (Stjernø, 2005). As such, it can be traced back to the early fourteenth century as holding the meaning of ‘a body of men associated by common interest’ from the Old French ‘fraternité’. Such family imagery was a recurrent feature of medieval life: patriarchy was the underlying model for how a society should function (Phillips, 1984). Beyond this, craft masters, trades and professions organized themselves along similar lines. These fraternities and/or brotherhoods, putting pressure on masters who tried to cut wages or conditions of work, pre-figured later trade unionism (Belcham, 2001; Clawson, 1980; Phillips, 1984; Richardson, 2004). While bringing together members bound by loyalty to fellow members and thus advancing the conditions of the members, it also became associated with intense rivalries between guilds and ‘brotherhoods’ (Phillips, 1993). Detached from the earlier Christian idealism and a growing association with a secularized ‘love’ of neighbour, the concept increasingly became aligned with the concepts of freedom and equality as a moral obligation upon citizens. Consider the following: ‘.  .  . what the ideas of 1789 give us is a concept of fraternity/solidarity, which is both radically inclusive and political. It is radically inclusive in the sense that it now covers all of our co-nationals . . . it is political in the sense that it is essentially linked to democracy itself ’ (Leydet, 2006b, p. 800). Fraternity crucially attracted interest with the well-known slogan of the

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Jacobin revolution of 1793: liberté, égalité, fraternité (Stevens, 2001). With this, the previously vertical relationship of ruled to ruler became transformed into a horizontal bond shared between citizens. And again: ‘It evokes a metaphor of family relations: relations among brothers. The revolutionary idea of fraternité was meant to be extended to all humans so as to view humanity as an extended family: the family of man. Relations among brothers are basically horizontal relations: relations among equals’ (Margalit, 2006). This metaphoric relationship of siblinghood stepped away from the loyalty relationships of aristocratic ruling to denote they were no longer subjects, but equal citizens. Furet and Ozouf aligns the relationship of fraternity to democracy itself: ‘In this sense fraternity did not challenge the principle of democracy. On the contrary, it realised that principle, since it refused to imprison the individual in the concrete conditions in which he lived. It postulated the idea of humanity within the idea of individuality, added social rights to individual rights . . .’ (Furet and Ozouf, 1989, p. 703). It is this move from the vertical to the horizontal loyalty bond, the linkage of the concept with democracy itself and with the concept of what it is to be a citizen that gives fraternity much of its metaphoric power, pointing to the ideal of free and equal citizenship within civic association. Hobsbawn, however, offers an alternative history, claiming that the wellknown slogan liberté, égalité, fraternité has its origins as a relationship of mutual aid and dependency derived from the Freemasons and that this in turn suggested a certain type of social cooperation outside of brotherhood (whether real or artificial) (Hobsbawm, 1975). Similarly, he indicates a strong emotional content akin to the sentiments of friendship and kinship that fraternity may initially have had grounded such action (Hobsbawm, 1975, p.  472). Despite this, Hobsbawm acknowledges that fraternity could also imply two things: ‘. . . an ideal of society as a whole and an ideal relationship between people for particular purposes: a “programme” and a technique’ (Hobsbawm, 1975, p. 472). Yet it is notable that both the Christian and the Masonic conceptualizations of fraternity are themselves metaphoric rather than actual. This makes fraternity not just historical fact, but allows it to be metaphorically symbolic (Ozouf, 1989). The history of fraternity thus captures and symbolizes the change from vertical loyalties to horizontal ones, the linkage of the concept with democracy itself, a move that included more people into its remit and expanded the concept of what it is to be a citizen. It discards individual differences and inequalities as irrelevant to the practice of citizenship and points instead to the ideal of free and equal citizenship within civic association. This linkage with citizenship, with notions of equality, and especially with democracy itself, shall be further spelled

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out as this chapter progresses. In what follows, I start to separate the different bonds of fraternity from the local to the societal.

Section 2: The inadequacy of strong fraternity Peters argues that the family can be seen as the starting point of fraternity in a literal sense (the Latin ‘frater’ meaning ‘brother’): we are introduced to society by membership of this primary social group (Peters, 1966). While the term ‘society’ tends to be reserved for the study of people at a macro level, the term ‘community’ is more or less reserved for smaller groupings within society: those practising a common trade, or sharing a particular characteristic, language, history, cultural traditions, religion or interests. Many of these groupings can be sufficiently homogenous in composition as to be bound together by a strong commonality which forms a major part of the identities of members as members of the group. This I call a strong version of fraternity, often demonstrating an affective element and strong emotional ties to the group, often promoting a sense of belonging, with ties of loyalty and a strong sense of partiality to fellow members bound by common interests. Many tight-knit groups are brought together through sharing particular bodies of ideas or belief systems that inform and guide how they choose to lead individual and collective lives. These commitments serve to identify and bind members together. Extreme examples of the strong fraternal bond and bonds of loyalty can promote group exclusivity: it can promote communities that are closed to those who are different – whether in belief, practice or life style. This can sometimes require complete rejection of those who may not share these beliefs or who hold opposing beliefs. One of the most common examples given is usually that of the Amish, who hold a particular understanding of a biblical injunction for believers to keep themselves separate from unbelievers. This in turn has considerable effect on how they interact with other societal groups: they do not vote, nor do they seek general welfare systems (the group supports fellow members); they seek to separate themselves from public education systems in the main. They would appear to be a classic example of a self-sufficient people bound by a distinct body of beliefs, living a particular life-style, wearing a distinctive form of dress, often refusing to connect to public utilities of any kind. In the United Kingdom, we have the example of the Exclusive Plymouth Brethren. Again, these are a grouping held together by a distinct body of beliefs that affect their social relationships with others

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outside the group: they do not vote, they ban TV, radio, internet and theatre, they refuse to take part in community clubs or events. Their children tend not to go to university (although many do attend state schools – there are some private schools specifically formed around their belief systems); they tend not to have friends outside of the group, nor to use mobiles, computers nor newspapers. While both of these examples are taken from religious communities, this form of ‘belonging’ can be seen in other groupings bound by comprehensive ideologies or traditions. The communitarian argument emphasizes that we are essentially social beings, thus our moral norms are always the norms of some society or other; belonging is then central to the acquisition of these norms. Thus the individual’s identity is inseparable from their place in a rigid social structure and system of values: one is always a member of this family, this tribe, this city, etc. (MacIntyre, 1985). Everything, the tribe, kin and even political structure anchor one’s identity to a particular way of life. The shared values help continually to experience and create a shared identity through engaging and contributing to the practices of the community. It is generally accepted by many moral philosophers that while our lives may begin embedded in such thick attachments, this factor alone does not provide an adequate response to the need for social justice in regulating the behaviour and relationships between citizens in large pluralistic communities. Family, nation or people no longer determine inescapable identities: the partisanship and attachments of shared frameworks and belief systems are rarely shared by the whole modern society. When citizens of the same state are also citizens of the same nation or community, the ties and obligations of loyalty of one to another are reasonably straight forward. Yet the lines become blurred when more than one nation or community shares the same state. If we take the stance that members of groups have particular loyalties to each other as members of that group, those loyalties cannot be expected to extend to non-members. Just as friends are required to prioritize the needs of their friends over non-friends under certain conditions, so should fellow members of a nation prioritize the needs of other members. However, prioritizing the needs of those closest to us, of those like us in some way, does not provide a justification for only meeting their needs. The argument for charity beginning at home all too frequently degenerates into it remaining exclusively there. Networks of inclusion equally produce a sense of exclusion, creating outsiders or even unrealistic hurdles for those who wish to join the group. For those who do not belong, who are forever on the outside, life can be unimaginably harsh. The deaths of the Chinese cockle-pickers on

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the beach in Lancashire in 20043 (referred to in a previous chapter) shocked the British public in more ways than one. The perilous conditions that illegal immigrants might be forced into had never been noticed by many people until then: that there may be some among us owned in a form of modern day slavery, hidden in the shadows. Yet even for those who successfully migrate legally, many can be made to feel second class, ‘not quite one of us’, disconnected from any sense of belonging. We have to bear in mind that creating a deep sense of belonging does not itself bestow value or worth. The assumption that it is always a vision of the good that binds people together does not always hold: there is no guarantee it will be a good cause. A sense of belonging can equally be created by those bound together by the exploitation of others or through severe forms of inequality. We must remember that even the Jonestown suicide sect had a shared sense of purpose, a shared belief system and a deep sense of belonging together (Healy, 2011a).4 Phillips points out that ‘identity recognition’ based on family metaphors may in fact lead us into a divisive cul-de-sac (Phillips, 1984). The problem with family relationships is that it indicates the differences between your family and mine: We may be willing to co-operate with those we see as alien, but we will reserve affection for those of our own kind. Unity premised on family likeness can be a recipe for disaster. It tends to exclude those from a different family background, and subjects those it embraces to the familiar tensions of family life. In contemporary Europe, where heterogeneity is so much a feature of our lives, it is bound to lead us astray. (Phillips, 1984, p. 239)

Instead of being a model for the ideal civic relationship, the consequences of this form of fraternity can be deleterious, degenerating into an excuse for extreme nationalism and the associated atrocities (e.g. Rwanda, Bosnia, Sudan, among others). Such a conceptualization of the civic bond as strong fraternity presents problems. The dispositions, loyalties and attitudes found within such groups, are not necessarily the same as those between groups demanded by equal citizenship within a plural society (in many ways mirroring the difference between bonding and linking social capital). An initial problem with this sort of move is that depending on the help and support of those like us, or who share common characteristics, leaves those unlike us excluded, outside of those sources of support. A further problem is that such support would then be contingent on remaining ‘like us’. In fact, such ties and bonds may prove to be not so much

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‘horizontal’ as circular: they may not easily expand beyond a particular group to other groups bound by different ideologies at all (again, similar to social capital theory): herein lies the problem. This conception of fraternity would be particularly ill-suited in supporting a civic bond which must, by definition, include all. There is good reason to step back a little at this point and to consider the necessary attributes of the desired bond at a macro level within a conception of democracy itself.

Section 3: Democratic fraternity However the civic bond is characterized, it must include certain features: it must exhibit impartiality (not show favouritism to particular groupings within the sphere of citizens); it requires an element of equality between persons in the civic domain – that ‘each counts for one and none for more than one’; it must encompass strangers (those we may not know) yet indicate in some way ‘those who count as one of us’. This particular bond must enable us to reach out to those beyond our immediate realm of contact to enable a preparedness to share both resources and mutual assistance with unknown civic others. The form of fraternity I call ‘democratic fraternity’ is both descriptive and normative in its reach to those who may not belong to the same community nor to exhibit the same strong ties as does strong fraternity. It is democratic in that democracy holds within itself a particular vision of the relationship between members of an equal citizenship; there is a necessary connection with a form of equality. This can be seen in the principle that each is of equal worth as citizens: an equal standing from one to another as citizens. It is fraternity through the link found within the historical conception of fraternity as that move from vertical to horizontal loyalties, from subject to citizen: ‘. . . it gives fraternity a democratic egalitarian form and extends it to the nation’ (Leydet, 2006b, p. 800). The combined metaphor provides an ‘over-arching umbrella’ representing the coming together of disparate peoples for the shared purpose of being governed. Fraternity can be interpreted as the ‘forgotten’ part of democracy, forming a framework through which to consider democracy as a way of living in society: ‘the glue that binds liberty and equality to a civil society’ (Gonthier, 2000, p. 569). To consider democratic fraternity as a metaphor. Each component of the metaphor highlights an important aspect of the concept. The metaphor of family evokes a specific community of people who belong together: it implies a home, an emotional bond and a common purpose binding people together. But it goes

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beyond this: democratic fraternity secularizes the notions of family and expands those within its remit, removing lingering historical religious connotations. Democratic fraternity, I argue is unique as a political metaphor in that it is rooted in a particular understanding of the relationship between citizens in an understanding of democracy. The linkage with democracy serves to point to a normative dimension and gives a guideline for future action. Munoz-Dardé offers a vision of fraternity embedded within a Rawlsian theory of justice. Using the metaphor of siblings, Munoz-Dardé points out that brothers and siblings tend not to share things between each other on the basis of altruism nor on a shared vision of the good life: what concerns them is ‘fairness’ (MunozDardé, 1999). They are more concerned with the fairness of the distribution of goods by parents. The metaphor of siblings, she suggests, leads us to: an interrogation of each of the brothers and sisters concerning the rules and principles applied to them, which suggests the analogy with the scrutiny of principles of political legitimacy and distributive justice. A further aspect of the metaphor is also visible at this stage: unlike solidarity or community, with which fraternity is often associated, the accent is put not only on the group, but also on each of the brothers and sisters that belong to it. (Munoz-Dardé, 1999, p. 89)

The power of the sibling relationship is not the emotional tie with each other, but the way in which they stand to each other in the distribution of goods. Could democratic fraternity be understood as a literal relationship, a straightforward description of a state-of-affairs? It seems a trivial point to make, but citizens of western liberal democracies are not brothers or family members in a literal sense of the term (with the possible exception of possible tribal communities). The concept works as a metaphor for the relationship between citizens through the suggestion of a political family (one in which we happen to find ourselves not through choice or voluntary association). The metaphor carries both similarities and disparities: it is not a simple comparison (Munoz-Dardé, 1999): we do not relate to fellow citizens as if they were siblings. It serves to tie us to impersonal others through the need to consider each other as someone having rights to resources that we share. All that being said, it must be admitted that the ability to stand back from one’s own situation and consider how one’s actions and choices affect civic others may require a high level of abstract moral development (in seeing oneself as connected to abstract others) and as such, needs far greater exploration than can be achieved within the parameters outlined here. Democratic fraternity is not necessarily concerned with ‘neighbourhood inequalities’ (between individual people or between certain groupings); it is more

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concerned with the gap between top and bottom – the spread of inequalities – and thus the social cohesion project. The civic relationship is harder to sustain when the gap between top and bottom becomes too great. Where there is vast inequality in societies, the affluent tend to dominate the decision-making processes, create lower levels of social trust, demonstrate greater levels of residential segregations of different groupings and thus the erosion of a shared public realm (Jackson and Segal, 2004). Inequalities serve to alienate people from each other thus destroying fraternity (Cohen, 2001). This shifts the core of investigation to both the linkage with equality and the realm of the political.

The horizontal bond and equality The conceptual linkage of the concepts of fraternity and equality, with fraternity as either a by-product of equality or a subset of equality, has been thoroughly explored previously (Arthur, 1986; Fielding, 1988; Lee, 1986). When we consider the bond between those drawn together because of a common interest/connection (in the sense of strong fraternity: our most usual understanding of the concept), a literal understanding of equality does not seem to be a necessary element of the bond. If we take the literal family itself: not all family members stand one to another as equals. Frequently the parents are seen as the leaders of the family, followed by the children. Even among the children there may be different levels of ‘seniority’. Nevertheless, the civic relationship requires a particular form of commitment to equality between citizens which, I argue, is lacking in strong fraternity and which the concept of democratic fraternity can offer. It is undoubtedly true that one can care about human equality in many ways and for many differing reasons, which I do not propose to go into. Equality (and there are numerous different forms of it) is rarely sought for its own sake, but for what it leads/contributes to, the flourishing life of the individual (Marmor)5 or as part of a wider vision of what society should be (Miller, 1982). Many philosophers give credence to the idea that the concepts of fraternity and equality are somehow linked and can only be understood in relation to each other (Arthur, 1986; Fielding, 1988; Lee, 1986). For some, fraternity is either a by-product of equality or a subset of equality. Suissa points out that: ‘.  .  . the conceptual connection between fraternity and equality can work both ways: not only does a relatively high degree of socio-economic equality foster and support fraternal attitudes, but the institutional maintenance of such equality may depend on a degree of fraternal feeling’ (Suissa, 2006, p.  68). The tendency for fraternal bonds to cause people to act co-operatively, to identify together and feel part of a ‘team’

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can affect the impetus towards equality (White, 1983). The desirability of some form of equality arises from the ability to connect with others: the desirability of social cohesion, not for the sake of equality itself, but for the social effects of political stability. Yet it is inequality that serves to undermine social cohesion and fragment fraternal feelings (Cohen, 2001). Researchers such as Jackson and Segal argue that the social and physical isolation from each other of the poorest sections of the community has serious consequences for democratic politics. It is generally believed that a society structured to create or allow a high level of inequality would be politically unstable (giving rise to the threat of high levels of crime, social unrest, violence, a divided society). When inequality widens, life chances are curtailed for some. Much work has been done in recent years on the development of an underclass in society (Hills, 2002), and the growing numbers of people who cannot for one reason or another fully take part in the life of the society (usually measured in financial terms). Where there are high levels of economic inequality, those with wealth can buy their way out of the common life of a society. Once the wealthy do so, they tend to be less likely to be willing to pay taxes for the upkeep of this public space and less supportive of efforts to improve them. The belief is that political instability would be caused by the have-nots envying the holdings of the haves and that such envy could be socially destructive in motivating particular actions to redress this. This problem of envy has frequently been seen as a weapon against egalitarians; the charge is that envy forms the psychological basis for this concern with equality and egalitarian conceptions of justice (D’Arms, Spring 2009 edition). The have-nots would then be seeking to limit inequality on the basis that if they could not have something, no one should. To hold, egalitarians would have to be motivated by opposing only inequalities that were unfavourable to themselves (it would not make sense for them to be envious if it were to their advantage). While there may be some egalitarians that might be envious of others’ holdings, it does not hold that all are: some may be genuinely concerned about the effects of inequality. Neither is it certain that all egalitarians are concerned only with inequalities unfavourable to themselves: there may be some concerned with inequalities in which they would benefit from the status quo. Maybe their concern is, as Cohen points out, because inequalities alienate people from each other (Cohen, 2001), which destroys our sense of belonging.6 It can thus be seen that the nurturing of fraternity is adversely affected by high levels of inequality.7 Jackson and Segal (2004) argue that by separating people out into different classes, isolated from each other, the danger is that they

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may come to lack a shared conception of ‘the public good’. Empirical studies on social capital have also drawn links between inequality and conceptions of connectedness, arguing that periods of greatest economic equality tend to coincide with high levels of social and civic connectedness (Putnam, 2000). The current vast, growing gap between rich and poor in UK society gives cause for concern. Consider the following: it would be perverse to neglect the fact that large economic inequalities are important causal drivers of social exclusion: both of the poor, and of the rich. When the rich are very rich, and the poor are very poor, it is much harder for them to meet as equal citizens. Indeed, it is hard for them to meet at all. Large inequalities lead to radically divergent consumption patterns and lifestyles, and to mutual incomprehension and lack of sympathy between individuals who are nominally members of the same civic community. (Jackson and Segal, 2004, pp. 40–1)

The United States is said to be more socially divided now by the gap between the richest and the poorest than 30 years ago. Each year, the gap grows. Hutton reported in 2002 that the richest 20% of Americans earned nine times more than the poorest 20% (Hutton, 2002). Similarly, the OECD reported in 2011 that the average income of the richest 10% of Americans was nearly 15 times more than the poorest 10%, with the rising income of executives and financial professionals accounting for much of the growth at the top (OECD, 2011). The OECD reported in 2011 that in the United Kingdom, the top 10% had an average income almost 12 times that of the poorest 10%. As those who achieved a high income tended to stay there (only 25% of the richest 1% tended to drop out of that position in the United States compared to 40% in Australia or Norway), this had particular concern for widening inequality. In the United Kingdom, a Performance and Innovation Unit paper on Social Mobility informed ministers that over the past 20–30  years, income inequalities widened significantly (Aldridge, 2002). Between 1979 and 1998/9, the income of the bottom decile of population rose by 6% in real terms, while that of the top, rose by 82% (Aldridge, 2002). If a grouping within a society can cut themselves off from cradle to grave by avoiding those things held in common, by always using private medicine, schooling, gated communities, private transport, accessing different media for instance, in what sense are they actually functioning as members of the same society with those who cannot so afford? Where is the meeting place, what ‘language’ is shared by those with nothing in common? In what sense is it a

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society at all? Collective goods are among the things that bind a society together and create a sense of belonging. The idea of shared public goods de-commodifies certain goods essential to the well-being of the citizen. They form a space in which members of the community come to metaphorically ‘meet’, enjoying a basic equality as citizens regardless of their differing social backgrounds.

Section 4: Countering feminist arguments One of the strongest challenges to the use of the metaphor of fraternity arises from concerns over who is included and similarly who is excluded by this particular metaphor. When social structures are then aligned and organized in response to this, the worry is that it serves merely to reinforce the inequalities already existing within the system. Indeed, this very point is often made by feminist and critical theorists who argue that the frameworks we adopt for understanding and discussing the world can arguably privilege those in power or those in specific groupings. The Kantian concept of the self as a free and rational chooser, as an autonomous agent is argued to isolate the self from the relationships and networks and the commitments within which it operates. The downplaying of friendship, family, community and other personal attachments and the moral import of these in the lives of actual agents has received considerable attention, gives context to the underlying argument that the Kantian ethical subject is ‘unmasked’ as specifically male in outlook. Some feminist theorists refute the adoption of family based metaphors in their entirety, claiming that as women were excluded historically from political life, we should reject the language of family metaphors which only serve to subjugate women and exclude them further (Clawson, 1980; Schwarzenbach, 2009). Others argue that fraternity or fraternalism is a distinctively male relationship which by its very nature maintains a distinctively masculine authority, representing a form of oppression and lack of control at the centre of ‘family life’ which makes such metaphors irredeemable (Clawson, 1980). In other words, the very use of frameworks that are specifically rooted in particular ways of being and of seeing ourselves as interconnected as subjects within these frameworks serves to uphold the very inequities they claim to counter. For example, the deep criticisms of patriarchy attributing the private sphere of the household to women as caregivers, elder care, housework, etc. reinforced power differentials institutionalizing male domination and female submission.

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Others query specific features of the public/private distinction upon much of this rests (Leydet, 2006b; Pateman, 1997; Phillips, 1984; Schwarzenbach, 2009). This is perhaps the more persuasive argument, going beyond the argument that historically the public/private divide serves to differentiate between the realm of men (public) and women (private) to argue that our understanding of what it is to be a citizen is itself overly dependent on an internalized image that is decidedly masculine (not just through the use of language but also by the images invoked). The argument is not just about including and enfranchising women in the state at an abstract level, but to see that the democracy of civic life cannot be seen apart from the democratization of everyday life. Family metaphors, in this view, serve to reinforce this disadvantage, thus the need for alternative ways of modelling citizenship and the state hence modern reinterpretations of civic friendship among others. In answer to this, the idea of the nation-as-family is referred to by Lakoff as a deeper metaphor in the way to it underlies many liberal values (Lakoff, 1995), can avoid many of the problems associated with family metaphors by confining the image specifically to that of siblings. Munoz-Dardé points to how fraternity itself works as a heuristic device because of being a metaphor: it suggests the idea of a generation of siblings asking: ‘what would things be like if, instead of obeying the rules and principles that are applied to us, we were to choose them?’ . . . But fraternity also invites us to enquire: ‘What kind of principles would I want to apply to my fellow citizens if I had a concrete understanding of their needs and then of the kind of person each of them is such as the understanding I would have if they were my brothers and sisters?’ In the first sense, fraternity works as a heuristic device for the discovery of normative binding elements between each of the brothers and sisters and among all of them. In the second case, fraternity provides a conceptual link between concrete personal care and impersonal benevolence. (Munoz-Dardé, 1999, p. 90)

Thus the use of metaphor allows us to enter the realm of political theory, allowing us to move from the metaphor to insights regarding the relationship between citizens. Munoz-Dardé’s interpretation of fraternity as an interrogative heuristic mechanism answers many of these criticisms, to allow us to enter the lives as lived for those siblings. Any theory dealing with the creation of a ‘we’ is automatically creating a ‘they’; inclusion always carries with it the shadow of exclusion. While a small point, it illustrates how the language we use to model our attachments can position us prior to engaging with arguments about the models used. Yet it

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goes beyond this. Rooting our imaginings of our belonging within the family metaphor serves to change the default position to include ‘others’ as part of ‘us’. Accepting that historically experiences of family have often been negative and even alienating for some members does not itself present a good enough reason for not reclaiming and reinterpreting the language used.

Section 5: Conclusion As the previous discussion has intimated, there are several remaining puzzles left to address. First, it may be the case that the horizontal loyalties needed between members within groups may be very different from the loyalties between groups (similar to the difference between bonding and bridging social capital). We are all subject to many loyalties and ties; we identify with different groups for different purposes – having ties and commitments is part and parcel of what it is to be human: that who we are as people, interplays with the attachments and values we hold. This could lead us to conclude that a model of citizen bonds based on our personal loyalties to those most like us (whether in terms of culture, religion and/or interests) would be inappropriate: strong fraternity alone will not allow us to create the bonds across disparate groupings in a pluralist society and thus support the collective action desired by ‘the big society’. Secondly, the dispositions and attitudes needed to sustain citizens in such situations require careful nurturing and development within education systems. They require ‘reasonable toleration’ (akin to Rawls’ theory of reasonable doctrines), the willingness to enter into dialogue with fellow citizens (Abdullah, 2007), respect for those who come within the remit of ‘being governed together’, ‘knowing’ our fellow citizens, interacting with them, to develop these particular dispositions. Thirdly, when we consider what kind of a society the concept of democratic fraternity would embody, and the types of educational structures needed for its survival over generations, we may be led to reconsider our current method of organization of these structures. Given that education plays such a large role in enforcing and upholding the collective commitment to particular ways of life, the quintessentially metaphoric nature of how we envision the associational bonds by which we model those commitments become urgent issues for educational policies. The exploration of how these associational bonds are themselves both reflected in and reinforced by the organization of education carries implications for structuring our educational systems and pedagogical practices. The concern

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that unrestricted school choice may have the externality of undermining our other commitments to social cohesion is not one to be lightly dismissed. The concern is that a wide proliferation of independent school structures may function to create strong fraternity within individual local and school communities to reinforce pre-existing bonds but may not on their own answer the need for democratic fraternity and the expansion to the public dimension. The central claim here is a normative one: that democratic fraternity should have a bearing on how we structure our educational organizations. On this analysis, when people in a democratic society are motivated by the integration of theory and policy decisions in bringing into being a school organization based on democratic fraternity, it becomes an instantiation of their deepest commitments as a society. This makes an understanding of the nature and possibility of democratic fraternity a position of interest to both educationists and philosophers. Lest it be thought I am dismissing strong fraternity entirely in favour of democratic fraternity, I am not; both may prove to be important in a society for different reasons. The former gives us a sense of belonging, allowing us to join with like-minded people in ventures that give meaning and pleasure: whether they be philatelists, philosophers or Philadelphians. The latter enables us to be a society. While most of the time, our lives are lived at a local and personal level, we should not forget that the public dimension is as important (Glover, 1999, p.  42). The consequences of neglecting one in favour of the other may prove deleterious: some problems are far too complex to be solved or alleviated by localized volunteerism alone.

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In 2004, Theo Van Gogh was murdered two months after his film ‘Submission’ (which criticised the treatment of women under Islam) was shown on Dutch TV by a 26 year old man of joint Dutch and Moroccan nationality. The Dutch press was full of surprise and horror that their famously liberal democracy had given rise to such a thing. Where had they gone wrong in their willingness to adopt ‘live and let live attitudes’? The estrangement from each other felt by ‘native Dutch’ and the largely Muslim immigrant section of the population was widely reported and commented on.

Introduction The use of metaphor as a focus in itself for academic study has emerged from the field of Cognitive Linguistics over the last two decades into a field known as Conceptual Metaphor Theory, building on the work of George Lakoff. While metaphor has long been the subject of study in linguistics and literature, less attention has been paid to it as a feature of our neurological systems, informing the way we conceptualize systems and interpret the world around us or explain novel phenomena (Lakoff, 2002). This study of metaphor examines how it allows us to use knowledge, assumptions and commitments from one area to affect or interpret another, becoming ‘metaphors we live by’. Theorists in this area tend to focus on the meanings and the persuasive consequences of interpretations, particularly as the use of specific metaphors can help frame political ideas (Beer and De Landtsheer, 2004). Most people have some understanding of what a metaphor is. We meet them constantly in poetry and literature; we use them in our everyday casual

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discourse. Metaphors also abound as soon as we start to consider complex ideas. A particular metaphor can have an indefinite number of interpretations, all of which may be used or applied more or less appropriately. A metaphor, if it is a good one, does the trick without needing to explain itself (McCloskey, 1964). Nevertheless, there can be difficulties as it is based on people needing to have the same sort of cultural experiences to understand and call to mind the same sort of connections leading to instances where the contextual clues may be unclear or when they reflect conflicting value systems (Littlemore, 2003). These metaphoric models form a crucial link between the world around us and our knowledge of the world (Willson-Quayle, 1991, p.  8). We all need a conception of what social life is like and some understanding of how things fit together so as to be able to orientate ourselves and find our place within it. The use of metaphors fulfil an important role in enabling us to deal with concepts that are elusive in their meanings or can only be approached in terms of something else. In other words, the world of the political is too big and complex to be directly experienced hence the need arises for metaphors (often taken from direct experience) to help us engage with the subject. While we can neither ‘know’ nor relate to our fellow citizens in the same literal way in which we know our families and friends, as indicated in a previous chapter, we still need ‘a language’ to discuss and access these important areas – all such discourse necessarily depends, to varying extents, on the use of metaphorical models. Metaphor then becomes a distinctive way of allowing us to consider particular areas of life by carrying over images, values and associations from one area of life to another. Much of both our political and social reasoning makes use of such interlocking systems of concepts (Lakoff, 1995). This assertion seems both reasonable and self evident. It should therefore not be surprising that political discourse, and the ways in which we imagine our collective life, should also make use of metaphors. Metaphors clearly play a role in how we think and talk about the realm of the political; the rhetorical persuasiveness of these can form a framework within which to then reason about our commitments. Because of this, they are often re-examined and made use of in the course of everyday life by both politicians and theorists. New phrases, new metaphors, new vocabulary come in to usage all the time, some pass into common usage, others wither and fade. Some have particular relevance to policy, for example ‘the stakeholder society’, ‘the third way’, ‘the big society’ among others. The way in which we describe the world, the metaphors we choose to adopt, marks out and highlights what we think of as being important.

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Politics, according to Walzer, is an ‘art of unification; from many, it makes one. And symbolic activity is perhaps our most important means of bringing things together . . .’ (Walzer, 1967, p. 194). Political metaphors go beyond this to offer a way of using language to approach new areas and new ideas for which we do not at present possess the necessary vocabulary. Furthermore, as Horton points out: ‘our membership of a particular polity not only shapes our lives in a causal sense, it also enters conceptually and morally into the way we think about ourselves, our relationships with others, in what we feel and how we think about what we should do’ (Horton, 2007, p. 4). The use of metaphor allows us to enter the realm of political theory, allowing us to move from the metaphor to insights suggested by the metaphor. To take just one example, all talk of a public sphere is metaphorical by nature and demands an acceptance of a social imaginary for the discourse to take place. The state is invisible and has to be symbolized; it has to be imagined before it can be conceived (Anderson, 1991). Given that the models we choose can have such extraordinary effects on the policies we choose, it is of utmost importance that we are aware of how our policy choices may be formed by the underlying commitments different metaphors evoke. In other words, every effort should be made to critically examine our metaphors to ensure the implicit, and sometimes hidden, values are the ones we want to inform our policies. There are many different strands to the argument surrounding the issue of the use of metaphor, echoing many of the complexities surrounding how we organize our social lives. The previous chapters have considered three different metaphors we use to consider civic relationships in the search to identify an appropriate theory of belonging to correspond with our desires for social cohesion. As the preceding discussions have indicated, the models through which we discuss the civic relationship are themselves fiercely disputed, and open to interpretation and analysis. This chapter turns to the second and third of my original questions to consider the possible implications of the three metaphors and how they might affect both school structures and pedagogy when social cohesion is taken seriously. By considering the commitments held within the models, examining their capacity to bind disparate people together through an appropriate exemplar, we may gain clarity as regards the potential ramifications for how we organize education to nurture and encourage these relationships. To remind ourselves of our purpose in considering these abstract and complex theories: education and schools are publicly charged with passing on the values and beliefs we hold to successive generations, perhaps more so than any other institution. Simply posited, societies that claim to be democracies have an

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obligation to develop those citizens, including a consideration of the necessary bond between such citizens (Parker, 2005). In so far as schools form a central role in the primary socialization of children, then how we conceive of this civic role and the relationship between citizens assumes importance for how we structure the transmission of this view and the institutions we choose to do this in. I purport that a rapidly changing pluralist society within a modern liberal democracy often requires the creation of a ‘new language’ or a re-evaluation of existing vocabulary for how we stand to one another, and that this conceptualization, in turn, relies upon the use of metaphor that links in particular ways to the values we hold dear as a society. Given this close association, it is important that the structure of the institution that transmits the policy should not itself undermine the values being transmitted. Here, I outline two distinctive arguments concerning the use of metaphor in this area. First, I argue that metaphor is used where ordinary language fails: in new situations, we need a new ‘vocabulary’ – metaphor enables us to create this new vocabulary. It enables us to encapsulate potentially complex arguments and phenomena in a way that can be understood by the populace or can be used to further scholarly discourse and understanding of the subject matter. In the second argument, metaphor is seen as not only translating what is there but also in turn as having the power to affect that reality. In Section 1, I explore how we understand our collective life through an expository section on the academic literature surrounding the social imaginary. In Section 2, I examine how an understanding of ‘root metaphor’ illuminates many of the features of this area. In Section 3, Metaphors and school organization, I look at how the metaphors of friendship, the marketplace and family give normative authority to how school systems are structured and to how the relationships between schools, teachers and pupils would thus be organized. Finally, in Section 4, the conclusion, I return to my alternative metaphor using a modification of the family metaphor as siblinghood within a concept of democracy.

Section 1: The social imaginary It is not part of my focussed intentions to offer a complete exposition of the study of social imaginaries, yet having alluded to the work of Benedict Anderson and the insights gained through his work on the ‘imagined community’ as a way of thinking about nationalism and how we consider our collective life, we need to explore how that complex topic relates to this field of study and the

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conceptualization of what it is to be a ‘we’. The term ‘social imaginary’ can first be identified in use in the work of Castoriados in which he examined how a multiplicity of socio-historical realities could be possible, concluding that society is a self-creating enterprise whose form cannot be deduced from previous conditions (Castoriadis, 1987). Furthermore, he argued, each society derives its unity through its collective myths, legends, symbols and shared significants. This ‘grand narrative’ has in turn been taken up and interpreted through a rapidly growing mountain of literature. Take for example, Charles Taylor’s book, Modern Social Imaginaries, which looks at the way people imagine their social existence and the ‘deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations’ (Taylor, 2004, p. 23). For Taylor, imaginaries are both descriptive and evaluative in some way. It goes beyond the background understandings necessary to make sense of these practices to encompass: ‘How we stand to each other, how we got to where we are, how we relate to other groups, and so on’ (Taylor, 2004, p. 25). The overall picture that emerges from this is that an imaginary is a way of ‘imagining’ our social existence, how we relate to others, how social life can be ordered, how a given people imagine their collective social life. Similarly, Arthurs defines the social imaginary as: the thinking shared within a society by ordinary people, the common understanding that makes common practices possible and legitimizes them. The social imaginary is implicit and normative; it derives from the usual, the quotidian, from everyday attitudes, behaviours and opinion making .  .  . the social imaginary provides the background that makes sense of any given act in daily life. (Arthurs, 2003, p. 580)

These quotations taken together suggest that the imaginary has to be shared by a large group of people, perhaps even the whole of society, yet  allows for change and development; it is important to note that it does not remain static and unchanging. By this definition, groups in which persons are known to each other are not imaginaries. The fast-developing literature on the modern imaginary is often associated with three areas crucial to in the Anglo-American world: the public sphere, the citizen-state and the economy (Taylor, 2004). Consider the following: I want to speak of social imaginary here, rather than social theory, because there are important  – and multiple  – differences between the two. I speak of imaginary because I’m talking about the way ordinary people ‘imagine’ their social surroundings, and this is often not expressed in theoretical terms; it is

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carried in images, stories and legends. But it is also the case that theory is usually the possession of a small minority, whereas what is interesting in the social imaginary is that it is shared by large groups of people, if not the whole society. (Taylor, 2002, p. 106)

Steger contends that social imaginaries, properly understood, are neither ideologies nor theories, but the implicit backgrounds that provide ‘the most general parameters within which people imagine their communal existence’ (Steger, 2009, p. 12). It is dependent on a notion of ‘we’ – a collective metaphorical coming together. Explanations of how ‘we’ are connected are offered by the use of the social imaginary, wherein images and narratives of society are carried by the cumulative representations in the media providing people with a representation of what society as a whole looks like and their place within it. The first thing to notice about all this is that the media often plays the role of gatekeeper in political life: giving information and points of view, highlighting what it considers relevant and important. Since its publication, the book Imagined Communities (Anderson, 1991), has become a point of reference for many writers in the area of political philosophy as well as those of anthropology and sociology. The importance of Anderson’s insights into the symbolic and conceptual dimensions of nationalism and related concepts is seen as crucial developments in the social landscape of modernity. While it was initially conceived as a contribution to the discussion of nationalisms, it has found its way into discussions of contemporary social analysis as a way of analysing how society is formed and interacts. Indeed, it has become almost impossible to discuss nationalism without reference to this seminal work. The first point to consider from this text is that Anderson defines the nation as ‘.  .  . an imagined political community  – and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign’ (Anderson, 1991, p. 6). He argues that it must be imagined because members of the nation cannot possibly know, meet or hear of all of their fellow citizens in the face-to-face way that can exist within a small village. Yet, despite this, each citizen holds an image of their community. It must be limited in that there has to be an ‘us’ and ‘others’. Even the largest nation has to have boundaries beyond which there are other nations. No nation, he argues, sees itself as encompassing all of humankind. It must be sovereign because of its historical origins, from the Age of Enlightenment destruction of the divinelyordained and/or dynastic realms. It must be imagined as a community because ‘. . . regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in each, the nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal relationship’ (Anderson,

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1991, p. 7). While there appears on the surface to be some ambiguity within the concept, it is important to understand that for Anderson ‘imagining’ does not imply falsity or imaginary. He contends that all communities larger than the face-to-face-ness of a small village have to be imagined. What is the metaphor of the ‘imagined community’ illuminating? What is it pointing to? Ultimately, it is pointing out a psychological fact, that the nation cannot be known in the same way as close, personal relationships, neither can it create the same attachments. Yet the metaphor goes beyond this, in a poetic way, to indicate the type of relationship: the nation is like a community; it puts the nation in with the family of concepts that includes ‘communities’. This insight from Anderson, while generally applied to nations and national connections, can also have implications for smaller organizations. Very few organizations allow for the face-to-face knowing of all others within the organization. As Andrew Stables helpfully points out: ‘to the post-structuralist, of course, all communities are imagined’ (Stables, 2003, p. 897). There are, however, several unspoken suppositions underlying much of this material. When political life is imagined a certain way, a particular set of insights is then available. More interestingly, beyond this lie the ethical or normative claims forming much of the background understandings: the myths, legends, stories that carry the imaginary speak of what we see as important, the values and commitments that underlie social life. The social imaginary as conceived as ‘a set of symbols with which people give imaginative definition to their yearning for supportive, reciprocal and intimate social relationships’ (Farrar, 1999, p. 13) provides the background understandings for the organization of social life which can be unpacked to reveal a variety of shared values and goals across large groups. While much of the discourse on social imaginaries is decidedly vague in character and full of unclear interpretations (perhaps due to being a relatively new area of study), some elements of it have been accepted into mainstream social and political theory. It is generally accepted that we orientate ourselves in the political world by the symbols and referents used. This in turn requires an ever-adapting language through which to conceive of our social existence. The challenge for countries facing high levels of immigration would thus lie in adapting or reinterpreting our existing symbols and referents that speak of this element of political life. Given that Anderson is correct in his analysis of ‘the nation’ as a social imaginary, that it is a necessary way of conceiving of ourselves as a collective agency, and given that much of political discourse depends on the use of metaphor, it seems reasonable to assume that how we conceive of our

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social bonds will also be conceptual. In the next section, I shall briefly step back a little to consider how the use of metaphor relates to that of the imaginary, by drawing on particular understandings of the role of ‘root metaphors’.

Section 2: Root metaphors The study of root metaphors in particular has been gaining attention and importance since the 1970s; it is generally accepted in the literature that root metaphors seek to explore the ‘logic’ of the metaphor. The root metaphor differs from other metaphors in not being an explicit language device, but more an unconscious, yet fundamental assumption necessitated by the argument. Taking this further, there are two distinct applications of this point. First, it can be understood as an underlying world view that shapes an individual’s understanding of a situation. A key feature of this claim is that these tend to be so embedded within the language, that one can be unaware of their existence as metaphor. One has to go: ‘. . . beneath the surface of expression where metaphors exist as figures of speech and seeking that level of thought where they serve, formatively, to bring into being a world we are to experience as concrete and literal’ (Kunze, 1983, p. 153). Secondly, root metaphors can be understood as the concept from which other metaphors spring, for example, winning an argument (argument as war, battle, for instance). The usage of particular metaphors can then be unpacked to reveal often subconscious commitments to particular values and goals, and when acted upon, can have important consequences. Metaphors of family and friends are among the strongest we have for models of the public space and as such, are common in many different cultures. This arises from the fact that our identity is often socially embedded as a member of the family. Kinship and models of kinship, for example, have impacted on every part of social life throughout history. Both anthropology and sociology, through the work of theorists such as Mary Douglas and Emmanuel Todd in their studies on natural symbols in cultures, have given support to this claim (e.g. Todd’s work looking at how family structures and relationships constitute models of socio-political relationships in societies (Todd, 1985)). These metaphors are not only universal as models, but also incredibly powerful. In addition to these two metaphors, there has been a growing tendency to use market-place metaphors to describe civic relationships as ‘transactions’ between strangers. In what follows, we explore the particular values and commitments entailed by the three metaphors in this study.

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The metaphor of ‘Nation-as-marketplace’ carries with it ‘government as contract’ and citizens as ‘buyers and sellers’, an exchange of services, society as ‘consumption or production’: ‘social contract,’ ‘we need to be more competitive as a nation’, ‘the consumer society’, ‘corporate citizenship,’ ‘a nation of shopkeepers’. The relationship between people becomes that of utility, not affection. This stands in stark contrast to the need for citizens to be motivated towards doing what is good for the sake of others or needing a sense of concern for the well-being of each other (Kaplan, 2007). For a society to achieve social cohesion, however understood, it would necessitate going beyond a relationship based on exchange of services to achieve inclusion of those weaker members of society who may be outside of the boundary of the market. Similarly, the metaphor of ‘Nation-as-friends’ carries with it a particular notion: that of having been a ‘chosen’ relationship, of being bound together in a joint venture: ‘Britain will stand by her friends’, ‘living side-by-side’, ‘citizenfriends’, ‘civic friendship’, ‘friendship of peoples’, ‘our fellow Americans’. Here, the effect created is of a society of equals, of mutual benefit, of people ‘drawn’ together. But the equation of friendship with citizenship has problems (Healy, 2011a). Ties of friendship require a voluntary nature and affection between participants; ties of citizenship are more contractual, driven by obligation and duty (Wellman, 2001). The ‘Nation-as-family’ metaphor carries with it a strong notion of belonging together in some sense, whether by birth or adoption. Consider just a few of the common concepts in this area: ‘Uncle Sam,’ ‘founding fathers,’ ‘sending our sons into war’, ‘family of man’, ‘brothers-in arms’ and other such examples. These surreptitiously serve to call to mind the warmth and support of kin relationships (Kaplan, 2007). It can, however, carry over other, more negative images: government-as-parent and citizens-as-children and invoke paternalism (Lakoff, 1995). It is interesting to note that Lakoff ’s earlier work in this area looked at the use of family metaphors (particularly the ‘strict father’ versus the ‘nurturing parent’) as a way of exploring the images evoked by metaphorical language in the Republican and Democratic parties in the United States, to which we return in the next section (Lakoff, 1995). When we unpick the underlying and implicit commitments and values within democratic fraternity, we recognize that these most fully correspond with our liberal traditions, but secondly, that democratic fraternity has a unique relationship to that of democracy: that democracy implies a relationship of fraternity. To consider democratic fraternity as a metaphor: each component of the metaphor highlights an important aspect of the concept. The metaphor

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of family evokes a specific community of people who belong; it implies a home, an emotional bond and a common purpose binding people together. The idea of the nation-as-family is referred to by Lakoff as a deeper metaphor in the way to it underlies many liberal values (Lakoff, 1995), yet can avoid many of the problems associated with family metaphors (paternalism for instance) by confining the image to that of siblings. But what it does goes beyond this: democratic fraternity expands those within its remit, removing lingering historical religious connotations. To expand into possible wider understandings of belonging beyond the narrowness of birth relationships, fraternity, when rooted in a conception of democracy, achieves something the other metaphors fail to do: it forms a framework through which to consider democracy as a way of living in society. The linkage with democracy serves to point to a normative dimension and gives a guideline for future action. It shifts the core of investigation to both the linkage with equality and the realm of the political. These metaphors undoubtedly have ‘audience appeal’ in that they can activate conscious and subconscious emotional responses (Beer and De Landtsheer, 2004, p. 27), even suggesting that often complex political issues have a simplicity to them, which gives the audience a sense of confidence about their possible enactment through policy. These deep metaphors serve a further purpose: they provide a standard to steer by, yet hold the possibility of being realizable (Taylor, 2004). There are, however, negative aspects to this: they are capable of carrying stereotypes, of oversimplifying complex issues, even of lulling the audience into being manipulated by their emotional responses. The more literally a metaphor is taken, the less likely it is to be subject to examination and critique. No metaphor can wholly eliminate or avoid these problems, yet as intimated in the first chapter, it is highly important that the metaphors that shape our lives should be as germane as possible. Metaphors can not only be a guide for future action, but actions can fit the metaphor (Lakoff and Johnson, 2003): such reflexivity then plays a part in our understanding of social reality. This is not to assume that metaphors wholly determine our political conceptualizations (most successful metaphors are open to continual interpretation and re-visioning), yet the models chosen can limit the ways in which we approach this area. To develop this further, the next section examines the significance of each of the metaphors considered here for the field of schooling and school structures.

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Section 3: Metaphors and school organization While there are those who undoubtedly view metaphors as merely decorative or stylistic additions to arguments, the study of how metaphor frames the domain language and interacts with policy is starting to attract considerable academic attention (e.g. Beer and De Landtsheer, 2004). Sergiovanni first suggested a linkage between the metaphor used and the impact on educational administration in 1994 (Sergiovanni, 1994). Differentiating between schools seen as organizations or communities, he indicated that how we use metaphors and language impacts and changes the theories adopted and how we structure schools. When seen as an organization, hierarchy, accountability and control are emphasized; when seen as a community, shared values, connections and interdependencies are highlighted. However, it must be acknowledged that while we may speak of the ‘power of metaphor’ and the ‘interplay between metaphor and policy’, it is unclear in some of the literature as to whether the usage is claimed to be descriptive or prescriptive. If we remained at the level of metaphor as mere decorative language, it would be of interest, but not of great importance. However, as suggested in the previous chapter, it is the possibility of metaphor usage to go beyond this at an unseen level, to import the hidden, sometimes subconscious, values and commitments from one area to another that epitomizes this aspect of metaphor that I wish to focus on in this section.

Market (economic metaphor) So pervasive has the market metaphor become in both the structure and running of schools (particularly in the United Kingdom), that many elements will be instantly recognizable, hence this forms the best starting point for further exploration. Even for advocates of the marketization of schools, there have been rumblings of disquiet over some of the consequences associated with this practice, with the impact of markets on schooling remaining hotly disputed in many quarters. The dominant vocabulary we currently choose in discourse about education (particularly schooling) is in the mainstream associated with the metaphor of market: price, value for money, customers, clients, sponsorship, standards, competition, outcomes, delivery, efficiency, appraisal, assessment, business, economy, corporate identity, contracts, demand, enterprise, market and sales. Using this metaphor, what would the school system look like in practice? There would need to be a variety of types of school to choose from (choice

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requires more than one to choose between) each offering something different perhaps tied to particular identity issues (brand loyalty to the extreme). While parents would be looking for ‘best value’ for their particular child, it is important to note that schools would also be choosing: they would be looking for pupils that could meet their public profile as a brand. Schools would consider their market position in admittance procedures: for example, pupils who might lower their position in league tables and/or academic achievements would not be viewed as ‘valuable’ to the school and might even be discouraged. Funding would be by vouchers and/or top-up fees or completely fee-paying and/or schools would be able to operate for profit.1 Between schools would be intense competition both for pupils and position (frequently referred to perhaps in the languages of customers or pupil units), with a declining or low level role for LEA involvement and a sidelining of local democratic oversight. Schools would be judged on their position in league tables, ranked in order: those with declining pupil rolls would be deemed unprofitable and allowed to close regardless of the effect on the local community. While there may be schools that could be tempted to increase the number of pupils and hence have greater financial gain (each pupil being worth X number of pounds), others may well concentrate on ‘small schools’ with a defined pupil intake to achieve their aims. Such schools would be stratified organizations with a strong emphasis on uniforms and vertical loyalty symbols. Schools would be pitted against each other in competition. Placement by test scores and league tables would feature highly. Those schools looking to increase their ‘advantage’ over other schools, and market position, might look to how best to achieve academic achievement or to identify that certain ‘something’ that makes them stand out from other schools. There would be an emphasis on achievement measured by constant assessment, targets and testing, league tables and competition. Personalized learning would be sought for individual benefit, gain and achievement. Staff relationships could be affected by emphasis on individual personal achievements, lack of co-operation and non-sharing of good practice (for fear of others’ advancement). With the use of the metaphor of markets, excellence for some could mean the failure of others. What is immediately apparent with this model is the contrast and clash with many important values within a liberal democratic society. The consequences of a purely market-metaphor based education or school system would damage an important element of the flourishing life: personal relationships. It would neglect the secondary relationships needed by the civic relationship, but it may even go further: it could damage or fray the primary relationships too: the work

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colleagues, friends and people we turn to in a crisis, with whom we may also be in competition. There would be little regard for the civic virtues of mutual respect or toleration, no equality of worth of citizens: it would negate any idea of ‘education for its own sake’. This metaphor emphasizes the vertical forms of loyalty over the horizontal forms needed by citizens; exit would become the preferred way of dealing with problems or dissatisfaction (Healy, 2007).

Friendship Friendship is not as easily mapped onto school structures or types of schools as the other two metaphors, yet can be understood on several levels with regard to personal relationships within schools. First, it can be understood as a metaphoric model using a ‘mirror’ understanding of friendship. This encompasses features of friendship: that of emotional attachment, voluntary nature, partiality, a shared history, issues of equality, an attitude of equal worth; reciprocity and mutual aid. But also, we tend to choose our friends from those who are already like ourselves. Friendship tends to be more common between those who share a particular bond; where schools consist of children of the same kind (whether class, race or geographical similarities) the chances are high that particular loyalty bonds will be stronger. This, combined with the ability to cherry-pick (whether by post-code or ability) the peers their children are schooled with, means parents ‘inadvertently’ create schools of ‘similars’: similar types of children will attend. Unlike the family metaphor that seeks to bind together those who share a particular vision of the good, this seeks to exclude those who are different or do not fit the profile, in turn creating intolerance towards the ‘out-group’. However, such a metaphor also carries some of the negativities of personal friendship: the possibility of partiality and favouritism. Such partiality can exclude as well as include. It is one thing to be friendly towards others, another entirely to be friends. The inevitable downside of this metaphor is that it creates very strong primary relationships, but may also fail to adequately encourage the secondary ones needed by the general civic community. It is likely to be successful at bonding social capital, but less successful at bridging and linking social capital. Consider the surrounding concepts evoked by friendship as a metaphor: closeness, strong affective bonds, affection, goodwill, intimacy, kind-heartedness, sympathy, openness, sociability, empathy, generosity, understanding and love. Transpose these attitudes, dispositions and virtues into schools and we can construct a second more literal understanding of schools using the features of

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friendship. In school terms, this would appear to be an appropriate metaphor for prescribing an idealized relationship which could then be reflected in the organization and ethos of the functioning of the school. Between schools would be a spirit of cooperative ventures, an emphasis on staff and pupils meeting and working together. Such schools would not be competing against each other but would have a sense of mutual belonging and a common goal, evidenced by federations or clusters of schools working together. However, this would only extend to those schools that ‘knew’ each other, that were somehow connected whether geographically or by some shared system of values; it would not extend to all schools. Between adults, the emphasis would be on team teaching, supportive learning environments, working together. There would be the supportive relationships of ‘critical friends’: teachers working alongside each other, talking through problems, observations of each other teaching, solving each other’s difficulties. The emphasis would be on personal feelings and relationships between adults and other adults, adults and children, and children to children.

Family The family has traditionally been a primary domain in how we organize social life and as such, it provides a powerful metaphor for how the civic relationship can be modelled. All models allow for a certain range of variations in how they are interpreted; indeed, most people operate with multiple models across differing domains. First, consider the concepts evoked by the metaphor of family: clan, group identities, related by origin, affiliation, common lineage, group, related, kinsfolk, private, kindred, community, tribe, intimates, ancestors, clansman, household and a sense of belonging (usually by birth). Yet more specifically, we find specific family roles based on parenthood: father, mother, guardian, patriarch, matriarch, organiser, caretaker, custodian, leader, nanny. In so characterizing the basis of the belonging, it should be noted that such an educational system would be evidenced by schools based on group identities, (frequently religious, ethnic or tribal) often with very strong internal structures and tight bonds of loyalty. Schools would be organized to anchor the personal identities of pupils to a particular way of life, nourished by contributing and engaging in the practices of the community. There can be a sense of shared tradition and belonging through a shared belief system or framework. The model can be seen to underpin some conceptions of civic interaction wherein

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the pupils are tied together through something substantial shared in common: a strong attachment linked to a sense of identity; shared values and traditions; strong, thick bonds of loyalty; an emotional tie to the group; a distinct body of ideas as to how best to live a life. In his analysis of the metaphors for morality of the conservatives and liberals in the United States in the 1994 elections, George Lakoff identified that both parties drew on metaphor-rich discourses that had an underlying interpretation of models of the family and family relationships within political rhetoric (Lakaff, 1996/2002). His model of the ‘strict father’ versus ‘nurturing parent’ offers a useful starting point for exploration of this domain. Typically, within a family, parents hold the power and authority over their children (echoing the strict father model), hence here would be clear leadership roles with centralized control. The understanding of family, where belonging is based on bloodline/ nationhood, emphasizes authority and discipline. Groupings would be bound together on the basis of a common origin or lineage. Obligations would be felt towards those who share the same characteristics; a sense of communion can be felt with those attending other schools bearing the same characteristics. There would be the use of strong identity symbols: uniforms, mottos, group activities to bind individuals to the group. An emphasis is then put on correct behaviour and obedience to those in authority encouraged by a system of rewards and sanctions. Between individuals, the tight vertical and horizontal loyalties would be evidenced in the responsibility each felt for the other (team spirit, shared commitments). The loyalties and dispositions would be between members of the same group – but again, there could be problems transposing these values to the civic sphere where there would be a variety of other groupings bound tightly together. Such schools would bond tightly with other schools sharing the same identity but to some extent, stand at a distance from those who did not. Those not related by origin (whether birth, cultural for example) would be viewed as outsiders and a lesser sense of responsibility would be in order: they would be outside of the clan. Secondly, the understanding of family where belonging is based on the ‘nurturing parent’ model, the emphasis is then again on relationships, but in a slightly different way. Within the school, the metaphor of family would determine the organization and ethos: they would see themselves based on ‘family principles’. With its suggestion of the domestic sphere, caring for and being cared about through positive relationships in a community underpin many of the activities and educational arrangements in schools. Some schools

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may deliberately limit their size to enhance the close relationships and allegiances: the family-school. An ethics of care then sees each pupil/teacher encounter as central to well-being and learning, emphasizing fairness, empathy and happiness. Here, ‘human-scale’ groupings abound when considering school structures; group work and peer-to-peer work may be a significant feature or ‘teacher as guide’. Similarly, such schools may also see themselves much more as part of a wider community, making links to local groupings, offering support to families/parents, sustaining family commitments, languages and culture. Social responsibility and interdependence may also be strong features: cooperation may be emphasized as opposed to competition. It is interesting to speculate that parents who seek private and/or selective education are in the main, prioritizing those features of the ‘strict father’ model. Similarly, many church/religious schools see themselves as working within the framework of the ‘nurturing parent’, seeing each person involved in the school (pupil, staff, governors, parents) as being related as family, through the attachment to the religion, priding themselves as being united as the ‘family of God’. They often conceive of schooling as being a seamless part of a ‘whole life’; the same people involved in the public life of the school would be the same people involved in the elements we associate with the more private world of religion/ tribe and home. This can give an extraordinary closeness to the communities and sense of belonging. What is noticeable in Lakoff ’s two models, is that they are parental metaphors. As such they emphasize power relationships: citizens are seen as children in need of protection and the wise leadership of their elders. Parental metaphors (whether paternalism or maternalism) set up a hierarchy of relationships and place children under the authority of the parent. This elevates authority to a form of oppression and emphasizes the lack of control at the centre of ‘family life’ as critiqued by feminist philosophers. Crucially, when applied to the civic domain, parental metaphors ‘de-head’ the citizenry of responsibility for their own actions and decision-making, thus denying the citizen body from participation in the ‘authorship’ of their lives. Similarly, the allegiances of ‘family’ may even clash with their civic allegiances. This metaphor would create and sustain very strong primary relationships, in a similar way to friendship metaphors, yet fail to encourage the secondary ones needed by the general civic community. Again, in the same way, it may be successful at creating and nourishing bonding social capital, but less successful at bridging and linking social capital.2

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Democratic fraternity This combined metaphor can throw new light and insights through grounding the symbols and referents used. The focal point is citizenship within a democratic framework (whether current or future) and as such, it may require a common system of schooling: it would certainly reject segregation of any type as being incompatible with the democratic ideal of citizenship. Schools would have a wide range of persons attending; physical and social integration would be highly prized in creating a space where future citizens come together to allow for discursive interaction. There would be mutual support in school processes with schools working together for best practices. Schools would see themselves as having common goals, working together, again, possibly in federations or partnerships, perhaps emphasizing the amelioration of disadvantage. Pupils would see each other as standing one to another as moral equals. Pupils would feel a sense of ownership within the school and a lessened sense of competition between others: celebrations of achievement would encompass both group and individual achievements (both vertical and horizontal relationships). Personal virtues such as co-operation and fairness would be highly valued personal attributes. Pupils may well work in a variety of different ways: team, group and individual. The relationship between adults and pupils would be one of sharing common goals and a lessened sense of competition with other schools, perhaps even working cooperatively with other schools, sharing resources or even pupil opportunities in the later years of secondary school. There would be an equal emphasis on the ‘weak ties’, or ‘bridging’ that connects us to others as well as on the bonding/strong ties. There would be a sense of trust and affection for fellow citizens; partiality would be balanced with the demands of justice. – – – – – – – – It is notable that the contrast between ‘schools-as-they-are’ and these metaphoric models emphasizes that no actual school fits neatly into just one category; most schools are an amalgamation of more than one metaphor, though some will inevitably emphasize one more than another. However, it does illustrate how these different metaphors for the civic relationship are themselves reflected in the values and attitudes that influence schools, forming the ‘background noise’ affecting development of civic relationships. Given that schools can influence the future generation of citizens in particular ways, their formation instantiates our visions of and for the future society. This

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inevitably requires education policy-making to articulate normative judgements about the values and commitments we wish our education systems and pedagogy to embody. While public discourse on the question of what education is for, particularly on issues to do with public provision of schools, and what should be taught has become increasingly politicized, Biesta reminds us that the purpose of education is not a given in a democratic society, but constantly open to deliberation and renewal (Biesta, 2007).

Section 4: Changing metaphors Philosophy, as Graham Haydon points out, often asks us to carefully consider the concepts and language we use to think about complex issues, and to consider the underlying assumptions entailed (Haydon, 2006). This practice of examining our closest held values and mores at a meta-level is often associated with critical theories which seek to closely link philosophy with the social and human sciences. Much of this discourse is oriented towards particular views of human ‘emancipation’ which, it is argued, should be free from domination by ‘false consciousness’. A fundamental premise in much of this literature is that as humans, we are linguistic, communicating beings, participating in public communication and discourse. The idea of deliberation is often a key feature in establishing the moral parameters of discourse on matters of educational authority within the modern liberal democracy (Gutmann, 1987).3 It is generally accepted that such decisions made should be free from manipulation or domination, and reached by rational deliberation. This focus on democracy can be seen in the work of Jürgen Habermas, as being the location of cooperative activity within a globalized society. He argues that deliberative democracy is not a facet of belonging in ethno-cultural terms (as a literal meaning of family might require) but of demos: an engagement in the public sphere (Habermas, 1961/1989). Habermas’ theory of deliberative democracy, whereby those who are subject to particular norms should in turn see themselves as authors of these norms, debated through discourse, in many ways attempts to alleviate this tension between democracy-as-it-should-be versus democracy-as-it-is. What is particularly of interest for our purposes is that Habermas sees the public sphere as being essentially inclusive. This is not to say that exclusions do not occur; there are obvious biases to be found against particular groupings, by inclusions and exclusions (often based on gender, poverty, race, disability, etc.), that can seriously affect the ability of all citizens to be civic equals. The public sphere is

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frequently dominated by vast financial interests, by inclusions and exclusions, that crowd out the active participation of all citizens, often reducing them to mere passive spectators on political issues of import (Habermas, 1961/1989). History and political studies are strewn with examples of where powerful interest groups have been able to exclude particular ‘voices’ or even to manipulate agendasetting to exclude particular topics from discursive agendas. Recent events in the United Kingdom have amply demonstrated the ability of corrupt practices in both the media (from phone hacking to the often unhealthily close relationship between politicians and media moguls) and financial industries to pursue their own interests at the expense of the wider public (from the mis-selling of subprime mortgages to manipulating LIBOR interest rates). Under conditions of a powerful ‘elite’, there is then a limiting effect that the citizen body can have on the efficacy of such discourse. In too many cases, the result of this has been that democratic discourse is done to the people as opposed to by the people or even for the people. What is, however, pertinent in Habermas’ account is that no exclusions are seen as being constitutive of the public sphere itself: there is always the possibility of inclusion at some point. Those who study the history of ideas and how concepts rise and fall face particular challenges and hypotheses abound to account for the process of conceptual transitions. These transformations and how they interact with an understanding of how we move from ‘I’ to ‘we’ have been explored in numerous ways: from Rousseau, the idea of cohesion through ‘social contract’; Durkheim on how ‘organic solidarity’ supplanted ‘mechanical solidarity’; Marx’s historical social theory considered the movement from feudalism to capitalism; Weber traced the rise of the ‘Protestant ethic’; Habermas highlighted the historical emergence of new forms of public interaction in the evolution of the public sphere; Brunkhorst and Stjerno, the development of the concept of solidarity, to name but a few. The use of metaphors and political life are inextricably linked, yet these metaphors are subject to change in response to socio-historical contexts (as shown by Brunkhorst4). Mary Midgley suggests that patterns of thought can lose their usefulness over time (Midgley, 2003): just as the original context of concepts change, so do the meanings of concepts, both original and subsequent. They cease to function as such when the social strata surrounding them giving rise to their explanatory power, shifts, hence changing metaphors can be accounted for by changes of mind and reclassification of ideas or concepts. For Stjerno, some concepts, such as solidarity, cannot be replaced as such, but are supplemented – we add to them and adapt them to new circumstances (Stjernø, 2005).

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The once commonly accepted explanation that conceptual frameworks of previous eras can only be understood in terms of the conceptual framework of that era, as argued by theorists such as Otto Brunner, has itself been subject to revision. James Van Horn Melton, for example, argues that all that we can do is interpret these concepts – we cannot ‘rethink our way back’ but must ‘devise a historical rhetoric that derives its main force from employment of the past tense and various imaginative conceits’ (Van Horn Melton, 1996, p. 39). This is not to argue for an evolution of ideas, but to acknowledge that the models we use are somehow connected to the problems they are the resolution to, changing and adapting, being reshaped to correct faults. The interplay between the language we use to explore our world and the underpinning values we hold is often as Haydon points out, ‘multifaceted’ (Haydon, 2006). Lakoff and Johnson’s claim that the most fundamental values in a society will cohere in some way with the metaphoric structure of the most fundamental concepts of that society needs further consideration. While we can no longer claim that our models and metaphors are neutral in their commitments, there is little agreement about how we should proceed to evaluate and choose between them. We cannot just jettison one metaphor for another; neither can we just choose at random as Mary Midgley points out (Midgley, 2003). All too often judgements about which metaphor is ‘best’ often end up saying as much about the commitments and values of the judge as about the usefulness of a particular metaphor (Rigney, 2001). While most theorists in this area seem to agree that conceptual change happens when the metaphor no longer ‘works’ or when there is a breakdown in its ability to be useful as an answer to a question, I want to tentatively suggest a modification in how we think about this: that it may be more useful to consider the shifts in our commitments and the ways in which we prioritize particular values. There are often conflicts between the values we embrace, some of which may indeed turn out to be incommensurable with others; subsequently we need to be aware of the strengths and limitations of the metaphors we adopt. Critically probing the deeper implications of our choices may be the best way forward.

Section 5: Conclusion In this chapter, I have indicated that the metaphors we use for the civic relationship can interact with and reflect how we organize educational institutions and, unconsciously, the values we then transmit. I have thus outlined how the

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three metaphors explored in this book can be realized in school organizations. However, a major problem with this sort of move is to justify whether we need metaphor at all. Is it possible to step outside of metaphor? It is to this that I now direct my argument within the framework of democratic fraternity. First, it is palpably correct that all talk of a public sphere is metaphorical by nature. Political life would be unintelligible without being ordered and given meaning by language; metaphor is how we order these important constructs. The world of the political is too big and complex to be directly experienced hence we need metaphors from direct experience to help us engage with the subject. In other words, our ability to process information from such large entities as the civic sphere is limited, as Mio argues and, because of this, we need a way to limit or draw out important features in a manageable manner: ‘Metaphors allow the general public to grasp the meanings of political events and feel a part of the process. They are also effective because of their ability to resonate with latent symbolic representations residing at the unconscious level’ (Mio, 1997a, p. 130). This requires us to filter out unnecessary features allowing us to discuss and predict possible connections, which of necessity limits and structures the information available. Mary Midgley argues for the importance of becoming aware of the symbols and imagery we use. Supporting the argument that the use of metaphor and symbolism is an inevitable and integral part of our thought-mechanisms, Midgley contends that: ‘the way in which we imagine the world determines what we think important in it, what we select for our attention among the welter of facts that constantly flood in on us. Only after we have made that selection can we start to form our official, literal, thoughts and descriptions’ (Midgley, 2003, p. 2). The danger is that some metaphors may lead us to think in simplistic ways about complex aspects of life. The extension of patterns from other areas into areas we might find ‘awkward’ while initially attractive can serve to obscure other perspectives. This becomes troublesome when an obsession with one model drives out all other values and ways of thinking. Similarly, Sandel’s recent critique of the ways in which the market metaphor has inappropriately ‘colonised’ our ways of thinking in other areas makes the point that markets cannot accommodate everything and that some things may be of worth beyond the scope of markets (Sandel, 2012). This brings me to my second point: philosophical explanation needs metaphor because, on occasions, no literal language yet exists to discuss new areas or to communicate new insights. In these cases, metaphors have a creative role to play in filling in the gaps as we attempt to create such a vocabulary and as such, they

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aim at ‘global coherence’ (Peres, 2006). Unlike literary metaphors, philosophical ones are tied up with explanation: they serve a function that cannot be served in another way, allowing us to create and model theories, to test hypotheses, to consider that which is hard to articulate in another way; they create the background conditions in which we work and think. But more than this, they not only provide the language in which to express these commitments, but by tapping into our memories and associations as a tool for understanding, can subconsciously direct public policy. The challenge for ethnic and social diversity, with its subsequent implications for social cohesion requires such a new vocabulary. Newly crafted metaphors take time to pass into common parlance, yet when adopted can drastically alter particular views of social life and subsequent policy decisions (‘the public sphere’, ‘community’, ‘the social contract’ among others). The ‘stakeholder society’, for example, which started as a way of understanding the relationship of the citizen to the state, had enormous influence for a short time in the late 1990s on issues such as an enabling welfare state, issues of dispersion of wealth and opportunity; similarly, the UK Coalition government dependency on the metaphor of ‘the Big Society’ to underpin some of their social policy decisions. It is hardly surprising then that ‘social cohesion’ itself is rarely seen as being a metaphor. If subjected to the same examination as the three deep metaphors forming the core of this text, it can be seen to contain the unspoken subtext of accord, harmony, union, wholeness, as referring in some way to a ‘social glue’.5 As Edyvane points out, social conflict is often associated with metaphorical language of malfunctioning, breakdown (e.g. Cameron’s sound-bite of ‘Broken Britain’6) and disease whereas cohesion and belonging evoke social flourishing, harmony, health (Edyvane, 2011). Crucially, for our purposes, Dobbernack suggests that social cohesion is itself a form of social imaginary, drawing on certain background imaginings and understandings of society (Dobbernack, 2010). It creates a model for how we speak about ‘belonging’ at a macro level and illustrates both the seeming impossibility of political study without recourse to metaphor and that some of our most widely used metaphors become so embedded within the language that we forget their metaphorical character. Thirdly, the normative value of metaphorical models in political philosophical discourse (and I include educational discourse in this category) lies in their

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ability to carry over particular un-stated, (and possibly un-stateable) values and commitments. Consider the following: I have argued that perhaps the most important part of any real moral system is the system of metaphors for morality and the priorities given to particular metaphors. If I am correct, then vital political reasoning is done using those metaphors  – and usually done unconsciously. This means that the empirical study of metaphorical thought must be given its appropriate place in ethics and moral theory. (Lakoff, 1995, p. 209)

As I suggested in the first chapter, there is an ethical dimension to the models used. With this in mind, I contend that fraternity encompasses many values needed within a notion of democracy that are not explicitly contained within the concepts of liberty and equality: fairness, cooperation, trust, inclusion and responsibility. Metaphors can have enormous social consequences in shaping our understandings of our world, often subconsciously. It must be remembered: political theory is meant to be persuasive, aiming at new attitudes, changing minds and thus discovering new meanings (Shklar, 1969, p. 225). Nevertheless, one must be careful to remember metaphorical insights are not literal truths and cannot be subjected to the same verification processes as such. Although not verifiable by empirical testing, they can be subject to similar standards of authentication: their ‘truth-value’ may turn out to be in their usefulness and success as models. If we determine that one of the most crucial responsibilities of public education is the formation of a public, then it is incumbent on us to work within an appropriate model that will reinforce that aim. This entails that we are working with an appropriate, useful model of the civic relationship, have some conception of how public education nourishes this and can show why this is the best policy to fulfil this responsibility. Where models clash, the aims of both are undermined. In the next chapter, I turn to how current policy compares and contrasts with the enactment of democratic fraternity.

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In the autumn of 2005, riots occurred in Clichy-sous-bois, (a ghetto-suburb of Paris, marked by both economic and social isolation from the richer residential areas), leading to political commentators discussing the failure of the French model of full citizenship integration. Those who lived in the impoverished, segregated communities tended to be from second and third generation immigrants from France’s former colonies who suffered greater unemployment, discrimination and poorer housing than in equivalent suburbs. The riots lasted eight nights and spread to other cities.

Introduction When the development of social cohesion is seen as a key function of publicly funded education, the consideration of how best to value and develop appropriate bonds of association acquires political pertinence as we attempt to formulate appropriate policy. This is no easy matter: much of our deliberation in policy and practice comes from attempts to determine what we should do and queries as to whether these principles provide a feasible standard for practice. Even then, our ideal models are not always easily articulated and realized at the level of policy and pedagogy. The tyranny of the ‘just one thing’ approach (that all problems can be solved by finding one ‘correct resolution’) all too frequently causes policy makers to look for simple, clear cut solutions to problems, despite normative stances rarely containing a coherent and consistent set of positions that are easily translatable into policy decisions. Nevertheless, practical experience teaches us that theories can push policy makers into specific forms of action by serving as ‘road-maps’. In many ways,

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theory helps move us between the present and the possible – ideas do seem to provide us with a frame within which to act. One particular way in which this can be achieved is through identifying and highlighting ‘borders’: the use of ideal models can help to delineate the possible policies that accord with our ultimate ends and equally to completely exclude others that are contrary to the values we seek. In other words, in addition to ruling in particular policies as coherent with our values and commitments, it also serves to rule other scenarios out. While a direct link between principle, policy and practice may prove difficult to draw out in its entirety, we can confidently indicate that some contain values that should exclude them from the set of ideas from which policy ought to be drawn. This can have the practical outcome of setting limits on the possible structures of schools thus providing guidelines for what schools within these boundaries may look and how they operate and could, in theory, provide the first stepping stones towards what might be viewed by many as a possibly idealistic goal. This book so far has argued that one of the central deliberations of a socially cohesive, democratic society must concern the bonds required of its citizenry and how they relate to one anther. Once we accept that democracy has this relational aspect, how this is nurtured and nourished through the generations assumes critical import. This suggests that any interpretation of democratic fraternity should have some requirements for institutions and policies to satisfy its demands – if it leaves things exactly as they are, it serves little purpose as a model. The central claim here is a normative one: that democratic fraternity should have a bearing on how we structure our educational organizations. While few would seriously disagree with the impetus towards democracy within educational provision, it is unclear exactly what this might commit us to in practice. Does it require merely a system of distribution and organization that is democratic? Does it mean the organization of schools themselves should be democratic in the running? Does it go beyond this to require that the content should be democratically arrived at? If we start from the point of democracy as ‘associated living’, what might we be committing ourselves to? My concern here is not focussed on the on-going democratic project itself: many have written persuasively on the need for democracy within schools (school councils, ethical teacher-pupil relationships, democratic learning communities, etc. – e.g. Michael Fielding, Penny Enslin, Meira Levinson, Amy Gutmann to name but a few). Similarly, experiments in democratic and radical practice are numerous – Emilio Romano; St George-in-the-East; Summerhill being perhaps some of the best known.1 My project is not to revisit these arguments (persuasive as they may be), but to argue that citizens of a democracy need to be more than

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active, involved and informed: they also need a sense of being bound together. This forms the background motivation in taking the second and third of my original questions further: what sort of structures would best support social cohesion when we choose to take it seriously, and what are the implications for pedagogy within these structures? Rather than delve into all possible pedagogical or structural issues connected with democratic fraternity, in what follows, several current policies and possible scenarios are treated with brevity and measured against our idealized relationship of belonging. In Section 1, I consider current policy research in school organization such as school federations, academies and free schools for their contribution in ameliorating concerns of fraying social cohesion by expanding the possibilities for increasing the range of societal relationships. Does democratic fraternity demand a particular form of school structure? In Section 2, I consider the last of my three initial questions, given that we have decided to take social cohesion seriously within a democratic society, and equally given that we realize these commitments in the way in which we structure our school systems, what are the implications for pedagogy within these structures? I consider the possibility that what happens within schools may be as important as the structures and organization of schools: that the debate about school choice policies (and their impact on social cohesion) fails to adequately explore the equal need to account for the civic attitudes necessary to uphold civic relationships. Finally, in Section 3, I question to what extent the ends we desire indicate particular means and suggest a way forward.

Section 1: What sorts of school structures best meet our model? The last few decades have evidenced unprecedented levels of argument about school structures, the aims of education, the curriculum (what should be taught) and how best to prepare teachers, all deeply mired in particular political interests and visions of what society should be like. The formulation and implementation of, in the main, party-politically generated reforms by successive governments, often lacking any real collective deliberation based on empirical evidence or which turn out to be heavily dependent on the import of policies from other countries without proper consideration of the context within which these work (described as a form of ‘policy tourism’ (Winstanley, 2012, p.  518)), have all made it increasingly difficult to establish a theoretical rationale as a guiding light

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by which to judge each and every new strategy. A bewildering lack of agreement as to even the precise nature of the problems we face then follows through into suggested counter measures. Just in the area of social cohesion alone, two distinct and contradictory arguments predominate: first those arguing for further school marketization claim it can support and maintain group identities, that more efficiency and higher standards through competition promotes overall quality thus alleviating segregation and increasing social cohesion; others claim the exact opposite: that markets undermine the development of a societal identity – that school choice (as currently experienced in markets) actively increases segregation and distance between people and thus damaging social cohesion by undermining both integration and democracy. The overall picture that emerges from a consideration of the current state of educational practice is of a highly stratified, standardized, over-managed system, where league tables and competition have come to dominate the practice; lessons are ‘delivered’; teachers are handed programmes of work to ‘follow’ with little space for professional interpretation; children are subjected to ‘high-stakes testing’ to be measured and judged for progress. The resulting autocratic top-down system of school management and the centralist surveillance of standards regime of no-notice inspections, of constant appraisals where only data matters, suggests a regime where no one is trusted, no one can make independent judgments, still frustrated by the ‘deintellectualization and demoralization’ (Carr and Hartnett, 1996, p. 4) of educational policy, devoid of firm foundations. None of this critique is completely new: philosophers of education have frequently pointed out the impoverished way in which public debate on educational matters takes place (Carr and Hartnett, 1996; Fielding and Moss, 2011; Gutmann, 2000, 2007; Pring, 2007; White, 1996). All too often, such critics of government policy are accused of ‘social engineering’, ‘being against higher standards/social mobility/the poor’ or worse, instead of being utilized in thoughtful engagement and reflection on the issue at hand. What is less addressed in the literature, however, is the way in which official discourse, and the development of language through which to critique government policy, has become polarized in such a way that only the language of the market is deemed ‘acceptable’. The overall outcome of this corruption or ‘colonisation’ of policy considerations by the language and values of markets restricts us to a single metaphorical model and reduces our ability to fully articulate a vision of how democratic values can be discussed, let alone become a framework for educational change.

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Efforts of successive English governments (the evolution of schools in both Scotland and Wales have often gone down very different paths, as have schools in Northern Ireland  – but for very different reasons) have politicized the evolution of a veritable hotchpotch of schooling systems, seated side-byside, in response to very different political ideologies and situations. In the last three decades alone we have had Grant Maintained Schools, Comprehensives, Grammars, Secondaries, Free Schools, Independent Schools, Faith schools, Foundation schools, City Technology Schools, Academies, to name but a few. The resultant lack of coherence arising from non-stop changes across the whole system (usually at breakneck pace for those charged with implementation), and the frequent reversal of policies without adequate discussion or research, has come to exemplify the often hostile climate within which consideration of issues of citizenship and civic values are forced to take place. The problems created by market values increasingly intruding into educational provision and subsequent concerns over our connectedness have not gone unnoticed, and indeed have been made subject to a variety of government initiatives in recent years in response to concerns: Excellence in Cities (1999), Networked Learning Communities (2002), School Federations (2002) and the Leadership Incentive Grant (2003) for example. These documents have all been serious efforts to re-examine and attempts to re-enable school collaboration through encouragement, incentives, or even external pressure. The idea of federations of schools, for example, arose to reintroduce ways in which schools can collaborate and/or to share governance, cooperative ventures and ‘best practice’. These were to go beyond inter-school partnerships to embrace overarching joint governing bodies, the creation of joint facilities, to sponsorship by not-for-profit charitable organizations. Sponsors were permitted to run a chain of schools that embraced a common ethos, outsourcing management to a commercial company. By restructuring to promote new ways of approaching teaching and learning, of leadership and management based on their particular needs and priorities to raise standards for all, the aim was that ‘successful’ schools would be able to support and improve the less successful: this can make relationships between ‘partners’ vertical. A common criticism is undoubtedly that there is very little research to show when, how or why some of these ventures are successful (Ainscow et al., 2006); where research does exist, it tends to be solely in terms of school management and pupil standards, with little regard for contribution to citizenship or democratic practice. This can partly be accounted for by the fact that school improvement (as currently defined) is driven by competition, measurement and individual

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attainment, severely constraining genuine collaborative practice between schools – it is almost impossible to critique the issue of democratic contribution from inside a market-driven agenda. Similar to the idea of a federation is the practice of schools working in a virtual network thus allowing schools which may be geographically separated to work together. Acknowledging the impact of competition and league tables, the hope is that working collaboratively with other schools may improve teaching, learning and attainment over and beyond what individual schools may achieve alone. With the growth of ICT systems in schools, it is considered possible to link schools, not only in community-based formats (still allowing for those shared orchestras, for example) but also for more fundamental joint activities, in subjects (particularly citizenship) thus widening the curriculum to some and extending the possibility of interaction to others. Research conducted by the National College of School Leadership appears to suggest the idea that the major attribute of networks leading to success was to be found within the character of people in them and their relationships (Bell et al., 2006). Furthermore, collaboration may even look different in different social contexts (Ainscow et al., 2006). But underlying these empirical difficulties lies a deeper problem, that of trying to work within two competing metaphor structures at one time. The weakness of such structures as a model towards social cohesion is still undoubtedly their placement within the discourse of markets, aiming at efficiency and value, standards and competition, and thus tending to be neglectful of much richer notions of human connectedness. While federations-as-they-are may be positioned contrary to our identified mores and commitments, such structures could theoretically be reoriented to give better accreditation of our civic demands. However, there are challenges to consider with such an approach: restructuring school systems is understandably both politically and practically time-consuming and expensive, and ultimately may not, even if carried out, provide the development of democratic fraternity as desired without a considerable loosening of the market values as currently prioritized. In other words, the malaise currently confronting schools is unlikely to be alleviated by yet further tinkering with an already discredited system. The problems of further organizational structures superimposed onto existing and unchanged school management structures have led some to rethink more radically and to champion the development of the small school movement and schools-within-schools (related to the call by some politicians for the return of the ‘house system’2). The attraction of such schools stems from the more

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personalized relationships between staff and pupils with smaller numbers of pupils (units can range from 30 to about 500), thus combining the best of the features of large schools with the advantages of smaller schools. The traditional schools-within-schools movement takes both size and the ‘centrality of certain kinds of human relationships seriously’ (Fielding and Moss, 2011, p. 95). Such schools provide a way for the personalized learning of pupils, with the capacity to interact with a larger school population in ways that are mutually enriching. This differs in significant ways from federations in that units are seen as equally supportive – the relationship between units is horizontal as opposed to vertical. Geography and physical locus matter: each has their own learning community, staff and facilities but with a use of shared space and/or some use of facilities with the larger ‘school’. The belief is that this will encourage a greater community spirit and more personal connections between staff and students as well as between each other. This format has particular advantages for our purpose: first, having a smaller size school unit (a frequent feature of successful primary schools) ensures that most participants will know each other through face-to-face contact (thus aiding the development of primary relationships). Secondly, it makes it easier for the whole school to be involved in ways of decision-making that might be difficult in larger schools. Thirdly, and most importantly, relationships are taken seriously. A more nuanced interpretation of this model could, in theory, be adapted to our purposes: it would be theoretically possible to create different types of units that could offer a limited form of choice/specialisms within the larger unit.3 Similarly, there is nothing in the model itself to prevent pupils moving across units should this be desired. The latest additions to school structures within England are perhaps the most troubling. The Academy Programme first started under the Labour Government in 2000 (as schools directly funded by central government yet independent of local control of local government), built upon ideas gleaned from the American Charter Schools.4 The original sites of these schools were to be within areas of deprivation and/or schools with low academic achievement yet this has become the preferred government organizational structure in all catchment areas (HCCPA, 2011). Similar to the Grant Maintained schools of the 80s, the use of government financial incentives have increased numbers of schools applying to convert. By January 2011, one in ten secondary schools in England was an academy.5 This rapid expansion of one preferred structure has overtaken our abilities to research and evaluate the effectiveness of such schools.

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Free schools extend the market even further (state funded but also outside of local democratic control), can be privately run under the academies legislation and set up by teachers, parents, charities (for some, by chains and/or businesses). This hybrid of state and market allows private companies to manage the bidding, setting up and running of free schools, sometimes on behalf of owners of the chain although the schools remain in the state system. Similar to academies, they also are given some freedoms from the National Curriculum, from national union agreements, and are ultimately answerable to the Secretary of State for Education. At present, they are not allowed to make a profit – however this has not been ruled out for future development. It is interesting to note in research on the free school system in Sweden, from which this model was taken, that even with a growth of possible school choices available, market forces do not always work as predicted (Bunar, 2010). In many cases, instead of parental ‘choice’ being made on educational grounds (teaching and learning, standards, etc.), choices were frequently made on ideological and social grounds, particularly by the middle-classes as part of their ‘reproduction strategies’ (Bunar, 2010, p. 55). This feature in turn was seen as having particular social and political implications for the integration of minorities. While acknowledging that segregation in Sweden has increased under school choice policies, Bunar claims that the picture is far from clear and that in some cases, integration has also increased depending on whether one considers those in the free school system or those who remain in the urban schools – as yet, there is little research to enable comparison across systems. While the free school programme in the United Kingdom may have been initially motivated by the reduction of social inequality in education (with their intended location, as with the academy movement, in areas of deprivation being a key element of this), there are a variety of ways in which schools can still become socially exclusive: biasing their catchment area; selecting by aptitude for a specialism (free schools are allowed to do so by up to 10%); the nature of the curriculum on offer; religious grounds, to name but a few (Hatcher, 2011). Unsurprisingly, sponsorship for chains of schools in England, by companies running similar ventures overseas, is actively encouraged in the bidding process (there is no provision for free schools in Wales, Scotland nor Northern Ireland). This expands school markets in potentially dangerous ways to allow global companies, whose corporate policies may turn out to be antithetical towards democracy or to particular national requirements, to take over the functions of public education, raising questions as to which ‘common values’ may then be promoted.

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What is interesting to note in this vast network of new educational structures is the emergence of alternatives to the local authority and the state as ‘guarantor’ of both ‘quality’ and our civicness. The quasi-independent system of academies and free schools substantially reduces the influence of local democracy and puts their future continuation in doubt in a similar way to the vast reorganization of the 80–90s. This ‘back-to-the-future’ experiment has all the characteristics of its previous incarnation: direct finances from central government; less control from LEAs (and less local support then being available); control over land, premises and employment contracts devolved to the governing body; less need for formal teacher training or probationary support (at the same time as highlighting the importance of teacher quality); reduction or withdrawal from elements of the National Curriculum. While initially it might be thought that giving parents and others the right to set up their own schools might be an extension of democracy (a seeming commitment to localism and decentralization), it can equally be argued that it undermines democratic oversight and accountability to the local population, in that it allocates decision making to parts of the society as opposed to all. Similarly, it makes the error of supposing the temporal interests of existing parents will be the same as those of future parents, the children themselves and the rest of the citizen body. Perhaps the most logical starting point is to start from a school of citizenship, one that is open to children of all citizens, regardless of ability, wealth, or other personal attributes: the common school. It may be useful here to point out that the common school is neither an ordinary school nor a comprehensive school as we have experienced them,6 neither does it rule out diversity nor distinctive identities (Fielding and Moss, 2011). Although the understanding of the concept of ‘common school’ is itself open to some ambiguity, it is usually understood in one of two ways; first, as a belief that all children are entitled to an education at state expense (‘commonly funded’), but the second, and perhaps more controversial of the two, is that all children should be educated together regardless of class, race or social distinctions (as proposed by Horace Mann in the United States in the 1830s). The principle is that if children are educated together, attending the same schools, this will help build common values and contribute to democracy. Historically, the common or public school movement in the United States evolved for the social good that ensued through bringing children of differing persuasions together into a single setting during a period of mass migration. These schools were thus seen as an essential building block in creating one nation from a multitude of immigrants in the American experience and with ensuring that civic virtues and national identity, through a shared set of

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values, were reflected in the school structure. The belief was that such school organizations enabled children from differing traditions to come together, learn from one another and exercise mutual respect within a safe, public environment. The greater the diversity, the greater the need for a common school was deemed to be (Pring, 2007). When we apply our ‘borders’, notice what happens. What is clear is that the kind of society that such systems uphold appears to be incompatible with the democratic aspirations and ideals we hold dear; both free schools and academies fail to have sufficient democratic oversight: the position of ‘voice’ of parents, teachers, local authority and local electorate is unclear (and in the case of local authority, specifically omitted). School federations cannot be an exemplar contributing to social cohesion without a considerable retuning of their ‘first principles’ as to the purposes of what schools are for. The deliberate release of market forces onto education structures through the free school policy in particular calls into question our ability to ensure the values bound up with democracy itself are passed on to future generations. However, notice that both the school-within-schools model and the common school model would fall within the set of ideas from which policy could be drawn; neither does one totally rule out the other. The constant changes and perpetual reorganization of existing schools by successive governments in the United Kingdom have served only to tamper with a system that is already problematic in terms of equality and social justice. The subsequent lack of a coherent system created by these ‘add-on tracks’ (Carr and Hartnett, 1996, p.  175) of different side-by-side school systems too often results in an institutional segregation, promoting a variety of ‘patchwork quilt’ associations held together by no more than the threads of edge-to-edge contact and a paucity of vision for how our loyalties could then be spread. Yet the rising inequality and the erosion of societal cohesion identified both nationally and internationally, according to Green, are not ‘the inevitable results of globalisation’ (Green, 2009, p.  8)  – a balance is possible between our desire for economic competitiveness and social cohesion. If we return briefly to Munoz-Dardé: ‘the fraternal metaphor  – fraternity  – expresses a tension essential to politics: the need to consider each other member of the political community, known only abstractly, as someone having concrete rights to resources that we share with him or her’ (Munoz-Dardé, 1999, p. 89), we are forced to revisit the way in which we frame our thinking. It leads us to consider that school choice may not just be about the satisfaction of individual preferences but also of how we choose collectively as a society. The eulogizing of ‘choice’ as served up by successive

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governments has deflected attention away from a discourse of privilege, political and deepening economic inequalities. This is not a failure of liberal democracy as a principle, as Carr and Hartnett remind us, but of society’s failure to live up to the ideals of liberal democracy itself (Carr and Hartnett, 1996, p. 184). One acute problem we must face is that if the argument remained merely at the level of schooling structures and the choices made between them as being the answer to the problem of social cohesion, we would end up with an unspoken reliance on a form of contact theory for social cohesion – that by being with those who are ‘different’, people will automatically trust each other more and thus increase social capital: ‘Social psychologists and sociologists have taught us that people find it easier to trust one another and cooperate when the social distance between them is less. . . . Social distance depends in turn on social identity: our sense of who we are’ (Putnam, 2007, p. 159). The general argument is that when the social distance between people is small, it creates a tighter sense of belonging – people feel connected, closer and to have a common sense of identity. Similarly, when the social distance between people is greater, people have a looser sense of belonging together, to have less in common and to feel less connected together. However, it is by no means certain that this will prove to be the case: it could equally be argued that being in contact with dissimilar others can reinforce prejudices and give many of us good reason to distrust them further. Similarly, this belief seems to clash with other widely held but contrary beliefs: that the more diverse a populace is, the more we ‘stick to our own’ and create out-groups (conflict theory), which in turn reduces forms of social capital. While contact may provide the opportunity for trust to develop, contact on its own is insufficient to make someone care or respect another. The research on social capital may seem to indicate the crucial importance of the regularity of association for trust and tolerance (as Putnam sees it), but we cannot assume that societies with more forms of association will then be more cohesive – it would be possible to have a society with high levels of associative groupings and yet be riven by inequality and oppression. This is particularly salient when discussing matters educational which impact on the making of future citizens. Institutional factors, as White correctly points out, are only one of the elements to be considered: the dispositions and virtues needed are equally important (White, P. 1999). When such communities are themselves democratic in both structures and content they can then be powerful role models for those within them in championing particular democratic virtues.

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Section 2: Pedagogy Questions concerning which school structures would best nurture the appropriate bond and what the implications might be for their pedagogical practice are not so easily untangled from each other. It is a far from simple matter to totally separate them, suggesting that the two are intimately connected: that certain structures promote particular ways of working – what happens within the institution can support or undermine the principle sought. Some types of school undoubtedly test the limits of pluralism by encouraging a form of separation or exclusivity, perhaps prohibiting forms of association between boys and girls; similarly, not all school systems can be relied on to promote a democratic culture. While human associations are undoubtedly affected by the structures that enable them to take place, they are also deeply affected by the motives and attitudes of the people who attend or use them. When we view schools as metaphorical ‘public squares’, this is where children meet as ‘citizens-in-becoming’ and that the interactions gained from this public space enable and support the development of the civic virtues needed to meet the needs of democracy. For many democratic countries, citizenship education and/or democratic education has come to be seen as a one of the primary means of addressing the social cohesion needed by the state. It is commonly accepted that ‘For democracies to thrive, citizens have to be taught how to be democrats’ (Enslin et al., 2001, p. 115). Despite this, citizenship education continues to be seen as controversial in some quarters: the qualities and attributes we wish to develop in future citizens are often seen as highly contentious in some traditions that may be hostile and forbid their pursuit. Researchers such as Diane Hess and Michael Hand have argued convincingly that essential democratic skills can be taught and practiced within the classroom (particularly in Hess, 2009) and that the classroom is an ideal space in which to explore controversial issues (Hand, 2008). Nevertheless, it is anticipated by many that the review of the National Curriculum (2012) calls into question the place of citizenship on the curriculum in the United Kingdom. Many radical forms of education have an interest in extending democracy beyond issues of curriculum so that schools operate as direct democracies: that all concerned in the community, staff and pupils, should have an equal status and voice in their decision-making. This serves to recognize the pupils not as ‘citizens-in-becoming’ but as ‘citizens-already’; they are not then mere ‘consumers of education’, but ‘active partners’ (Hope, 2012, p. 95). Similarly some of these practices challenge our preconceptions on what it is to be a ‘self-governing’

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citizen (the independent Sands School  – established in 1987 by a group of teachers and students – does not have a head teacher, but is cooperatively run based on democratic values and the importance of relationships). Here we restrict our concentration to two types of pedagogical practice growing in popularity in state schools in the United Kingdom  – the Just Community approach and Philosophy for/with Children  – both of which claim to be communities of practice, emphasizing the participation of the whole community in social and moral learning in particular ways. But more than this, the specific claims made by them to contribute to the dispositions of democracy and/or social cohesion are worth considering against our ideal models explored previously. Broadly speaking, the Just Community is a proto-type of ‘democracy in action’ with participation underpinning the project. Originating in the work of Laurence Kohlberg, this approach starts from the belief that education for justice requires students to be actively engaged in creating justice within their schools, within an environment suited to open discussion and problem-solving that requires moral reasoning (Kohlberg, 1971, 1985). Drawing on both the Deweyan and Piagetian notions of the school as a builder of democracy, it provides opportunities for cooperative decision-making as part of a community (Dewey, 1916/1997; Piaget, 1932/1965). The point is to involve the children in learning about democracy by doing democracy. Here, each child actively participates in the development of rules and regulations governing the school. Students, teachers and staff members all come together regularly to discuss and debate matters of interest relevant to the life of the school (Oser et al., 2008). The rules and policy decisions that follow from these debates thus then reflect the shared values of the whole community. Students are encouraged to develop their sense of fairness, responsibility, care for others, social-emotional and moral reasoning through participation in this form of group learning. By having the whole school involved in some way in decision and rule making, this pedagogy has wider reach than moral dilemma discussion within particular classrooms, as followed in many citizenship programmes. Philosophy for Children (P4C) has mostly to date been identified with the thinking skills movement in the United Kingdom.7 Indeed, there are numerous books and articles on the contribution of P4C as a critical thinking skill (Topping and Trickey, 2004, 2007); there are books and articles aplenty on whether or not it is philosophy (White, 1992, 2012) and even more on whether or not it has a place on the curriculum (Hand and Winstanley, 2008). Less often considered are the claims that the pedagogical practice makes to participatory democracy: that P4C is not a matter of a lesson once a week, but is expected

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to involve participants in the democratic life as ‘communicative democrats’ (Hayes and Murris, 2011, p. 286). These ambitious claims for its significance as preparation for democracy and democratic education have been recognized in policy as a contribution to citizenship education (the promotion of autonomy, reasonable citizenry, participation, dialogue, critical thinking) for example in the curriculum review Diversity and Citizenship (Ajegbo et  al., 2007) and in the findings on the assessment of citizenship education for assessing enquiry and communication skills (Briefing Paper for Teacher Mentors Of Citizenship Education – (Brett, 2004)). The aim of Philosophy for Children (P4C) has always been developing democracy in social character and reasonableness (as in ‘be ready to reason’) in personal character. As such, it has even been described as an expression of democratic values (Fisher, 2000). Based on the Deweyian insight of creating a democratic culture within schools,8 it encourages pupils to practise the skills necessary for participation in a democratic community when operating as a democracy. For this to take place, the ethos and the internal organization of the school also has to be transformed from the hierarchical and authoritarian practices often associated with school structures. The rationale behind the practice is to encourage children to cultivate the social skills necessary for both good moral conduct and to enable them to take their place in a pluralist society: to develop listening skills, and reasonableness of character, taking into account the views and feelings of others, to develop the capacity to be reasoned with and to change their own mind or beliefs upon good reasons, to be reflective learners. Every child has the same rights in the community of enquiry to express their opinion and to be listened to: the connection with equality. This is not to argue that every opinion is accepted as equally valid (hence the role of the teacher-facilitator) but to create a climate enabling the acceptance of difference and reasonable dialogue to emerge in an open and respectful manner. What this serves to highlight is the genuine inclusion of pupil voices, which can stand at odds with the often undemocratic nature of school administration. The community of enquiry method that has evolved is marked by a distinctive pedagogical approach, a key feature of which is collaborative, cooperative dialogue. The collaborative deliberation engendered by the community is claimed to transform the classroom into both a cognitive and affective space in which the bonds between pupils can be strengthened. Sharp describes this as a form of reflective communal action (Sharp, 1991): a commitment to open debate, pluralism and practical judgement. For Sharp, the community of enquiry, by

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embracing a wide range of views, allows new perspectives to be forged through the shared enterprise (Sharp, 1995). If Philosophy for Children remained at the level of enquiry one would be led to believe that its influence was directed towards a form of PSHE or even moral education. However, the very proponents extolling its virtues seem to want more from it than this: that it should spur young adults to action, to participate in the democratic life. There has been no empirical study to explore as yet to consider and examine these aspects of Philosophy for Children; much ‘evidence’ is anecdotal at best. To date, the relevant empirical literature on Philosophy for Children has mostly been driven by thinking skills proponents, seeking the measurable, utilitarian raising of academic standards (Topping and Trickey, 2004, 2007) with little interest in exploring any possible relationship with the civic attitudes and virtues of practical citizenship. If we consider both of these practices against our ideal model, it becomes apparent that the discussions underpinning both pedagogical approaches and the claim to promote both judgement and deliberation skills, if true, hold the possibility of the educational aspect broadening from moral/social education to an explicit form of citizenship education. Although I do not doubt that engagement in programmes such as these can have the stated effects and accept that such approaches may well prove to be useful as an experience of democratic education and have positive effects on teaching particular attitudes and dispositions necessary for the sustaining of the democratic ethos, they do not, on their own, answer the problem of how to inculcate social cohesion. What they do achieve is to point to the importance of relationships in schools: that democracy, somehow, is a ‘relational ethic’ (Fielding and Moss, 2011, p.  42). Nevertheless, in these circumstances we must be wary, as Patricia White warns us, of not reducing education to mere socialization and thus reducing the idea of the school as a ‘place of citizenship’ (White, 1972/1975, p. 121).

Section 3: Conclusion Concentrating solely on the contribution to social cohesion, the obvious failings of current educational reforms to address concerns in this area become apparent. Separateness rather than connectedness has dominated the political discourse over the last few decades and continues to do so. As one of the tasks of any education system is to enable society to continue through the generations, it appears reasonable to assume that core aspects of educational

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policy and schooling arrangements charged with achieving this will contribute to this process. Yet as demonstrated, many current government priorities in school structures stand in opposition to our desires for the cohesive society. The glaring contrast between market values, and the rise of the atomistic market-led individualism associated with this, and human flourishing neglects and downplays the ‘relational’ dimension of personhood and democracy as ‘associated living’ (Dewey, 1916/1997). It cannot be surprising that so many people hold serious misgivings about the consequences that the sheer volume of reforms, generated by a plethora of policies, has had on practice in this area. None of this is to argue that schooling on its own can uphold democratic values, but to recognize the vital role that schools play in forming the citizenry. While philosophy, at the level of models and principles, cannot indicate one particular design of schooling nor the pedagogy practiced within, it can rule out possibilities that would undermine or be contrary to the end result desired. It can delineate the borders within which the discussion takes place by eliminating particular structures or pedagogies. The task for the philosopher in these circumstances is to get a clearer view of the commonplace assumptions we use in our everyday thinking about the world and to assess the coherence of this way of thinking (Gilbert, 1991), yet big ideas and sweeping narratives do not always neatly fit reality. Horkheimer’s claim that the ‘transformed society’ has to be reached by free agreement and neither be forced on people nor stipulated in advance gives us reason to be cautious in prescribing a particular remedy to the problem (Horkheimer, 1982). While I might conclude that the ideal of the common school may indeed be the ideal venue in which to explore where our democratic and private sentiments come together, I also have to acknowledge that such a choice is problematic: it cannot be imposed nor forced on a democratic society. Indeed, the adoption of a common school system would appear to require a citizenry that is already virtuous and able to stand back from their particular attachments and desires. In our current circumstances, where the moral basis of policy is often absent from the argument, how do we move past this picture to achieve our aims? First, it is important to reiterate that no particular theory can provide a complete blueprint for either school structures or for the pedagogy required to support said structures. Theory does not easily translate into policy, neither does policy automatically map onto classroom practice (Reich, 2002). It cannot be assumed that theory can automatically provide answers to problems, yet without theory our chances of alighting on appropriate policy are considerably diminished. All planning and policy decisions are necessarily value-laden, educational planning

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perhaps more conspicuously so than other areas. To claim that all theories have normative dimensions is hardly radical, yet it does suggest our work as philosophers of education must be firmly involved in policy issues. Secondly, while the ideal model of society may initially seem to imply a common schooling solution, the constraints of our equal commitment to individual freedoms and rights to choose lives of value cause the questioning of the feasibility of this as policy. The liberal democratic society is constantly negotiating these two seemingly incompatible demands: the first, that public schooling should be provided for all children and that the state has a justified interest in the content and form of that education in view of its capacity to create future citizens; and the second, that individuals should be permitted to choose educational options that best express and support their preferences and goals. A common response to this problem is to argue that while no acceptable policy coming from these commitments would outlaw the practice of parental choice (including faith schools, private schools, etc.), what can be done is to delineate the parameters within which these can operate. Policy can undoubtedly be formulated to encourage such schools into more ethically acceptable partnerships (such as the schools-within-schools) with a greater emphasis on the nurturing of relationships. From this stance it would then follow that if structures should choose to remain outside any such reorganized structures, the removal of all state funding becomes a viable option (whether ‘charitable status’ or otherwise). Yet caution is urged on this view before considering adoption into policy: on its own without consideration of wider societal change, such a stance could merely serve to reinforce already existing stratifications and inequalities within a society. It could end up creating ‘exclusive’ schools of wealth that do not need tax-relief to survive and cut such schools off even further by taking away any justification for contributing to the ‘public benefit’ by working with the state sector. No society can completely eliminate the multiple ways in which inequalities stalk our public lives: one way out of this would be to utilise our visions of belonging and insist that any consideration of proposed educational reforms should start from a consideration of how they would promote our civic values. The practical outcome of just this stance could significantly affect the creation of a socially cohesive society. Thirdly, although the design of institutions is a valid part of the argument when considering our ability to fulfil a particular principle, we have to acknowledge that principles can be consistent with a wide range of outcomes. While we cannot claim that particular school structures do not contribute at all to any form of

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social cohesion (this may not be verifiable), what we can do is to claim that some models appear to contribute better. This leads finally, and perhaps most importantly, to the suggestion that the focus of education as it is now, must concern itself with fostering the attitudes and virtues needed to sustain the political framework and to hold a critical attitude to current practices (both within schools and the wider community). While knowledge and skills for life in a democracy are important, Patricia White argues that having the disposition to use these skills is equally important (White, 1996). Being overly concerned with enabling the possibilities and opportunities for widening primary relationships by restructuring school organizations without, at the same time, an equal concern with the development of the civic attitudes and virtues underpinning these relationships, may serve to undermine or weaken each resolution: both may be required. Serious discussion of contemporary educational problems cannot escape the tension between where we are now and where we want to be. We cannot assume that even after the best restructuring of schooling, nor after the best available pedagogical programme to promote democratic fraternal virtues are put into practice, that success can be guaranteed (any reader looking for a fully articulated plan for how to achieve social cohesion may be very disappointed in this). Nevertheless, we must also, as theorists, be careful not to ‘over-claim’: schooling alone can do very little if it is at odds with the prevailing ethical environment of the society. Change is never simply a matter of exchanging one set of policies for another: genuine public debate is needed to fully articulate the vision of society we wish to be and then serious debate as to how we might promote and reach this goal. The values that we espouse as a society require us to continually renew and revise our commitments, to enter into this dialogue and discussion about alternatives and possibilities. Nevertheless, re-evaluating the bond needed between citizens in a liberal democratic society and the values it commits us to may be best way to revitalize our structures and pedagogies as we seek to align them with our cherished principles.

8

Conclusion

The preceding chapters have clearly demonstrated that any theory of social cohesion is incomplete without a corresponding consideration of the model of belonging used. It should also be noted that in a stable and self-perpetuating society, the models we adopt are informed by our commitments, values and aspirations for how we ought to live. It seems incoherent to claim attachment to particular values and then not be willing to express these in any way in policy decisions. It seems equally incoherent to have particular policies in practice and then deny attachment to the values contained within them. This suggests a possible normative dimension to the models we choose as these can have deep effects on the way we organize our social lives and the organizations we create to fulfil this image. Grappling with the normative tensions between competing values cannot be the concern of policy makers alone. The growing diversity of schools, school organizations and school choice features available undoubtedly make this area problematic. Those theorists working in the field of social cohesion and education policy have correctly pointed out a difficulty when the concept is studied at the level of ‘local’ and the findings extrapolated to societal level, that it can then be based on a misunderstanding of the complexities of societies at large (Green et al., 2006). Just as we cannot suppose that the virtues of particular relationships such as friendship, family or market can be extrapolated unchanged into the macro level of society, neither can we assume that what counts or contributes towards community cohesion will also hold for societal cohesion. The practical consequences of the over-emphasis on market values and competition within existing structures (particularly as encouraged and practiced by current school policies) and the resultant effects on our collective flourishing seem to leave us less likely to achieve a socially cohesive society. This is not in any way to argue that standards and academic

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excellence are not worth pursuing in schools. But these are not the only values: we must be mindful that schools have multiple purposes, not all of which serve democratic aims equally well. One of the primary social functions often ascribed to education and schooling serves is to reproduce society: that social continuity requires the next generation to be initiated into our preferred ways of life. Yet to describe this role as ‘reproduction’ is incorrect: the task is not to reproduce society exactly as it is – but to constantly renew and justify our commitments to society as an on-going project – ‘a life lived together’. If we judge that an aim of education within school systems is to become a public, we must naturally question the organizations within which this occurs and what happens within them. Given that education plays such a large role in enforcing and upholding the collective commitment to particular ways of life, the quintessentially metaphoric nature of how we envision these associational bonds and the ways in which we model those commitments can become urgent issues for educational policies. In summary: our study of these metaphors of belonging has highlighted particular elements as crucial to the development of social cohesion and the conceptualization of the necessary bond between citizens. First, that it is relational: it concerns how we relate to our civic others. The centrality of relationships means that political life inevitably has to care about relationships between citizens and thus address how best to create the conditions for citizens to bond and the types of educational structures that best promote strong bonds. As all relationships are temporal, both in time and over time, any relationship of citizens cannot be instant. Relationships are hope-orientated: they look as much to the future as to the past: they require a sense of mutual connection, of planning a future destiny together. What is pertinent here is that in living together, we change each other. Secondly, Cohen argues that psychologically, our sense of belonging tends to be immediate – to the local: myths and stereotypes are not absolutes, pickled and preserved for use when occasion requires. They are, rather, like empty receptacles which are filled with local and particular experience. A man’s awareness of himself as a Scotsman may have little to do with the Jacobite wars, or with Burns, or with the poor state of the housing stock in Glasgow. It has to do with his particular experience as a farmer in Aberdeenshire, as a member of a particular village or of a particular group of kin within his village. Local experience mediates national identity, and therefore, an anthropological understanding of the latter cannot proceed without knowledge of the former. (Cohen, 1982, p. 13)

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Having real contact with real people enables us to get away from myths and false information about others, to experience different points of view from the people who hold them so that we understand the value this has in their lives. The idea is that successful cooperation with others depends to some measure on familiarity and the build up of trust-like relationships over time. This trust and confidence is then reinforced when it is seen that all are doing their fair share (Rawls, 1971) – that they really are ‘in it together’. While this may be where we start, it does not dictate that this is where it must end. Our study of fraternity indicated the importance of reducing inequalities in that power can adversely affect relationships and disconnect people. Our study of school structures and pedagogical practices suggest that we have to think beyond our current obsession with market values and return to considerations of what schools are for, this being a far broader question than merely gaining instrumental value for individuals. It suggests that personal relationships, their nurture and nourishment, are a vital element of our educational systems. Much of what currently passes for public political debate demonstrates an increasingly narrow understanding of what it is to be connected: the place of the hijab and niqab in France; the growth of the far right and the subsequent election of increasingly nationalistic politicians in many countries (including the United Kingdom); the murder of Marwa Sherbini in the German courtroom of a man convicted of insulting her religion; the rise of the HDJ in Germany; the tightening of welfare access. The model of connectedness advanced here emphasizes the role of centring the civic relationship within a framework of democracy itself. The account of democratic fraternity developed holds the possibility of voicing what it is to be connected to others within a modern liberal democracy. Democratic fraternity, by providing a framework to encompass seeming strangers as connected civically, proves itself to be theoretically equipped to deal with the contemporary problems of a modern society. Furthermore, the repositioning of the concept within its metaphoric origins has clearly shown that the values and aspirations underpinning such a concept lie within liberal traditions. The location of civic relationships within a wider framework of accounts of belonging has drawn on parallel arguments from the social sciences. I do not claim to have offered a comprehensive account of these traditions and concepts, but have used their insights to position the concept of democratic fraternity as a modified metaphor within the wider academic framework of family metaphors, to demonstrate where it fits in the ‘grand narrative’.

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Part of my project has been to argue that we need to pay proper attention to the vocabulary and models used for our civic attachments. The language of educational debate is not neutral (Carr and Hartnett, 1996): language is about constructing and reconstructing our understanding of who we are, our traditions and our values. Some of the most potent images we call on are often implicit within the language we adopt. Without a consideration of the implicit attachments found within exemplars, no model can faithfully represent the values and commitments they need to carry. While some will agree that there is a relationship between our models, language and the ways we structure our social life, they may be less persuaded as to the type of relationship it may be. The argument is that the language we use, the metaphors we adopt mirror our hidden assumptions and commitments and values. They do not force us to adopt particular school structures or ways of schooling – what common unthinking usage does is to blinker us against alternatives. As Dewey points out: ‘The plans which are formed, the principles which man projects as guides of reconstructive action, are not dogmas. They are hypotheses . . . to be rejected, corrected and expanded as they fail or succeed in giving our present experience the guidance it requires’ (Dewey, 1948, p. 96). Until our policies take metaphors seriously and accommodate to their demands, they may be offering inappropriate guidance, sometimes even undermined by conflicting commitments. This suggests we should extend our understanding of the interplay between the models and metaphors we adopt for civic relationships, and the institutions we choose to teach and nurture the relevant attitudes, virtues and values. Although throughout this book I have often used the phrase ‘civic others’, this phrase can itself be problematic. The very language used (others) serves to distance us from each other: it suggests that the default position is that some are not part of ‘us’. Any theory dealing with the creation of a ‘we’ is automatically creating a ‘they’; inclusion always carries with it the shadow of exclusion. While a small point, it illustrates how the language we use to model our attachments can position us prior to engaging with arguments about the models used. Yet it goes beyond this: rooting ‘imaginings’ of our belonging within part of the family metaphor, serves to change the default position to include ‘others’ as part of ‘us’. One thing to be noted is that metaphors are a vital resource for political reasoning. While we may abandon particular models in the pursuit of a coherent integration between our values and social arrangements, we cannot abandon all (Midgley, 2003). This then demonstrates the importance of making our choice armed with the necessary knowledge.

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So far we have assumed a normative dimension to social cohesion itself assuming a particular ideological preference from the outset: that it is always for the good. There is no reason why we should so suppose. History reminds us of many cohesive societies directed towards ‘the bad’ from Nazi Germany to more recent episodes of ethnic cleansing. Similarly ‘social glue appears not to be spread evenly throughout society’ (Pahl, 1991, p. 350): some groups may be more tightly bound together than others. Indeed, Pahl argues that excessive cohesion can serve to increase certain types of crime behaviour (e.g. fraud in the City of London banking fraternity; political cover-ups). Social cohesion cannot be an ultimate aim of education without being subject to qualification: creating a unified citizenry is no guarantee that the decisions taken by them will be for the good. An unquestioning population disinclined to call government to account undermines democracy. While some degree of cohesion may be necessary for the polis to function, it is unclear how much and how widely spread this unity needs to be. Despite having used the term cohesion within its usual domain, I wish to tentatively speculate that the concept may not denote any one particular condition that must be met, but may work more as an appraisal of a state of affairs. To say a society has social cohesion is evaluative rather than descriptive of particular practices. It is at heart metaphorical, and, as with all metaphors, is then open to a wide variety of interpretations. This helps us to understand the inability to find one single definition accepted across the literature, nor one single measure that can be adhered to in all research. To some extent, this accounts for the slippery usage of the term within much of the literature and understandings, but it adds a secondary feature that is more interesting: it serves to place it directly within the concern of philosophy. If this proves correct, perhaps the study of social cohesion may belong in an ‘ethics of social life’. If we wish to ‘out-source’ our collective responsibility to the next generation, making decisions which can seriously affect their ability to acquire the dispositions, skills and knowledge to participate and flourish in a stable, cohesive society, serious debate is first required. Our ideals of the good society and the metaphors used are normatively important in motivating us and guiding our policy making. These are not just matters for professional politicians – we need to all be actively involved in articulating our vision for who we are and who we want to be. This ‘life lived together’ requires us to be an active party in re-evaluating and reformulating our ideals as suggested by Patricia White (White, P. 1999). Through collective dialogue and on-going public debate, educational

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policy needs to be redirected towards furthering our democratic ideals and nurturing the bonds needed between citizens to uphold these ideals. We have by no means resolved the theoretical and practical tensions involved in balancing the commitments of individuals and those of society at large. Neither, I argue, should it. The tension is necessary: it is the conflicts between the competing demands that ‘keep us honest’ and give us good reason to ‘keep talking’.

Notes Introduction 1 http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/7503757.stm [last accessed 19 November 2009] 2 Prior to 2005, there was little evidence about how schools were segregated on lines of race or religion in the United Kingdom. A study by Burgess, Wilson and Lupton in ‘Urban Studies’ indicated high levels of segregation for different groups, albeit with high levels of variation in England (Burgess, et al., 2005). Their study indicated higher levels of segregation within schools than by neighbourhood alone and that this increased with population density. Previously, most research concentrated on economic segregation and on whether the market-based choice system increased or decreased such segregation. 3 www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-19970734 [last accessed 27 November 2012] 4 www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-politics-20355358 [last accessed 27 November 2012] 5 I have deliberately restricted my choice of relationships not only for reasons of range and depth of study, but for what these particular relational metaphors can offer by way of analysis. For this reason, I have chosen not to consider the concept of solidarity. As Brunkhorst indicates, solidarity is based upon the Roman legal concept of an obligation for the whole or a joint liability. Everyone takes responsibility for anyone who cannot pay his debt and vice versa, binding unfamiliar persons within the demands of the law (Brunkhorst, H. (2005), Solidarity (trans. J. Flynn Cambridge, MA: MIT Press). Other commonly used metaphors are: fellowship (see the work of John Macmurray and Michael Fielding); mateship; colleagues.

Chapter 1 1 All societies face the problem of ‘free-riders’, but the precise level at which freeriding becomes problematic is an empirical question that may vary across societies. 2 The focus is then put on the creation of bonds of solidarity between local communities and newcomers. For example, the City of Sanctuary network, originating in Sheffield in 2005, developed into a wider network as a reaction to the UK policy of dispersing asylum seekers across the country. The network sought to support the growth of face-to-face relationships between those seeking sanctuary

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and local people. The Strangers into Citizens campaign on the other hand, which arose from the 2001 London Living Wage campaign, sought to regularize the position of irregular migrants, creating a pathway to citizenship for those who had lived in the United Kingdom for four years or more, enabling them to work legally and thus contribute both economically and socially. Quoting Alan Johnson, Secretary of State for Education and Skills, speaking in Parliament on 2 November 2006. Cohesion in terms of the support for ‘strong communities’ can be linked to the New Labour conceptualization of citizenship in that the cohesive society required a shared value base and commitment to active participation in the political process (Shukra et al., 2004). It then becomes striking how cohesion stands in direct contrast to the Conservative metaphor of ‘Broken Britain’. Granovetter’s doctoral research in 1970 for Harvard University focussed on examining how social networks can be used to obtain new jobs. He found that most people found their jobs, not through close friends as might be initially supposed, but through ‘weak ties’ which, he argued, play an important role in occupational mobility. What is noticeable is the terminology of market; by the use of the metaphor of capital, we then tend to think along the lines of economy utility, seeing social life in terms of exchanges and transactions. The Observer:26.4.09: Business and Media Section, Kathryn Hopkins, p. 6–7. The following chapters on friendship and civic friendship, while important in their own right, further explore this problem in moving from the personal face-to-face encounters, to wider societal accounts.

Chapter 2 1 See report online for details: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/4382370. stm [last accessed 19 November 2009]. 2 This is sometimes referred to as perfect or character friendship. However, for the purpose of this chapter, I shall use the term ‘virtue’ to cover this third category.

Chapter 3 1 www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2009/jan/29/derek-conway-fined [last accessed 19 November 2009]. 2 ‘We don’t pay taxes. Only the little people pay taxes’: attributed to Leona Helmsley, a U.S. hotel magnate tried for tax evasion. Quoted in New York Times (12 July 1989). [last accessed 19 November 2009].

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3 www.guardian.co.uk/business/2009/mar/17/barclays-guardian-injunctiontax: article examining how numerous banks, the ultra-rich and multinational organizations avoided paying taxes. [last accessed 19 November 2009]. 4 On the 5th February 2004, 21 Chinese cockle pickers, all illegal immigrants, were cut off by the tide and drowned at Morecambe Bay, United Kingdom because of the negligence of their gang master. The existence of gangmasters operating in the United Kingdom was unknown by most citizens prior to this event. http://news.bbc. co.uk/1/hi/england/lancashire/4259226.stm [last accessed 19 November 2009].

Chapter 4 1 www.ft.com/cms/s/2/4713c328-e1e2–11df-b18d-00144feabdc0. html#axzz2DbVHTfF7 [last accessed 27 November 2012] 2 www.raikhingonline.org/articles/intro/investment_in_education.pdf [last accessed 20 May 2012] 3 A market economy is defined by Sandel as a useful tool for distributing the goods of productivity whereas a market society is one in which almost everything is for sale. 4 A true story: the mother of a cheerleader, in order to bring about the dream of her daughter to achieve a spot in the school squad, conspired to murder the mother of her nearest rival for the position, so as to improve her daughter’s chances (the case of Wanda Holloway in TX, USA, 1991). 5 While religious insignia and symbolic clothing can encourage the wearer towards seeing fellow members as bound together in important ways, and thus engenders a willingness to sacrifice part of their well-being for the rest of the group, this willingness does not extend outwards to non-group members. 6 In certain circumstances the provider must deny their goods – for example, a publican’s ability to continue to sell alcohol to an intoxicated consumer can be overridden by laws forbidding such sale, or the sale of age-restricted goods.

Chapter 5 1 www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article662160.ece [last accessed 19 November 2009] 2 http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/4504722.stm: speech made 6 December 2005[last accessed 23 November 2012] 3 http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/lancashire/3464203.stm [last accessed 19 November 2009] 4 http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/november/18/ newsid_2540000/2540209.stm [last accessed 19 November 2009]

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5 wwwl.idc.ac.il/marmor/work/equality.htm [last accessed 24 March 2007] 6 Envy is described by Norman as a socially destructive feeling – that social life would go better the less envy generated (Norman, 2002). When people start to envy other’s holdings, it affects their sense of well-being and personal satisfaction with their lot, creates dissatisfaction and unhappiness. La Caze, however, sees this kind of envy as useful in a society (La Caze, 2001, 2002). She builds an argument that this social envy is what motivates people to improve their situation or standing. When we see that someone can do something we cannot, it can motivate us to seek the same through practise of a skill, learning a new way of doing things etc. She further argues that the point of envy can be to alert us to injustice – by noticing how we differ from others, comparing and justifying differences can itself lead to a ‘righteous envy’. The ‘envy’ becomes a prompt to action. What is frequently missed in the argument is that the envy being spoken of by political philosophers and economists is not the emotion known as ‘envy’. The confusion arises from the use of the same word to signify two different things. The first, an emotion which can make life unpleasant for the sufferer (malign envy); the second usage (as used by Rawls, Nozick and game theorists) is as a term or a symbol allowing discussion of inequality of distribution within a society: it functions as a formula, almost as a metaphor. Indeed, Dworkin defines equality as an ‘envy-free’ distribution of resources (Dworkin, 1981). The adoption of a second metaphorical sense of envy avoids the overtones evoked by the emotional form of envy, that of the sense of inferiority and welfare loss. No-envy or envy-free allocations are based on two agents having the same preferences who should be treated equally in considering the fair allocation of goods in economies. A scheme for distribution of goods is thus considered envy-free (in terms of game theory) if each recipient is convinced that no other recipient has received more than they have (according to their measure). The issue is that no recipient would wish to swap their share. This idea of no-envy or envy-free allocations is attractive to economists because it is claimed to be impartial between conceptions of the good as agents are responsible for their choice of their allocation of resources. 7 Interestingly, this ties in with neuroeconomic research by Broad, Curley and Keverne, which indicates that levels of oxytocin are affected by such external circumstances as trust relationships (and their lack), air pollution, equality (and conversely inequality) and socio-political stability (Broad et al., 2006; Grimes, 2003).

Chapter 6 1 In the United Kingdom, the Education Secretary, Michael Gove, has declared himself ‘open-minded’ over whether state schools should be run for profit (see www. guardian.co.uk/politics/2012/may/29/michael-gove-open-state-schools-profit) [last accessed 08 August 2012]

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2 These concepts were outlined in Chapter 2. 3 Christopher Martin expands on this viewpoint in his book ‘Education in a postmetaphysical world: rethinking educational thinking and practice through Jurgen Habermas’ discourse morality’ (2012) 4 Brunkhorst: ‘Solidarity’: extensively referred to in Chapters 3 and 5, traces the history and usage of the bonds of civic friendship and fraternity in the development of solidarity. 5 I am indebted to Graham Haydon for this insight. 6 David Cameron – Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from 2010 – to present.

Chapter 7 1 For those who wish to read further on experiments in democracy in practice, I recommend Fielding and Moss’s wonderful book ‘Radical Education and the Common School’. 2 The Guardian: Tues, 20 September 2005 www.guardian.co.uk/education/2005/ sep/20/schools.uk3 [last accessed 19 November 2009] 3 Having distinct units within school settings have been features of schools for many years (SpLD Bases, Nurture Groups, Behaviour Units, Dyslexia and other such units in the United Kingdom, and Gifted programmes in the United States) – the schools-within-schools approach takes this a stage further. What is distinctive about this approach is that it does not rely merely on structural or organizational change, what is paramount is the way in which structures and pedagogies come together in particular ways. 4 These are schools run by private providers operating outside local controls and free to set elements of their own curriculum. Many have extended the school day significantly and even introduced Saturday sessions. However, research seems to indicate a mixed record on achievement and standards. 5 www.education.gov.uk/inthenews/inthenews/a0071852/more-than-one-in-tensecondary-schools-now-academies-with-many-more-in-the-pipeline 6 There has never been a truly comprehensive system in the United Kingdom: they have always lived along side selective education one way or another, which in turn affects their ability to fulfil their purpose. 7 www.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/thinkingskills/guidance/567257?view=get [last accessed 19 November 2009] 8 Dewey’s Laboratory School, at the University of Chicago, famously distributed decision-making and responsibility to even the youngest children by allowing all to exercise and practise their skills appropriate to their level of development.

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Index References in bold type refer to whole chapters.  academies  10, 62, 76, 125, 127, 128, 129, 130 all in it together  141 allegiances  13, 57, 58, 66, 67, 76, 77, 112 changing  65 see also loyalty Amish  85 Anderson, Benedict  53, 100–1, 102–3 see also imagined community anthropology  6, 39, 48, 102, 104 Aristotelian friendship  8, 29, 30, 31, 33–8, 39, 41, 43, 44, 45, 46, 51–6, 58 ancient Greeks  30, 32, 33, 56–7 typology  29, 33–8, 48, 49–50 see also civic friendship; friendship assimilation  47 metaphors  24–5 see also integration associated living  5, 122, 136 see also democracy; Dewey, John associations  3, 14, 20, 21, 50, 55, 61, 66, 83, 84, 89, 118, 130, 131, 132 see also bonds, associational bonds attachment  5, 15, 18, 22, 23, 24, 27, 32, 39, 46, 50, 57, 70, 86, 93, 95, 103, 136, 139, 142 loyalty  65–6, 68–9, 111 belonging  1, 2, 12, 14, 17, 22–5, 30, 47, 61, 63, 64, 67, 80, 81, 82, 86, 95, 99, 105–6, 110–11, 114, 118, 131, 137, 139, 140, 141, 142 formal belonging  24, 111 sense of belonging  12, 14, 17, 21, 22–3, 24, 25, 76–7, 85, 87, 91, 93, 96, 110, 112, 131, 140 see also social bonding big society  79–80, 95, 98, 118 see also fraternity

bonds  14, 18, 21, 26, 83, 95, 99–100, 104, 122, 138, 144 associational bonds  14, 21, 26, 85, 95–6, 140 civic bonds  5, 22, 55, 68, 88, 138 personal bonds  46, 85 tribal  11, 56, 58, 65, 69 see also belonging; civic relationships; kinship; Putnam, Robert; social glue; social capital borders and boundaries  9, 14, 21, 25, 32, 51, 77, 105, 122, 130, 136, 137 bowling alone  16, 20–1 see also Putnam, Robert broken Britain  118, 146n. 4 broken society  17, 79 Brunkhorst, Hauke  8, 47–8, 56, 58, 83, 115, 149n. 4 Cantle report  17, 79 character friendship  see Aristotelian friendship; virtue friendship citizens  2, 6, 14, 22–3, 25, 30, 49, 50, 53, 64, 67, 73, 82, 86, 88–9, 93, 102 citizenship  23–4, 59, 84, 94 citizenship education  4, 125–6, 129–30, 132–4 creating citizens  3–5, 61, 77, 122–3 civic engagement  3, 8, 18, 20, 21, 68 economic performance  15, 19, 21 see also bowling alone; Putnam, Robert civic friendliness  50, 57 civic friendship  8, 30, 46, 47–59, 64, 94, 105, 146n. 8 see also Aristotelian friendship; Schwarzenbach, Sybil civic relationships  2–3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 27, 47–8, 51, 53, 57, 58, 79, 81, 87, 90, 99, 104, 108, 110, 113, 116, 119, 141

166

Index

civic other  54, 57, 58, 88, 89, 140, 142 civic participation  12 civic virtue  4, 5, 20, 64, 77, 109, 129, 132 cognitive linguistics  see conceptual metaphor theory; Lakoff, George, and Johnson, Mark cohesion  2, 8, 11, 26, 77, 81, 118, 143 community cohesion  8, 9, 17, 26, 80, 139 societal cohesion  1, 2, 6, 17, 18, 26, 46, 130, 139, 146n. 4 see also social cohesion common school  4, 10, 129–30, 136, 137, 149n. 1 community  13, 17–18, 49–50, 102–3, 107, 110, 146n. 4 see also imagined community community of enquiry  134 see also Just Communities; Philosophy for Children competition  71, 73, 76, 108, 124, 125–6 see also markets; metaphors; school markets conceptual metaphor theory  9, 97 see also cognitive linguistics; Lakoff, George, and Johnson, Mark democracy  1, 2, 3, 17, 18, 25, 83, 84, 88, 94, 96, 99–100, 105–6, 131, 141 deliberative democracy  114 participatory democracy  3, 132–5 representational democracy  3 schools  4, 59, 122, 129, 132–3, 134, 135 see also associated living; Dewey, John; democratic fraternity democratic fraternity  8, 9, 82, 88–90, 95, 96, 121–38, 141 metaphor  82, 88–9, 105–6 schools  113 see also democracy; fraternity Dewey, John  5, 133, 134, 136, 142, 149n. 8 see also associated living; democracy dispositions  12, 21, 59, 68–9, 87, 95, 111, 131, 134, 138, 143 see also White, Patricia economic success  15, 145n. 2 see also cohesion education  6, 9–10, 16, 25, 70, 78, 99, 119, 129, 140 citizenship  4, 5, 78

democracy  5, 115, 129 private education  74, 75 public education  59 see also creating citizens; schools envy  91, 148n. 6 equality  13, 18, 84, 90–3, 148nn. 6–7 civic friendship  53 friendship  43–4 see also envy; inequality exclusion  12, 14, 23, 25, 53, 77, 86, 87, 93, 114–15, 142 see also inclusion Exclusive Plymouth Brethren  85–6 exit  9, 71–2, 74–5, 78, 109 see also Hirshmann, Albert; loyalty; schools; voice family  32, 43, 46, 56, 57, 67, 81, 85, 86, 87, 90, 95 see also family metaphors; fraternity; kinship family metaphors  7, 8, 23, 30, 59, 81–2, 83, 84, 87, 88–9, 93–5, 104–6, 109, 110–12, 141, 142 parents  81, 83, 111, 112 schools  109–12 siblings  9, 84, 89, 94, 100, 106 see also kinship federations  10, 73, 110, 113, 125–7, 130 feminist arguments  9, 48, 81, 93–5, 112 Fletcher, George  53, 67, 71 fraternity  5, 7–8, 9, 67–8, 79–96, 105–6, 141 horizontal bond  84, 87–8 metaphor  88–89, 119, 130 see also equality; kinship; inequality; Munoz-Dardé, Veronique free schools  10, 125, 128, 129, 130 friendship  6, 8, 29–46, 58–9 morality  29, 31, 33, 38, 39, 40 see also civic friendship friendship metaphors  23, 93, 105, 109–10 relationships  109–10 schools  109 see also civic friendship Granovetter, Mark  7, 18–19, 146n. 5 strong ties  19, 20, 88, 113 weak ties  19, 113, 146n. 5

Index group identities  13, 76, 77, 110, 124 see also belonging; loyalty Habermas, Jürgen  114–15 Hirschman, Albert  9, 64, 71–2 see also exit; loyalty; voice identity  11, 20, 23, 24, 64, 67, 71, 76–7, 80, 86, 87, 104, 111, 124, 129, 131 see also loyalty; belonging imagined community  53, 100, 102–3 see also Anderson, Benedict; social imaginaries; Taylor, Charles impartiality  see partiality inclusion  14, 18, 23, 25, 51, 86, 94, 105, 114–15, 134, 142 see also exclusion inequality  16, 17, 25, 89, 131, 137, 141, 148nn. 6–7 fraternity  89, 91–3 see also equality; envy integration  1, 11, 18, 47, 56, 79, 80, 121, 124, 128 see also assimilation intimacy disclosure  39, 40, 43, 52 Just Community (Just Schools)  133 kinship  4, 6, 31, 39, 46, 48, 55, 57, 81, 83, 104 see also family metaphors Lakoff, George  48, 81, 94, 97, 98, 105, 111, 112, 118–19 and Johnson, Mark  7, 9, 106, 116 loyalty  14, 61–78, 82, 84, 95 civic loyalty  64, 69, 76 group loyalty  68–9, 76, 83, 85, 86 personal loyalty  61, 76, 95 see also market loyalty; patriotism markets  6, 61–78, 139, 146n. 6, 147n. 3 features  72–4 market loyalty  9, 63, 69–72, 77, 78 metaphor  12, 64, 104, 105, 107–9, 126 schools  62, 74–7, 124, 128, 148n. 1 metaphors  6–7, 24–5, 27, 46, 48–9, 50, 57–8, 80, 81, 94, 97–119, 126, 142, 148n. 6 changing metaphors  115–16 school organization  107–14, 124, 126

167

see also assimilation; family; friendship; fraternity; root metaphors models  2, 5, 6, 39–40, 46, 58, 95, 98, 116, 118–19, 121, 142 see also metaphors Munoz-Dardé, Veronique  8, 89, 94, 130 see also fraternity mutual aid  50, 54–5, 65, 84, 88, 109 see also reciprocity nationalism  86, 87, 100, 102 networks  7, 14, 17, 18–20, 56, 81, 86, 93, 126, 145–6n 2 theory  13, 18 neuroscience  22, 97, 148n. 7 obligations  7, 22, 23, 39, 42, 44, 51, 57, 63–4, 66, 77, 81, 83, 86, 111 see also social networks partiality  32, 42–3, 51, 57–8, 66, 85, 113, 147n. 4 patriotism  68–9 pedagogy  6, 10, 132–5, 136 personal, social, health and citizenship education (PSHCE)  135 see also citizenship education; Just Community; Philosophy for Children (P4C) Philosophy for Children (P4C)  133–5 see also pedagogy; citizenship education pleasure relationships  33, 35–6, 37–8 see also friendship; civic friendship Putnam, Robert  4, 7, 16, 19–21, 92, 131 see also social capital; bowling alone reciprocity  19, 31, 45, 54–5 see also mutual aid representational democracy  see democracy ritual friendship  57 root metaphors  7, 104–6 Sandel, Michael  63, 74, 78, 117, 147n. 3 schools  2, 4, 19, 59, 62, 107–14, 145n. 2 school choice schemes  2, 21, 26, 61–2, 75, 96, 130, 136, 149nn. 3–4 school markets  74–7, 124, 128

168

Index

school organization  7, 8, 77, 96, 107–14, 116–17, 122–31, 132, 136, 137–8, 149nn. 3–6 schools-within-schools  72, 126–7, 130, 136, 149n. 3 Schwarzenbach, Sybil  9, 30, 47–8, 49, 50, 58, 93–4 see also civic friendship segregation  2, 17, 90, 113, 124, 128, 130, 145–6n. 2 Selman, Robert  34–5, 52 shared history  41, 42, 44, 53–4, 55 social capital  19–21, 92, 131, 146n. 6 bonding  20, 87, 112, 113 bridging  20, 112, 113 linking  20, 87, 112 social cohesion  1, 11–27, 30, 105, 118, 121, 130, 131, 135, 139–44, 146n. 4 metaphor  118 see also cohesion; equality; fraternity; inequality social glue  14, 22, 67, 118, 143 social imaginary  6, 100–4 see also Anderson, Benedict; imagined community; Taylor, Charles social networks  7, 18–19 see also Granovetter, Mark; Putnam, Robert

social stability  1, 14, 16–17, 23, 26, 91 solidarity  14, 15, 22, 23, 25, 83, 115, 146nn. 4, 7, 149n. 4 symbols  75–6, 98, 101, 102, 103, 108, 117, 147n. 5, 148n. 6 natural symbols  48 see also anthropology; metaphor Taylor, Charles  101–2, 106 trust  12, 22, 72, 131, 141, 148n. 7 civic  23, 52 personal  43, 52 utility relationships  33–5, 38, 49, 105 see also civic friendship; friendship virtue friendship  33, 36–8, 41, 45, 51–6 see also friendship; civic friendship voice  71–2, 75, 115, 134–5 we  2, 6, 18, 26, 95, 100–1, 102, 115, 142 see also belonging well-being  13, 15, 21, 29–30 White, Patricia  30, 131, 135, 138, 143 xenoi  see ritual friendship