This year saw the publication of the Conservative Case for Education by Nicholas Tate. The book is well worthy of your time, even if it fails to achieve its stated ambition of providing a (small ‘c’) conservative vision of education. As I said in my review for ‘Schools Week’,
There remains, however, an underlying tension; Tate’s evident irritation with the direction of contemporary thinking, indeed culture, seems to hang over his work. There is nothing wrong with this, and as Chesterton reminds us, ‘he is a very shallow critic who cannot see an eternal rebel in the heart of a conservative.’ But the rebel must also be a romantic, and have a cause to sell.
It is here that Tate risks reaffirming the caricatures of the conservative mindset – that it knows what it is against more than it knows what it is for.
Read the rest of the review here.
Below is a provocation piece delivered at the Battle of Ideas, on the panel ‘Too Dumb to Vote?‘
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? It was all supposed to be very straightforward – a simple, definitive referendum, which would show up a swivel-eyed minority as out of touch, put jingoistic Tories back in their box, and finally close the discussion on EU membership for a generation.
Only, it didn’t work that way, did it? In a fit of bloody-minded pique, the British public decided otherwise; they ignored their alleged betters, held firm in the face of a barrage of threats and insults, and obstinately voted however they damn well pleased, thank you very much. And of course, by a slim margin, they chose to Leave.
The education gap in the vote is undeniable. Or better, the qualification gap, which is not quite the same thing. What is deniable, however, is that this represents any sort of argument against the legitimacy of the voter, or indeed any sort of argument against the legitimacy of the vote.
I have lost count of the amount of times I have read that the Brexit vote was simply the suspension of reason, the triumph of the unreasonable, that there exists no substantive reason to vote Leave, that this was but an emotional spasm of the ‘left-behind’, a xenophobic upsurge characteristic of the ill-educated.
All of which represents nothing more than a juvenile wail against the fact that there exists a group of people, several in number, who have different values, cherish different things, draw their lines in different places.
The Brexit vote wasn’t, in truth, about education – it was about people with a worldview more complex, indeed more nuanced, than the anodyne materialism that underpinned pretty much every Remain argument. It pitted wisdom against intellect, lived reality against spreadsheet theorising – and it was the former that won out.
To declare, in increasingly shrill response, there are no rational reasons to vote Brexit, that those who did so were simply ill-educated, is to do little more than declare oneself an intellectual and emotional desert, so attached to a very particular account of reason as to exclude what else makes us human – identity, community, security, dignity, control.
The Remain side committed two big mistakes. Firstly, they reduced the whole discussion to a material analysis, elevating the quantifiable ‘evidence-based’ lens as the only legitimate forum of discussion, and severely downplayed, where they did not dismiss, the importance of precisely those intangibles that still hold sway over the hearts and minds of many. Or as one person recently claimed, “notions of democracy and sovereignty are not tangible issues, and so cannot be considered rational reasons to vote Leave.”
No wonder these people lost.
But secondly, they also presented their own arguments shrouded in reasoning and argument so arcane as to make themselves look like the ones who had taken leave of their reason. There is no surprise here, – this is common to the highly educated – they are much better able to find ways of providing a rational edifice to uphold their prejudices, and then mock and question the intellect of those who fail to fall into line.
I know of one professor who, with admirable patience, repeatedly explained to me the sovereignty argument was not valid since the EU enhanced our sovereignty by allowing us to pool it for a greater purpose, and that the slogan ‘Take back control,’ really had nothing to do with the EU. Now, this is a valid argument, and boils down to saying that losing some sovereignty can sometimes be a worthwhile trade-off. But it takes a good deal working through to get to that point, a collection of premises running toward a conclusion, and it needs heavily qualified. To declare from the off that there is simply no loss of sovereignty, against both common experience and perception, only reinforces to the masses the feeling that perhaps these terribly well-educated people are not so clever as they appear, or so honest as they proclaim.
The follow-up has proven just as bad – the hysterical reaction toward those who voted Leave, at times personal and too often vindictive, has been a case study the ultimate futility of seeking to get out of a hole by digging deeper. And yet, this is indicative of a certain mindset, a certain class. To broaden this out a bit, there exists today a highly-educated group of individuals, remarkably alike in habit and mind, who stubbornly cling to a worldview that is crumbling around them. As their totems fall, they double down – they abuse and mock their opponents, they insist upon ever more provocative and esoteric creeds, they advocate ever more illiberal and anti-democratic moves to enforce their privileged position in society. And worse, they see in this not only the evidence of their superiority, but the source of their virtue.
The question before us is whether there exists amongst us those whom we might consider to be too dumb to vote. I trust, nay hope, the panel here will conclude this is not the case. I would only add that, were we to decide with the philosopher kings and the paternalists, and task ourselves with deciding who, precisely, deserved categorisation of being too dumb to vote, then I would steer clear of the working clubs and the bingo halls, of the pubs and the pews. No, I’d head instead for the university departments and the news floors, the City bars and the political lobby, where there exists more than enough reason to suspect the wisdom of the inhabitants therein, and wonder whether or not it is they, despite their finger-pointing denunciations, whose intelligence we need to consider more closely.
In the words of Kipling, in his poem the Land, in which he explored precisely the relationship between the rooted and their assorted overlords; ‘Not for any beast that burrows, not for any bird that flies, Would I lose his large sound counsel, miss his keen amending eyes.’ If one cannot see the wisdom in those words, if one feels even the temptation to reverse suffrage in the name of disenfranchising the common folk, then I believe we have found the one who really is too dumb to vote.
A little while back I wrote a blog post reflecting on some of my experiences of social mobility, teasing out some of the effects that have received rather less attention within a political environment that has held commitment to social mobility as a staple of virtuous and socially concerned politics. That blog post received some attention, and I was lucky enough to be offered the opportunity to talk through some of these thoughts on BBC Radio Four Thought. You can listen to the episode here.
The script for Four Thought is largely a condensed version of the original blog post, so I shan’t replicate it here, though for those who might be interested, I did add some further thoughts focusing in on how these things apply to our education system. Partly, these are the thinking through of a theme I have explored as part of Blue Labour here, a TES piece on ‘aspiration’ here, a post on the culture clash in our schools here, and a post on Brexit here. I have included the additional comments from the radio script below.
It is a theme I’ll no doubt return to in due course, but in the meantime many thanks all for the kind comments and good will.
As such, if you arrive from a working-class background, the graduate professions are not always a comfortable place to be. You grow accustomed to the objects of derision being people like your family, those you grew up with, those you know and love. Whilst the disdain might sometimes be delivered in the abstract, the barbs are felt personally, especially when aimed at a viewpoint common amongst those who comprised your upbringing. The creation myth of the liberal mind is one of a virtuous battle against intolerance, bigotry and demonization of the Other – but those who pursue such accounts of virtue don’t always realise, or don’t care, that these are precisely the sins they commit in the eyes of those on the receiving end of their disdain.
And this has become status seeking behaviour: there is prestige to be acquired through the sassy, the rude, the downright spiteful to working-class folk with more conservative views, on immigration, perhaps, or crime, or Brexit. Detractors revel in the eloquence of their disdain, as if articulacy were evidence of truth and justification of their prejudice. Thus the motes are plucked out whilst the beams remain – the cultured despisers find in their intellectual superiority, an argument for their presumed existential superiority, too.
There is nothing particularly new in this, and in any echo chamber dissent is proof that someone is Not Like Us, and thus wrong. From which naturally follows the belief that there’s a moral duty to help future generations become more Like Us, and thus right.
In our schools, this has real consequences, as a class of Anywheres, to use David Goodhart’s terms, seek to educate a generation of Somewheres, with the former believing success includes educating the latter out of the values and culture of their upbringing.
And so pupils from a socially or morally conservative background, which often (not always) overlaps with a working-class (or religious) upbringing, will at times find themselves at odds with the moral norms of those who educate them, a culture chasm always framed as simply a matter of education, or more precisely the absence of it.
For our education system, children formed by such views must simply reject them, since that’s the character of being educated. Virtue, and intellect, demands it – and the educated are much better at making the intellectual case for their virtue.
But this feels unwise. In a contest between home and academic flourishing, some choose home; not because of ignorance, but because of a refusal to shed heritage as participation fee. For too many, education presents itself as not for people like them, at least not whilst they remain people like Them – to be educated too often means not being like your Mum or Dad. Thus, we present our children with a choice they should not have to make, in so doing pushing them away from an inheritance they should not have to abandon.
And so the cycle continues, a tension between home and school, in which the rejection of home is synonymous with being educated. Social mobility, it cannot be denied, has a cultural edge – the ability, even the demand, to walk away from who are you are, or at the very least where you are from. At the same time, a residential university system has entrenched the idea that flourishing is only to be found when we leave, less so when we stay.
If we want to talk about why working-class kids are alienated from education, we could do worse than start a conversation here.
None of which is to say working class kids need not aspire to high culture and education, a calumny which often rears its head in the guise of compassion. No, the precise opposite. It’s to say that our cultural and intellectual treasures are a heritage due to all, and we might better ensure its equal distribution if we focused less on the purity of the receiver, and more on the dignity of the receiving.
Of course, this is more complex than a simple to-and-fro between two competing accounts of the good life, and neither side are entirely wrong, even if heart battles fiercely with head in trying to work out the best, or worst, of the two. Still, if you join the affray from a working-class background, you inevitably have a foot in both camps, leaving you an outsider to each. The world that formed you, that helped you fly, can be the world that risks holding you back, a world which you both reject(ed) and embrace at the same time.
And it’s always the rejection that each side remembers, never the embrace.