by Richard Davies
The inauguration ceremony for Donald Trump was interesting to watch for several reasons, but the Battle Hymn of the Republic caught my ear. Whilst the song has cultural connections for Americans, its explicit religiosity and commitment to truth seems at odds with modern sensibilities. Rather than truth, recent political history, eg Johnson, Trump, Brexit and Covid-19 (anti)vaccination, has shone a light on our post-truth society, where, as Illing (2018) notes, there is a disappearance of ‘shared standards of truth’. In such a society politics shifts from being the discussion of ideas or even ‘what works’ to a play for the emotions of the majority. A context within which Michael Gove, an early adopter, was able to label a raft of educational luminaries ‘the blob’ (see Garner, 2014).
Whilst this is/might be irritating and socially disabling, I want to argue that it is also both deleterious to educational research and that its roots lie some 250 years ago.
Pring (2015) argued that what makes educational research distinctly educational is its intention to improve educational practice. So, research about education is not sufficient to qualify as educational research; educational research intends to change educational practice for the good of learners (and often wider society). This requires several activities including shared dialogues between researchers, practitioners and other stakeholders with common ways of talking about education and common standards of truth (see Davies, 2016). An environment of post-truth undermines such possibilities, as I hope will become clearer as I explore the roots of the present malaise.
The roots lie around 1744 or just before, signalled by Vico’s New Science, or at least in the 18th century, where MacIntyre (1987) places the last foothold of the ‘educated public’ – and it is in MacIntyre that I ground the argument here. MacIntyre (1985) presents a historically informed account of the decline of ethical discourse and, on a more positive note, what is required for its restoration. Here I fillet that account for the resources I need for my purposes (see Davies, 2003, Davies, 2013 for more detailed reviews). He argues that ethical discourse has undergone a series of transformations, led by philosophers but now part of the public zeitgeist, causing a situation in which people believed there was no reasonable basis on which to resolve ethical disagreements.
Here, I identify just three key elements of the argument. Firstly, naïve relativism, the (false) view that because people disagree on a matter then, necessarily, there must be no rational means to resolve the disagreement. Secondly, MacIntyre identifies three, non-rational approaches to decision making: (i) personal taste, (ii) achieving the goals of the system of which one is a part, or (iii) through interpersonal agreement. These are embedded, MacIntyre claims, in our social activities and institutions. Thirdly, that these give rise to a distinctive form of political engagement, protest. In protest different sides shout their differing views at each other knowing both that their views will not change the views of their opponents nor that their opponents’ views will change their views.
When we see ‘toddler’ behaviour from politicians, it is a focus on personal taste and the tantrums that emerge when these are frustrated. What reasons, they might say, do others have to frustrate what I want, for no such reasons can exist. When we see claims that the democratic process must be followed, we are seeing a commitment to achieving the goals of the system; what else can be done? We regularly see examples of protest, often mistakenly seen as ‘facing down’ a critique of one’s behaviour. The views of others only count if they have some reasons for their views that might be better than mine. But for those embracing the obviousness of naïve relativism this cannot happen, rather protests (against Johnson, Trump, and others) are just attempts to make them feel bad. Such attempts must be resisted through and because of bravado.
How do the politician and policymaker operate in such an environment? Bauman (2000) offers a couple of practical conceptions consistent with MacIntyre’s critique. Firstly, Bauman draws attention to the effect of having no rational basis for decision making: it is increasingly difficult to aggregate individual desires into political coherent movements. Traditional political groupings on class, gender and race are dissolving (which is certainly a feature of the 2024 US election analysis). It matters less why you want to achieve something; it is just that we can have interpersonal agreement on what we claim we want to achieve. Secondly, Bauman talks of decision making as reflecting the ‘script of shopping’, we buy into things – friendship groups, lifestyles, etc – and as suddenly no longer do so when they do not satisfy our personal desires. Whilst this may seem overly pessimistic, Bauman and MacIntyre are identifying the unavoidable direction of human societies towards this already emergent conclusion.
Politicians and policymakers play, therefore, in this world of seeking sufficient co-operation to build a political base – to get elected and to get policies through. They do this by getting individuals to buy into the value of specific outcomes (or more often to stop other awful outcomes). They are not interested why individuals buy in, nor do they try to develop a broader consensus. There are no rational foundations, and any persuasive tactic will do, with different tactics deployed to influence different people. This scattergun approach is more likely to hit the personal desires of the maximum number of people.
Where does this leave the educational researcher seeking to influence educational policy and practice based on their research endeavours? At best, we might become the chosen instrument of a policymaker to persuade others – but only if our research agrees with their pre-existing desires. Truth is not the desired feature, just the ability to be persuasive.
But what if truth does matter, and we want to take seriously our moral responsibilities to support educational endeavours that are in the interests of students? There are four things we can do.
- Understand the situation. It is not just that the political environment is hostile to research, it does not see facts as a feature of policy and practice development.
- Decide if we want to be educational researchers or policymakers. The former means potentially less engagement, impact, and status, perhaps walking away from policymaking as more ethically defensible than staying to persuade using simulacra of evidence.
- Get our own house in order. We have too many conferences which provide too little time to discuss fundamental differences between researchers, with so many papers that we are only speaking to people with whom we more or less agree. The debates are over minutiae rather than significant differences. Dissenting voices tend to go elsewhere and move on to different foci rather than try and get a foot in the door. Bluntly, our academic system is already shaped by the same post-truth structures that have given rise to Trump, Johnson, et al (and no doubt most of us could identify our equivalents of them). Although we will never speak with one voice and will, I hope, always embrace fallibility, getting the house in order will enable us to model what rational dialogue and truth seeking can achieve in identifying how educational policy and practice can be enhanced. Of course, we should value each other’s contributions, but not confuse value with valid (it is just another form of naïve relativism).
- Find some allies who accept a similar account of the decline of reason from amongst politicians and policymakers and work out how we start to make educational research not only relevant but influential.
Richard Davies leads the MA Education Framework programmes at the University of Hertfordshire. His research interests include philosophical issues in higher education. He is a co-convenor of the Academic Practice Network at SRHE.
