Interstitial Institutions

Messy Border Relations

Recently, a still-growing body of research has engaged with the questions of messy border relations. Alexander initially conceptualized the boundary relations between the non-civil and civil spheres in three ideal types: ‘facilitating inputs, destructive intrusion and civil repair’ (2006: 205). Many CST studies have intensively studied the theorizing of ‘destructive intrusion.’ Such research has emphasized destructive intrusion as a forerunner to civil repair and thus as qualifying for further inclusion in the civil sphere, or as inciting an act of decolonizing by using anti-civil codes (see, for example, Alexander and Tognato, 2018; Alexander et al., 2019a, 2019b). However, less has been theorized about the ‘facilitating input,’ even though Alexander conceptualized this as a valuable and complementary boundary relation between the non-civil and the civil sphere (see, for example, Alexander, 2006: 240, 254). One reason for this neglect might be Alexander’s claim that only when boundary relations are reconceptualized from ‘facilitating inputs’ to ‘destructive intrusion’ do they trigger civil repair (Alexander, 2006: 254). Another reason could be that Alexander has been describing the ‘facilitating input’ to the civil sphere as a ‘conservative position . . .’ (Hollis et al., 2003: 36), not attentive to the CST program’s civil repair. However, non-civil spheres and their institutions and practices can also represent cornerstones for the birth of, and commitment to, expanding moral universalism. As Alexander later stressed, ‘[s]ometimes, it is actors identified primarily with these other spheres who put their citizenship hats on, demanding that the utopian aspirations of the civil sphere become more real’ (2015: 174). Nonetheless, Alexander still conceptualized the non-civil spheres as distinct from the civil sphere, highlighting that even if ‘[facilitating] inputs can be critical to the creation of a civil sphere, they are not the same as the product they help to build – civil discourse and institutions’ (2015: 175).

The boundary movements involved in civil repair can also work the other way around. Civil codes can be pushed into the non-civil sphere to regulate functional problems by democratizing what is identified as anti-civil relations and institutions, thereby translating the strains of non-civil spheres as ‘civil crises, threatening the very same stuff societal solidarity is made of’ (Kivisto and Sciortino, 2019: 287). This then becomes a problem for society. Alexander (2019) has lately theorized this process as societalization, showing how these boundary tensions may prelude a social crisis. Societalization occurs when strains of the non-civil spheres are not dealt with through the semiotic codes of non-civil institutions and instead become strains of the civil whole, engaging new cultural judgments and regulative measures. The strains of the non-civil spheres thus become treated as a destructive intrusion to the civil sphere, precipitating a need for civil repair, and can result in an inter-sphere struggle about where to draw the border (Alexander, 2019: 8).

The Existence of Multiple Cultural Codes

Using the Korean scandals of data breaches in 2000 and 2014 as a starting point, Lee (2019) asks why the civil sphere’s intrusion into the specific problems of non-civil spheres is not always successful. She argues that the ‘incomplete reconstruction of boundary relations’ is promoted by a ‘less-established civil society’ in Korea (Lee, 2019: 61). Consequently, the existence of multiple cultural codes in civil societies paves the way for non-civil sphere elites to ‘continue to signify their practices as sacred, not profane’ (Lee, 2019: 65). Another example is Park’s (2019) description of the school crisis in Korea in 1999. Through a fine-grained analysis, he shows that the binary codes of the civil sphere are not the only codes at play when a non-civil sphere is in crisis. Instead, the ‘codes of civil and non-civil spheres are more likely to be simultaneously employed and intertwined for the purpose of functional restoration’ (2019: 41), creating a discursive battle over which codes should be employed as ‘a universal solution for the common good’ (2019: 42).

Central to these examples is the conundrum posited by Kivisto and Sciortino: ‘[can] a civil sphere actually have multiple codes, each one embedded in traditions defined by highly diversified understandings of what “civil” means?’ (2018: 242). The insights from both Lee and Park explain the simultaneous existence of multiple codes by referring either to a country’s lack of a strong civil society or the specific instability of boundary demarcations. Still, Kivisto and Sciortino’s question has become even more pertinent through other fine-grained analyses of the messiness of boundary demarcation, mediations, and translations between the civil and the non-civil sphere.

Interstitial Institutions

The performativity of interstitial institutions (Alexander et al., 2006) has recently been rearticulated as significant in the ongoing translations and mediations between non-civil and civil spheres (Alexander and Tognato, 2018: 10; Egholm, 2020a; Shimizu, 2018; Thumala Olave, 2018), capable of turning destructive intrusion into civil repair (Thumala Olave, 2018: 67, 73). This research highlights the border-crossing aspect of interstitial institutions and the messy and complex empirical details of existing boundary relations, emphasizing the dynamic competition between civil, non-civil, and anti-civil discourses (Alexander and Tognato, 2018: 9) in establishing civil solidarity and democracy as a way of life (Alexander and Tognato, 2018: 7). By showing how other competing discourses of membership and solidarity constantly challenge the civil sphere, these analyses give rise to the question of whether the civil sphere can be internally contested (Kivisto and Sciortino, 2018: 242; Luengo and Ihlebæk, 2019) or even whether we should add a new hyphenate category of ‘the ambivalent civil sphere’ (Khosrokhavar, 2019: 92).

Tognato emphasizes that the ‘. . . motives, relations, and institutions of the civil sphere may become lodged within . . .’ ‘formative’ institutions and ‘almost occupy the entire institutional space of the university’ (2018: 149, 151). His careful analysis shows that multiple forms of memberships can simultaneously be at play in the civil sphere, competing around the same civil, non-civil, and anti-civil discourses (2018, 171). He identifies interstitial institutions as an institutional sphere in which the functions of both civil and non-civil spheres overlap and are pursued simultaneously. Thumala Olave (2018: 73) theorizes how boundary relations are mediated through ‘a border-crossing, regulatory institution located in three spheres: the state, the market, and the civil sphere’, placing a specific kind of (regulative) institution as particularly useful as a mediating body. Through an analysis of how market manipulation incited public controversies in Chile in 2009 and 2015, she explains how both civil and anti-civil discourses were utilized to exert control over the economic sphere, moving ‘concerns and interests of . . . non-civil spheres . . . into civil discourse by reference to the significance of the issue to common membership’ (Thumala Olave, 2018: 72). Another example of border-crossing institutions can be found in Shimizu`s analysis of the police as a regulating body between the civil sphere and the state (Shimizu, 2018).

In short, these studies all advance and nuance interactional studies of how modes of blurring boundaries use civil, non-civil, and anti-civil discourses within the battlefield. By showing how specific kinds of institutions (e.g. the economic, the educational, and the state spheres) are mediating the boundary messiness, handling facilitating inputs, and turning a destructive intrusion on the civil sphere into a civil repair, these studies amplify that ‘. . . spheres and institutions do not neatly map into each other’ (Kivisto and Sciortino, 2018: 251). Notably, the regulative institutions or legal regulations are often involved in the processes, either as the starting point or ending point of these processes. Following CST, we cannot identify in advance whether something is a facilitating input or a destructive intrusion regarding the civil sphere, but rather we can trace ‘how such evaluations are dynamic and shifting, [and] how different judgements emerge in response to new historical situations’ (Alexander, 2015: 185). On this basis, studying the dynamic and shifting translating processes of interstitial institutions might also carry the potential to further explain the role of boundary messiness from a CST perspective.

Messiness and Interstitial Institutions

These studies imply that some institutions can be characterized as interstitial per se, while others cannot. Consequently, there is a need to analyze (1) whether some institutions are interstitial because they are placed between different spheres, as Shimazu and Thumala Olave argue, or because they act as ‘formative institutions’ of the civil sphere, socializing their citizens into the core practices of the civil sphere, as Tognato states, and (2) whether they are caused by societal constellations such as the lack of a strong civil society, as Lee argues, or a specific instability of boundary demarcations (Park). In sum, it is still unclear whether institutions can be pre-defined as interstitial or if their interstitial qualities instead are dynamic and shifting characteristics that evolve as a consequence of their ongoing historical and cultural trajectories (and thereby also their legal and regulatory consequences) within real civil spheres. Accordingly, we need to further theorize on the processes and characteristics of interstitial institutions as they may also hold the key to answering the question as to whether a civil sphere can have multiple codes with competing normative visions of the good life – and whether this is related to the lack of overlap between spheres and institutions, as initially posited by Kivisto and Sciortino (2018: 242, 251). Looking into another empirical example of how philanthropic gift-giving practices navigate these messy boundaries might help us to get closer to answering these questions.

Foundation-Owned Businesses in Denmark

Typically, philanthropic and voluntary associations are seen as amending poorly or badly functioning welfare states and safeguarding the common good. However, all the Nordic countries are characterized by both a strong civil society and a well-functioning welfare state. The Nordic welfare state became, in general, established as a ‘civil state’ during the 20th century, seen as belonging to and safeguarding the civil sphere (Alexander et al., 2019a). Moreover, Denmark, and to some extent Norway and Sweden, also have an exceptional number of foundation-owned businesses. Denmark has approximately 1300 such businesses, which administer around €150 billion in capital and distribute around €1.5 billion annually to non-profit causes (Lund and Berg, 2016). As a legally defined construction, the businesses are owned by the foundations. While the construction was banned in the USA and France in the 1960s, they still hold an important role in the Nordic countries, especially in Denmark, where they own large and old companies – for example, the brewing corporation Carlsberg, the pharmaceutical corporations Novo Nordisk and Lundbeck, the shipping corporations A.P. Møller-Mærsk and Lauritzen, and the printing house Egmont, to name some of the most well-known, oldest foundations. They are particularly interesting as philanthropic enterprises, as they distribute self-generated wealth and thus are not subject to other institutions or incomes to implement their economic and political power. Their revenue and donation capacity tend to grow over time, and aside from tax laws, they are only subject to the foundation’s charter (the dead-hand) and the company’s level of success. Consequently, they have come to contribute to quite a significant amount of the BNP in Denmark, and – through their gift-giving practices – they have, for centuries, influenced the establishment of the common good.

The motives for establishing foundation-owned businesses fall mainly into four, often interlinked, categories: (1) an altruistic perspective of giving back to society; (2) to avoid the fragmentation and potential dissolution of the company in times of generational change for the good of the company and the benefits to its employees – or if no heirs, the wrong heir, or too many heirs are waiting to take over the company; (3) to maintain the company in Denmark and, as multinational companies, avoid the risk of being purchased by larger foreign companies; and (4) to obtain more favorable tax legislation.

Praeludium to the Case

Foundation-owned businesses in Denmark have a long history of gift-giving practices significantly impacting who and what is to be included within the common good. Stretching back to the Constitution of 1849, gift-giving practices have influenced which groups, concepts, and values have been included in the civil sphere over time, aided by the historically established partnerships between state-organized institutions and foundations (Egholm, 2020a, 2020b). The Constitution stimulated the rise of secular philanthropic organizations. Their philanthropic activities were centered on incorporating more groups into the common good and remedying the loss of democratic rights caused by state-financed poor relief. Amending earlier religious and moral evaluations with the new concept of ‘help to self-help’ (Egholm,2020a), they embodied the question of citizenship as a constellation of political rights and economic aptitude anchored in moral values. Thus, the political work of the philanthropic endeavors was not only to identify categories of needy, purifying, once-polluted groups but also to mold the state’s principles in evaluating who and what belonged to the common good (Egholm, 2020b). Ultimately, the gift-giving practices worked as leverage to identify which kinds of social problems should be of concern to the common, leading to the inclusion of earlier excluded groups and causes into the common good. They mainly took the form of facilitating inputs without causing any notable social dramas or media-generated discussions. The concrete import can be traced through how regulatory institutions changed social legislation over time to include groups, causes, and values propelled by philanthropic gift-giving practices (Egholm,2020a). Importantly, regulatory institutions play a central role in the story of these interstitial institutions.

The Danish case highlights that foundations have a defining impact on the emergence of today’s welfare state as a ‘civil’ welfare state (Alexander et al., 2019a;Egholm,2020a). Philanthropic gift-giving is, and has been, simultaneously entangled with, and in opposition to, the ‘civil’ welfare state. The foundations and their gift-giving practices are thus culturally constructed as both partners and extra-state organizations pushing for the expansion of citizenship and democratic rights and definers of the common good. This historical trajectory created strong – albeit unstable – ties between the philanthropic organizations and the welfare state, constituting the philanthropic practices as a culturally legitimate institution with dual membership in both the non-civil and civil spheres. After the consolidation of the welfare state from the 1950s, we can trace both a push from the state against the role of the still stronger philanthropic organizations as providers of the common good and the philanthropic organizations’ definition as both non-state actors and a necessary supplement to the state (Egholm, 2021). In terms of CST, we can see this process as an ongoing negotiation of who were legitimate definers of the common good (Egholm, 2020b), placing the philanthropic organizations between the non-civil and the civil sphere. In this process, the question of which form of democracy should be practiced and who should be given citizenship (and why) was of utmost importance – also in term of legal consequences.

The current study builds on an extensive archival ethnography (Rowlinson et al., 2014: 266), collecting sources from a variety of archives from (1) the oldest and largest foundation-owned businesses in Denmark, (2) the legislations process on social laws, and the concrete outcomes in terms of Danish legislation from 1871, and (3) media citations from 1970 onward via the Danish register of media entries and supported by a variety of secondary material. The article showcases two recent junctures as examples of the negotiation process concerning whether or not the foundations and their gift-giving practices belonged to the civil sphere. The first will show how the state used democratic codes to define the foundations as non-civil – or even anti-civil; the other will show how a new historical situation and the foundations’ access to mold the civil codes made them escape the definition as anti-civil by establishing new anti-civil codes. The description of the two junctures will serve to illustrate the characteristics and processes of interstitial institutions and their relationship to the civil sphere’s regulative and communicative institutions.

First Juncture: Around the Social Laws of 1976

From the mid-1950s onward, the growing welfare state in Denmark became still more dominant in defining who belonged to the ‘common’ and what was the ‘good,’ as well as which kind of needs were to be provided by society. In 1976, a collection of minor social laws were gathered into what became a general social law (Bistandsloven). This legislative work cemented the idea that the welfare state should ideally solve any social problems, thus pushing the philanthropic and voluntary organizations out of the civil sphere. However, the global oil crises and lack of knowledge hindered the state’s ambition to alleviate all kinds of societal misery. Consequently, parts of the legislative ambition could not be met, and civil society’s philanthropic and volunteer organizations were called upon to take over earlier or expected state provisions. In so doing, the philanthropic organizations became visible social actors in defining what was seen as belonging to the common, even though the philanthropic organizations – owing to their historical and cultural trajectory – had already been partially included in the civil sphere. Using the terminology of CST, they came to represent a more universal role instead of acting in the shadows or only out of particular interest. They became accepted and legitimized as partners in defining the common good to a certain degree and thus visibly positioned between the non-civil sphere and the civil sphere.

This period was also characterized by a change in the general donating principles of the Danish foundation-owned business from reactive to more proactive initiatives. The change instigated a different and more visible approach to promoting the common good. It had the consequence that, first, what the foundations called ‘help to self-help’ was now given to the potentially vulnerable groups instead of a reaction to current misery: ‘This is not new, but it must now be explicitly stated in the Foundation Act that in addition to supporting individuals, grants and contributions to other initiatives, including counseling, experiments, research, education and information may also be possible’ (Board meetings of the Egmont Foundation 1978) and ‘. . . the Foundation will strive to act proactively instead of being reactive’ (Board meetings of the Louis Petersen Foundation 1988). Second, more individual donations were channeled through widely accepted private and public organizations, strengthening the already historically established partnerships between philanthropic organizations and the state. Third, building projects were developed in collaboration with other philanthropic organizations and public institutions instead of primarily being a task for single foundations. Fourth, donations to the foundations’ own major ‘signature projects’ became a significant part of the foundations’ portfolio. They were initiated in close collaboration with state interests or to circumvent the state’s definition of needy groups (Egholm,2020a). These new forms of gift-giving practices created an even closer connection between philanthropic gift-giving and state laws, initiatives, and donation principles, strengthening the philanthropic organizations’ involvement and creating facilitating inputs for a ‘just’ and ‘good’ society.

Central to these initiatives, more activist and visible gift-giving practices were established, addressing shortcomings and needs in the contemporary social organization of the welfare state. As early as 1971, the Egmont Foundation had formulated a radical shift from ‘. . . the old patronage type, where money was just distributed to the needy. The Foundation should be made more visible and collaborate with the public sector and define its own goals and preferences’ (Minutes from the board meeting at Egmont, 1971). An example is the Egmont Foundation’s Future Studies from 1983 to 1985, which discussed how to conceptualize what should be seen as universal problems that society (and the civil sphere) had to address. In the Future Studies, various researchers studied and evaluated which current societal challenges should be dealt with in society, emphasizing topics such as poverty and loneliness. The studies generated lively discussions broadly in society and were criticized in the media and political discussions. By assuming this kind of visible presence, the philanthropic organizations emerged as observable political actors openly engaging in societal discussions, through communicative institutions, about what should form the basis of the welfare state. Until then, the foundations had not been subject to much media attention (Lund, 2012: 15).

Nonetheless, this visibility activated a public and political discussion of the foundations’ role in society in terms of whether their practices were civil or non-civil – or even anti-civil. The criticism was also driven by the fact that a growing number of foundation-owned businesses surfaced in the 1970s. As a lawyer-recommended way to handle the companies’ generational change, it became more a way to prevent the new inheritance-tax regulation and less an altruistic engagement. The criticism became centered on a specific understanding of democratic access to societal surplus and accountability, asking whether the foundations should be subjected to further legal, political and economic regulation and registration. In the terminology of CST, we can trace the public call for transparency as an effort to establish the foundations’ values, relations, and form of organization as anti-civil. The new visibility of the old foundations and the growth of this rather unlegislated and unregistered business form stimulated an accusation highlighting that the foundations’ actions were based on particular interests and anti-civil values rather than common and universal interests. In the media, the criticism was articulated as a lack of transparency, stating that the foundations were ‘extremely closed’ and that they ‘lived in the shadows’ (Lund, 2012: 15, 16). The state initiated a legislation process to control and minimize the exploitation of the legal construct of foundation-owned businesses if no financial contribution to the common good was given. As stated during the process, ‘It is a condition of validity that the charter of the foundation includes one or more specified charitable purposes, which the foundation must meet’ (Vejledning om fondsbegrebet, Tax.dk.skat og afgift, 1983). The problem of lack of public transparency became the cornerstone in this complaint, as noted in the considerations for legislative practices:

[While other companies are . . .] subject to specific publicity, there is [. . .] usually no outsiders, which oversee the sound management of the foundation and following the foundations. Given that these foundations often serve the general public purpose and manage very significant financial values, it should be considered whether this can be considered satisfactory. It must, in this regard, be noticed that the foundations usually operate for an unlimited time. (Betænkning om fonde, 14. Juli 1978: 5)

The discussion of legislative measures differentiated between the ‘good’ foundations and the ‘bad’ ones, placing the ‘good’ ones as a supplement to the public effort to safeguard the common good and the ‘bad’ ones as mere exploiters of the generous tax exemptions:

Not least in recent years, several significant business companies – due to the special rules on taxation of foundations – have been transformed to foundations [. . .] On the one hand, the free access to set up foundations has led to the creation of [. . .] a significant number of foundations, which by virtue of the size of the capital and/or the limited purpose of the foundations, do not have any significant social significance. On the other hand, the free access to create foundations has caused a significant number of foundations with wholly or partly non-profit purposes, which are not subject to public oversight. (Betænkning om fonde, 14. Juli 1978: 5)

Historical developments also show that [foundation-owned businesses . . .] have over time contributed very significantly to the solution of many important and socially beneficial tasks [. . .] Many of these tasks would otherwise naturally have to be the public sector’s responsibility. The foundations supplement and strengthen the public sector’s efforts in important areas where this, e.g. would be limited for resource reasons. (Betænkning om fonde, 14. Juli 1978: 133)

Simultaneously with the criticism of the foundations’ lack of transparency and the discussion about their democratic deficits, there was – especially from the older and large foundations donating to the common good – an activist response for the general legitimacy of foundations. They drew on their historical conceptualization as legitimate and accepted partners engaging in a universal interest in society by distancing themselves from the ‘few bad eggs [who] should not ruin it for the rest of us.’ From that position, they tried to counter the anti-civil narrative by redressing the question of tax exemptions to the possibility of distributing wealth to the common good:

The mission of the foundations [. . .] is to assume the financial risk by financing development projects at the earliest stages of research and practical experimental activity, where the uncertainty about the outcome and about the value is greatest and also the risk [. . . it] contributes to the level of activity and the dynamic development of society. (Berlingske Tidende 1 May 1983: the foundations’ activities and mission)

Even though they emphasized their contribution to the dynamic development of society, the foundations failed to redress the criticism more broadly, and the Danish legislation on foundations was changed in 1984–1985. The change involved a national registration of funds (1983–1991) to furnish public transparency and control the philanthropic organizations’ specific and generous tax rules, highlighting donations as a defining factor of tax exemptions (1981 and 1986). The foregoing examples show, first, that the gift-giving practice of the foundations could be polluted owing to their lack of public transparency and the use of the legal construct purely for their own interest. Second, the conceptualization of democratic values included elected politicians’ access to distribute the surplus of society through taxation based on a baseline of representational democracy. Third, the foundations tried to establish their values of a ‘dynamic development of society’ and ‘taking a risk and being ready for uncertainty’ as civil, thus belonging to the common good.

By reading this juncture ‘against the grain’ (Levi, 2019: 4), we can identify this as the foundations’ (failed) attempt to mold the civil codes. They failed both to replace themselves in the civil sphere, to change the anti-civil codes, and to create the state as being not civil by its hesitance to take risks (owing to a wish for re-election) and thus its inability to fertilize a dynamic society.

Second Juncture: The 2010s

As a consequence of the new regulations and expectances of transparency to gain legitimacy born out of the first juncture, the older and larger foundations in particular had worked with their ways of governing and transparency. By establishing communications strategies and hiring staff to take care of the external communication, they had enhanced their visibility. Between 2011 and 2015, the citations and references to the foundations in the media increased by 73% (Boisen, 2016). Arguably, the foundations’ visibility grew in this period as they became engaged in various projects with the stated intention to ‘create sustainable solutions to some of society’s grand challenges,’ as one of the larger foundations declared (Realdania, 2014: 2), thereby legitimating their donations as a societal impact for the common good.

In line with this, they also engaged with new methods of gift-giving to enhance their social impact, mainly through inspiration from the USA. These methods included catalytic philanthropy (Kramer, 2009), collective impact (Kania and Kramer, 2011), impact investment (Bugg-Levine and Emerson, 2011), and involved/participatory grantmaking – all ways of either aligning the investment of the business with its philanthropic purposes or engaging the users/beneficiates in defining which needs and problems should be solved. Problems with lack of transparency and good governance still occurred, and several cases of philanthropic gift-giving practices also garnered criticism (the best-known example in Denmark is the building of the Copenhagen Opera House, donated by the large foundation A.P. Møller Fonden). These incidents generated a renewed discussion in the media of how the larger foundations, in particular, exerted political influence in defining which areas should be promoted and economically supported or not.

During the legislative work on the financial act of 2013–2014, a need arose to finance a political agreement to lower corporation taxes. As a solution, it was again decided to minimize the foundations’ tax reduction, along with a legislative part aimed at strengthening the principles of ‘good’ foundation management and securing more transparency for the foundations. Even if the taxation regulation was prompted by a need to finance a lower business tax, the arguments for were still grounded in demand for public transparency and accompanied by a call to bring the legislation of foundation-owned businesses ‘up to date.’ Nevertheless, the importance of the foundation-owned businesses’ contribution to the Danish society was also acknowledged – as declared by the minister of trade:

[. . .] we want to create up-to-date legislation that both ensures increased transparency about the foundations and tightens the requirements for good management of the funds [. . .] We should safeguard and develop the Danish model of foundation owned businesses, as it has great social significance as owners of several of the largest and most important companies in Denmark [. . .] The foundation model entails special opportunities for long-term and responsible development in Danish companies. Studies show that foundation owned businesses make a positive contribution to growth and employment in Danish society and account for a significant part of the investments made by the private sector in research and development.

However, this acknowledgment did not prevent the state from insisting on a reduction in their tax exemption and the need to create more public transparency, control, and democratic governance in relation to the foundations. It was defined as ‘good governance’ in the law that was passed (Lov om erhvervsdrivende fonde. LOV nr 712 af 25/06/2014 § 60). In response, a collective of the foundation-owned businesses (usually not a united branch of industry) sent in a comment to the law, arguing:

Civil society should be of great importance in a well-functioning society, and it is a great advantage that we have these foundations that can supplement state support [. . .] It gives Danish citizens more opportunities to secure funding and support for their initiatives. In addition, it is important to keep in mind that the foundations are more agile and typically also more risk-tolerant players compared to the state. Thus, the foundations contribute to a richer society [. . .] The foundation-owned businesses play a crucial role in Danish society. Through their companies, the foundations create more than 5 percent of Danish employment, more than 10 percent of value-added, and they finance over 5 percent of the Danish research effort [. . .] In this context, politicians must think about what serves Danish society best in the long term. (Høringssvar fra danske fonde vedr. L71, 2015)

At the heart of both statements lies a joint agreement about the foundation-owned businesses as contributors to society, but little is said about what kind of contributors they are, their relationship to the state, and whether they provide the common good to society. On the one hand, the minister states that the lack of transparency – and thus a specific idea of public transparent institutions as the threshold of democracy – is not safeguarded by the foundations. Emphasizing the lack of transparency works as a polluter of the foundations’ concept of the common good. On the other hand, the foundation-owned businesses use the arguments – as they did in the 1980s – that their contribution is vital as they offer agility and a risk-taking element to society. Again, we see an implicit criticism of the state as drowned in bureaucracy, creating a lack of agility and a long-term perspective – a reproach that questions the state’s ability to safeguard the common good, thus implicitly labeling it anti-civil. This time, the foundations galvanized their argument by positioning themselves as a central core of civil society securing the citizens’ initiatives in contrast to the state, even if it is phrased as a ‘supplement to state support.’ Unlike in the 1980s, the collective response of the foundations had effect. Some of the tax remedies were taken off the table, yet still retaining some of the mandatory requirements of ‘good’ – and transparent – governance.

If we investigate what is at stake here, it is evident that the taxation regulations and legal regulations are a way to control the ownership of the definition of what the common good should be. The question of what is conceptualized as democratic is paramount in this regard. As in the 1980s, the state emphasized the lack of transparent governance as undemocratic and thus anti-civil. However, this time it was accompanied by an explicit acknowledgment of the foundations’ historical role in society – a role that has become widespread through their visible engagement from 1976 onward. Consequently, the foundations were not deemed entirely anti- or non-civil, even though they were also not cast as belonging entirely to the civil sphere. They were historically placed in between the two as an intermediate category.

Moreover, the foundations re-circulated their arguments from the 1980s, claiming that the state was non-civil. This time, they even emphasized the anti-civility of representative democracy as not the right way of democratic life. By questioning whether the state’s understanding of democracy was based on the citizens’ initiatives and grounded in civil society, the foundations tried by implication to frame the state as anti-civil. Thereby, they managed to at least introduce other forms of democracy as more ‘civil.’ Notably, how the civil (and anti-civil) codes were navigated indicates that the foundations can be seen as intermediate institutions.