Theory and Research in Education

There is a revival of interest in Bourdieu’s work and this article examines dominant trends within feminist re-engagements. It considers the insights into gender identity afforded by ‘habitus’ and ‘social field’, distinguishing between analyses of ‘gender habitus’, and the potential of habitus and social field for feminist analysis of change. Feminist responses to Bourdieu continue to be divided on the extent to which social field structure determines habitus, and there is a tendency to represent the relationship as too seamless and coherent. Drawing on debates within recent feminist sociology, notably the work of Lois McNay and Lisa Adkins, this article argues instead for greater acknowledgement of the instability of gender norms and the contradictory effects of crossing different social fields. A feminist rethinking of the relationship between gender change, habitus and social field is suggested, which arises from a more contextual analysis of the varying degrees of correspondence between habitus and field. This addresses the co-existence of change and continuity in gender relations and identities, and aims to move such debates beyond questions of either freedom or reproduction.

What tools can we use in attempting to understand the recurring patterns of some girls’ early school leaving and consequent exclusion from well-paid employment? From which disciplinary fields can we take them? Using Bourdieu’s concept of the ‘scholastic point of view’ - the inherent intellectual bias of a discipline, in his case sociology - as a springboard, we suggest that if one turns to different ‘fields’, approaches might be found which point towards differing perspectives. This article brings Bourdieu into dialogue with the work of feminist historians and their conceptual tools. Carolyn Steedman’s notion of the politics of envy and Sally Alexander’s appropriation from psychoanalysis of the idea of repetition offer generative ways of exploring the ‘unthought categories of thought which delimit the thinkable and predetermine the thought’ (Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992: 40). In their focus on gender, they have much in common with feminist sociologists’ responses to Bourdieu’s work, suggesting that a gendered ‘perspective’ offers a way of avoiding the ‘singular viewpoint’ inherent in any one discipline.

It is a contention of the culturalist strand of underclass theory that the growth of the underclass is not a function of social and economic change, but of features intrinsic to underclass culture. Children born into disadvantaged communities, it is argued, are socialized into the ‘deviant’ culture of their families, families typically headed by single mothers. According to the underclass thesis, daughters of such families will face a heightened risk of leaving school early and teenage pregnancy. An unanticipated correlation between claims of the underclass thesis and the cohort of mothers and daughters with whom we are working on a current project has led us to ask, ‘how do we acknowledge the culture of disadvantaged communities and their generational synergies, whilst avoiding the pernicious implications of the underclass thesis?’ To answer this question, this article assesses the merits of bringing Bourdieu’s ideas on cultural capital together with Sarah Thornton’s concept of subcultural capital. The article concludes with two examples of how we might draw on these ideas as a way of exploring the means by which girls in difficult economic circumstances understand and pursue their school lives.

This article considers Bourdieu’s concepts of ‘social capital’ and ‘social fields’, comparing and contrasting his use of these concepts with that of James Coleman and Robert Putnam. It examines how Bourdieu’s ideas offer a different way of understanding the lives of economically disadvantaged young women designated as ‘at risk’ of leaving school early. A micro-level analysis is made of ‘Bluey’s story’, a narrative derived from data gathered during a three-year research project on young women’s negotiations from the margins of education and work in Australia. Deconstructing Bluey’s narrative reveals how social capital is deployed (sometimes unsuccessfully) in a range of social fields. Such narratives can thus be used to ‘speak back’ to educational policies, to provide alternative insights into the issues and needs of economically disadvantaged young women and to challenge current constructs of ‘at risk’.

In her very influential book, The Point of Words (1988), Ellen Winner presents strong evidence that children younger than six can understand and use metaphors, but not irony. Winner, however, fails to consider ‘philosophical story irony’ in her research. This sort of irony is a little like dramatic irony. We have a case of such irony whenever there is some proposition, p, such that (1) according to a story, or some character in a story, it is true that p, even though (2) we, the audience, understand that not p, and (3) we won’t be able to offer a helpful explanation of why anyone would think that p without clarifying some philosophically problematic concept basic to the supposition that p. Even very young children can understand and appreciate examples of philosophical story irony, as the popularity of a certain kind of children’s literature reveals.

Should lecturers who teach political philosophy hide their personal political beliefs? This question becomes interesting when lecturers face what seems to be morally repugnant policies, such as massive human rights violations. In such cases is there a conflict between a lecturer’s civic and political obligations and his/her academic and pedagogical ones? This article argues that while university lecturers should not adhere to academic neutrality, they should be impartial. While arguing this a distinction is drawn between paternalism and empowerment through teaching.