Part I
Ethical Obligations and RelatedValues
[1]
The Reality Principle: Realism as an Ethical Obligation
Chris Beckett
Chris Beckett is a Senior Lecturer in Social Work, Anglia Ruskin University, UK, and Review Editor of
Ethics and Social Welfare. Correspondence to: Chris Beckett, Anglia Ruskin University, Webb Building, East Road, Cambridge CB1 IPT, UK; E-mail:
[email protected] Although a ârealistâ stance is sometimes contrasted with a âprincipledâ one, this article argues that realism is, of itself, an important ethical principle. Acknowledging the problems that exist in defining ârealityâ, and the fact that the nature of reality is contested, the article nevertheless insists on an âout thereâ reality. It asserts that the existence of this external reality is, in practice, generally accepted, and indeed must be accepted if we are to make the important distinction between truth and falsehood. The article proposes that discourse which is not grounded in the concrete reality of the specific situations in which social work is practised is potentially harmful because it results in a decoupling of language from what it is supposed to represent and creates a potential for language to be used to deceive. The article then discusses âRealism about Outcomesâ and âRealism about Contextâ as two out of a number of different areas in which realism is important in practice and policy making. It concludes that genuinely ethical social work practice and policy making require that we attempt to engage with the world as it actually is.
Keywords Realism; Reality Principle; Social Work Ethics; Ethical Principles; Pragmatism
Introduction
1. The attitude or practice of accepting a situation as it is and being prepared to deal with it accordingly âŠ
2. The quality or fact of representing a person, thing, or situation accurately or in a way that is true to life ⊠(From definition of ârealismâ, New Oxford Dictionary of English (NODE) 2001)
That truth is a good ⊠is not only a condition of moral discourse, it is a condition of any discourse at all. (Bhaskar, 1989, p. 63)
In life a ârealistâ (or âpragmaticâ) approach is sometimes contrasted with a âprincipledâ one, as if they were in some way opposites. However, in this article I will suggest that, on the contrary, realism (being prepared to deal with the world as it is) is an important ethical principle in itself, and one which social work practice and discourse quite often fail to meet. (In doing so I will develop an argument previously offered in Beckett & Maynard 2005, pp. 97â100, and Beckett 2006, pp. 27, 171ff.) I will suggest two ways in particular in which realism as an ethical principle should be applied by social workers and policy makers, but is sometimes not. I will call these (1) Realism about Outcomes and (2) Realism about Context. In both cases what I want to highlight is the fact that talk or actions are likely to be useless or even harmful, whatever the motive behind them, if they do not take into account the known or knowable facts about the specific circumstances to which the talk or action is applied.
Reality and Social Work
âRealismâ, both in general parlance and in its philosophical sense, refers to a stance which assumes the existence of an external reality and attempts to engage with that reality. The idea of an objective external realityâthe novelist Philip Dick once called it âthat which, when you stop believing in it, doesnât cease to existâ (Dick 1991, p. 77)âis not, however, a very fashionable one. Many academic disciplines have for some time been preoccupied with arguing that what we call ârealâ is dependent on viewpoint and social context (Michel Foucault spoke of a âregime of truthâ which each society âmakes function as realâ; 1980, p. 131) and is a by-product of language and of power. What seems ârealâ may be in fact a temporary social construction which does not even represent a consensus view in any sort of democratic sense, but rather reflects what is convenient for the powerful to portray as unchangeable.
It is not my intention in this article to deny these important insights. I do not want to suggest that ârealityâ is unproblematic or to claim that any one of us is somehow able to be in direct contact with it. My own position is akin to the âminimalâ or âsubtleâ realism (as opposed to ânaĂŻveâ realism) described by Parton and OâByrne (2000, p. 173, drawing on Hammersley 1992), and to Roy Bhaskarâs âcritical realismâ (1989). Nigel Parton and Patrick OâByrne offer the following formulation of a subtle realist position which I would endorse: âThe way reality is constructed and reconstructed is an active process and reality is itself actively involvedâ (2000, p. 174; my emphasis). We are word-weaving creatures, we live within nations, communities and systems of social relations that are ultimately âimaginedâ (Anderson 1991) in the sense that they only exist because we choose to believe in them. But there is also an âout thereâ reality which we cannot afford to ignore. Thus, as David Hume observed 200 years ago, regardless of our philosophical position, we all in practice accept the fact that when we leave a room we must go out through the door:
Whether your scepticism be as absolute and sincere as you pretend, we shall learn by and by, when the company breaks up: we shall then see, whether you go out at the door or the window; and whether you really doubt if your body has gravity, or can be injured by its fall; according to popular opinion, derived from our fallacious senses, and more fallacious experience. (Hume 1970 [1779], p. 132)
Just as we exit rooms via doors rather than windows, so in countless other ways we all acknowledge by our actions the existence of the constraints imposed on us by the world âout thereâ, regardless of our theoretical (or âpretendedâ) level of scepticism about the existence of objective reality. In particular we all accept in everyday life that there is an important distinction to be made between truth and falsehood, thereby implicitly acknowledging the existence of an external reality against which the truth claims of statements can be judged. It is difficult to see how the distinction between truth and falsehood could be accommodated if it were actually the case that there was no reality at all other than that which âemerges from the linguistic acts of personsâ (Parton & OâByrne 2000, p. 22). But it is a distinction we need to make, and part of the case for realism as an ethical principle is that to deny reality is to deny the truth.
If we make no distinction at all between discourse and external reality, we are in danger of losing sight not only of the distinction between truth and falsehood but of the difference between aspiration and outcome. It is certainly important to have aspirations and to be alive to the possibility of changing things for the better, but aspirational talk per se is not a valid moral substitute for engagement with practical reality. In social work we are not always good at recognizing this. Our profession, and possibly particularly the academic branch of it, has a weakness for what Mark Doel and Peter Marsh call âthe Grand Statement ⊠unaccompanied by much in the way of practical adviceâ (1992, p. 7). But once we decouple our talk about what we do from consideration of what we might actually be able to do in specific, concrete situations, then the way is open for language to become a means not of communication but of concealment: a mask with which we deceive others and/or a blindfold with which we deceive ourselves. Leslie Margolin goes so far as to suggest that concealment is in fact the primary purpose served in social work by our elemented aspirations and our emancipatory rhetoric:
the more intense the belief [on the part of social workers] in social workâs essential goodness, the more immune it is to criticism, and the less clients are able to resist its ministrations. That is why social workers are continuously engaged in providing proof for themselves and their clients of the honorableness, sacredness, and utter veracity of their actions. (Margolin 1997, pp. 6â7)
Both the rhetoric of âhelpingâ and the more radical-sounding rhetoric of âempowermentâ are, according to Margolin, simply smokescreens for social control and the containment of deviancy (rather in the way that the Ministry of Peace, in Orwellâs 1984, was responsible in fact for waging perpetual war). Margolinâs is an unnecessarily negative and one-dimensional viewâit is not that difficult to find instances where social workers really have helped and empowered the recipients of their servicesâbut I suggest we should take from him the important point that aspirations and noble-sounding rhetoric, unless continuously grounded and re-grounded in reality, can end up concealing something that is more or less opposite to what the aspirational words might seem to represent. Merely to sprinkle our discourse with words and phrases such as âworking in partnershipâ, âuser-ledâ, âanti-oppressiveâ and âempowermentâ is in itself meaningless, and may actually make things worse rather than better if we are unable to spell out in concrete terms how such concepts might actually be applied to the specific practice context we are writing or speaking about.
So, for instance, if social work students write in essays that they âwork in partnership withâ service users, I suggest that their teachers should challenge them to explain what is added to the meaning of the phrase âwork withâ by the insertion of the phrase âin partnershipâ. Otherwise two things will tend to happen. Firstly, the word âpartnershipâ, unchallenged, simply becomes decoration, a purely formal addition to the word âworkâ, rather in the way that the meaningless phrase âyours sincerelyâ is a purely formal addition to a polite letter. Secondly, the word âpartnershipâ becomes a deception, a fig leaf used to conceal something which is actually the opposite of partnership. I have heard social workers say they took family cases to court because the parents were âunable to work in partnershipâ. I suggest that, while it is sometimes perfectly appropriate to take cases to court when children are at risk, it is an abuse of the word âpartnershipâ to apply it to a working relationship in which, if one party does not go along with the wishes of the other, they will be compelled by force to do so. To use the word âpartnershipâ in this context obscures the reality and degrades the word itself.
Similarly if their teachers make sweeping statements in lectures about the importance of, for instance, always respecting âservice user choiceâ, I suggest that students should challenge them to spell out what this actually means when working, say, in a context of limited resources where demand far exceeds supply, or in a context (such as child protection or youth justice) where most service users are involuntary ones. By establishing the limits of a principleâthe caveats, the competing principles, the practical constraintsâwe do not weaken it (as we might perhaps fear) but rather make it real and robust. (An analogy might be made with the string of a kite, which seems to hold the kite back, but in fact provides it with the necessary rigidity to hold it aloft.)
Realism in Practice
I now want to develop my argument by referring with examples to just two specific ways in which lack of realism, whether on the part of practitioners, policy makers or commentators, may in fact result in harm. Firstly, under the heading of âRealism about Outcomesâ I will consider the harm that might be done to a child by a practitioner who is overly optimistic about the likely consequences of a course of action and will consider what ethical, realistic practice would entail in this practice context. (Although the example is from practice, it would be perfectly possible to think of examples where lack of realism about outcomes was a problem at the policy-making level.) Secondly, under the heading of âRealism about Contextâ, I will consider the harm that can be done by policy recommendations that take no account of the specific resource context in which the recommendation would be carried out. (This example is not from practice, but lack of realism about context can and does occur at the practice level too.) These are only two ways in which lack of realism can be a problem. I could have referred also to âRealism about Competenceâ, which is actually the one form of realism that is explicitly acknowledged in both British (BASW 2002) and American social work codes of conduct:
1.04 (a) Social workers should provide services and represent themselves as competent only within the boundaries of their education, training, license, certification, consultation received, supervised experience, or other relevant professional experience.
(b) Social workers should provide services in substantive areas or use intervention techniques or approaches that are new to them only after engaging in appropriate study, training, consultation, and supervision from people who are competent in those interventions or techniques ⊠(NASW 1999)
I could also have discussed âRealism about Mandateâ, which would involve recognizing that social workers are usually employed and legally mandated to perform certain specific functions, or âRealism about Complexityâ, which would involve recognizing that real-world situations are messy and normally involve trying to balance different ethical principles which pull in different directions, rather than remorselessly applying one ethical principle without consideration for any other. I hope, however, that my two examples will suffice to illustrate what realism as an ethical principle might mean in a practice and policy context, and how current practice and policy might be described as falling short of it.
Realism about Outcomes
An 11-year-old child, neglected and abused in his family of origin, has been in public care for a year and has experienced several moves between foster-homes. His social worker has identified a new placement with a couple who are interested in offering long-term care. The social worker tells this child that this new home will be his âforever familyâ. The social worker doubtless fervently hopes that this will indeed turn out to be true, and that the child will not have to endure further rejection, but my suggestion is that it is dishonest to describe a foster-home under such circumstances as a âforever familyâ, just as it would be dishonest of a surgeon to describe a procedure as a certain cure if in fact it carried a 50 per cent chance of failure. Research evidence suggests that the risk of breakdown is something in the region of 40 per cent for a child of this age (see PIU 2000, for instance) and a responsible social worker should take account of the likelihood of placement breakdown when choosing how to represent that placement to a child. She needs to think about what harm will be done to the childâs capacity to trust adults and believe in what he is told if a placement is confidently presented as being for ever, but then breaks down.
This example illustrates the difficulties involved in talking about external reality as if it was something fixed and static because there is an important complicating factor in this situation: the fact that what the social worker says may well in itself make a difference to what actually transpires. (To use Roy Bhaskarâs language (1989), the relationship between social worker and child is a subject-subject relationship, not a subject-object relationship such as exists between physical sci...