Why cultural capital isn’t an elitist myth - Cecilia Adekoya
At this time of writing, I have been teaching for 5 months. As little as that may seem, it has not prevented me from realising how essential cultural capital is for progression. It might be fair to say that the value of cultural capital is more pronounced in the classroom of an English teacher, because of what can be gleaned from canonical works.
A student is more likely to understand how rhetoric is used to effectively persuade in Winston Churchill’s ‘We shall fight on the beaches’ than they are from an obscure speech. I say this because of the background knowledge that will be gained from this speech – WW2, Operation Dynamo, British Prime Ministership, the state of Britain at the time, etc. All these things will undoubtedly enrich a child’s education and increase their appreciation of the English language. However, despite the prominent role that cultural capital plays in curriculum choices for English teachers, it is something that must be dealt with across the whole school.
Most people have a sense of what cultural capital refers to – knowledge about society, and how it works. It tends to be discussed solely in the field of English literature, and many use the concept to argue for why literary classics are superior to modern ones because of the style and use of literary methods. Yet, cultural capital is much broader.
In Pierre Bourdieu’s seminal piece, ‘The forms of capital’, capital is defined as ‘accumulated labor’. Essentially, it is the work put in by an individual for a reward at the end. In a school context, that reward is GCSEs, A-Levels, and so on. Bourdieu then divides cultural capital into three states – embodied, objectified, institutionalised. To understand these forms, imagine a year 11 student in their History lessons. Cultural capital is embodied through literacy, reading and comprehension skills. It is objectified through the historical sources studied – letters, paintings, sculptures. Finally, it is institutionalised when that student receives a GCSE in History. It might offer some hope to realise that cultural capital is not as inaccessible as imagined. Rather, as shown in the embodied and objectified states, it is something that can be improved upon, as Bourdieu also notes. However, in schools that serve disadvantaged communities, where literacy is weak and there is limited access to resources, cultural capital can most definitely seem out of reach. Therefore, it benefits no one to deny its existence. Cultural capital continues to assert its influence in behaviours of society; in social cues and norms; in ways of conversing.
In the embodied form, cultural capital goes beyond what is explicitly taught. Schools regularly teach what is known as the hidden curriculum. This refers to the unspoken rules and patterns of behaviour that students are expected to follow whilst in school, so that they will be successful members of society. For instance, teaching punctuality to lessons will lead to a positive working relationship. Or, cultivating a strong work ethic in pupils, leading to their resilience in challenging workplaces. It would be unwise to think that people do not need to learn this curriculum and still have a fair chance of participating in society. I mention the notion of fairness because it would be unfair to deny students access to this capital. Especially those in disadvantaged communities, who are far less likely to be taught societal standards. They will not be exposed to the same amount that their middle- and upper-class peers are, and Bourdieu recognises that the ‘scholastic yield from educational action depends on the cultural capital previously invested by the family’.
Of course, it’s easy to have an entirely pragmatic view as to why cultural capital is no myth. Bourdieu acknowledges that all forms of capital are disguises of economic capital. The accumulation of cultural capital is intended to economically benefit pupils in the form of a job, especially when institutionalised through qualifications. Nonetheless, the value of the capital will be greatly reduced if the knowledge imparted is not what Michael Young calls ‘powerful’.
In defining powerful knowledge, Young refers to ‘its structure, what it can do and how it is organized for both the production of new knowledge and acquisition of existing knowledge which is new to the student’. In other words, knowledge is powerful if it can lead to new knowledge and discoveries. Young offers a criterion for this kind of knowledge. To explain, I will use the example from the beginning – Winston Churchill’s ‘We shall fight on the beaches’. Powerful knowledge must:
Provide reliable and testable explanations of ways of thinking – why is rhetoric used? What is the purpose?
It is the basis of suggesting realistic alternatives – how do other writers use rhetoric in a different context? Students may study Martin Luther King Jr.’s ‘I have a dream’, which answers number 3, that
It enables those who acquire the knowledge to see beyond their everyday experience – not only will students be exposed to a different culture but learning the context in which the rhetoric was written will prove beneficial. Students will acquire knowledge about the Civil Rights Movement, a significant moment in history.
It is always open to challenge – students may consider if rhetoric is always effective, and whether it is always used for the right cause.
The last three requirements of powerful knowledge can be summed up in the notion that the knowledge is imparted by specialists, or teachers, and organised into subject-specific domains.
High quality knowledge is integral to growing cultural capital. If it is not high quality, and thus not powerful, students miss out on the wealth of opportunities to discover more. Starting from the core, they are enabled to not only accumulate capital, but strengthen it.
This raises the question about what should be considered core knowledge. It may be loosely defined as knowledge that meets Young’s first requirement for powerful knowledge – provide reliable and testable explanations of ways of thinking. To illustrate that, and that cultural capital is not specific to humanities, I will give a maths example. In 2020, there was quite a debate on the simple equation 2+2=4. Those on the side of critical theory argued that even the notion of 2+2 equalling 4 was proof of Western hegemony which was harmful to other lived experiences. However strongly one may feel that way, the fact of the matter is that maths is fundamentally an objective subject. Not only that, but it also brings no profit to the pupils to deny the external reality of maths. Buildings are made stable through accurate mathematical equations, risks in actuarial science are calculated in specific ways. Banks function objectively – a customer cannot claim they have £3000 in their account when they are £2000 in overdraft. It is not a hegemonic burden to state that truth. Regarding powerful knowledge then, consider how the equation of 2+2 provides an explanation for how to think in maths – to realise how numbers and their values operate. A realistic alternative would be another addition task using the same axiom, not considering that 2+2 is 5. You might wonder about Young’s requirement of powerful knowledge being open to challenge, and thus someone might posit that 2+2 may equal 5. However, Young’s conditions are not independent of each other, meaning that the challenge ought to be realistic. 2+2=4 is powerful, core knowledge because of the stepping stone it creates for students to explore methods of addition, subtraction, and so on. Subsequently, this simple equation is of a higher value because of the cultural capital it builds. Being embodied, students are not at a loss in mathematical discussions. When objectified, students can access challenging material that tests their arithmetic skills. When institutionalised, they are rewarded with a maths GCSE qualification. It may seem benign to offer an alternative to the so-called ‘hegemonic’ view, especially for disadvantaged pupils because it offers them a channel to validate their experience. Yet the truth is that it puts them at even more of a disadvantage, as they are made to believe that maths is somewhat sentient and bends to the will of individuals. It does not qualify as core knowledge because it is not a reliable way of thinking, as I’ve shown with real-life examples of architecture, actuarial science, and banking. Pupil progression risks being stunted if they are educated solely within the context of what they know, which is limited for any novice.
I hope to have made you realise that cultural capital is no myth. It is not an elitist strawman conjured up to strike a sense of inferiority into people. It is also not a guarded thing that can be accessed only by the cream of the crop. The schooling system is in an extremely advantageous position in its ability to transmit cultural capital. Due to that, schools must ensure that this capital is of a high value so that it will reap rewards for the future. Yes, those rewards will be partly economic, but they will also be social. High value capital tends to be that which is common, and the acquisition of this creates a sense of belonging in society among students. This belonging becomes the necessary fuel to encourage further discovery of knowledge, shaping students into individuals who can sate their curiosity because of the foundation established at school. They have somewhere to begin, and are not left groping in the dark, unable to realise what they do not even know.
Cecilia Adekoya is a teacher.