Beyond Awe and Wonder

1 Teachers and spiritual development - setting the context

1.i Introduction and overview

In this thesis, I explore the research question:

‘to what extent do a range of teachers of four- and five-year olds demonstrate a coherent

and consistent understanding of young children’s spiritual development? and

does a critical examination of this understanding point towards a new way of

understanding spiritual development appropriate to describe and develop classroom

practice for other teachers?’

My central argument is that a new understanding of young children’s spiritual development can be informed and enriched by a detailed and sensitive, but critical, examination of how their teachers, especially as expressed through their practice, understand the idea. Having initially explored the key philosophical questions, I approach this task empirically and examine to what extent this empirical work can point towards a new way of understanding spiritual development, outlining the key features of this in 10.iv. How teachers understand their work both reflects, and can influence, the provision they make. As Cooper and McIntyre (1996: 1) suggest, ‘any serious attempts to improve the quality and effectiveness of teaching and learning in schools must start from an understanding of what people in classrooms do at present.’

The title of this thesis, ‘Beyond Awe and Wonder’, refers to the phrase from curricular guidance most associated in teachers’ minds with spiritual development. The danger of such catchphrases is that they too easily become an alternative to the exploratory thinking necessary to engage with such an elusive area. So a clearer and more accessible way of understanding is needed to cast new light on present provision and provide pointers for future training and policy. I hope to draw on

1 teachers’ understanding and the existing language and traditions of spirituality to help teachers enable and enhance young children's spiritual development.

At the outset, I highlight two fundamental, and linked, dilemmas. The first is that whatever language is used both is contested and presupposes a particular understanding. Language both reflects and structures the speaker’s, or writer’s, understanding. For example, the term spiritual development tends to presuppose a particular view of what is to be explored. The second is that much of the language is, in practice, often used loosely and without a generally agreed meaning.

So while the language needs to be used with some precision, it is often used, in practice, quite differently. I consider these philosophical and practical difficulties in 2.ii where I also discuss the use of words such as spirituality, spiritual experience, spiritual development and the spiritual domain.

These dilemmas led me to approach the task with as open a mind as possible about the parameters of what such terms mean, both in general and to the teachers involved. Inevitably, I brought a framework of understanding - to know roughly the areas I was looking at - but I tried to keep any such framework constantly open to question. Otherwise, a pre-ordained framework does much to pre-ordain a specific answer. In Berlin’s words, ‘the first step to understanding people is the bringing to consciousness of the model or models that dominate and penetrate their thought and action. Like all attempts to make people aware of the categories in which they think it is a difficult and sometimes painful activity, likely to produce deeply disquieting results. The second task is to analyse the model itself, and this commits the analyst to accepting, or modifying or rejecting it, and in the last case to providing a more adequate one in its stead.’ (cited in Robinson, 2001: 166)

Where understanding is often latent and the language elusive, teachers may find it very hard to articulate their understanding, especially at first. My exploration of the teachers’ understanding

2 involves an examination of what the teachers did and what they said, of the environments they created and the activities in which they engaged.

I wanted to enable the teachers to articulate their understanding by thinking and talking about spiritual development. However, people express their understanding in what they do, or do not do, at least as much as in what they say, or do not say. So the researcher needs to observe as well as to ask and listen, including both those aspects which the researcher, or the teacher, explicitly relates to spiritual development and other aspects not obviously so. To consider the teachers’ understanding involved interpreting both their parameters of what spirituality is and what they understand within those parameters. In doing so, I needed, and the reader needs, initially, not to impose too narrow a definition of spiritual development. This is analogous to Jackson et al.’s

(1993) exploration of the moral life of schools where the researchers considered both explicit teaching of morality and different aspects of teacher behaviour and attitude which they related to morality but which many might not have seen as such.

My approach was to consider usage within various traditions of spirituality and research traditions related to young children to work out common features of young children’s spiritual development and key questions to explore empirically. I try, both in my observations of teachers, and in my discussions with them, to explore how they demonstrate their understanding in actions as well as words. I interpret and examine critically the coherence of the teachers’ individual views and of the consistency of view between different teachers. I draw on the teachers’ practical knowledge and understanding to enrich a new way of understanding which is both philosophically coherent and rooted in the reality of what happens in the classroom. Such an understanding is intended to enable further discourse taking account of both the richness and the diversity of teachers’ understandings and the complexity and elusiveness of young children’s spiritual development.

3 In this chapter I describe the wider context within which this study was conducted, offering a brief overview of previous research into teachers’ understanding and discussing social, legislative and curricular factors which may affect how spiritual development is understood, especially in relation to young children’s education. I argue that social and cultural changes make an inclusive approach to spiritual development essential and that the school has an increasingly important role to play.

The bulk of the philosophical argument is contained in Chapters 2 and 3. I consider the difficulties of finding any appropriate language to describe what is at best abstract and often beyond the power of words to describe adequately. I examine the difficulties of definition, and how the terms have been understood in different traditions and in academic and everyday discourse. I discuss to what extent the spiritual domain is distinctive and separate from other associated domains. I highlight important features of existing traditions of spirituality, both religious and otherwise, but reject the view that involvement in a faith tradition is necessary. I suggest, in 2.vii, important common aspects to be taken into account in an inclusive description, without this becoming meaningless or vague.

In Chapter 3, I consider young children more directly, and their capacity and ability for spiritual experience. I discuss, initially, the limitations of the metaphor of development and some alternatives, arguing that no one metaphor is sufficient. I review important aspects of research which can inform a fuller, and richer, view of young children's spirituality. I seek to draw on different disciplines, notably cognitive psychology and psychoanalytic traditions, in particular work on personal identity. In 3.vii, I identify key issues and questions in the light of the considerations in 2.vii and the research about young children.

In Chapter 4 I discuss the difficulty, both theoretical and practical, of describing any other person’s understanding, especially in abstract and contested areas. I give a theoretical explanation of why interpretative, and often eclectic, methodologies are necessary to gather the ‘thick’ data, to

4 use Geertz’s (1993) term, which provide insight into the understanding of individuals working in complex interpersonal settings. I go on to describe, until the end of Chapter 6, an empirical study which involved interviewing and observing fourteen teachers working with children in ten ‘early- years units’ in Oxfordshire. In Chapters 7 to 9, I interpret the teachers’ understanding using both narrative and thematic frameworks. I examine their coherence and explore patterns among the teachers, both in what they make explicit and in what is implicit in their practice. In Chapter 10, I link the philosophical and empirical sections, considering how the empirical work can enrich a new understanding of young children’s spiritual experience. I set out the main features of this understanding, consider what is distinctive about the ‘spiritual’ and return to the issue of spiritual development. I conclude that pragmatic considerations leave little alternative but to use the term, while recognising its limitations. In the final chapter, I discuss the implications of the study in research terms, and more widely, and consider the implications for pedagogy, training and policy.

1.ii Rationale and distinctive aspects of the thesis

My interest in this area stems from around twenty-two years’ experience as a teacher of primary- age children, nine of them as a headteacher. In particular, the curricular changes in the 1990s and the growing emphasis on accountability through measurable outcomes seemed to marginalise important aspects of children’s experience and personal growth. This led to a concern about the balance of the curriculum. For me, ‘spiritual’ seemed to reflect much of what was too little emphasised. Despite, or maybe because of, my role as head of an Anglican Church-Aided school, serving a diverse, urban area, I came to see spiritual development as encompassing a domain much wider than that of religion. Having taught Religious Education no more than most other primary school teachers, and having only tenuous links with worshipping faith communities, I do not share the R.E. background of most commentators on spirituality.

5 I shall argue for an understanding of spiritual development which is, in Wright’s (2000) term, inclusive, because of the legislative requirement, however understood, for schools to provide for children’s spiritual development and because almost all children go to school. An inclusive approach is essentially one applicable to all children regardless of faith tradition, background or other factors. If the argument that I make in 10.iv for such an inclusive approach is even partly accepted, the implications for young children’s education are considerable.

As I shall discuss in 1.iv.3, the last decade has seen a range of guidance on spiritual development, with some limited impact in schools. However, the views of teachers have been little heard in this debate. More worryingly, this has barely impinged on overall curriculum guidance and there has been little sustained discussion at local or national level of spiritual development’s place within the curriculum, especially since the recent emphasis on literacy and numeracy. The lack of clarity about this, and often its virtual absence, in curriculum guidance for young children, is reflected in the low level of awareness of, or importance ascribed to, spiritual development by teachers in practice, as supported by the empirical elements of this study.

My particular interest is in the teachers of young children. For my M.Sc. study (Eaude, 1999), I worked with teachers of children of five to seven years old. I focus in this study on teachers of four- and five- year olds for two main reasons. The first is that models of curricular provision and of learning often reflect studies and experience of older children. The second is that looking at teachers of young children seemed most likely to be able to draw on lessons especially of psychoanalytical thinking and cognitive psychology about how infants and young children learn. I hope to demonstrate that this offers distinctive insights into the wider debates on the curriculum and on spirituality.

6 It might be argued that the views of teachers of such young children do not matter. For example, their views on the use of metal-lathes, or the importance of pure as opposed to applied mathematics, however interesting, would seem of little consequence. Such a view would seem to be predicated on one or both of two beliefs. The first is that such children are too young to engage meaningfully in what I call spiritual experience. Yet many religious and other traditions emphasise that children have a distinctive spirituality. This is re-inforced by a research tradition from Hardy

(1966, 1979) and Robinson (1977) through to Hay and Nye (1998) and Erricker et al. (1997b). The second is that teachers’ views are peripheral to a coherent understanding and that the task is essentially a philosophical one. I believe that the philosophical debate and an empirical exploration of teachers’ understanding can inform each other to draw on the teachers’ practical wisdom and insights. Without a basis in practice the former risks becoming arid and decontextualised. Without a more coherent theoretical base, teachers will remain confused about what spiritual development entails and have little idea of whether, and to what extent, they are enabling it.

1.iii Research into teachers’ beliefs about young children's

spirituality

There has been surprisingly little research to discover primary school teachers’ understanding of spiritual development. Davies (1998) conducted a survey, by questionnaire, of primary headteachers in Wales, with 204 respondents, following this (2001) with a similar survey focusing on three different areas of Wales. Such an approach includes a large number of individuals and institutions and provides some statistical base for conclusions. However, the statements from which those responding had to choose were couched in such language that every response raises further questions about whether respondents understood the question in the same way. What sense, for instance, are we to make of the conclusion (Davies, 1998: 131) that 75.2% of headteachers

‘saw promoting children’s spiritual development as an important part of the work of the school’?

7 The answer depends on the respondents’ own definition of the spiritual and on whether answers consider its importance relative to other elements of school life. More fundamentally, the survey approach relies on what heads said they believed, with time to ponder, rather than probing what actually happens. Johnson (2000) conducted a survey with 132 teachers and heads in primary schools in Cornwall responding. His conclusions (2000: 63) suggest ‘a great similarity in understanding between the teachers’ view, some commonly given definitions of spirituality and the national statement of values… Although the teachers could be characterised by degrees of

Christian religious commitment, few were explicit about the inclusion of God.’ There was a very strong emphasis on relationship and values. The nature of Johnson’s respondents, which might have been expected to produce a greater emphasis on religion, gives further credence to the similar findings emerging in this study.

McCreery (2001) adopted an approach, albeit with teachers of older children, of initial in-depth interviews, followed with a postal survey. McCreery both reports the passion with which many teachers spoke about these issues and highlights the anxieties stemming from the lack of definition and training, and the intensely personal nature of responses. Interestingly, she suggests that older teachers appeared more comfortable with spiritual development than younger ones and that heads and deputies relate the concept to the idea of the whole school, while other teachers focus more on children. She argues that ‘life experiences’, and how teachers respond to these, are a major factor in affecting teachers’ understanding, a view this study explores and broadly supports.

The survey approach brings the risk that apparent consensus may obscure a lack of shared concepts, and that apparent difference may hide underlying commonalities of understanding.

While survey findings are of some value, their samples are, usually, largely self-selecting, usually from those with an interest in spirituality, based, presumably, on the respondents’ understanding of what it means. Samples are almost certain to be skewed, a point which Johnson acknowledges in

8 relation to his survey. More fundamentally, they presuppose some commonality of language; precisely what I believe is lacking. As a result, the reader ‘knows’ what the respondents think about spirituality, without knowing quite how the words are being used. Moreover, written surveys give respondents the chance to present a particular image which may accord very little with practice in the school or classroom.

To discover teachers’ more profound understanding, the researcher must operate in some depth, and discursively, within the interpretative tradition. I started to address these issues in my M.Sc. thesis (Eaude, 1999), the methods and results of which are summarised in Erricker et al. (2001:

220-233). I outline here the main issues raised in relation to teachers’ understanding and my research methods, though I cover both later in greater depth. Most teachers saw the spiritual domain as much wider than that of religion. While there was a wide range of view on the importance of religious faith, all the teachers could describe important aspects related to spiritual development. Among these were how children learn to control their own feelings and emotion, how they develop personal values and beliefs, how they explore relationships with other people, with the world and, in some cases, with God and their experiences of awe and wonder. Emotional security was seen as a necessary foundation for, but not a guarantor of, spiritual maturity. I was surprised that all the respondents could describe a spiritually aware or mature child. There was a range of views about the relative importance of genetic and environmental factors but a broad consensus that the influence of the family and, in some cases, attendance at a place of worship were important factors in children’s spiritual maturity. I found a marked reluctance to discuss controversial issues such as the place and importance of material possessions and whether the child’s gender or level of family income were likely to influence spiritual development.

There was a broad consensus among those teachers that spiritual development can occur anywhere within the curriculum, and that it is more a matter of process and approach than of content. I found

9 a surprising commonality of view between the teachers in each school. The ethos of the school, the leadership of the head and the relationships within the school were cited as important factors. One surprising element was the impact and importance ascribed to painful situations and how they were handled. Several teachers gave examples of how the experience of the death, or severe illness, of a pupil, and of working alongside a disabled child, when well handled, had enriched other children’s spiritual development.

Like any good research, this raised more questions than it answered. More significant was what I learnt about the research process. I was surprised how fluently and passionately most of the teachers talked. I found that using examples from their experience was very helpful for both them and me. Despite their uncertainties, most teachers were happy to think about the issues and to express some vulnerabilities. It was evident, even within half-hour discussions, that the teachers’ views changed, often only in emphasis, but sometimes quite significantly. As they articulated their views, they altered them, often slightly, at times substantially. But that research was, inevitably, limited in scope. For example, the sampling was deliberately atypical in that I worked only in five schools deemed by Ofsted to be good or better in relation to spiritual development, interviewing the head and two teachers from Key Stage 1. There were few younger teachers. However, its main limitation was that it relied almost exclusively on what teachers said in one discussion. In this research, I adopt a methodology based much more on the observation of what the teachers did, as well engaging them in a series of discussions over a period of time, sacrificing width by exploring in depth the understanding of fewer teachers.

1.iv Current contexts

In this section, I offer a brief historical overview to highlight important social factors, the legislative issues affecting schools and teachers, and changes in the curriculum which may influence how spiritual development is understood.

10 1.iv.1 The social context

Much of the discussion about spirituality, especially within academic research, seems to ignore the challenges presented by the massive social change in Britain during the last forty years or so. Such changes are complex and often contentious, and the following list is far from exhaustive. But among those aspects likely to be significant are:

 greater ethnic and religious diversity, especially in urban areas;

 the decline in attendance at religious worship, and involvement in faith communities,

especially among many from the ethnic majority;

 a high level of family breakdown and geographical mobility;

 a greater level of materialism, and especially consumerism, based in large part on rising living

standards, especially among the already-affluent classes;

 the widespread availability of global communication, and global culture, most obviously

exemplified in the almost universal access to television; and

 an emphasis both in business and in government on accountability, based usually on ‘value-

for-money’ as measured by quantifiable outcomes.

While some of these particularly affect urban communities, all have a widespread, indeed almost universal, impact.

While some ethnic diversity has always been as feature of British society, the population until the

1950s was broadly homogeneous, especially in adherence to Christianity, albeit in different traditions. This enabled children’s spiritual development to be seen as largely coterminous with their (perceived) religious development. The greater ethnic and religious diversity now evident especially in the larger cities results initially from migration. Many groups, especially those from

South Asia, belong to, and gain individual and group identity from, a faith tradition other than

Christianity, mostly Islam, Sikhism or Hinduism. Much of the legislation in relation to Religious

11 Education and collective worship either assumed (as in the 1944 Act), or made explicit (as the

1988 Act does), that the emphasis of such provision should be (at least ‘mainly or broadly’)

Christian in content. Although such legislation was likely to be less controversial with a population either Christian or nominally so, it provided many schools, especially where many children actively espouse other faiths, with a significant challenge to find sensitive and appropriate ways to respond.

Most young children have no experience of regular attendance at worship within a faith tradition.

Although definitions of active faith membership are controversial, and usually related to adults, recent statistics (NCSR, 2001: 179) suggest that the level of at least weekly attendance at a place of worship has been in steady decline and is now around 12% of the population. Presumably, those who argue that spiritual development makes sense only within a religious tradition preclude, de facto, the vast majority of children. This, if nothing else, seems to make worthwhile the search for an inclusive, but coherent, description.

To summarise complex social changes so briefly risks superficiality, but to ignore these changes risks presenting spiritual development as the preserve of a favoured few. More significantly, if it is to be accessible to all children, the family and the school emerge as the two most appropriate loci in which adults can guide children to reflect on, and make sense of, the whole range of experience.

The home and family remain the prime, and potentially the best, place for such support. However, in many families this is difficult, or intermittent, or happens inappropriately. So the role of the school, as the public place which most children attend most frequently, becomes crucial, whether as support or compensation. Unless schools make appropriate provision, many children’s spiritual development will depend on the vagaries of chance.

12 The level of family breakdown has resulted in many children growing up living either with only one birth parent or where one of the significant adults is not a birth parent. Given the importance of children experiencing security and consistency, such widespread family breakdown is likely to influence adversely the affective development of significant numbers of children. When combined with the lack of wider family support networks locally, often because of greater geographical mobility, this leads, in many cases, to children having a less consistent background of family and local community than previously. This results in fewer opportunities for joining groups which include spiritual or moral development within their aims, notably faith communities or organisations such as the Brownies or the Scouts, and so being incorporated into such traditions.

While the extent to which new, often unfamiliar structures for child-care, and community groups, are formed should not be underestimated, the type, and probably the range, of such organisations, has changed. It is reasonable to expect that the isolation resulting from family breakdown and more fragmented communities impacts on the spiritual development - whatever that means - of many of the children concerned, disproportionately so on children in large cities and those living in poverty.

Within the last thirty or forty years, and especially the last ten, the influence of mass media, and the images and values presented, has become extremely powerful. While the impact on learning may have been beneficial in some respects, the messages portrayed, with their implicit values, the opportunity for instant gratification, and the tendency towards individual consumption seem likely to have affected the values and beliefs of even very young children.

1.iv.2 The legislative context

The 1944 Education Act (HMSO, 1944) states that ‘it shall be the duty of the local education authority for every area, so far as their powers extend, to contribute towards the spiritual, moral, mental and physical development of the community…’ As Priestley (2001: 2/3) highlights, this

13 reflected a similar emphasis in the 1918 Act, with both Acts concerned in the context of world war with the importance of re-building civilisation and of character. In subsequent legislation, the word

‘spiritual’ has retained its pre-eminent position. The 1944 Act was based on a very broad national consensus and, unsurprisingly, given the strong position of Christianity within national identity and life, spiritual development was a crucial, and largely undisputed, educational aim. What this meant was undefined, but those who framed the legislation surely saw it primarily as encouraging young people into the practices and beliefs of Christianity. The changes outlined in 1.iv.1 made this increasingly unrealistic and inappropriate in many contexts, but there seemed little incentive before the late 1980s to examine too closely what it might entail.

The 1988 Education Act (DES, 1988) maintained the priority given to the spiritual, requiring schools to provide for the ‘spiritual, moral, cultural, mental and physical’ development of children, with the introduction of the National Curriculum. Copley (1997: 135-146) describes how the

House of Lords became the locus of fierce debate after these elements of a highly controversial bill had passed without difficulty through the Commons. In response to a well-organised group of peers, seeking to re-assert the role of a traditional Christian approach, especially to worship, it was, ironically, the Anglican Bishop of London who brokered clauses which retained a degree of local discretion. This debate is especially noteworthy because the retention of the term ‘spiritual’ was defended by those with a traditional, even reactionary, agenda, arguing for ‘more’, or at least more evident, spirituality.

However much the disputes about religious education and, especially, collective worship in multi- faith contexts remained a matter of fierce debate, spiritual development remained largely something to be approved of. While teachers, legislators and politicians may have had very different views of what it entailed, this appeared still not to matter too much in practice. It still seemed in everybody’s interests not to define this too closely.

14 The 1992 Education (Schools) Act (DfE, 1993) revised the previous list to ‘spiritual, moral, social and cultural’ development. That it was decided to take out ‘mental and physical’, and include

‘cultural’, but leave the spiritual in a prominent position, signifies that these broad aims were not simply transported without debate. Indeed, this whole area was fiercely contested. Walford (1995) shows how a relatively small pressure group, with significant support in, and lobbying of, the

House of Lords was able to influence the bill significantly. Among the areas upon which this group concentrated was the demand that all aspects of school life - including the ‘spiritual, moral, social and cultural’ - were to be inspected. What is inspected is what schools tend to take most seriously. Although the Government had originally intended to restrict inspection to much narrower, ‘academic’, areas, the role of spiritual development was, if anything, enhanced by the efforts of a group largely coming from the political and religious right.

That spiritual development has survived so long in legislation has depended in part on vigorous support at crucial points from members of the House of Lords, and in part on an intentional consensus not to define too closely exactly what it is. However, the setting up of the inspection regime, with criteria against which to judge a school’s success and public, published, reports, after the 1992 Act was to change this.

1.iv.3 The curricular context

In this section I review the main documents of guidance relating to spiritual development to provide a wider historical context for this study. I do so briefly as this is covered cogently by

Erricker (2000: 36-44). Citing Priestley, Erricker (2000: 36/7) highlights how the word spirituality was ‘almost lost in the DES document “Curriculum 11-16” (in 1977) as meaningless to the atheist and of dubious use to the agnostic.’ The academic debate on children’s spirituality which flourished during the 1980s had little impact on curricular guidance at the time. Most guidance for teachers was issued following the 1992 Act. Although this guidance was of various sorts, most

15 came from Government agencies, either to outline how inspections should be conducted, or to support teachers in the implementation of the National Curriculum.

The creation of Ofsted as the agency responsible for school inspections followed the 1992 Act.

Since publicly available inspection reports for each school were to be issued, including the inspection team’s judgment of the school’s provision for spiritual development, the pressure for criteria by which this could be recognised, let alone judged, became intense, both from those in schools and inspectors. Ofsted’s Framework for Inspection (1993) retained the 1992 Act’s wording of ‘spiritual, moral, social and cultural development’. Implicit in this is a confusing suggestion, explored in this thesis, that these are separate domains of the same type, rather than overlapping. More significantly, the difficulty of making secure, evidence-based judgments in so value laden an area, in an inspection lasting at most a week, made it unsurprising that the section on spiritual development was often seen not as objective, but very much based on the inspection team's personal philosophy and predilections. The need for a common language and understanding among inspectors, among teachers and between the two groups became pressing. Wenman (2001), in analysing 326 reports, demonstrates how much the reporting of spiritual development varies in quality both of expression and adherence to the Framework, suggesting that this probably stems from a view of the relative unimportance of this aspect, rather than simply that the task is difficult.

A succession of guidance documents followed, attempting to grapple with this, notably the

Framework for Inspection, both in its original form (Ofsted, 1993) and subsequent revisions, NCC

(1993), Ofsted (1994), SCAA (1995,1996) and QCA (1997). I do not review the changes of emphasis within these, in part because Copley (1997) has covered this in detail, and Erricker

(2000), as mentioned above, with a broad overview. Wright (2000: 67-9) offers a pithy, though contentious, account. My empirical work suggests that the impact on teachers of young children at

16 classroom level appeared to be slight. This reflects, in part, that the debate on spirituality has involved teachers too little, and even then mainly secondary R.E. teachers.

This specific guidance must not be seen in isolation, but in the context of overall curriculum guidance and initiatives. During the 1990s, primary schools experienced radical and frequent curricular change, most obviously with the introduction, and revisions, of the National

Curriculum, and more recently the National Literacy and Numeracy Strategies. This introduced a curriculum conceived in subject areas, focusing especially on ‘core’ subjects. One dominant element of government policy has been a concentration on delivery and efficiency. The importance of measurable outcomes, and targets, reflect this demand for accountability in education, as elsewhere in the public sector. Many of the curricular changes introduced, such as the emphasis on assessment and inspection, especially focused on particular ‘core’ subjects, stem directly from a belief in technocratic control, rather than professional judgement. I explore how much this approach had affected the pedagogy of the teachers of children just before and after the statutory age for starting school. I shall suggest that, whatever the messages offered in terms of pedagogy in the current curriculum guidance for the Foundation Stage, teachers were often under considerable pressure to fit in with approaches adopted with older children.

The National Curriculum model tended to marginalise issues such as equal opportunity, multiculturalism and environmental awareness. Such issues were promoted as cross-curricular themes, incorporating aspects within appropriate subjects. This appeared as somewhat of a ‘bolt- on’, insufficiently backed by the regimes of inspection or assessment to be central to teachers’ planning or practice. Spiritual development suffered a similar fate in many ways. Given many other pressures, especially in relation to measurable results and public reporting through the

Ofsted mechanism, it is surprising that spiritual development achieved as much attention as it did.

While an emphasis on spiritual development might be argued to lead to higher levels of

17 measurable achievement, this argument is rarely made. Those who argue for its importance tend to assert that, however defined, it has a value not open to measurement. At the time of writing, the introduction of citizenship in primary schools is awaited. It remains unclear how much time or energy will be given to this in practice, or whether this will be of only marginal impact.

It is worth reflecting briefly on the link with Religious Education. With a long tradition of R.E. being compulsory in all schools, and of being planned for, and taught, often somewhat inadequately, it retained a privileged position outside the National Curriculum, but compulsory and open to inspection, albeit with a different inspection pattern in voluntary aided schools.

Paradoxically, the presence of R.E. as a separate subject may have provided a haven for spiritual development, free from some of the pressures of content and results or may have led to teachers giving insufficient consideration to spiritual development across the curriculum, on the grounds, spoken or otherwise, that its place is within R.E. and the daily act of collective worship. In practice, in different contexts, one or other of these has been the position. While it has been championed by R.E. specialists in secondary schools, its place within the primary curriculum has been more subject to the vagaries of chance and the confusion resulting from its being overlooked because it has no obvious place within a subject-based curriculum.

Despite the debates following the guidance mentioned above, teachers remain confused and often wary of spiritual development. There is little evidence either from previous, or my own, research, that the impact on teachers at classroom level of guidance or training on spirituality has been significant in providing a common understanding among teachers, except at the level of the occasional catch-phrase. Indeed, most referred to more personal factors as more influential than guidance or training. Of course, guidance may operate at more subtle levels of which the teacher may not be aware, through more general curriculum policies or in other ways. However, the debate resulting from the 1992 Act, the cycle of inspections that followed and the guidance

18 mentioned above gives some slight grounds for optimism that there is a basis for a subtler discourse about spiritual development. But this debate has been largely at an academic level, with only limited impact in primary schools, taking little account of the complex interplay of demands, often quite overt in terms of narrow criteria of success, bearing on teachers of young children.

Changing times and contexts give rise to the need for a new understanding of spiritual development, which is coherent, clear and accessible. In the next chapter, I discuss the philosophical difficulties implicit in approaching this task.

19 2 Approaching the task - philosophical considerations

2.i The nature of the challenge

Two major philosophical challenges impinge directly on this study. The first, discussed both philosophically and practically in chapter 4, is what it means to explore a person’s understanding.

The second, addressed in 2.ii, is that of defining, describing and writing about spirituality and spiritual development. Bearing this in mind, in 2.iii, I consider usage in both religious and other traditions and, in 2.iv, the extent to which spirituality depends on involvement in a religious tradition. In 2.v, I consider whether the term has lost its usefulness and, in 2.vi, whether spirituality should be seen as primarily individual and internal. In 2.vii, I summarise important features to set the context for an exploration in Chapter 3 of research specific to young children, culminating in the key questions set out in 3.vii.

In 10.iv, I present an understanding of young children’s spiritual development which is both coherent and inclusive. Unless such an understanding applies to all children regardless of faith tradition, background or other factors, most schools and teachers will see it as peripheral. The social and cultural changes described in 1.iv.1 make an exclusive view, based on presuppositions that no longer hold, inadequate so that certain features should no longer be given the prominence previously accorded to them. But ‘inclusive’ also implies drawing on a wide range of sources of knowledge about children’s experience, following Hull’s lead (1998: 8) that ‘Piaget’s theory of the unfolding of intelligence is not adequate for religious growth. But from what source can Piaget be supplemented? We must look to psychoanalysis and to learning theory…’ and extending this to spiritual development. The challenge is to justify such a width while retaining philosophical coherence, given the wide range of common usage and avoiding what Wright (2000: 76), rightly, warns of, ‘the inclusivist stress on unreflective experience (which) opens up the possibility of a spiritual emotivism detached from critical reflection.’ In this chapter, I review the relevant

20 literature to highlight pitfalls to be avoided and issues to be re-visited when I examine the teachers’ understanding critically.

2.ii Issues of definition and description

In 1.i, I alluded to the considerable difficulty that whatever language is used to describe spirituality both reflects and structures a certain view of what spirituality is. Very simply, to write (without any rider) about spiritual development tends to imply that children develop spiritually. Yet this is one contentious issue I am seeking to explore, both in 3.iii and, more fully, in 10.v. This said, it is so commonly used there is little option but to use the term, putting on hold the question of its appropriateness until this later discussion. There are similar problems with other language in common use. For example, I try to avoid using the word ‘spirituality’ partly because of its abstract nature, partly because of the fear it evokes and partly because of its metaphorical connotations. In particular, the noun makes something dynamic appear too static, too much linked with the exotic and the unapproachable. I tend to use ‘spiritual’ adjectivally, where possible, largely because this has the effect of encouraging specific examples. This helps to make latent metaphors more evident and provides a contextualised basis from which to work towards general conclusions. Terms such as spiritual experience, and domain, carry fewer contested metaphorical connotations than

‘spirituality’. Although spiritual ‘dimension’ has some attractions, this carries, for me, some connotation of measurement. I tend therefore to use the term ‘domain’. I describe spiritual

‘experience’ as a type of experience rather than a set of experiences, rather as one might talk of a puzzling or an enlightening experience. Using the language like this is not always possible, especially when referring to other people’s views. In describing the terminology which I use, I am conscious that this, too, brings with it my own presuppositions.

One major issue for teachers, and others, is that of what spirituality is. Pring (2000: 9-12) suggests four broad approaches to definition. The first is that of exact, stipulative definition with necessary

21 and sufficient conditions. A second is that of ostensive definition, by the use of examples to indicate those objects or aspects to which the term defined exclusively refers. A third is examination of usage, ‘the complex logical interconnections entailed by its use in different contexts.’ (Pring, 2000: 10) The fourth is, where ordinary usage leaves things open, to consider common features of different ways of understanding covered by the term in question. This is, broadly, the approach adopted in this thesis.

In defining abstract concepts, the parameters of meaning usually need to be left broad, and not too sharply delineated. To search for what such concepts really mean, in a Platonic sense, does not work. As Carr (1995: 85) suggests, in so inherently elusive an area, seeking ‘some precise definition of spiritual education… is an extremely unpromising strategy to adopt.’ There is no commonly agreed ground of experience or definition to which everyone concerned can appeal as a universally accepted arbiter. This is, in part, a difficulty inherent in language. Language is a tool for public discourse with words having broadly shared, but not fixed, meanings. Meaning depends on usage which constantly changes both between individuals and in different times, cultures and contexts. This implies, at least in theory, a continual re-negotiation of the meanings ascribed to words. Much of the time, language serves both speaker and listener ‘well enough’ as it rarely matters whether the understanding of speaker and listener is exactly the same. At times, the re- negotiation has to be explicit, most obviously when the stakes are highest as to exact meaning, and when it becomes clear that the nuance of meaning ascribed by speaker and listener is different. In using abstract terms, such nuance is often highly personal. I shall argue for the use of a range of different words and metaphors in searching for a deeper understanding of spiritual development.

Although ostensive definition offers more possibilities, and the use of examples is helpful, there is so little common ground about what is distinctive about ‘spiritual’ that this approach is also inadequate. Even Pring’s third approach, that of exploring usage, pre-supposes some logical

22 common ground, which, in such abstract and highly-contested areas, is not there. My approach is broadly that of searching for common features of different usage and ways of understanding.

However, two important elements need to be borne in mind. First is the point made at the start of this section that language both reflects and structures one’s understanding. Second, meaning is neither entirely conscious and intentional, nor only framed in language. Getting at how a teacher understands spiritual development entails both looking at what she does, as well as examining critically, and exploring the underlying metaphors of, what she says.

The more abstract an idea, the more we rely on metaphor. Metaphor relies on taking an element of description commonly used in one context and relating it to another, usually unfamiliar, context.

Repeated usage will reduce unfamiliarity such that the language may appear to cease being metaphorical. However, underlying metaphors remain and both reflect and structure our understanding, both consciously and otherwise, as Lakoff and Johnson (1981) suggest. A good example is the military language of the standards agenda, such as that of targets, strategies and even standards itself. In considering usage, one must look both at explicit, intended meaning and the underlying metaphors which may suggest residual meaning of which the speaker is barely, if at all, conscious. This is especially true of elusive and contested concepts like spirituality covering a range of loosely-connected ideas. Wittgenstein’s (1963) term ‘family resemblances’ highlights that, though we may see similarities in members of a family, describing such similarities in words often eludes us. While we may often ‘know’ (or rather be able to describe) what we mean by spirituality, we understand it primarily by reference to similarities and associations between specific examples. By constantly making explicit, and critiquing, the language and presuppositions used, one moves towards describing how the term can be used meaningfully without it becoming too vague to be useful.

23 Meaning is embodied in, and emerges, so to speak, from, usage. The difficulty with appealing to usage, uncritically, is that, if usage is entirely personal, such terms may become catch-all phrases with little meaning. Since language is not private, meaning must be open to description and challenge within a coherent structure of language and is to be judged by the level of coherence within a wider, public framework of interconnected meanings. Without this, what it means to call an experience, response or activity ‘spiritual’ would become simply a matter of personal choice.

In this thesis, I examine critically common features of various traditions and understandings of spirituality, and those of the teachers I visited. The implication of the discussion above for my empirical work was that what teachers said had often not to be taken at face-value, as words and concepts may often be used loosely or in ways that are confused or without an agreed meaning.

What they said would often reflect residual elements of historical usage, latent in examples and metaphors, which may reveal deep-seated beliefs or clash with their explicitly stated views. Since deep understanding is expressed more in practice than through language, the researcher needs both to take note of what is explicit, but be sceptical of taking this as truth, and to consider what is implicit in teachers’ practice which may coherently be related to spiritual development.

In this chapter, I explore common features of how the term ‘spiritual’ has been understood. One fruitful approach is to consider what nouns the adjective ‘spiritual’ can meaningfully be attached to. This could form a very long list, but I suggest the following key features:

 central and basic, rather than peripheral, as in ‘spiritual home’;

 timeless, rather than transient, as in ‘spiritual values’;

 of intrinsic, rather than material, value, as in ‘spiritual rewards’;

 of benefit to one’s soul, rather than one’s body, as in ‘spiritual exercises’; and

 intangible, rather than physical, as in ‘spiritual benefits’.

24 The first three of these seem relatively uncontroversial, the latter two less so. I return to the issue of the relationship of the spiritual and the material in 2.iii.

A less helpful approach is that of trying to fit each experience into a particular category; moral, religious, aesthetic, social, spiritual and so on. The problem is that these overlap, so that any experience may be in two, or more, categories at once. The spiritual domain is not entirely distinct, but overlaps with the religious, aesthetic and moral domains, with spiritual experience occurring often (and arguably always) within some other domain simultaneously. In 10.v, I examine how the various domains overlap, having highlighted distinctive aspects of spiritual experience in 10.iv.

Historically, spirituality is very closely linked with religion. I examine this relationship in 2.iv.

The two other domains most often associated with the spiritual are the aesthetic and the moral.

Two particular aspects of aesthetic experience are the relationship with nature and the role of creative activity, most obviously through poetry or music. Romantic poetry is, perhaps, the best- known example of the link between nature and spiritual experience. An example is how

Wordsworth (1966), in the Prelude, describes his response to the beauty of the Lakeland scenery.

His descriptions have a mystical quality describing experience directly and unmediated by the intellect. This would seem to be related to emotional response taking the individual ‘beyond’ mundane existence, and experiencing transcendence. The importance of emotion as a ‘route into’ spiritual experience is a theme common to many experiences described by Robinson (1977). This is, presumably, not to say that such experience automatically took Wordsworth into the spiritual domain, nor that there was no other way for him to experience such transcendence. Rather, particular contexts or experiences may encourage, or make more likely, certain types of response.

While poetry offers many examples, others could be cited from music, art, literature and elsewhere. While the aesthetic and spiritual domains have no necessary link, in that aesthetic

25 experience may not be spiritual, a link between the two domains may be seen as based on perspective beyond the self and everyday existence.

Moving to the moral domain, let us consider the question of whether a starving beggar should steal bread. Assuming the choice not to be simply based on biological impulse or habit, the choice will be a moral one. It is difficult to work out what might reasonably make this an experience within the spiritual domain as well, yet one feels that it may be such. This is not a question of emotional response, as in the example from aesthetic experience. Rather, it would seem to be the extent to which it may affect the beggar’s understanding of himself, and place within the wider world.

Such a discussion is very preliminary, but what appears to underlie both examples is a potential for transformation and change of perspective which enables the individual to be located, and integrated, into something larger than him or herself. Wright (2000) argues for spiritual development as helping children to recognise their own perspective and so to become open to the possibilities presented by other perspectives. This would seem a widely accepted aspect of good education, per se, rather than necessarily related to spiritual development. However, changed perspective becomes an increasingly important part of the understanding of spiritual experience I present. This is reflected in the religious and other traditions explored in the next two sections.

2.iii What are the common features of spirituality in religious and

other traditions?

In this section, I try, tentatively, to identify common features of spirituality, separate from doctrine, expressed in religious and other traditions, recognising that both within and between faith traditions there may be fiercely disputed differences. Any brief consideration of major religious traditions runs the risk of being simplistic. Wars have been fought, and many people killed,

26 because of how faith was expressed and practised. Few religious traditions either are, or have been, homogeneous in their view of spirituality.

In many religions, practical actions, beliefs and expectations are seen as so closely intertwined that they prescribe a way of life such that a differentiation between (credal) belief and spirituality makes little sense. Separating certain practices, such as diet, Quranic reading and prayer would be incomprehensible for many Muslims. Similar considerations would apply for Orthodox Jews, or many in Christian monastic communities. Practices, such as prayer or liturgy, embody a tradition of faith, such that engagement in them is an integral part of membership of that tradition. Some might call such practices spiritual, whereas others would not. This said, a distinction between spiritual experience and aspects of doctrine or belief has often been made. In most major religions, certain individuals or movements have stressed particular aspects of religious practice, at different times. Spiritual renewal has been prompted by one aspect being insufficiently emphasised.

Similarly, a perceived overemphasis on one type of practice may result in condemnation by the majority. This reflects a tension between those engaged in a personal search or journey and those, often the powerful within institutional structures, suspicious of individual, mystical experience undermining orthodoxy. Often, individual responses and an uneasy relationship with current orthodoxy and power have characterised religious traditions of spirituality.

Recognising that many would resist the splitting of spirituality from the more general practice of religion, common threads of spirituality may be traced. While the following list is not exhaustive, drawing on Christian, Jewish, Buddhist and Islamic traditions suggests the following features:

 a way of considering matters of ultimate, non-transient significance;

 an appeal to intense, personal experience rather than involvement with the collective,

especially in relation to worship;

27  the individual being in touch with the integrity of creation;

 the gaining, renewal or re-establishment, of the individual’s relationship with what is

transcendent, usually a transcendent being, often through regular disciplines;

 a reconnection with, and appeal to, older traditions whose importance is no longer fully

recognised by the mainstream, leading to an uneasy relationship with existing structures;

 the importance of emptying, kenosis within Christianity, or sunyata within Buddhism. For

example, Eckhart wrote, ‘God is not found in the soul by adding anything, but by a process of

subtraction.’ (cited in Fox 1991: 91);

 the experience of both ecstasy and extreme difficulty, without succumbing to ultimate despair;

 the regaining of perspective, often through withdrawal from the world for a time through

prayer and reflection, but very often as a preparation for re-engagement with it; and

 the promotion, or re-assertion, of values other than those of materialism.

The relationship of the spiritual and the material, referred to in 2.ii, is more ambivalent and less clear-cut. There is both a strong suspicion of the material world, and the body, or some of its impulses, and a recognition that spiritual experience is often approached by way of, and manifested through, the material world. For example water, light and the natural world are ‘routes into’ the spiritual domain, and statues, icons and holy books material symbols of spiritual significance. The body, and sexual impulses, is an arena of great ambivalence, with responses ranging from denial and mortification to those traditions within Judaism, Christianity and Islam which actively celebrate them, as discussed by Halstead (2001: 142). There is a tendency both to see specific artefacts or practices as embodiments of the spiritual and yet to think of ‘spiritual’ and

‘material’ as opposites. This is further exemplified in the strong association of spiritual experience with mysticism. Many of those most associated with spirituality within Christian traditions, such as Eckhart, Teresa of Avila or John of the Cross, are mystics, representing, to different degrees,

28 contemplation, surrender of the self and experience of God without the mediation of intellect. This is an especially strong theme within certain Christian traditions.

I turn briefly to features of spirituality outside religious traditions. What is somewhat dismissively termed as ‘new-age’ spirituality includes a wide range of activities and beliefs, drawn eclectically from differing sources, often other cultures and traditions, in particular many of the ideas and practices of Eastern, non monotheistic religions. There are resonances with the emphasis of the tradition of Celtic Christianity on communal ownership, care for the environment and the integrity of creation. Such traditions have a considerable appeal especially for young adults who find traditional religious practice and beliefs unattractive. This is usually individual in nature and appeal, even when shared collectively, and suspicious of creed and doctrine.

Common threads within these traditions of ‘non-religious’ spirituality are hard to detect, not least because there is little shared ground to determine whether a spiritual experience is authentic or otherwise. However, these include:

 emphasising personal experience and separating spirituality from doctrinal or credal

affiliation;

 reaching out for a holistic approach to self-awareness, often through new, or re-discovered,

approaches to physical and mental health;

 exploring the individual’s relationship with the cosmos, often through sensitivity for the

environment, communion with nature, or creative activity;

 searching for mystical, out-of body experience, usually based on a reduction of dominance of

the ego and of consciousness, sometimes achieved through a trance-like experience, even

induced by narcotics;

 showing a distrust of authority and power;

29  challenging the values of the dominant generation, and especially those of wealth and material

possession.

This highlights two important issues. The first is the emphasis on individual, internal experience, which I challenge in 2.vi. The second is that of the reduction of reliance on the ego and rational modes of thought, to which I return in 3.v. One underlying feature is that most traditions see spiritual experience as not trivial. It deals with what is significant and important, issues of purpose and identity about who we are, relative to something beyond ourselves, and the search for meaning, in making sense of what is often not fully understood. In Chapter 3, I discuss the importance of this aspect in young children’s spiritual development.

2.iv Is the spiritual meaningful only within faith traditions?

Historically, spirituality has been strongly associated with religious traditions. Most people re-act to the word ‘spiritual’ with reference to religion. In this section I address, and counter, Carr’s argument set out in three articles (1994, 1995, 1996) that, to be meaningful, spirituality requires involvement in a particular faith tradition. Carr (1996: 159) argues that ‘(relying on) ordinary usage will enshrine instabilities of sense that cannot simply be ‘tidied up…’ In his 1996 article, he considers three possible approaches to conceptualising spirituality. He dismisses the reductionist as merely a catchall which does not ‘refer to any particular category of human activity, experience or endeavour but to that which is inexplicable or mysterious about those modes of experience and endeavour which are otherwise unremarkable.’ (1996: 161) Carr’s second category is that of the psychological or process conception involving the development of affective attitudes or states or intellectual capacities or skills. The third position, his own, is that of a knowledge- or content- based approach. Lewis, in starting to envisage what ‘a spirituality for the whole child’ might entail, sees as complementary these three approaches, rightly arguing (2000: 266) that Carr ‘(sees) useful distinctions as being exclusive categories.’

30 The heart of Carr’s argument is that the link between spirituality and religion is so close that spirituality makes no sense without engagement in a religious tradition. He makes three key arguments. First, he argues (1996: 167) that in realms of human enquiry in which judgement is inseparable from value and evaluation ‘experience is not primarily, if at all, a matter of detached empirical observation but of practical engagement; (…) as Aristotle held with regard to the moral life, coming to appreciate the real value of courage or justice in human affairs, is only really possible from the inside, so to speak, rather than the outside of such virtues - precisely through the performance of courageous or just acts.’ He makes the analogy (1996: 175) with language that ‘we may reasonably suppose that the best way to learn a human language is to be initiated into some particular language (rather than no language at all).’ Carr’s second argument is summarised thus

(1996: 168) ‘however uncongenial it may be to contemporary intellectual fashions… effective initiation of young people into… moral, religious or spiritual enquiry… presupposes… substantial acquaintance with… specific traditions of reflection - rather than training in repertoires of abstractly-conceived critical or problem-solving skills.’ Thirdly, Carr conceives spiritual enquiry as largely a matter of ‘truth-seeking’, as opposed to moral enquiry which is ‘good-seeking’, exploring what he means in this context by truth. He writes, for example, (1996: 175) ‘the proper aim of a religious or spiritual education must… be that of facilitating a critical understanding of faith and other aspects of experience…’ He dismisses the notion that ‘awe and wonderment’ at the idea of infinity has anything to do with spirituality.

In critiquing Carr’s view, I draw, in part, on the responses of Mackenzie (1998) and Lewis (2000).

Mackenzie criticises Carr for narrowing his definition of a religious tradition by excluding a range of possible ‘candidates’ leaving little except a Western, Christian, and even, within that, sectarian view of what might constitute a religious tradition into whose spirituality young people could be initiated. In restricting himself to such traditions, Carr largely excludes a rich seam of spirituality, for example in Eastern religions.

31 In Lewis’ words (2000: 265), Carr ‘tends to the opinion that what can be called spiritual can be addressed in educational terms by coming to participate in existing traditions of spiritual enquiry, that is, existing religions, with a supplement of spiritual uplift provided by the arts.’ Carr’s argument that spiritual education can take place meaningfully only within a tradition of religious beliefs or practices is closely linked to his view of truth. He argues (1996: 173) that what makes truths distinctively spiritual ‘is their place within a particular perspective on spiritual life and their meaningful interconnectedness with other beliefs and practices of a recognisably spiritual substance.’ This is where I diverge from Carr most strongly, in relation to his view both of truth and of education. Carr recognises that there are different sorts of truth. For example, spiritual truth may be seen within certain traditions as embodied in an icon, or a statue, or music. Rather than being simply one way among many of expressing such a truth, the meaning of these depends on what they represent, a meaning built up over time within a tradition. Carr appears to argue that the creative, or appreciative, process in art, music or drama are concerned with ‘that sort of truth’, in a way that mathematics and physical science are not. If one is to argue that the arts enable a young person to encounter such truth directly, it is hard to see why literature, or biology, for example, should be excluded. Carr fails to make a coherent case to include the arts. If his appeal is, at root, to historical usage, aspects of other subject areas or domains of experience can surely also be included.

The truth that Carr presents spiritual education as encouraging young people to seek, set out in his

1994 article, relies heavily on an extrinsic standard from revelation. This would seem to exclude a view that religious truth may be expressed in different ways, where a proposition may be regarded by some people as true metaphorically or symbolically, by others as factually and historically true.

Mackenzie (1998: 411) highlights Carr’s over-emphasis on doctrine and belief, arguing that ‘a concentration on doctrine is not necessary for educational implementation. Much of what we teach in schools is outside the domain of truth and falsehood: catching a ball, using a keyboard. There

32 are truths about these activities, but our educational aim is not for children to learn those truths, but rather for them to engage in the activities.’

Carr’s view of education seems based largely on knowledge taught or acquired in subject areas relying largely on programmes and didactic approaches, related more to adolescents rather than young children. Although he affirms (1995: 94) that morality is learnt more discursively than by the didactic teaching of morality, his espousal of knowledge- or content-based conceptions gives insufficient recognition to the relational, often implicit, influences more familiar in primary schools. He is right to argue that ‘spiritual enquiry’ does not rely on specific skills, though these may, at some point, become useful - just as rules or doctrinal statements may be so in the moral and religious domains. Learning the techniques of spiritual enquiry may help us to talk about spirituality, even to engage in it ‘better’, but they are no more essential than an understanding of diet is necessary to successful nourishment.

The evidence of how young people, especially in adolescence, reject religious traditions yet continue to search for meaning in other ways, or fervently embrace traditions new to them, suggests that such a search is less about ‘specific skills’ than about fundamental human needs. The challenge for the teacher may be less that of content or skills than of process, to enable a type of experience which will occur anyway to some extent, but may be restrained or distorted. Spiritual experience is a type of experience, comparable to moral experience, occurring throughout education (and life) rather than only within a context of specific moral education. Almost all children are brought up within a family from a very early age to distinguish right and wrong. Such a micro-culture can reasonably be considered a moral tradition. The school environment can be seen as a tradition within which spiritual experience can be enabled and enhanced, just as children develop their capacity for moral judgement or action within a moral tradition. Whether or not one believes spiritual experience to be best approached within a faith tradition, Carr has not

33 demonstrated such a link with a religious tradition or a particular set of beliefs and practices as necessary. His position, given the social and cultural change described in 1.iv.1, fails to answer how all children’s spiritual development, or education, is to be addressed.

Carr’s emphasis on a knowledge- or content-based conception of spirituality presents a view of truth as received very different from that of Cupitt (1991) of meaning created through the construction of coherent personal narratives. Cupitt argues that all descriptions of reality are fictions, and that we are all, throughout life, constantly seeking to create new narratives which describe our lives more appropriately than those previously adopted. Cupitt argues that the great

‘meta-narratives’, such as religion, which give the answer(s) to fundamental questions, however attractive, no longer work for most people in a fragmented world. Narrative works at a much more intimate level. We learn through stories to tell our own stories. Stories are powerful tools for the exploration of values and the transcendence of immediate reality. In Kimes Myers’ words (1997:

18), ‘story connects us with that which lies beyond ourselves and this process makes us ask questions about the meanings of our lives.’ This approach underlies the understanding of spiritual experience presented in 10.iv.

Carr’s work is important in that it has influenced more practical guidance, especially books for teachers. I highlight the work of Wright (1998, 1999, 2000) and Smith (1999) as they both adopt aspects of Carr’s position, but extend and enrich it. Both were funded by (different) organisations concerned with spiritual development in the context of Christian education. Both write primarily for teachers of religious education, but explicitly state that the issue is one for all teachers.

However, both tend to emphasise the link between spiritual development and religion, even where the tenor of their arguments suggest otherwise. Neither concentrates specifically on a particular age-group nor seeks to produce guidance in the form of suggested activities.

34 Wright’s position is hard to summarise briefly, because his 1998 and 1999 position appears to shift in his latest work (2000). Overall, he seeks to counter what he sees as the relatively clear consensus emerging about spirituality, represented best by Hay and Nye (1998). Wright summarises this position thus, ‘children’s spirituality is rooted in a universal human awareness; that it is “really there” and not just a culturally constructed illusion’ (cited 2000: 41); and based on

‘“relational consciousness” understood as “an unusual level of consciousness or perceptiveness… expressed in a context of how the child related to things, other people, him/herself, and God.’”

(cited 2000: 42) Wright rejects this consensus saying that the idea of spirituality separate from religious belief is far from universally accepted, such that no-one before the Enlightenment would have contemplated it. He sees it as a residue from Romanticism, relying on turning inward and trusting one’s own ‘inner’ spiritual experience.

Hay and Nye’s (1998) argument that spiritual awareness is like a direct, unmediated sensory awareness is also opposed by Hull (1996), aligning himself with Bruner (1996) and Cupitt (1991).

They argue that experience, spiritual or otherwise, can take place only within culture, that there is no ‘raw, aboriginal reality’ prior to, and outside, culture. While I am closer to the latter view, the terms of the debate are unduly polarised. There are some basic human responses and functions, of a sensory nature, and at more fundamental levels of breathing and not breathing, brain function and otherwise, life and death. Bodily function may be, in some sense, prior to, and independent of culture, but our descriptions are culturally determined. This includes how we describe it to ourselves. Sensation may be direct, but as soon as one deals with emotion, let alone ascribing meaning to it, the description is dependent on culture. Spiritual experience is always mediated through, and even when solitary, occurs within, culture.

Wright dismisses the post-modern view which he characterises (simplistically) as asserting that there is no truth. He re-asserts the importance of universal truth and values as against an appeal to

35 personal choice, or the absence of commonly held values he associates with post-modernism, and, implicitly, the culture in which most young people grow up in western societies. He presents spirituality as relating to ultimate concern, value and truth, as expressed by a faith community, or, in the case of schools, the mission of the school as set out by the governors as representatives of local communities. This latter addition is of particular interest. In his earlier work, Wright leans heavily towards Carr’s position, but his 2000 position seems, in appealing to a core of values embodied in the school’s mission, to recognise a place for spiritual development outside religious traditions. A major strength of Wright’s work is his critique of the romantic notion of spiritual experience being interior and entirely personal and his emphasis on values, as the basis for a spiritual ‘tradition’ not necessarily religious in nature. His move, seemingly reluctant, from a philosophical position akin to Carr’s towards one based more on changing usage supports my appeal to this as a basis for description.

Smith (1999) wrote a booklet of only twenty-four pages, but it contains a concise, accessible view of the issues. He tends towards Carr’s position, using his analogy that we cannot learn language, but only a language, and the view that spirituality makes sense only within a religious, in his case

Christian, tradition. While his statement (1999: 23) that ‘Christian teachers are deeply concerned with spirituality and familiar with a spiritual tradition which is deeply intertwined with our culture’s history’ is true, it fails to address the needs of other teachers. However, Smith makes several valuable points. He makes the useful distinction between two main usages as:

 an essential aspect of being human; and

 as a term implying judgements of approval or disapproval; emphasising the importance (within this second usage) of beliefs and values. This implies, rightly, that the nature of spiritual experience relates to ends which may be strongly value-laden and fiercely debated. He writes (1999: 3), disapprovingly, that ‘a great deal of discussion of spiritual

36 development seems to inhabit a rosy world where everything is beautiful’, a point taken up in 3.vi.

In his more specific guidance for teachers, Smith argues that this approach does not imply a different content or curriculum, but approaching teaching in a different way. Learning occurs importantly though not exclusively as an interactive engagement with new and challenging experience. That spiritual experience is a process may seem obvious, though rarely made explicit, but emerging strongly in my empirical work.

2.v Is spirituality a term we can do without, or should simply

abandon?

In this section I counter four main arguments that the language of spirituality is so contested, meaningless or unhelpful that it should not be used, especially in relation to education.

The first argument sees sensory evidence as, in the end, the only evidence of which we can be certain. While such a view is largely discredited, it would dismiss the whole idea as either meaningless or descriptive only of illusion. A description of people based only on physical properties within a natural science paradigm may explain important aspects of behaviour and response, but only very partially fundamental aspects of personality and consciousness, such as emotion, language and relationship. Indeed, because what we are cannot simply be reduced to a collection of electrical or chemical responses, no amount of further research exploring these could offer adequate answers to such questions. Making sense of behaviour, especially in complex social situations, requires an interpretative approach, based on quite different appeals to authority. A consideration of human existence and understanding as no more than a collection of experimentally observable impulses and responses fails to grasp subtle areas such as attitude, values and beliefs.

37 A second argument is that of Blake (1996) and, in somewhat different terms, Conroy (1999).

Blake argues that the concept of spiritual education is flawed, writing (1996: 444) that ‘outside the most specific religious traditions and religious institutional contexts, spiritual education is almost a contradiction in terms.’ Blake is wary of the whole debate because it has been championed by the political right and is ill-conceived because it concentrates on transcendence rather than what is, for him, the defining feature of spirituality, ‘a heightened sense of contingency.’ He argues (1996:

455) that ‘the first response to our wretched times might much better be full employment, significant work and job security… The search for meaning is surely lost when one has to search constantly for survival.’ One important insight comes when Blake writes (1996: 448) ‘if spirituality amounts to anything at all, it surely has to do with the ultimates of birth and death and the most serious aspects of the life that fills the interval.’

Blake’s fundamental problem is not his view of spirituality, but his view of education. Given that he sees spirituality as implying a ‘radical openness’, he denies that institutionalised education can coherently sustain this, let alone teach it. Rightly, he is sceptical of ‘being taught about it’, and argues that spirituality is experiential, or it is nothing. He recognises the possibility of young people learning this radical openness, but not in a school context because ‘it puts in question precisely the kinds of assumption that have to be taken for granted … ’ (1996: 454) But he poses spiritual education as an alternative to the struggle for survival, rather than demanding both and steps back from describing coherently and radically what spirituality outside religious traditions might look like. Lewis (2000: 268) counters that even if spiritual education is ‘an essential adjunct of the traditions of the world religions’, (Blake, 1996: 444), ‘it does not follow that one cannot conceive of spiritual education outside of religious traditions.’ Lewis goes on to sketch out what spiritual education might look like, based on the work of cognitive psychologists such as

Donaldson, considered further in 3.v. Lewis highlights the dichotomy between Carr's

‘transcendence’ and Blake's ‘immanence’ as false. It is not a question of choosing between the

38 other worldly and the ordinariness of mundane existence. Lewis argues that a holistic view of spirituality allows us to embrace both aspects. ‘It is precisely in the interconnections that spiritual practice finds its purchase.’ (2000: 269)

Conroy (1999) suggests that, however useful the concept of spirituality may once have been, it is now a source of confusion. This is one option suggested, but not discussed at length, by Erricker

(1998b). Conroy accepts that one can describe it in different ways but that it is best to find a new name for this rather than dress up something new in old and worn-out terminology. He sees spirituality as so tied up with religious traditions and faith communities that it would be more intellectually honest, and probably wiser, to retain it only in its more traditional meaning within religious traditions. This argument is comparable to that of Thatcher (1991), discussed further in

2.vi. I have some sympathy, in principle, with Conroy’s view, but it has little practical appeal.

First, the meaning of words is rarely static. Both our understanding of many concepts, especially those expressing abstract ideas, does not remain constant over time and across, or even within, cultures. Second, one risks losing the insights of traditions of spirituality. Finally, abandoning the language of spirituality present in educational legislation may entertain philosophers of education.

But doing so is likely simply to result in further confusion for teachers. We must make the best possible sense of it.

The third argument is that of Lambourn (1996), who argues against a ‘spirituality of the gaps’

(1996: 155), suggesting that the term is used to ‘smuggle something in which perhaps should examined more explicitly.’ (1996: 157) In this thesis, I try to do so, identifying what is distinctive and not covered in other categories. Lambourn quotes (1996: 156), with approval, Sutherland’s wish to include spiritual development within ‘personal development in its fullest sense.’ However, in resorting to a wider generality, this approach confuses rather than clarifies and exchanges the puzzling for the anodyne. It merely re-affirms the obvious without giving any indication either of

39 what the teacher might wish to achieve, or of how to do so. The challenge is for more precision rather than adopting broader, vaguer categories.

The fourth argument runs along the lines that talking of spiritual experience for very young children makes little sense, because they are not mature enough to engage in it. This is rarely made explicit, because most considerations of spirituality do not consider young children. However, if young children do not operate in that domain, one would need to explain at what age, or stage, they start to do so. Making comparison with other domains, few would argue against the view that emotional response starts at, or probably before, birth. On the other hand, most would agree that one can discern either moral or religious response, in any recognisable sense, only after the child has become aware of the difference between the self and others. Answers to this question of when we might regard the child to be able to participate in the spiritual domain tell us much about how spirituality is being described. I shall argue that spiritual experience entails the search for meaning and integration, as essential, universal elements of the human condition, common to everyone, regardless of age, ability or background.

2.vi To what extent should spirituality be seen as primarily individual

and internal?

In this section I discuss to what extent spiritual experience is primarily about individual, internal experience, a tendency in several traditions discussed in 2.iii. Thatcher (1991) argues that spirituality is a vacuous concept when separated from its meaning within religion, citing a movement within R.E. towards an internal individualistic approach to spirituality. He argues against ‘the misidentification of spirituality with inwardness’ (1991: 23) as a ‘profound misunderstanding … of what religion is about’ (1991: 25) and that a view of ‘internal experience’ is of recent origin and philosophically unsustainable. He argues especially against a disembodied approach to religious education. I believe Thatcher’s overall view of spirituality to be far too

40 narrow and exclusive and that in equating spirituality with interiority he sets up, and then knocks down, a straw man. He would be right if this were what spirituality consists of, but it is not.

In 2.v, I highlighted Blake’s (1996) concern that a politically conservative agenda underlies the current emphasis on spirituality within education. However, Wright (2000), Hull (1996) and others reassert the long tradition of the spiritual as uncomfortable with, and for, those in power. Wright

(2000: especially 93-end) argues for spiritual education as critique. While suggesting (2000: 96) that ‘spiritual education ….must engage with concrete spiritual traditions rather than with an inclusive hybrid’, he attacks (2000: 105) the ‘commonly held romantic view that our ultimate values should be derived directly from the authority of our own inner experiences’ tracing this to the influence of Descartes. He cites (2000: 105) Wittgenstein’s view of language as rooted in public communal traditions, writing ‘when we speak about ourselves and about other people we do so not in isolation, but as part of a web of language that binds us together as relational people.’

Hull (1996: 41) urges ‘a hermeneutic of suspicion’ about internal spiritual experience separate from the values of one’s own culture, highlighting that the vagueness of how ‘spirituality’ is currently used obscures conflict about values and tends towards a potentially self-indulgent and uncritical reflection of individualistic values. Values are never simply individual, for they depend on our relationships and so are always located within a cultural setting. In Hull’s words (1998: 66),

‘spirituality exists not inside people, but between them.’ From a sociological perspective, Hull argues that it makes no sense to talk of spirituality, per se, but only the spirituality of a particular society. This challenges Carr’s (1995) view that spirituality deals with unchanging truths, virtues and values. Hull relates the dominant value of modern, Western society, based on money and consumption, to an individualistic, privatised - and consequently depoliticised - view of spirituality. Significance is denoted by what society values. Brands and external features become more important than intrinsic qualities. The consumer is tricked into colluding with a system of value which is inauthentic but socially dominant and into which the individual buys, both

41 psychologically and literally. Much as we may talk of people worshipping a pop star or a football team, a culture’s spirituality is evident in what it most values. Hull sees the role of education as enabling young people to be critical of inauthentic and transient values. Values authenticate, or otherwise, spiritual experience.

2.vii What key features of spiritual experience can be identified?

In this section, I draw out key features of spirituality from this chapter. In 3.vii, I synthesise these with aspects specifically related to young children to identify key questions to be addressed both in my empirical work and in the new understanding in 10.iv.

I have countered the arguments for an exclusive view of spiritual development as, de facto, excluding the majority of children outside faith traditions, for abandoning the term and for an understanding based solely on internal, individualistic experience. I have argued that a new understanding needs to be based on usage, critically evaluated, and coherently formulated. I have emphasised the importance of values and described spiritual experience as a process, and so dynamic. I now highlight two dangers. The first is to think of spiritual experience as primarily cerebral and rational. Many traditions stress that spiritual experience is not entirely open to rational understanding. The second is to reduce spiritual experience to its component parts, especially to particular experiences or techniques. This runs the risk of understanding spiritual experience as contained within a compartment of a person’s life, rather than affecting the whole person.

In 2.iv, I highlighted Smith’s distinction between the spiritual as an essential aspect of being human and as a term implying judgements of approval or disapproval. The usage discussed in 2.ii of such terms as ‘spiritual home’ highlights that one crucial feature of spiritual experience is how we relate to what is timeless, intangible and central. In 2.iii, I presented the spiritual domain as

42 about the search for meaning and significance within a wider perspective and cited, in 2.v, Blake’s emphasis on ‘the ultimates of birth and death and the most serious aspects of life.’ I shall develop the argument that spiritual experience is common to the human condition, about the ends and the purpose of our existence, about existential rather than transient issues. It is about who we are, where we fit in and why things happen as they do, all issues to do with identity and meaning, requiring an engagement with the mysterious, with the not-yet-known, and (at times) the not-to- be-known.

Such concerns are universal to the human condition. Religion seeks to address them but we do well to note Lewis’ (2000: 271) trenchant analogy, ‘religion …. bears the same relationship to the spiritual as the law does to justice, or a curriculum does to the broader concept of education.’

While a religious response has been, and remains, a very important part of many people’s response to such concerns, the link with a faith community and theistic belief is contingent rather than necessary. Whether spiritual experience depends on being part of a tradition of spirituality has run through the discussion, both in my critique of Carr’s position, and the discussion, in 2.vi, that spiritual experience is not simply inward or individual. Religious traditions may help to engage in such experience, but they are not necessary. I shall explore, following Wright’s lead, whether the school represents an inclusive, usually secular, tradition to help young children reflect on what it is to be human and the values which give meaning to our lives.

I shall argue that spiritual experience involves a perspective wider than the self and everyday concerns, as discussed in 2.ii, and an element of transcendence. While authentic spiritual experience leads the individual towards personal integration, this is not simply an individual endeavour as what binds our often-fragmented lives together are the web of relationships we make and the values that we espouse. So spiritual experience is rooted in relationship and connectedness. Such relationships are not only with other people, but with the wider environment,

43 in fitting into ‘the bigger picture’. In the next chapter, I consider young children more specifically and argue that personal identity and integration is central to spiritual experience.

3 Looking at young children’s spiritual development - the research background

3.i Young children and spiritual experience - where might one look?

In this chapter, I consider what issues previous research raises which may relate more specifically to young children’s spiritual development. I look beyond research referring directly to the

‘spiritual’ following Hull’s suggestion, highlighted in 2.i, that psychoanalysis and learning theory will prove fruitful areas. This is not to suggest that other disciplines can not enrich new understandings, but simply to take two elements especially important, and instructive, in how young children develop.

I describe, in 3.ii, general aspects of four- and five-year olds’ development and learning, before discussing, in 3.iii, the central issue of capacity, ability and development. I consider the research, in 3.iv, in the psychoanalytic tradition and, in 3.v, cognitive psychology and learning theory about young children. In 3.vi, I explore the research on young children’s moral, religious and explicitly spiritual development. In 3.vii, I identify key questions to be considered in my empirical work and, ultimately, in the new understanding in 10.iv.

3.ii General observations about four- and five-year- olds

To set the context, I offer a general overview of four- and five-year old children. Any such view must be tentative and read with caution, not least because even within the span of one year, there is likely to be a wide range of experience, maturation and ability between a child of just-four and one already five.

44 Young children are less independent than they may appear, with their relationship with trusted adults remaining very important. They tend to trust and show confidence in them in secure environments, and to be wary of, or ignore, those less familiar. Paradoxically, young children may appear to operate in a relatively self-contained world, but may often need adult care and support and attention straightaway. The level and nature of this need will depend on prior experience and relationships, both inside and outside the home. This, in turn, is likely to affect self-esteem and confidence and willingness to take risks and how the child settles to a new learning environment.

Play which may appear to be co-operative may be play alongside, rather than in co-operation with, others, yet children are easily influenced by other children especially in group situations.

Most four-and five- year olds are centred on their own immediate needs and emotions. Their emotional responses are often intense, so that many children find control of their behaviour difficult, though this is not always so. As a result, many of their activities tends to be unsustained over time, moving from one activity to another, though there are notable exceptions. Their social skills are such that they often find large-group activity difficult, especially for a sustained period of time. A calm group may rapidly descend into noise or disorder and, with skilful direction, just as rapidly back. This means that control, and means of control, is especially important for teachers especially with a large group. Children may, apparently impulsively, start and stop activities quite suddenly and rapidly lose interest in mid-conversation. However, this is a different and more immediate egocentricity than the insistent self-absorption of adolescence. Their view of right and wrong is usually very context-related, but the importance of fairness is intensely felt.

Young children tend to work in tactile and physical ways. As they explore the links between their internal worlds and experienced reality, they find their expectations constantly unfulfilled. The world is more fluid, less predictable than for older children. Learning occurs rapidly, but is related to specific contexts. Relatively few children of this age can imagine themselves in positions other

45 than their own except in simple ways. Most four- and five- year olds will have acquired a competence in language to enable communication with other people with some confidence, so that the child can describe, and to some extent reflect on, experience. Many are in the early stages of reading, rather fewer in writing, with almost no children able to write coherent sentences unaided.

They tend to lack the high-order skills of language which make generalisations and abstract thinking possible. Again, this is not entirely so.

All children are always at points of transition. However, this is especially important for four- and five- year olds. The most obvious transition is from the relatively small world of the family, with its limited range of close relationships, to the larger, often more impersonal worlds of playgroup, nursery and school. It is, inevitably, a time of uncertainty and of coming to terms with differing types of relationship, with a larger number of both adults and children. This brings new expectations, of behaviour, social interaction and learning style, among others. How the child responds to such new experiences will depend both on his or her attitudes, abilities, and prior experience and the nature of such transitions and how they are handled, including the classroom environment, the pedagogical approach and the teacher’s attitude.

3.iii Is it appropriate to think of young children developing

spiritually?

In this section, I start to consider the appropriateness of thinking of children developing spiritually, to which I return in 10.v. This debate continues to be dominated by Piaget’s (1955, 1960) thinking about young children’s personal and affective development. It is hard to exaggerate his influence in giving a structure and language to the idea of a gradual and active transformation from childhood to adulthood previously very imperfectly understood. His scope of enquiry was very wide, from mathematics, reasoning and causality to morality, spatial awareness and judgement. In every area he used a framework in which children passed through a succession of sequential

46 stages. Learning was, for Piaget, a hierarchy. This view was adopted by Goldman (1964, 1965) in relation to the development of religious thinking and Kohlberg (1987) to the capacity for moral choice. In 3.v, I briefly consider and critique their methodological and conceptual limitations to argue that affective learning is less incremental in nature and follows a less linear track. Such a theoretical construct is not so much wrong as incomplete, as Kimes Myers (1997: 4) suggests.

One central debate in young children’s education is, broadly, the extent to which the child is seen as empty, and so to be filled, or full of potential, and so to be nurtured. Modernism tends to the first and suggests, usually by omission, that young children’s access to spiritual experience is at best very limited in scope. This would be the case with a knowledge-based conception. A useful distinction, especially in relation to young children, is between capacity and ability. Capacities are inherent, though unformed, and they may develop, or otherwise, at different speeds. For example, almost all people have the capacity to run fast, or to speak Russian. However, whether we have the ability to run fast may rely on physical fitness, or age, or indeed temporary constraints. The ability to speak Russian depends on mental capacity to an extent, but more obviously on exposure to the language and good teaching. An ability depends on capacity, but can both be acquired and lost.

Many spiritual traditions treasure the simplicity of the child and regard reason and conscious effort as a barrier, rather than a pathway, to the spiritual domain. Adults may lose a capacity and, very often, an ability which young children have to engage in spiritual experience, while potentially able to regain aspects of what is lost. The mystic, Thomas Traherne, writes (1963: 110) ‘is it not strange, that an infant should be heir to the whole world and see those mysteries which the books of the learned never unfold?’ Yet implicit in much published work is a deficit view of young children’s spirituality.

47 I indicated, in 2.ii, that the metaphors adopted both reflect and form our understanding of ideas such as spirituality. Among the most common is that of development, present both in legislation and my research question. Arguably, all education is grounded in some notion of development, but with the term carrying different connotations. Priestley (2000, 2001) questions its appropriateness in this context, arguing that its use within economics and to some extent psychology with connotations of a gradient of improvement, value, and end-product, suggest an inappropriate

Piagetian view of sequential stages. He argues that ‘development’ has lost much of its original

(and, in this context, appropriate) meaning of natural unfolding or uncovering and suggests growth as a more appropriate metaphor. Even more confusing, as the empirical work demonstrates,

‘development’ is often used, in practice, very loosely both to refer to the uncovering of natural capacities and to the acquisition of specific skills and attitudes. Every metaphor adopted presupposes a certain understanding. An understanding of what constitutes young children’s spirituality depends critically on one’s beliefs about children’s capacity and ability for spiritual experience, and vice-versa. A view of the one depends to some extent one’s view of the other.

Both ‘spiritual’ and ‘development’ are, in different ways, problematical, and often used loosely in practice. I therefore beg the question of their appropriateness until 10.v, where I argue that while the presence in legislation and guidance and common usage of ‘spiritual development’ make it unrealistic not to adopt the term, it is important to be aware of its limitations. Meanwhile, I write primarily of spiritual experience, a more neutral term.

Both Priestley and Smith (1999) suggest the metaphor of growth as an alternative to development.

Smith (1999: 4) writes that ‘we should think instead in terms of creating spaces where spirituality is affirmed and spiritual growth can happen.’ This metaphor is valuable, especially in recognising inherent capacity and the aspect of natural progression, but tends to imply a linearity and lack the sense of fluctuating progress. I find the metaphor of a spiritual journey helpful, commonly used both in religious traditions and in literature. In the Four Quartets, Eliot (1968: 222) writes:

48 'We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And to know the place for the first time.’

This suggests that the purpose is embodied in the journey itself, rather than just the destination. A journey can be mapped only partially in advance with events or blockages possibly leading to re- orientation, re-routing, and diversion. The metaphor catches the sense of being constructed, in a way that growth does not. A further, attractive metaphor is Fisher’s (1998) notion of spiritual

‘health’, with the implication that it is a dynamic state with gradations of ‘good’ or ‘bad’ health between which we constantly move, and which are affected by interventions or experiences.

No one metaphor on its own seems adequate to describe spiritual experience. A richer understanding requires a range of metaphors. The discourse will be enriched if one can re-examine the language used and consciously switch metaphors, recognising the limitations if only one mode of description is adopted.

3.iv Insights from psychoanalytic traditions

In this section, I explore the psychoanalytic tradition, highlighting especially the importance of early and pre-conscious experience, of relationships and of meaning as actively created. One strength of this tradition is the observation of children’s behaviour and formulation of theory based on inductive efforts to make sense of what they say and do, rather than extrapolating from work with older children and adults.

Freud radically altered how the factors influencing personality development from early childhood were understood. His emphasis was largely on the treatment of pathological behaviour, but the framework he created to describe the influence of early experience on later, often unconscious,

49 actions led to a whole tradition of looking at infancy and early childhood. In re-affirming the place of the soul, Jung (1984) challenged Freud’s more mechanistic and individualistic view of behaviour and personality. In many ways, Jung remains the source of inspiration for understanding the spiritual domain from a psychoanalytic perspective, with his emphasis on archetypes and the collective unconscious in how individual characteristics emerge. His argument that emotional wholeness requires the individual to get in touch with symbolic meanings expressed in fantasy and that denial of these makes personal integration impossible places personal integration within a universal and, in some senses, inherited tradition. Earl (2001: 285) draws on Jung to describe the

‘shadow’ side of spirituality as ‘everything that the subject refuses to acknowledge about himself and (which) is always thrusting itself upon him directly or indirectly.’

In relation to very young children, two important figures are Bowlby and Winnicott. Bowlby

(1965) described the process of the child building a relationship with the prime-carer, almost invariably the mother, as attachment, establishing the link between mental well-being and the type of attachment formed. Secure attachment provides a good basis for personality development, and disorganised, anxious or avoidant attachment a more unstable one. While the pattern of attachment established in early infancy is not entirely unalterable later in life, it tends to persist. Several teachers in my empirical study emphasised how established attitudes and patterns of behaviour are when children start school.

Winnicott’s (1965, 1980) work builds significantly on this work in describing the conflicts of individuation and separation throughout early childhood, and beyond. The infant moves from a position of inability to distinguish between the self and others to a recognition that a world beyond exists, with which the emerging self can interact. Young (1994) draws on Winnicott in writing of

‘potential space’ as a (metaphorical) link between the internal world of the infant and external reality. This may be observed where an infant makes use of a ‘transitional object’, such as a small

50 rag, or a toy, to act as a symbol with which to overcome the pain of the separation of the external world from the self. He describes how a ‘holding’ environment offers the emotional security and provides boundaries within which the exploration necessary for new learning to occur. While psychoanalysts use the term ‘containment’ in different ways, the child’s anxiety must be contained, if it is not to inhibit maturation. While most obvious in infancy, we never entirely lose the need for what Kimes Myers (1997: 63), borrowing (from Nouwen), describes as ‘hospitable space’, ‘the space in which old and new experiences are accepted, dealt with and transcended.’

Winnicott follows this process from infancy into early childhood, placing great emphasis on the child making meaning through activity, and especially through play. He writes (1980: 63) ‘it is in playing and only in playing that the individual child or adult is able to be creative and to use the whole personality. It is only in being creative that the individual discovers the self.’ The learner needs to play, or at least to be playful, to try things out, to experience what the newly constructed reality looks and feels like from within, managing the risk without bearing the consequences. As

Loevinger (1987: 39) suggests, ‘experience is mastered by actively repeating what one has passively undergone.’ Making sense of experience requires the repeated re-visiting of difficult and disturbing experience, in safer, more contained situations. So the young child uses play to explore puzzling, unsettling and painful experience, without the danger of reliving the emotion. Relatively risk-free environments help the child, or adult, to explore the world beyond consciousness. The world of play provides an opportunity, comparable to ‘potential space’, for the worlds of illusion and reality, of consciousness and the extra-conscious to be safely explored.

Although Erikson (1963, 1968) tends to present the maturation process as one of distinct stages, his work, especially with Kimes Myers’ (1997) application of this to young children, links this with personal integration and identity. The psychoanalytic tradition has tended to emphasise maturation as an individual, internal process. However, Erikson (1968: 23): writes ‘we cannot

51 separate personal growth and communal change, nor can we separate … the identity crises in individual life and contemporary crises in historical development because the two help to define each other and are truly related to each other.’ Kimes Myers extends this, writing (1997: 17) that

‘identity has a location, the cultural context mediated by family, surrounding the child.’

Coles (1992), approaching young children’s spiritual development from a psychoanalytic and therapeutic perspective, used extended, often intimate conversations with children, mostly aged between seven- and ten- years old. Despite his somewhat unsystematic methodology and speculative results, his great strength is his ability to listen to how children describe their search for meaning. He recognises the importance of different cultural contexts and backgrounds, both in how children structure their own experience and what they regard as of ultimate significance. The most striking example is how his discussion with a young Hopi Indian girl brought home to him how she experienced and reacted to nature in a largely animistic way which she described only after a considerable period of confidence-building. The search for meaning and integration takes place within, and depends on, culture. The individual does not develop in a void, but in relationship to others.

Storr (1988: 35) writes: ‘any form of new organisation or integration within the mind has to be preceded by some degree of disorganization. No one can tell, until he has experienced it, whether or not this necessary disruption of former patterns will be succeeded by something better.’

Exploring questions and paradoxes arising from evidence and experience which conflict with existing understandings results in the formulation of new (but not final) resolutions. Patterns of understanding are re-shaped in the light of new experience which makes the previous pattern no longer adequate. This ties in closely with Feldman’s (1987) view of learning that pre-existing patterns of understanding remain dominant, unless and until new experience unsettles them enough to enable the learner to create a new pattern assimilating the whole range of evidence, old and new. Unless new experience is close enough to the learner’s current pattern of understanding

52 to be assimilated it cannot successfully be integrated. For young children, such shifts are more frequent than for adults because existing patterns are based on a narrower range of experience. In

3.v, I consider other patterns of learning, not mediated by consciousness. However, the constant re-creation of how we understand and describe reality leads Bruner (1996) to describe narrative as the medium for integrating individual learning into a wider system of thought and the individual into moral and thinking communities. Children are active participants in making meaning, agents in Bruner’s terms (1996: 92-7), not simply passive recipients. Lambourn highlights how identity is structured rather than given in writing (1996: 153) ‘I do not so much discover who I am, but rather choose who I am to be.’ Young children are not blank templates on which adult patterns are etched. We grow and find meaning in life, and security, by understanding and solving problems, rather than having solutions or explanations imposed on us by others.

Storr (1960) sees the integration of the personality as the end point of maturation and development. This is helpful as long as we recognise two important caveats. The first is to recognise that the risk of accepting, or even imposing, potentially damaging or incomplete models of integration. Integration is, by definition, a good thing. No-one could seriously regard disintegration, or fragmentation, as desirable. Yet, is someone who is content, but never speaks to other people, integrated? Is the sociable person who takes little account of the consequences of his actions, to be seen as integrated? More controversially, is integration into an abusive relationship, or destitution, integration at all? Integration necessarily relates to the values individually and collectively espoused. The second caveat is to recognise that the meaning of integration will, inevitably, vary between cultures. For example, since the Enlightenment, western societies have tended to see it in individual terms. Integration would previously in Western societies, and still in many Eastern cultures, be based on appropriate involvement in collective society. As Whitehead suggests (cited in Hay and Nye, 1998: 18), one misconception about our understanding of ourselves is the notion of independent existence. The feminist tradition challenges the widely held

53 view that independence and autonomy are necessarily desirable. Gilligan (1982) suggests that most women see interdependence as more important than independence. Slee offers some empirical basis for this. Describing her research into women’s descriptions of their own religious experience, she writes (2000: 8) ‘whilst some of the women did speak of mystical or numinous experience, for most, spirituality was rooted firmly in the everyday, mundane world of work, relationships, home life and contact with others.’ Integration may be seen as resulting in interdependence and good relationships rather independence and moral autonomy. In Fairbairn’s phrase, cited by Storr (1988: 150), the final stage of emotional development is ‘mature dependence’.

There is no single template of the integrated personality, only a constant movement towards, or away from, integration. There is no set end-point, applicable to all, or even to each individual.

Building on attachment, and requiring hospitable space and containment, the process of integration involves making sense of the relationship between the internal world of emotions and beliefs and the external world of confusing, only-partly-explicable, experience. Integration is not simply intra- personal, but involves fitting into social and cultural structures and environments.

3.v Insights from cognitive psychology

In this section, I draw particularly on the insights of cognitive psychologists, especially into how young children learn in the affective domain, emphasising the role of learning other than through language, and considering how the brain works.

Donaldson’s (1984, 1993) research modifies Piaget’s significantly. She suggests that even in intellectual development young children’s responses and development is heavily context-related.

A fortiori, affective development is even more complex and situational. Donaldson’s (especially in

1993) detailed description of various ‘modes’ as an alternative to the (serial) stages of Piaget and

54 his followers is relevant in this context. Rather than a child moving from one stage to the next and

(so to speak) discarding the previous approach, Donaldson sees new modes of understanding as an extension of repertoire rather than replacing the old. So we experience the world initially in ‘point- mode’, move within a few months to ‘line mode’, and then into ‘core-construct’ mode, but maturity implies an increasing range of modes being available. To some extent, one is then able to choose which mode to apply, though this process is only partly conscious and controlled, as intense anxiety or fear, for example, may restrict the range available.

Lewis writes (2000: 273), ‘much recent work in cognitive science, while not specifically about spirituality, is providing a sound basis for the type of spiritual education I am advocating.’ This starts, coherently and convincingly, to take up Hull’s challenge to understand spirituality from these perspectives. Lewis draws heavily on Donaldson in his attempt to describe a spirituality which takes account of cognitive psychology and neuroscience. He considers that certain techniques enable the adult to ‘get in touch’ with those earlier, more foundational, modes of perception, re-gaining point-mode. This helps to explain the traditions within spirituality which stress the importance of non-rational approaches and of becoming child-like. The next two paragraphs summarise and comment on further important themes in Lewis’ article.

Claxton (1997) distinguishes between what he calls ‘d-mode’ thinking, which is ‘conscious, deliberate, purposeful’, and the slow ways of knowing including the intelligent unconscious, including such qualities as insight, intuition and wisdom. He argues (cited in Lewis 2000: 274 with original emphasis) that ‘if we see d-mode as the only form of intelligence…the lesson we learn from…failures is that we must develop better models, collect more data, and ponder more carefully. We do not learn that we may have been thinking in the wrong way.’ Claxton’s appeal echoes Gardner’s (1993) positing of a range of intelligences, rather than reliance on those, such as

55 the linguistic and logical-mathematical, which tend to dominate our approach even where other intelligences may be more appropriate.

Research on the brain and the mind point to how early experience affects the working of the brain which is still remarkably plastic in infancy. Works such as Rose (1992), Pinker (1998) and

Greenfield (1997) summarise this complex area accessibly. Lewis (2000: 274/5) writes, (initially in his own words and then citing Bohm), ‘specifically, …thoughts and feelings have come to form a structure of neurophysiological reflexes. ‘Through repetition, emotional intensity and defensiveness, these reflexes have become “hard-wired” in consciousness, to such an extent that they respond independently of conscious choice.’’ The emphasis on early emotional experience as a factor in determining how the ‘hard-wiring’ of the brain occurs offers some clues, which further research should explore, as to how very early, but profound, patterns of response may be deeply ingrained without being inherent or transmitted genetically.

Such research reminds us that, while, as Vygotsky (1978) emphasises, language helps us, especially as adults, to structure reality and a superstructure of higher order thinking skills is accessible only through language, much of our learning precedes, or bypasses, language. Bruner’s

(1986) work suggests that, important though language is, there are prior, in many ways deeper, modes of learning. He delineates three modes, the enactive, the iconic and the symbolic (including language). Enactive learning, through, for instance, touch or mimicry, operates well before symbolic thinking appears. And iconic learning, through images, is again evident from very early childhood. Young children not only learn enactively and iconically, but they learn the earliest and profoundest lessons in these modes, especially in the affective domains. While the symbolic is in some senses the ‘highest’ of these, these are not Piagetian stages and adults continue to rely on all three modes of learning.

56 I have referred to the place of emotion and, in 3.ii, to the intensity of young children’s emotions.

Goleman (1996) argues for what he calls emotional intelligence (EI) as a counterbalance to the predominance of intellect. One consequence of a Piagetian view was a battery of tests providing measures of intelligence leading to a focus on a narrow range of abilities, especially the logical and the linguistic. However, (Goleman, 1996: 28), ‘intellect cannot work at its best without emotional intelligence.’ He invents the acronym, EQ, as an adaptation of IQ (intelligence quotient) in the domain of the emotions. From a psychological background, he discusses how conscious thought helps us control emotion but how intense emotion can override those responses adults come to regard to natural, especially those based on rational reasoning.

Early experience of how we respond to emotional stimuli influences how we do so throughout life.

Young children learn to process emotion in many ways but especially through feedback and habituation which, from a very early age, affects the ‘circuitry’ of the brain. However, Goleman suggests that adults can help children to process emotion, and that how we learn to do so is vital in becoming integrated. Rather than becoming ‘engulfed’ in, or ‘accepting’ of, dominance by emotion, we can process emotions using conscious techniques for soothing ourselves, controlling impulses, deferring gratification and acquiring resilience. Goleman (1996: 80-1) gives the example of four-year olds who learn to defer their immediate wish for a marshmallow in the promise of a second marshmallow if they wait, suggesting that such an ability brings a variety of benefits both at that age and later. While intense emotion may dominate how the brain works, at any age, this happens much more commonly for young children. Since young children’s emotions are less controlled by intellect and, arguably, more intense than those of adults, their learning to process the emotions is especially important.

Zohar and Marshall (2001) approach the subject from a perspective of physical science, including recent research on brain activity. They support the emerging consensus that specific aspects of

57 personality and behaviour depend on the relationship between different parts and functions of the brain. Though arguing against an atomistic, reductionist view of human personality, they somewhat desert this position by claiming that newly refined imaging methods reveal an area of the brain specifically related to spiritual activity and making meaning, the so-called ‘God-spot’.

They elaborate this by suggesting that certain levels of wave oscillation are associated with uniting and integrative experience and suggest lessons about the nature of spirituality from their knowledge of quantum physics.

Zohar and Marshall suggest, in addition to Freud’s primary (pre- and sub-conscious) and secondary (conscious) levels, a third level which unites and integrates the personality and suggest a third level of intelligence, beyond IQ and EQ, which they call S(for spiritual)Q, operating at the level of meaning and value. As well as highlighting aspects of scientific research, they provide simple and well-thought descriptions of the spiritual domain as dealing with a wider, more universal search for meaning and value. Unfortunately, the second part of the book attempts to describe personality types and paths and to suggest ways of raising one’s level of SQ, attempting to make links with a range of different spiritual, psychological and mythic traditions. The book’s publication and considerable popularity illustrates a growing interest among a wider public in the spiritual domain, re-inforcing my belief that, even if previously spirituality was the preserve of faith traditions, a groundswell of common usage sees this as far too limited, and limiting.

3.vi Insights from work on moral, religious and spiritual

development

In this section, I consider research more explicitly related to moral, religious and spiritual development. In 3.iii, I referred to Kohlberg’s work on moral development, and Goldman’s on religious development. Both were important influences, but have been in some measure superseded. I consider Kohlberg’s work both because of the close link between spiritual and moral

58 development and because his framework provides a template for a broadly Piagetian view in an affective domain. In critiquing this, I seek to avoid the adoption of such a framework in relation to spiritual development. Goldman’s work was related more to the explicitly spiritual, albeit an exclusive view.

Both rely on a body of empirical work, some with pre-adolescent children, but mostly with older children, especially boys. However, their fundamental assumptions are problematical. These are implicit in their methodology. Many of their conclusions are effectively pre-determined by this. At a simple level, setting up tests which search for stages of development is highly likely to produce results that reflect stages of development. More fundamentally, an assumption that there is only one end-point of maturity or integration, that of independent, separate, rational choice, excluding other possible paradigms of maturity or modes of response such as Gilligan’s (1982). She challenges the view implicit in most Western, male thought that the desired end point of development is (broadly) the same for everyone and that everyone proceeds through similar stages of moral development. She argues that morality may be seen quite differently according to gender.

So, for instance, girls may see relationship as more important than justice, interdependence more significant than individual rectitude and the examination of context as essential in understanding choice and dilemma. This is particularly pertinent in relation to Kohlberg’s view of moral development, for a critique of which I draw on the Errickers’ cogent analysis (2000: chapter 6, especially 114-5).

Kohlberg’s work concentrated on the development of the capacity - or what I would describe as the ability - for moral judgement. Implicit in that is a belief that capacity is not entirely inherent, but grows with experience and other factors. He conceives movement through a hierarchy of stages primarily through cognitive thought-processes, in which reflection on principles leads to more rational choice. The preceding sections suggest that children’s learning operates in more

59 complex ways. Working with scenarios that presented dilemmas, his empirical base was substantial, but the situations were artificial and the ideal response was assumed. In practice, ethical decisions are far more dependent on context, hoped-for outcome and the fear of detection than Kohlberg suggests. Capacity for moral decisions does not exist in a vacuum. The Errickers

(2000: 98-102) highlight Oakeshott’s distinction between the importance of moral education encouraging correct action both out of habit, and reflective application of moral criteria.

Kohlberg’s results retain considerable interest and some credence, although an individual’s actions may be very different in practice from what he or she intends in a hypothetical situation. While

Kohlberg presents a coherent, and in many ways, convincing structure, this is too neat, too ordered to provide a satisfactory description of the reality of moral and ethical choice.

I neither rehearse nor critique Goldman’s arguments in detail, given that others, such as Ashton

(1997), have done so and that Goldman concentrated on the development of religious ideas and beliefs. I consider them briefly and summarise the main areas in which Goldman’s framework is inadequate. Children’s command or otherwise of religious language largely determined what

Goldman believed to be appropriate for them at different ages. Goldman believed that religious language is, essentially, non-literal, that an ability to understand symbolic and non-literal language only develops during adolescence and that to introduce religious ideas to younger children risks confusion. He argued that the Bible, and other introductions to religious ideas or doctrine, should be used only sparingly with young children. The sentence in the Plowden report (HMSO, 1967:

207) that young children ‘should be taught to learn to know and love God and to practise the virtues in the school community appropriate to their age and environment’ reflects Goldman’s influence.

Goldman seriously underestimated pre-adolescent children’s ability to engage with religion. His emphasis on language and belief led him to confuse the level of achievement, as assessed by what

60 children said, with capacity for religious experience. He presents them as ‘limited adults’ rather than having a particular capacity for religious experience in their own right, and religious maturity as implying cerebral understanding within a fairly narrow framework of Christian belief.

Ironically, his beliefs about the inappropriateness of religious language for pre-adolescent children might have led him to take more seriously the extent to which children can experience the aspects of religion not dependent on language, possibly with particular intensity. Although Goldman postulated that creative activity could help children ‘fantasise their way into religion’ (1964: 233) this was taken little further.

Goldman promotes a romanticised view of children as innocents awaiting an emergence from primitivism through intermediate stages to the high ground of maturity and autonomy. He presupposed religious belief and affiliation as a desirable end, exploring neither the realms of spirituality outside the Christian tradition or nor children’s potential for distinctive access to spiritual experience. The decline of organised religion, and the ending of the consensus that the educator’s task is to introduce children to a faith community within the Christian tradition, leaves much of Goldman’s work dated because it does not reflect the reality of the modern classroom.

Hay and Nye (1998: 41) rightly highlight his failure to recognise that ‘spiritual awareness … might be a very ordinary aspect of young children’s everyday experience.’

An unusual work outside the main research traditions is that of Cavalletti (1992). She worked with very young children, albeit in a Sunday school rather than a school setting. Her central objective was to incorporate children into Catholic faith practice and tradition. Her work is not inclusive and she does not distinguish the religious from the spiritual. However, she offers powerful insights especially in relation to how children learn in the affective domain. Her method relies on children reflecting through and about activity. Of particular importance is her emphasis on the role of

61 stories and of an environment which recognises that children have access to, and distinctive abilities in, the spiritual domain.

Hardy’s (1966, 1979) work was seminal in developing new traditions of research into young children’s spirituality. As a scientist, he approached the subject from a perspective very different from those of religion and metaphysics, seeing the meaning-making process as part of the biological struggle for survival. He argued that spiritual development is integral to survival and to the human condition. It is a (relatively) small step from there to the recognition that it is much wider and more fundamental than practice within a faith tradition.

Robinson (1977) gathered a large number of descriptions of spiritual experiences from adults recalling childhood, and extrapolated back into early childhood. Apart from providing evidence that young child ‘have’ spiritual experiences, these testified, compellingly, both to their profound impact despite having taken place several decades previously and to how embarrassment, or fear, had meant that they had not been mentioned at all since. Among the difficulties with Robinson's work, stemming from the lack of a secure methodology, being drawn largely from middle-aged, middle-class English volunteers, are that he relied on self-reporting many years later, that only positive experiences were described, and that most were of an intense, even exotic, nature.

Two important projects in the last ten years have focused on younger children, albeit mainly with seven- to ten-year-olds, recognising the complexity and sophistication of their responses, given an appropriate context. The first is that of Hay and Nye (1998), who spent a great deal of time with individual children listening, and asking how they make meaning of their lives and describe intense experiences. They adopt the term ‘relational consciousness’, stressing the centrality of relationship in young children's spiritual development. They break this into four elements described as:

62  awareness of self;

 awareness of others;

 awareness of the environment; and

 (for some people) awareness of a Transcendent Other (a term designed to include God, but to

allow for other possible descriptions).

This provides a simple and valuable way of conceptualising the move from centredness on the self into the web of relationships. Maturity implies learning how to relate to oneself, other people, the world around and the world beyond. While what Hay and Nye mean by ‘the Transcendent Other’ is not entirely clear, any wording that seeks to include both theistic and other beliefs about transcendence is bound to be problematic. Although ‘relational consciousness’ has gained a wide credence and has many advantages, it has some problems. Not only is it somewhat cumbersome but more seriously it may suggest a somewhat limited view of spiritual experience. The metaphors around the word ‘consciousness’ suggest the primacy of conscious control, whereas much of spiritual experience occurs outside consciousness, and may require a suspension of conscious effort.

Hay and Nye argue that we can have direct access to spiritual experience untainted by culture or other people. They claim that each person then places a ‘personal signature’ on this raw,

‘aboriginal’ experience, that there is within each person an ability, or pre-disposition, to search for how we relate. This is comparable to Chomsky’s (1968) claim that the brain appears to contain, naturally, the structure of grammar, as an innate, inherent language acquisition device; which may develop in a variety of ways, or at different speeds, but which is in some sense a ‘gift’. Of course, each individual will always respond to, and influence, each situation, but our understanding of ourselves, and of experience itself, is so affected by frameworks of understanding, dependent on culture, that, as discussed in 2.vi, the argument for ‘raw’ spiritual experience is not sustainable.

63 The ‘personal signature’ argument risks conceptualising spiritual experience as entirely individualistic.

One considerable strength of Hay and Nye’s work is that they describe young children's spirituality and write about what can be done to encourage and enhance it. They outline in practical terms what teachers can do, without being prescriptive in content, recognising that how this will happen depends on age, context, and background. They encourage teachers, for instance, to:

 help children keep an open mind;

 enable children to explore different ways of seeing;

 encourage children’s personal awareness; and

 nurture children’s awareness of the social and political dimensions of spirituality.

The second major project is the Children and Worldviews Project described, and drawn from, by

Erricker and various associates (1997a, 1997b, 1998a, 1998b). They emphasise that the subject’s viewpoint is critical in determining the meaning ascribed to any experience and present personal narrative as crucial to young children’s search for personal identity and understanding of themselves in the tradition of Bruner (1996) and Cupitt (1991). If meta-narratives do not provide an adequate framework of self-understanding, personal narratives - inevitably fluid - become more important. This risks the same individualised view criticised above in relation to personal signatures. Erricker et al (1997b: 56-7)’s idea of different genres of narrative, appropriate to different types of experience, comparable to the genre of a book or film, has resonances with

Donaldson’s modes of learning described in 3.v. Obviously, young children lack the ability to stay within a genre to explore it in depth and over time as adults learn to. However, they switch easily, indeed more so than adults, between genres. Young children’s inability to think abstractly

64 or rationally may affect adversely their ability in many domains of learning, but may make them especially open to spiritual experience, where such an approach may be a hindrance.

A major contribution of the Children and World Views Project has been to highlight, and address, issues of pain, loss and conflict in children's experience. In 2.iv, I highlighted Smith’s emphasis on spiritual experience not always being pleasant. It has been customary to protect young children from such potentially painful matters. Yet, the Children and World Views Project has shown that the children are both capable and keen to explore them. Erricker (1998a) is critical of the adult response of not addressing these issues with children as sentimentalism and self-protection and urges a move away from a sentimental view of spirituality as always dealing with pleasurable experiences. This accords well with the view of several respondents in my M.Sc. research that experience of a child’s severe illness or death had, if well-handled, led to the spiritual growth of the school community. Apart from the potential for such growth, the psychoanalytic tradition’s emphasis on the ‘shadow’ side, referred to in 3.iv, highlights that difficult issues keep returning unless they are addressed. If spiritual experience is concerned with the search for meaning and identity, it cannot be confined to the sort of positive experiences described by Robinson (1977).

One important implication in my empirical work is that the child’s search for integration may set off all sorts of echoes and resonances, often painful, in the adult. Erikson emphasises that the adult-child relationship is not a one-way process, describing it as ‘cogwheeling’ or a developmental dialogue. ‘When we engage in relationships with young children… the child within us also has a developing edge’ (cited in Kimes Myers, 1997: 8). The importance of this will become evident in considering the difficulties that some teachers expressed.

In this section, the argument against seeing young children’s spiritual development as simply that of adults, writ small, has been re-inforced. I have drawn on the tradition of Hardy that spiritual

65 experience is fundamental to a need for survival and on that of Hay and Nye presenting relationships as central to spiritual experience. I have suggested the idea of personal narrative and genre as a way of conceptualising how individuals make meaning from experience without this becoming an entirely individual endeavour. Finally, I have argued that young children can, in the right context, engage in what I am describing as spiritual experience, including what is painful and disturbing.

3.vii Formulating the key questions to be considered

I wished both to identify the key questions from the discussion in the last two chapters and to be able to approach these with the teachers without bringing pre-conceptions that were too rigid or constraining, the dilemma highlighted in 1.i. In this section, I highlight key questions about young children’s spiritual development in the light of the research discussed in this, and the previous, chapter drawing on the more general discussion summarised in 2.vii.

These questions provide the basis of:

 my empirical work with teachers, though many had to be explored subtly and obliquely;

 the thematic framework which I adopt in interpreting the teachers’ understanding; and

 the new understanding outlined in 10.iv.

One group of questions concerns the relationship between spiritual development and religious, moral, emotional and aesthetic development. In particular, I wanted to explore how much the teachers linked spiritual development and involvement with, or preparation for an involvement in, a faith tradition, as raised in 2.iv. These questions could offer insights as to what, if anything, the teachers saw as distinctive about spirituality, or whether they used the term as a ‘catch-all’, and whether such young children have spiritual experience. These questions, therefore, would illuminate what the term means for the teachers and whether it should be abandoned, as raised in

66 2.v. Assuming that they did believe that the term makes sense, in relation to young children, I wanted to consider how they understood it, especially whether as primarily internal, or related to an awareness of other people, and the wider environment and to values, as discussed in 2.vi. I wanted to explore whether the teachers thought of spirituality (or spiritual experience) as primarily to do with extra-ordinary experiences and as only about pleasant experiences, also as raised in

A second type of question related more to the teachers’ view of the child, especially the extent to which they believed that young children have the capacity, and ability, for spiritual experience, as discussed in 3.iii. This was both to probe whether children do develop spiritually and what teachers mean by this and the issue of inherent qualities as opposed to learnt techniques.

A third type of question related to the teaching environment and, in particular, where teachers locate spiritual development in the curriculum, to see, for instance whether they linked it with creativity or particular pedagogical approaches. I wanted, for instance, to see how teachers thought that they influenced children’s attitudes, values and beliefs. In exploring whether, and how, teachers can enable, or enhance, these, I hoped to gain insight both into the teachers’ understanding of what spirituality is and their own role. Although I formulated this question only once the empirical work was underway, I wanted to explore both the means adopted to enhance spiritual development and the ultimate ends they were trying to achieve. I return to the complexity, and suitability, of such a question in 7.i.

I wanted, especially in my observations, to consider whether the teachers explicitly set up and used specific activities and experiences, such as reflection and circle times, and related them (or otherwise) to spiritual development. However, I decided also to consider those elements of the teachers’ practice, and the classroom environment, not explicitly related to spiritual development

67 by the teacher but which might contribute to spiritual development. This was likely to prove an especially important part of a new, inclusive understanding of spiritual development which did not focus only on those areas most immediately associated in teachers’ minds with it.

Having identified these key questions, I wanted to keep open the scope of my enquiry to leave space for other questions and insights to emerge during the visits. For instance, I wanted to explore what influences and factors the teachers thought might affect children’s spiritual development, as potentially a good route into their understanding of what it entails. More generally, I wanted to explore how teachers talked about spiritual development, given my argument, in 3.iii, that the language and metaphors used reflect and structure one’s view of spirituality. How well teachers could articulate their understanding would offer clues both to the limitations of the existing language and to what a new understanding should be like.

This section has presented the process as tidier than it was. However, I had established certain specific questions to explore while remaining open to issues raised which did not emerge from the academic discourse. In the next three chapters, I describe how I approached the empirical work to draw on the teachers’ understanding in feeling towards answers to these questions.

68 4 Exploring teachers’ understanding - philosophical and practical considerations

4.i Introducing the rationale for the empirical work

I describe in the next three chapters the empirical study I conducted with a group of fourteen teachers to address the first part of the research question. After completing the empirical study, I changed the original wording of this question. The final wording is set out at the start of 1.i., while the original wording appears in Appendix 1. While the change is significant in academic terms, I do not believe it to be so in relation to the empirical work.

In this chapter, I describe the considerations in selecting my sample, before outlining my research method in Chapter 5 and explaining in Chapter 6 how this worked in practice. In 4.ii, I consider the philosophical issues involved in trying to understand another person’s understanding and, in

4.iii, what I mean by the terms coherence and consistency and the relationship between them. In

4.iv, I provide a brief overview of the overall issues before discussing in the rest of the chapter the selection of schools and teachers and describing how I chose the best available sample.

The interviews in my M.Sc. study suggested that, although many teachers lacked confidence or precision, or both, in how they articulated their view of spiritual development, they had passionate, and often insightful, views. I wanted to explore, in more detail, over time, the coherence of what teachers understand by spiritual development within what they say and between what they say and how they teach. I wanted to consider implicit aspects of their practice especially. I examine my use of the term ‘coherence’ in 4.iii. In brief, it applies to how different aspects of an individual's understanding hold together.

69 More significantly, I wanted to explore consistency, the extent of the commonality of understanding between teachers. My hypothesis was that most teachers’ understanding, when examined in depth, would tend towards being inclusive. Such an understanding can accommodate those who understand spiritual development as predominantly related to religious development as long as they do not see it as exclusively so, as well as those who associate it little, or not all, with religious development. If this part of my hypothesis were confirmed, the consideration of the second part of the research question would examine whether such a position, and a new understanding emanating from it, makes sense, philosophically, and its practical applicability. This is considered in Chapters 9 and 10.

4.ii What does it mean to explore a person’s understanding?

Common sense would suggest that to understand someone else’s beliefs you simply ask him or her a series of questions and listen to the answers. We do this much of the time. Language is the main way in which we communicate with each other. While the words teachers, or other groups, use to describe spiritual development may be imprecise and far from static in their meaning, language remains one major, and direct, route into their understanding. But to rely on language is fraught with several hazards. Some are very obvious, such as an active wish to deceive, a lack of interest, or confusion or carelessness. The speaker may deliberately present their views in a particular light; either for personal reasons such as prestige or the fear of being thought foolish, or institutional ones, such as following or undermining the policy of the school or the government.

Other difficulties with relying on the subject’s own words are more subtle. Too great a reliance on language suggests both that understanding operates only through consciousness, and that the speaker can articulate her or his own understanding. From such signs as body language, or eye contact, the tone in which ideas are expressed or the length of silences, the listener/enquirer may detect unconscious attributes such as anxiety, suppressed hostility or uncertainty suggesting that

70 the apparent meaning should not be taken at face value. The speaker may show verbal confusion or uncertainty, even where observation suggests a clear practical understanding. A slick presentation may persuade the listener/enquirer of a speaker's competence and understanding unless responses are assessed under pressure or in different contexts. To add a further layer of complexity, how words, especially those describing abstract and contested concepts, are used will vary slightly from person to person. This may not matter if both parties recognise when this is so, but there may be an incorrect assumption of shared meanings. Since meaning relies so heavily on context and metaphor, the speaker and the listener may ascribe quite different connotations to words.

It is tempting to assume a mantle of supposed objectivity as a researcher, and regard objective procedures as leading to ‘right’ answers. But any methodology and interpretation depends on cultural presuppositions and our understanding of other people is at best only partial. One’s truth claims must be tentative. As Geertz (1993: 5) suggests, ‘believing … that man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun, I take culture to be those webs and the analysis of it to be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretive one in search of meaning.’ The prime concern of a study like this is meaning as significance rather than intention. The researcher is not looking only for what is intended, whether consciously or not, so much as its effects. I draw on Gadamer’s work, as discussed by Fay (1996: 141-7), in not seeing meaning embedded within an act or event, but created in the interaction between what is observed and the person interpreting that act or event, and so based in a particular social and cultural context. The implication is that the significance of the same act or event may change between different interpreters, or for the same interpreter considering the same act or event from a different perspective. Since the role of the researcher is so crucial, it is important that presuppositions are exposed and that what is seen and heard is subjected to different layers and types of interpretation.

As my research progressed, I became ever more conscious of my pre-conceptions, recognising that

71 I could not shed these. My hope was to make them explicit, as far as possible, and to find ways of challenging them and making new, more authoritative, re-interpretations.

Understanding complex, interactive social situations requires a range of strategies so that the researcher constantly re-interprets, from a variety of perspectives, a great deal of confusing and, at times, conflicting data. The more complex and personal the issues, the greater the likelihood that words will prove inadequate, whether by design or omission, and the wider the range of research strategies required. Understanding other people’s deeper beliefs must involve the observation and interpretation of actions and words and judgement about the relative weight to give to different, possibly disparate, elements. Observation and interpretation of what teachers do is likely to provide more clues to their deeper understanding than what they say. However, what people say tends to make more impact than what they do, especially for the researcher returning to tape- recorded interviews and written notes several months afterwards.

I wanted to work with teachers not only as objects of study but as subjects in articulating their understanding. The search for meaning consists of constantly creating new narratives and frameworks to replace ones which no longer fit. Interpretation of someone’s understanding can be done alone, by the teacher (in this case) or by the researcher. The researcher who seeks to articulate someone else’s understanding or beliefs can help to make explicit, or to clarify, what is otherwise left implicit, or half-formed, and place it within a wider and more generalisable tradition. However, shared meaning and clarity is more likely to emerge if this becomes a two-way process where the researcher both makes judgements and checks these with the teacher. A clearer understanding - ideally clearer to both teacher and researcher - emerges if the relationship enables a probing beneath the surface, especially when teachers lead busy and highly practical lives. Both speaker and listener have crucial roles in creating meaning. Both actor and observer can help to establish what is significant, if the relationship between the two is right.

72 Four important factors help the researcher create this sort of relationship. The first is to observe the individual over time, in a variety of settings to hypothesise, explore, gather evidence and consider dissonances between theory and practice. The second is to recognise how the specific may illustrate, and provide a route into, the general, especially in those areas where the speaker finds it difficult or impossible to articulate their understanding in words. The third is for both teacher and researcher to realise that the issue is one of interpretation, and of differing emphases, rather than right and wrong answers. The fourth is to try to create common understandings, by interpretation, feedback, crosschecking and re-interpretation, which relies on the teacher’s co-operation. As this is unlikely to be forthcoming if the potential consequence of openness and honesty is detrimental, confidentiality and trust become especially important.

There is a further layer of complexity, that understanding the meaning of words or actions depends heavily on what aspects are being interpreted. These may, loosely, be categorised as factual, practical and abstract. Let me illustrate these with three examples. If someone is trying to understand whether I know about differential calculus, my paucity of knowledge will soon be detected by a few simple questions. If not, some practical tasks will soon establish this. I have neither the language nor the underlying concepts to make any sense of the task. If, however, the issue is whether I can look after South American insects, some quick study may suggest that my understanding is secure. I may even acquire enough book-knowledge to look after the insects for a short while successfully. But a longer period of probation - and the consequent death of several specimens - may be necessary to discover how superficial my knowledge is. While I may have the language, I lack a deeper understanding of the practical implications.

If, on the other hand, the enquiry is into what I understand by the term ‘God’, different rules apply.

This is not simply because of my mathematical or biological incompetence, but because there is no satisfactory test of whether I am right or wrong, competent or incompetent and we cannot assume

73 a shared language of common concepts or metaphors underlying them. The task is not to articulate the essence of what God is, as with the calculus, nor even to judge how my understanding affects my actions, as with the insects. It is rather to re-describe my understanding in terms coherent with other aspects of my speech and actions, and to express my view in language more concisely, more elegantly, or more clearly.

No researcher can ever fully either comprehend, or articulate, completely someone else's understanding. But it is possible to illuminate what the teacher means by the language and actions they adopt, to create new narratives to make sense of experience, to provide a new understanding so that comparison over time and distance can be more usefully made. While empirical observation helps this, there is no paradigm of ‘objectivity’, to which the researcher can appeal on the basis of observation. Rather, the task is one of description and of interpretation. In Fay’s

(1996: 21) words, ‘(great social science) … takes intensely inchoate experiences or relations and renders them clear by giving them a lucid form.’

4.iii Considering coherence and consistency

In this section, I discuss the nature and desirability of coherence and consistency. A dictionary definition (OED, 1993) of coherence highlights three aspects relevant to common usage. The emphasis of the first is ‘logically related to, accordant to’. The second distinguishes between an argument, discourse, reasoning etc. and a person. For the former, it emphasises ‘consistent, non- contradictory, logical, in relation to its parts; easily followed, complete and intelligible’, for the latter ‘logical or clear in argument or expression, intelligible’. The third, more general usage is defined as ‘sticking together, united’. From this definition the following emerge as features of coherence:

 the clarity and intelligibility of presentation;

 the logical relationship between different aspects; and

74  the overall unity and lack of contradiction between different aspects.

In relation to consistency, the dictionary highlights ‘agreeing in substance, or form; congruous, compatible, not contradictory, marked by uniformity or regularity’. The features of consistency between differing views involving:

 the extent of similarity, uniformity and common features; and

 the pattern of, and fit between, disparate views within a shared conceptual framework.

It is important to know how I use the terms ‘coherence’ and ‘consistency’ given that internal consistency might otherwise be used interchangeably with coherence. I use the term consistency to refer to the patterns of meaning and usage between individuals and coherence to refer to those within a particular individual’s understanding. Put simply, coherence relates both to the consonance between what each teacher said at different times, and between what she said and what she did. In looking at consistency, I compare different individuals’ understanding.

Implicit in common usage is a sense that coherence is good and incoherence bad. Apart from those relatively few individuals who, whether through organic or psychological factors such as disease or trauma, are unable to make appropriate connections, most people construct arguments with a degree of coherence. We would regard as unreliable, or worse, a teacher who constantly contradicted herself in what she said without explanation or recognition of complexity, or who acted totally differently from the way in which she described her intentions or actions. At some point, one would need to be sceptical on the grounds that the teacher was deluding herself, attempting to delude the researcher or simply confused.

However, coherence is always incomplete except at the trivial level, for instance that ‘four-legged tables have four legs’. Such statements gain coherence essentially by tautology and by setting a

75 narrow boundary to what is discussed. Statements with meaning beyond the trivial become less coherent the further one moves away from more common, and commonly-understood, usages and the more complexity is added. It is easy to be, or rather to appear, coherent if one does not take risks or explore difficult areas. Coherence is intimately linked to complexity and risk and is always contingent on the boundary of what is being described. The more complex an area, the greater the likelihood of incoherence. Those who take fewest risks in their exploration of contested areas may appear the most coherent, but be the least perceptive. Those who avoid complexity may mask the incoherence which may appear on probing below the surface.

While a certain level of coherence is necessary for an individual to make sense, too great an apparent coherence may, at worst, be symptomatic of the fraud, or, more realistically in this context, a lack of candour or an excess of caution. As Geertz (1993: 18) writes ‘there is nothing so coherent as a paranoid’s delusion or a swindler’s story.’ Signs of incoherence may indicate that the patina of standardised answers has been broached. The exploration of complexity is always likely to lead to the loss of (at least the appearance of) a level of coherence, especially within the messy immediacy of teaching or in discussion and conversation with unprepared answers. We should therefore be suspicious of too great a coherence. Coherence, as such, is not an unqualified good.

The wider and more complex the subject, the greater the difficulty in maintaining coherence. The more time a subject spends explaining, the more incoherence s/he is likely to reveal; and the more time the researcher spends exploring, the more incoherence is likely to be uncovered. The more data one gathers, the greater the likelihood that incoherence will become evident. For example, I was frustrated at the time by one teacher’s (Helen’s) uncertainty about what spirituality is and thought of it as incoherent. On reflection, her approach could be interpreted as an unwillingness to settle for trite answers in the face of complexity. It was important to spend a long time with each teacher to probe beneath the surface of what she said. I wanted especially to consider the

76 underlying metaphors, for instance in the language used and the examples given, to see whether they suggested, as I suspected, an understanding at odds with the more prepared view expressed in spoken answers. As Lakoff and Johnson (1981) suggest, the metaphors we adopt determine, and are determined by, how we describe any situation.

Geertz (1993: 17/18) writes ‘cultural systems must have a minimal degree of coherence, else we would not call them systems; and by observation, they normally have a great deal more.’ This is as true of the system built up by a teacher in creating a teaching environment as it is of the larger cultural traditions to which Geertz referred. By spending so long talking with, and observing, teachers at work, I expected that tensions and lines of stress between different part of the teacher’s understanding would emerge. Such tensions may be obvious, for example where somebody says contradictory things at different times, or where an action is in conflict with expressed beliefs in relation to such action. However, they may be much harder to discern, as when two views which are apparently coherent when viewed separately do not fit together without contradiction.

The researcher’s perspective inevitably influences the interpretation of someone’s coherence, and where there are such tensions. Establishing the level of coherence in another person’s beliefs implies a level of personal judgement either in terms of approval or otherwise or that certain parts of their understanding do not fit together logically. My approach was to try and avoid, at least during my visit, judging incoherence as undesirable or bad. In fact, my discussions are littered with comments encouraging teachers not to apologise for a lack of coherent analytical thinking.

Coherence is harder to judge than consistency, because it involves a complex range of different beliefs, is always a matter of degree and involves a considerable level of interpretation on the researcher’s part. Judgements about coherence need to precede those about consistency. For a group to be consistent does not imply that it is right. Consistency based on error is more dangerous

77 than inconsistency. Majority views do not determine truth. So, consistency among the members of any group is not a worthwhile end in itself. Consistency can too easily stem from a move towards lowest common denominator thinking or uniformity with the loss of creativity or imagination.

Inconsistency may follow from some people not having given enough thought to an issue, or being confused, or, more interestingly, fundamentally different conceptions of education. This is not to say that consistency is unimportant. To generalise needs, whether for curriculum development, training, resource allocation or any strategic intervention, it is important to know in which areas there are consistencies and inconsistencies, of view, experience and practice, so that change can be planned on the basis of pre-existing beliefs and understandings.

4.iv A brief overview of the task

Given the purpose of the empirical work, and the considerations set out in the last three sections, I wanted to examine in depth the understanding of a group of teachers likely to have a wide range of background and approach. Any researcher compromises between depth and breadth, usually constrained by resources and by time. Put simply, my choice was between more teachers superficially or fewer teachers in detail. In view of the limitations of my M. Sc. study and of surveys, outlined in 1.iii, I was interested in probing, and interpreting, the deeper, considered understanding of a few teachers at length through in-depth interviews, observation and discussion over time. I wished to gather data from a diverse range of school settings within a clearly defined group and, within that, from teachers representing a broad spectrum of background, interest and experience. While there may be no way to ensure that the schools, or teachers, chosen are typical, I was keen to ensure that the sample was not obviously atypical of different sorts of teacher of children in this age group. No small group of teachers can ever be said to be typical of teachers as a whole. Since one can never be sure that any sample is typical of the larger population, a larger sample only increases the degree of statistical confidence. More significantly, such research within the interpretative tradition is only at the most basic level open to statistical analysis. Even allowing

78 for this, how the sample is chosen affects and, to some degree, skews the sample. Certainly, it is bound to reflect the researcher’s assumptions, both implicit and explicit. This chapter explores some of my assumptions, those explicit at the outset and those emerging during the study. More of my implicit assumptions became evident in the later phases. Others, necessarily, remain implicit.

I hoped to explore the teachers’ understanding by considering their words, their actions and their expectations. Going ‘deeper’ into what they understand by spiritual development and how this influences, and is influenced by, their practice requires spending time not only listening to the teacher but seeing how practice accords with the understanding articulated in discussion. I hoped to spend long enough with each teacher to ensure that I would see the class operating ‘normally’ as far as possible, without the teacher feeling too constrained by the presence of an outsider. I hoped to observe what happened, and the teacher’s response, so that I could check this against understanding expressed in other ways. I wanted both to revisit issues on separate occasions and see how what each teacher said they believed appeared to be reflected in how they taught, spending enough time with each teacher to feel that my interpretation was as secure, or valid, as possible. I judged that to do this in enough detail would require a minimum of two discussions - and preferably three - with observation of preferably between twenty and thirty hours. I wanted to make all the visits within one year, if possible, to minimise the effect of any new external initiatives. I anticipated that, for each teacher, this would require a visit spanning a period of around three weeks. I believed that I would be able to visit ten schools. How this pattern of visits to ten schools/units incorporated fourteen teachers will become clear in 4.ix.

Inevitably, the process of selection needed to start from certain principles pre-determined by the research focus, in my case looking at teachers of young children in school settings. However, beyond this, a fundamental assumption, to be examined empirically, was that, while each school, and each teacher, is different, there are similarities based on the factors I highlight, and offer a

79 rationale for, in this chapter. I make cautious interpretations, summarised in 8.vi, to what extent it is appropriate to link teachers’ understanding to factors within the school, or their own background. Fundamental to such a view is that categorising teachers, or their responses, can suggest anything at all about the wider population of teachers.

To select specific teachers, I adopted a three-phase process, to choose:

 an overall geographical area, or areas, and a specific group of schools within that area, or

areas, described in 4.v; and

 within that, a particular sample of teachers, dealt with in the sections from 4.vii to 4.ix though, for reasons that will become evident, all three, and especially the two latter, phases could not be considered entirely separately. In 4.vi, I consider the possible influence of the factors within the larger geographical area on the schools, and on the teachers in them.

4.v Choosing a specific geographical area and group of schools

In my M.Sc. study, I concentrated only on teachers in schools within the city of Oxford. In this study, I wished to cover a wider geographical area. Although I considered visiting schools in more than one LEA, I decided, after considerable thought, to work only in Oxfordshire, if I could find a sufficiently diverse group of schools, and teachers, unless my research would be significantly enhanced by using a wider geographical area, or devalued by concentrating on too localised or atypical an area. Reasons of economy in both time and cost was, obviously, one advantage. It seemed likely that having worked in Oxfordshire would be advantageous regarding knowledge of school types and access, as long as I avoided schools and teachers well- known to me. The two main possible disadvantages were whether:

 this might offer too limited a range of social and school background; and

80  the LEA, explicitly or otherwise, or some other local factor, exercised too specific a local

influence on the schools in relation to the issues in question.

I consider the former in this section and in 4.vi the LEA’s likely influence.

Oxfordshire is a medium-sized county, in the South of England, roughly midway between London,

Birmingham and Bristol. It had a population of over 632,000, at the 1991 census, with just over

80,000 pupils now educated in the LEA’s 308 schools, of which 238 are primary schools. The level of ethnic diversity is small, with just over 3% of the population from minority ethnic backgrounds, mostly in Oxford and Banbury. Both the population, and the proportion from minority ethnic backgrounds, have risen somewhat since 1991 (Oxfordshire, 2002). The city of

Oxford is the largest population centre and there are several medium-sized towns. Much of the county is rural without ever being remote from centres of population. Although it is an area of high employment and reasonably affluent, both Oxford and Banbury contain areas of significant deprivation. The issue of typicality would have posed a greater problem if the group of schools chosen were predominantly rural, small schools, and so more typical of Oxfordshire. However, the group of schools chosen, as discussed shortly, were mostly in urban and suburban/town locations, so that, while less typical of Oxfordshire as a whole, they reflected the national range of schools better, apart from very large urban schools, tiny rural ones and ethnic diversity. I believed that

Oxfordshire offered sufficient diversity of school type, as long as local factors did not exert too great a local influence.

I wanted a group of between twenty and thirty schools, in order to identify ten schools, and the teachers of young children in them, willing to work with me. These schools, and teachers, would clearly need to cover the range of different school and teacher factors to be considered in 4.vii preferably with some ‘reserves’ to allow for any teachers who might drop out through illness, change of school or some other reason. It would also be valuable, if not essential, for this larger

81 group to be pre-selected for me on the basis of criteria unrelated to spiritual development, to make a wide range of attitudes to, and experience of, the subject likely. I decided to focus on teachers in maintained schools only, both those of a denominational foundation and otherwise.

Following a discussion with a retired member of Her Majesty’s Inspectorate with considerable expertise in early-years education, I decided to conduct my empirical work in early-years units. A brief introduction of these follows shortly, and a more detailed description in 6.i. I was told that there were twenty of these in Oxfordshire in Summer 2000 (to rise to twenty-one in 2001). I found in September 2000 this information to be inaccurate and that twenty-four were open, or due to open, very shortly. Fortunately, while this disrupted the process and timing of finalising my sample, it did not result in a sample less diverse than hoped for. In fact it presented new opportunities for extending the range of schools and teachers involved.

Early-years units are classes for children in the reception year, that is the year in which they become five. The rationale for setting them up was that the Government elected in 1997 required a significant rise in provision for the Under 5s. In Oxfordshire, unusually, most children had previously not started school until the term after their fifth birthday. The educational provision for four-year olds has been, historically, extremely varied and uneven in quality, with provision ranging from maintained nursery schools and classes, to reception classes in primary schools, to private nurseries. Oxfordshire, after several years of extremely tight funding, had insufficient nursery provision and was not able to afford to extend the high-quality, well-financed but thinly- spread model previously adopted. The LEA adopted the idea of early-years units as a ‘quick-fix’, pragmatic solution. They were introduced in schools without nursery classes, as integral parts of the school, albeit with different funding mechanisms. While advisory staff wanted provision for both three- and four- year olds, only four-year olds were included as otherwise a lengthy procedure of issuing statutory notices would have been needed.

82 The units have a specification to cater only for children in the reception year, to have a safe and secure outdoor play area and be staffed by at least two adults, one a teacher, the other preferably a nursery nurse (NNEB), or alternatively a specified learning support assistant (LSA), trained or about to be trained. In 6.i, I examine how much the units I visited met these criteria. Most units have only one teacher, but some are large enough to have two teachers, and two of them three.

Most take pupils full-time, some of the smaller units operate for the morning only, and several with the full class in the morning and only the older children in the afternoon.

I hoped that some possible disadvantages in working in early-years units would be more than offset by the possible advantages, amongst which were that:

 the sample of schools represented an interesting spread of different catchment and school-

 the more fluid curriculum in early years units might make the task of focusing on teachers’

understanding of children’s spiritual development easier; and

 it was likely to be easier to be less obtrusive, especially given the presence of a range of

adults.

Among possible disadvantages were that:

 the teachers might have been strongly influenced by implicit or explicit messages from the

 the teachers in early-years units might be reluctant to offer access because of a feeling the

subject is not a sufficiently important issue for such young children; and

 some teachers might suspect that my research was part of some mechanism for checking on

their effectiveness, especially given how recently many units had been opened.

83 I deal with the first of these in 4.vi. In relation to the second, my hunch, which only experience could demonstrate, was that teachers would be happy and, in many cases, pleased to take part. The third meant that my initial approach and introduction needed to be carefully thought-out, and my research carried out, with considerable care to emphasise my independence and respect the boundaries of confidentiality.

The range of school settings and catchments of the early-years units does not cover the whole spectrum. In particular, most units are based in larger urban or suburban primary schools, mainly because rural schools are too small to sustain such a unit. After looking at their location, I was confident that early-years units would offer a wide enough range of settings, and, beyond that, of types of teacher, to be able to produce a suitable sample, given that the nature of such research is to reveal trends rather than offer definitive interpretations. Further research will be required to consider the extent to which the findings are supported in the differing contexts of the nursery school or class, or with older children, or in other geographical locations.

4.vi The influences of the LEA on this group of schools and teachers

As indicated, I wanted, before making a final decision, to establish, as far as possible, whether local circumstances would make this group unsuitable. For instance, the fact that all the units were based in Oxfordshire, and are relatively new, might mean that a common culture would influence the teachers’ views, either from the impact of training or guidance, because of a belief that there is a ‘party-line’ which must be followed (or the reverse), or some other reason.

A discussion with the LEA Adviser with a specialism in Early Years largely confirmed my view of the rationale for the establishment of early years units and how they operate, described in 4.v.

Her remit includes management of training and advice for those in early-years units. She indicated

84 in July 2000 that her team was preparing guidance (Oxfordshire, 2000) for early-years settings, among them early-years units. This was then at an advanced draft stage, to be issued to schools in

September 2000, when I started my main empirical work. It would clearly be important to explore what impact this had on the teachers whom I spoke to. A particularly interesting sideline occurred when I saw her some two weeks later, informally, when she indicated that further discussions had led her team to abandon ‘spiritual’ as the heading of a separate guidance sheet. This resulted from a view that much of what had been initially included under this was now regarded as coming under

‘emotional development’. What remained was not enough to justify a separate guidance sheet and would be incorporated within ‘cultural’. This reflects the single reference to spiritual development in recent national guidance for the Foundation Stage (QCA, 2000: 28) which is not followed up later in the document. Uncertainty about what comes under the category of ‘spiritual’ is not restricted to teachers, or individuals.

I was keen to know what the training input from the LEA had been. There were no compulsory courses on any aspects explicitly related to spiritual development. However, the team had, in the previous year, put on two courses, one entitled ‘Evoking a spiritual response in very young children.’ Perhaps significantly, she was unsure of the title of the other and whether these had run, or not, but thought it unlikely that the second had done so. She suggested that I talk to the LEA

Adviser for Religious Education, as she might have put on courses, or issued guidance, which might have influenced teachers’ understanding.

The R.E. Adviser said that, despite her view that this was a whole-school issue, including but not solely related to R.E., many enquiries from schools had been passed to her, and that she and other staff working to her had responded. Whether or not teachers in early-years units had taken part in these would depend on whether they had been at one of these schools at the time. A series of training sessions in the school year 1998-9, i.e. between twelve and twenty-four months prior to

85 our discussion, on ‘Spirituality in the Early Years’, had been led by the Education Adviser for the

Anglican Diocese working for the LEA, and open to all schools in the LEA. This had run twice.

Again, teachers in early-years units might have attended this, but it was not compulsory. When I spoke with this Diocesan Adviser, he confirmed that he had led these sessions but felt that the voluntary nature of such courses meant that their impact was far from universal. When he had led

INSET sessions in schools, the impact had often been greater but, given that such sessions were almost invariably in reaction to requests from headteachers, the overall impact of such sessions was uneven. Both he, and the R.E. adviser, gave their view, which they recognised as anecdotal, that there was little commonality of view about spiritual development in Oxfordshire schools. The

R.E. Adviser’s impression was that this was true also of other LEAs. In her words, a commonality of view was difficult because spirituality was ‘everything and nothing’. She pointed out that a new

Senior Adviser for Curriculum had now been appointed with a role related to curriculum coherence and continuity. A discussion with him related more to the work on values that he proposed to initiate than highlighting any previous guidance which might have affected the teachers involved.

The LEA’s influence may be exerted other than through specific guidance or training. Giving as an example how headteachers of schools with early-years units had discussed with her the structure of the day, and the need for separate play-times, the Early-Years Adviser indicated that, in some initial meetings, there had been debate about the extent of the LEA’s influence on pedagogical approaches. The suggestion that the LEA was trying to exert influence was given further support when a head whom I approached for access expressed irritation at what he saw as an attempt to impose an unwelcome model of organisation on a unit he regarded as ‘his’. Possible tension was further indicated where one teacher stated quite acerbically that early years units were simply an attempt by the LEA to provide nursery education ‘on the cheap’.

86 My initial belief had been that the impact of the LEA on how teachers understand spiritual development was not likely to be great. Any influences were more likely to be of a school-by- school nature. While I think this was, and remains, broadly true, I was surprised that the LEA’s impact on several aspects of pedagogy was, or at least was intended to be, fairly direct. The teachers certainly felt that there was strong advice on approaches to pedagogy, usually raised in the context of different expectations from different sources. However, it did not seem that a common culture about spiritual development was present, or could be imposed. Working only in the early years units in Oxfordshire did not seem methodologically to jeopardise the validity of the empirical work. I decided that visiting schools in other LEAs was not necessary. However, I explored throughout my empirical work both covert and overt influences of how teachers understand spiritual development.

4.vii Selecting research locations - overall considerations

My intention was to choose as representative as possible a sample of teachers, on the basis of the criteria set out below, from the units at ten schools, with regard to a balance both of types of school and of teachers’ characteristics. The choice was of both schools and teachers, so that the final choice needed to be based on both school factors and personal factors among the teachers.

The most significant of the school factors were location, catchment, size, and religious foundation or affiliation. By location, I mean primarily whether the school is situated in an urban, suburban, town or village location, to some extent linked to the catchment area served. I thought likely that size would make a difference, largely as it acts as a proxy indicator for a more socially advantaged catchment, given that many small schools serve more affluent villages. I wanted also to see whether the size of the staff group might influence the training and understanding of individual teachers. It seemed, prima facie, probable that a religious foundation or affiliation would influence

87 the school’s approach to spiritual development, whether directly, such as appointment criteria, or more subtly, such as the school ethos or implicit expectations; and that this is turn would affect the understanding of the teachers within them. I did not want to select more than two schools in any one town or city, and wanted a mix of urban, suburban/town and village schools. I wanted a variety of schools in terms of socio-economic backgrounds and size. I hoped to be able to select two or three schools with a Roman Catholic foundation, and two or three with an Anglican foundation.

My approach was based on the fundamental assumption that certain factors in each teacher’s background might influence their beliefs and understanding. From this followed the hope and expectation that some generalizations and extrapolations, however tentative, could be drawn so that certain factors in teachers’ backgrounds might be associated with certain categories of understanding. So I intended my sample to be diverse in terms of various factors likely to lead to fundamental differences of understanding of young children’s spiritual development. The factors chosen were the teacher’s:

 highest level of qualification;

 main subject in initial teacher training;

 area of responsibility within the school (if any);

 years of teaching experience;

 years at the school;

 previous age groups taught;

 age group (under 35, 35-45, or over 45);

 gender; and

 religious faith (if any).

88 While I was unsure that any, or all, of these would have any bearing, I intended to look for any association, the results of which appear in 8.vi. The rationale for these was as follows:

 the particular subject interest, both in initial training and in any current responsibility post,

might provide an indication of the teacher’s framework of understanding, while the level of

qualification might be linked to how the teacher expressed her views;

 the level, and type, of experience, in terms of length of service, of different phases of teaching

both generally and at that school might affect the teachers’ perspective on the curriculum and

on young children’s development, as well as the extent to which their views were shaped or

influenced by familiarity with the school ethos and policies. I was especially keen to talk to

younger teachers, given their under-representation in my M.Sc. study and their having trained

and learnt their craft within the structure of the National Curriculum;

 the teacher’s own age group and personal affiliation to a faith tradition were factors worth

exploring, given both the social change outlined in 1.iv.1 and the close historic and enduring

link between religion and spirituality.

I included gender because, although the preponderance of female teachers in early-years education meant that I was almost certain to have very few, or no male, teachers, I was keen to include male teachers if possible.

4.viii Approaching the LEA and headteachers

There were three main phases in deciding the sample:

 making initial contact with the headteacher to gain approval to contact the teacher and to

conduct the research if the teacher agreed;

 discussing with the teacher the nature of the research and what it would involve, to gain their

agreement in principle to take part; and

89  selecting a sample of schools and teachers to give the best range, in accordance with the above

criteria, of schools and teachers, but especially teachers.

I was conscious at all stages that I needed to stress my independence from the LEA, in view both of my status as a former employee and of possible sensitivities given that early-years units were relatively new. However, it seemed both a matter of courtesy and of practical good sense to gain the LEA’s approval in principle although, in practice, the main point of access would be via the headteacher of each school. Outlining briefly my research, I asked the appropriate Principal

Education Officer for a letter supporting my work. He responded favourably, suggesting that I might wish to talk to two members of the advisory staff, the results of which I described in 4.vi. I was able to send a copy of his letter with my introductory letter to headteachers.

I decided to undertake a pilot study, described in 5.vii. Since one town had a disproportionately large number of schools with units both generally and with a Roman Catholic foundation, the logic of choosing a Roman Catholic school there seemed strong, to maximise the number of schools available for the main study. Furthermore, my suspicion was that teachers in schools with an overt religious emphasis might be more inimical to an inclusive understanding and exhibit a scepticism from which I might learn. By co-incidence, I knew the heads of both schools slightly. As time was running short before the summer holiday I thought that they might be reluctant. One said that, while he was happy for me to work there in the main study, the time was inconvenient. In fact, one teacher who had been involved in my M.Sc study moved to that unit and I was not able to use that school. I contacted that head again only to explain why I was not seeking access there. The other head was enthusiastic, and we agreed that she would join me and the teacher to discuss what the visit entailed. The pilot visit took place in June and July 2000.

I wrote in June 2000 to the eighteen schools with units of which I had knowledge at the time

(excluding the two schools mentioned above), saying that I would follow this shortly with a phone

90 call. I wanted to discuss my research with the head and/or teacher to gain agreement, in principle, for access. Although I arranged to visit one school close to the end of the Summer Term, and two early in the Autumn Term, the overwhelming response was that they were too busy at that point, suggesting that I should contact them again in September. I had failed to realise initially the extent to which the busy agenda of the end of the Summer Term upset my anticipated timetable for initial visits. So, most of them took place during September and October 2000. At this point, I could include the units of whose existence I had only just heard when in September 2000 I discovered that twenty-four were open, or due to open, that month. Figure 4A shows details of these schools.

91 Figure 4A

The characteristics of all the schools with early years units, with the nineteen schools highlighted in italics those to which I gained access and spoke to the teacher(s) in person at some stage (16 initial, 2 later and pilot school). School Type Pupil Location Socio-economic Status of involvement (see note) numbers Index (see below) A C 213 City 35.28 Agreed and included B C 322 Town 1 34.27 Agreed and included C RC 243 Town 2 14.02 Agreed and included D C 490 Town 3 8.7 Agreed and included E RC 218 Town 3 17.64 Agreed and included F RC 232 Town 4 13.29 Agreed and included G C 312 Town 4 19.44 Agreed and included H C 117 Village 9.11 Agreed and included J C 208 Town 5 18.82 Agreed and included K CoE (C) 121 Village 13.27 No teacher initially but agreed and included when L withdrew L CoE (C) 101 Village 8.78 Agreed included but withdrew M C 406 Town 5 18.94 Agreed but not included N C 173 Large 12.34 Agreed but not included village P C 302 Town 1 18.96 Not initially approached but agreed when asked but not included Q C 300 Town 1 16.74 Teacher reluctant so not pursued R CoE (C) 407 Town 6 13.76 Not agreed (teachers) S CoE(A) 399 Town 1 14.04 Not agreed (teacher) T CoE(C) 284 Town 7 14.16 Not agreed (teacher) U CoE(A) 220 City 10.42 New teacher V C 195 Large 5.61 Not agreed (head) village W CoE(C) 91 Town 5 17.98 Not agreed (head) X C 240 Town 8 5.9 Building work Y RC 193 Town 1 40.09 Pilot school Z RC 299 Town 1 17.64 Not approached as teacher known to me Note: C = community (non-denominational) school, CoE =Anglican foundation ((C) represents Controlled and (A) Aided), RC = Roman Catholic foundation.

The fifth column gives the index of socio-economic advantage and deprivation for each school, as supplied by the Oxfordshire LEA. This is based largely on the level of income support, calculated

92 by ascribing pupils back to wards. The figure is a percentage figure, where the median figure is

12.9% and the mean 15.8%. For the purposes of this study, it is sufficient to note that those schools with a high figure (more than 30%) serve very disadvantaged communities, and those with a low figure (less than 10%) prosperous ones.

Given that two schools were unavailable, I had a possible twenty-two others to approach. Initial contact with the head of X indicated that she would not consider access because of building work preparatory to the school moving to a new site. I did not approach P initially as it was in special measures and a temporary head had been put in place, though I did so later in the year when L dropped out. Effectively, I had twenty-one schools to approach for possible access for the main study, but only twenty initially.

Most of the heads were very positive, though I underestimated the unavoidable difficulties such as unfilled vacancies, incompleted buildings and very new members of staff, which meant that some heads could not give me a definite answer, or preferred to delay an answer until their own situation was clearer. Heads at four schools said to contact them a few weeks later, for various reasons ranging from an impending inspection to there being no teacher in post. This meant that I could not finalise the sample until well into the Autumn Term, later than hoped, as I wanted every response in principle before deciding on the final sample. Two heads responded not giving approval, one without a reason, the other saying that she was concerned about the workload implications. Two others were positive, personally, but, ultimately, said no, one, U, because she was concerned that a new teacher would be overloaded, the other, K, because she had no teacher in post, and did not think that this would change before February. The other heads all agreed for me to make contact and I approached the teachers in sixteen units initially.

93 4.ix Approaching and selecting the teachers

I visited each of these sixteen units, having phoned to introduce myself and request the chance to meet the teacher involved. All agreed to meet me. In some units, the head joined in this discussion, while others were quite happy for me to talk individually with the teacher. The purpose of this visit was to:

 meet the teacher and make initial contact;

 explain the nature of the research;

 answer any questions or uncertainties;

 ask for an indication of possible interest; and

 ask those interested to complete a short questionnaire.

While I was keen to persuade teachers to offer me access, my methodology would require considerable co-operation from the teacher. I ensured that the teachers were aware of the time commitment necessary, assuring them that very little preparation or paperwork would be involved.

While I believed that the unit, and teacher, would gain some benefit from agreeing to take part, I did not wish to exert undue pressure on them. I prepared a brief outline in writing, reproduced as

Appendix 1, to answer any questions likely to arise. I left copies, including my contact details, for both the teacher(s) and for the headteacher.

If the teacher agreed in principle, I checked whether there were any times during the year when access was likely to be difficult and asked them to complete the short questionnaire, set out as

Appendix 2, to help me to select a balanced sample. This is in three parts:

 administrative information, such as the school’s address, phone number, type and size;

 details about the unit, and the children, including numbers, age and gender; and

 personal details about the teacher, as discussed in 4.vii.

94 The whole questionnaire took no more than three or four minutes to complete. In practice, I could have completed the first part myself, and the second was best completed just before, or early in, my visit as numbers in the units changed during the year. The third part was most important in finalising the sample. Since some information was of a personal nature, I invited teachers to leave blank any personal details they wished to, but in practice every teacher was happy to complete it.

Initially, I overlooked that in some units there was more than one teacher. In one, there were three throughout the year, in others there were two throughout the year, and in others a second teacher might be recruited during the year if numbers reached a certain level. At the start of the year, when

I was making introductory visits, I could not predict exactly how many teachers there would be in the larger units.

I originally anticipated working with only one teacher per unit. However, two factors led me to work with more than one teacher in three units. The first was that, at one of my early initial visits, the head pointed out that working with more than one teacher gave a good opportunity to compare teachers working within the same setting. This seemed, after reflection and discussion, to present a good chance to gain an indication of how much, in those settings, individual views predominated, and to what extent school ethos was an important factor. The second was that where more than one teacher was willing to take part this would extend the sample of teachers and that any choice seemed invidious. Involving more teachers by going to those units with more than one teacher seemed desirable unless this meant excluding any teacher or unit with characteristics which would then be underrepresented. Against this were possible difficulties with having insufficient time within the three-week visit and with determining how much teachers influenced each others’ views where more than one teacher was involved. I decided that there was sufficient flexibility in my timetable to counter the first issue. I discuss units with more than one teacher in 6.iii.

95 Of the sixteen units visited initially, the teachers in eleven agreed straightaway. In Q, which I visited at the end of the Summer Term, the teacher was not very keen when I made contact in

September. I decided to make no further contact, unless absolutely necessary. In the other four the teachers wanted to give it further consideration. Of these, L replied positively later, though she subsequently withdrew, and three units (one with two teachers) informed me afterwards that they did not wish to take part. The head’s support, or at least acquiescence, for my visiting was important. On no occasion when the head joined my discussion with the teacher was the final answer negative.

After the initial visit, I had twelve possible schools, A to N (except K) where the teacher (s) had agreed. Four others (K, P, Q and U) could be approached later if need be. Of these twelve, three were of Roman Catholic foundation, one of Anglican foundation, and eight were non- denominational, community schools. While this was a reasonable cross-section of the twenty-one possible schools, the main shortfall was Anglican schools. In particular there was no Anglican

Aided school. No school was in special measures or deemed to have serious weakness except P.

Using the questionnaire responses, I hoped to achieve a balanced sample in relation to each category set out in 4.vii (except, inevitably, gender). Three schools were slow to confirm whether they were prepared to host me, which meant that I could not finalise my sample before my visits started. While this was not ideal, I was keen both to give myself the chance of the widest possible choice of units and teachers from which to draw my sample. My first three schools, and the teachers in them, in the Autumn Term, had characteristics which ensured that they would be in the sample whatever the outcomes of these confirmations. I wrote in November 2000 to the other teachers confirming whether I wished to take up their offer or place them on a reserve list.

96 The teachers in the original sample were in one of the ten schools, A to L, except K. These included:

 two urban, five suburban/ town and three village schools;

 two schools in very disadvantaged areas, with others in areas ranging from prosperous to

mixed communities, but with none in relatively disadvantaged areas; and

 three Roman Catholic, one Anglican and six non-denominational schools.

One surprising, somewhat disappointing, imbalance was the shortage of Anglican schools. Even though all but one of the Anglican schools, or teachers in them, had their own reasons for not wishing to participate, such a pattern is surprising and not easily explained. It was difficult to ensure that the sample reflected the full range of different size of school, since very few small schools had an early-years unit. Of the four schools with fewer than 150 pupils on roll, one did not offer me access and one other (K) had no teacher in post. I was able initially to include only two small schools, H and L. When L withdrew just before I was due to visit, this was a substantial difficulty, since this was an Anglican village school, with a young teacher. Rather than use the reserve list, on which I had placed M and N, as both the schools and the teachers were too similar to others in the sample, I approached K (where the post had been filled) and P which I had not contacted before. Both agreed to take part. I used K because it was an Anglican village school, with one young teacher, replacing L rather better than I could have expected.

My final sample consisted of fourteen teachers based in ten units, A to K. Throughout this thesis, the letter (A, B, etc.) refers to the school. The teachers’ names are all pseudonyms starting with the letter of their school. For example, Kate and Kirsty were both at K. Both the schools and the teachers chosen represented a reasonably well-balanced, not atypical, sample. The background of these teachers is set out in Figure 4B, which also includes those not in the final sample who at

97 some stage agreed to take part. These are highlighted in italics. The chief imbalances were the shortage of units in very small schools, and in Anglican schools, the lack of practising Roman

Catholics and of men. All the teachers were women, except for one man. This was unavoidable.

There was a good range of academic background, of experience and of age. In terms of personal faith commitment, it was unsurprising that there were very few members of a faith tradition outside Christianity. There was a shortage of practising Roman Catholics, even in Catholic schools. Apart from Anglican schools, I had as balanced a sample as would have been possible had I had all twenty-one possible schools to choose from. In the next chapter, I set out how I developed my research method to work with these teachers.

98 Figure 4B

The characteristics, as reported in the questionnaire, of the teachers who agreed to be included (those in italics not included in final sample)

Teacher Highest Responsibility Main Years of Years Other ages Age Personal Qualif’n Area (if any) subject in teaching at the taught group religious ITT experience school faith Alice B Sc Foundation Biology 20 3 3.5 to 18 35/45 CoE Co-ordination Bridget PGCE None English 5 5 Y3, 4 <35 None Cathleen Cert.Ed Art, EY Art/Design 12+ 4 Y1, 2 35/45 RC Caroline B.Ed Assessment Biology 12 0 All up to 35/45 CoE Y3 Debbie B.Ed Area leader of R.E. 7 4 KS1 35/45 None EYU Diana PGCE KS1/English KS1/ 2 2 Y1, 2 35/45 CoE English Derek M.Sc None Biology 2.5 0 Y7-12 >45 Quaker/ Buddhist Erica Cert.Ed Art Art/ 10 8 R/Y1 >45 CoE Biology Fran B.Ed Geography Maths 10 3.5 Secondary 35/45 CoE (ish) and EY Georgina PGCE Early Years Early 2 2 R/ Y1 <35 Christian years/ ICT Helen Degree Music/DT Music 10 1 All >45 Christian primary Jane Cert.Ed None Principles 20+ 4 All up to >45 Christian of religion Y2 Kate Cert. Ed Science Geography 30 14 4-11 >45 CoE until recently /PE Kirsty B Ed None English 3 0.5 All up to <35 Christian Y2 Lorna BA Art/ English/ 3 2 Early <35 Christian Technology Art years Mary Cert.Ed None R.E. 15 7 All 35/45 Christian Primary Nina BA, PE 5 5 All up to 35/45 CoE PGCE History Y1 Pam Degree ICT, KS1 Geograph 5 1.5 Y1 <35 None y

99 5 Developing an appropriate research method

5.i Exploring methodological dilemmas

I describe in this chapter how I developed and refined my research method and in Chapter 6 how this worked in practice. I use the following conventions of language for convenience and clarity. I use ‘visit’ to describe the whole period of time at the school, ‘unit’ for the early-years unit as a whole, or the physical setting, and ‘class’ or ‘group’ in referring to the children. When I refer to

‘days’ during a visit, this does not necessarily mean that I was at the unit for a full day. I refer generically to the teacher as ‘she’, as all except one were female.

Systematic understanding of a task as complex as teaching, and of deep-seated beliefs, not easily articulated, requires an approach very different from that adopted in studying the material world.

As a minimum, I wished both to observe the teacher at work and to discuss her views. One should be careful of seeing the observations and discussions, both formal and otherwise, too separately.

They were intended to inform each other and help me examine, and make sense of, the teachers’ expectations of children, and so gradually to penetrate the deeper levels of the teachers’ understanding.

In this section, I consider how I dealt with various significant methodological dilemmas. I referred in 1.i to the fundamental one of prescribing too closely the boundaries of spiritual development while trying to establish what those boundaries are. The interpretative process involves the researcher in selecting what seem the salient issues and seeking to articulate both what is explicit, though only partly articulated, and deeper conceptual understandings that those involved may not previously have recognized. This has some problems even within a static context, much more so for the dynamic and personal world of an individual’s understanding. Achieving complete reliability in such interpretative studies is an attractive but forlorn dream. The researcher cannot

100 discover the (only) truth about such a context or individual. But this does not preclude uncovering a truth which reveals the individual’s understanding both to participants and readers.

Too great a reliance on what teachers say runs the risks discussed in 1.iii of too polished a response which may be an expression of a ‘party line’ or what is deemed acceptable. It also emphasises cerebral understanding when the main purpose of my empirical work was to draw on practical knowledge and understanding. A further difficulty relates to how teachers use language in talking about spiritual development. Inevitably the concepts and terminology would be used loosely, and with a varying degree of consistency, especially given that the same word has different meanings and connotations for different people. Indeed, part of what I was researching was the level of consistency.

My presence was bound to some extent to influence the teachers’ views, and how they present them. The researcher’s own perspective affects both what is seen and deemed worthy of record and how the teacher’s words, actions and expectations are interpreted. Moreover, I had a vested interest in teachers’ responses. Interpretation would be easier if teachers could be encouraged to articulate their understanding as fluently as possible. These considerations underlie interpretative research methodologies, where the intention is to understand complex and disputed ideas and concepts.

In the discussions, I wanted to probe and explore what the teacher meant by particular statements or examples, rather than simply to take what they said at face value. I wanted to enable them to talk discursively, provide examples and tell stories, to describe their approach and, especially, to talk about personal values and beliefs, if they wished. A fixed pattern of questions was inappropriate as I needed to be able to return to issues or comments raised in passing, and to seek clarification. In practice, teachers often moved on to a question due to be raised subsequently,

101 raised one issue in answer to a question about another or understood the question differently from how I had intended or envisaged it. Similarly, passing quickly over an issue may, or may not, imply that it does not matter. Some element of dialogue, interactive questioning, and challenges to what the teacher meant by comments open to more than one interpretation, without imposing my own views, was essential. All of these considerations led me away from planning too rigid a structure to the discussions. On the other hand, I wished to raise a similar range of questions with each teacher. This called for a level of flexibility within an overall structure. There were similar considerations in my observations to enable the teacher to act as normally as possible and me to explore a wide range of what happened. I discuss how, in practice, I attempted to resolve these dilemmas in 5.iii and 5.iv.

Although it is somewhat hazardous to generalize about a diverse group, I thought it likely that at least some of the teachers would, in varying degrees:

 feel constrained by my presence in the classroom;

 become tongue-tied or diffident because they think that they do not know enough about

spirituality, or that their views are confused; and

 tend to present an ‘acceptable’ rather than a personal view, whether that of the school,

government, Church or any other body, or that which accords with what they think that I want

them to say, or more simply not tell the truth.

These meant that it was important to try and put teachers at their ease. I wanted to approach this by indicating that the issues are for the most part open to right and wrong answers, but open to debate and personal interpretations. By encouraging the teachers to reflect discursively, I hoped to set a context in which there was little incentive to present too sanitized a view. Indeed I hoped to encourage the teacher to explore possible incoherences within her own position.

102 Enabling the teachers to talk freely makes it more likely that, in helping to bring out the teacher’s views, one runs the risk of leading and of influencing them. The researcher’s influence can be allayed to some extent by adopting procedures that are as objective as possible. This is both easier, and more appropriate, in discussion than in the observation process. Two major problems are projection and bias, both of which can operate at a conscious or unconscious level, or both, at any of several stages, in the selection, the data collection, or during more analytical phases, and so can only partially be controlled. By projection, I mean ascribing to the teachers my own views. The danger was that, in putting teachers’ ideas into a revised framework of language, I would conclude that what they were striving to say was what I thought, at least to some extent. This was especially true of those teachers whose views were similar to my own and those who used language loosely and discursively. By bias, I mean an invalid selection of subject, or of data, in order to give undue support to my hypothesis, or emerging interpretation. Both are closely linked and, since they are unavoidable, the aim must be to minimise them.

My methodology was based on working against undue projection and bias, in relation to which many of the same considerations apply, but I highlight here some key aspects. One was to involve the teacher as closely as possible as a subject, involved in agreeing and clarifying my interpretation of her views, rather than simply an object of study. So the process of articulating the teacher’s views in writing, getting feedback and cross-checking to see that my summaries accorded with what the teacher’s understanding, was crucial. I hoped to ensure that how I interpreted what I heard and saw was not unduly coloured by my own understanding. The second important aspect was in the use of language, where I relied as much as possible on the words and examples used by the teacher and was wary of using unfamiliar or threatening terms. A third aspect was to revisit the same issues from different perspectives returning repeatedly to notes, to tape-recorded discussions and to initial impressions, both during the visit and afterwards, to slow down the process of interpretation. By regarding my interpretations as tentative for as long as

103 possible - and indeed always open to further re-interpretation - I hoped to retain a clear and distinctive emphasis on the teacher’s voice and view, however much the outcome was, inevitably, presented in my words.

Both projection and bias occur in observation and in discussion, but the issue of bias is especially difficult in discussions. Dictating too closely the framework of the discussion may leave underlying but important issues unexplored. Adopting a looser framework may steer the respondent towards particular answers or an over-emphasis on certain issues. Once again, the teacher’s involvement in the process of re-interpretation, reliance as far as possible on the teacher’s own language and examples and a slow process of what we may characterise as serial re- interpretation were important principles on which I based my methodology. I return in 11.i to consider my success in countering projection and bias.

Projection and bias are, to some extent, inherent in any small-scale, interpretative study such as this and cannot be entirely eliminated, but the choice of appropriate observation and interpretative methods and constant vigilance can help to minimise them. I tried to do so by:

 ensuring that the range of questions asked both covered a range of issues comparable for each

respondent and offered opportunities for the respondent not to be completely restricted within

my framework;

 finding ways to prompt thought on various issues, without suggesting any particular answer,

or even that such an issue has anything to do with spiritual development;

 noting, rather than re-acting at the time to, events or comments which may illuminate the

teacher’s understanding;

 taking especial note of occasions when teachers disagreed with what I may have implied, or

spoke or acted surprisingly;

104  using the teacher and on occasions an outside ‘critical friend’ to cross-check my interpretation

of some of the responses or aspects of response; and

 involving the teacher to some extent in interpreting her understanding.

In the four next sections, I describe both the research method adopted and its rationale in the light of these dilemmas and the constraints of practicability. This method was developed in theory during the first part of the year 2000, tried out during the pilot visit in June/July 2000 and adopted during my research between September 2000 and July 2001.

5.ii Developing appropriate research methods - considerations of

In 5.i I highlighted the need to:

 listen to what the teachers say;

 see, and interpret, what they do; and

 examine, and make sense of, their expectations of the children.

While these are closely linked, the discussions and more informal conversations were the prime source of data on the first of these. The time spent in the class was to explore the second two so that these could be used explicitly with the teacher in parallel with what she said, and in searching for patterns in the teachers’ views and actions.

As indicated, a three week period for each visit seemed both realistic and sufficient to probe beneath the surface of the teacher’s understanding. This would minimise the effect of outside influences on the teachers and enable me to become a familiar figure within the classroom and formulate a detailed picture of the teacher’s views and teaching approach. From her point of view this would give a chance to reflect in some detail within a defined and manageable time frame.

105 I wished to spend a sustained amount of time within that three week period examining how their teaching related to, and exemplified, what each teacher said. I hoped to observe incidents or responses which might indicate practically aspects of the teacher’s understanding, or emphasis, not emerging, or emerging differently, in discussion. This required my seeing the class operating in a range of contexts, on different days. In simple terms, I wanted the teacher to become sufficiently used to my presence that I could see her and the class working ‘normally’, in so far as this can ever be said to happen. I wanted to minimise her nervousness and embarrassment at my presence.

I hoped to hold three discussions with each teacher and spend between twenty and thirty hours observing each unit at work. I doubted that it would be useful to spend exactly the same amount of time observing each teacher. The process of familiarisation and the amount of time necessary were likely to vary between teachers. The teacher was likely to want respite from my presence and particular sessions were likely to prove more, or less, valuable for me to observe. For example, I anticipated that the children’s arrival would often be a particularly interesting and illuminating time, while those where the teacher was working with individuals were less so, not least because the verbal interaction would not easily be audible.

To make the best use of my, and the teacher’s, time I wanted not to concentrate each visit into too few days. This was not simply about hours, but of the spread of days. To get past initial nervousness would, I anticipated, require about six to nine hours, in broad terms, over two or three sessions. The period leading up to the second discussion would require between two and four further sessions, and the period subsequent to the second discussion another two or three. I envisaged that I would spend up to ten days in each unit, with varying amounts of time per day depending on the specific situation in the unit.

106 5.iii Developing the structure of the observations

My time observing the class in action was intended to seek a greater understanding of how the

teacher understood spiritual development, rather than investigate children’s spirituality as such.

However, observing how children responded would give me insight into their teachers’

understanding. I wanted both to experience the environment more holistically and to observe how

this environment, and the teacher’s interventions, impacted on the children, rather than watch the

teacher all the time. There was some inherent tension between observing children in order to

understand their teachers better and wanting, at times, to follow the paths presented by children

because children’s own responses are often fascinating, and potentially diverting. I tried therefore

to devise an approach to observation which maintained my focus on the teacher, even when

actually observing, or talking with, children.

I decided to adopt an approach which, while systematic and focused, was eclectic in method. In

any interpretative study, relying on ‘thick’ data, such an approach is likely to be necessary. Too

structured an approach can easily become unduly limiting, and some of the most revealing

comments or incidents occur in more informal or casual settings. The ethical issues resulting from

this are considered in 5.vi. The main practical issue was how to be unobtrusive without being too

detached from what was going on. I planned to spend most of my time:

 sitting, observing and recording what was going on, especially in the teacher-directed,

large-group activities;

 listening to, and talking with, children as they went about their activities, often

participating in what they were doing, such as constructing a model or completing a puzzle; or

 helping a child or a group of children in a specific activity.

I wanted the teachers to give me tasks to do, if they wished, treating me, in one teacher’s words, as

‘like another parent-helper’. This would give me the opportunity to see teachers in a range of

107 situations and different modes, rather than simply from the perspective of someone ‘taking notes in a corner’. In addition, it would provide practical benefit to the teacher, a possible incentive when considering whether to offer me access.

The observer will always influence those observed in any environment where people interact constantly. However, with such young children, this is especially obvious in practice, not least because they will often interact with the observer. I wished to be in a position to see, and often to hear, what the teacher did and said, but to be as unobtrusive as possible; not an easy task as a middle-aged, male ex-head teacher in an environment consisting largely of women and very young children! I wanted both children and adults to become used to my presence in the class. I had to accept that I would miss certain comments and events of interest. It was neither feasible nor desirable to spend the whole time following the teacher to catch every word spoken.

This approach presented some difficulties. Most obviously, I could not systematically observe, or record, what the teacher was doing all the time. Especially where children required a lot of support, it was easy to become too engrossed in helping the child and either to miss part of potentially important interchanges between the teacher and another child or children, or to find it difficult at any time to record what happened as fully as I wished. However, in terms of building trust and enabling teachers not to feel too self-conscious, this approach had significant benefits, and some difficulties, discussed in 6.iii.

One purpose in spending so long in each classroom was to look out for what I call ‘critical incidents’. This term has been used differently within qualitative studies in education, but a common theme, as Angelides (2001), highlights is the element to which a critical incident provokes reflection because it is surprising, and challenges (often-unspoken) presuppositions. I follow Tripp (1993: 24-5) in identifying, as critical, incidents which are ‘not all dramatic or

108 obvious … (they) are indicative of underlying trends, motives and structure’, though I included most unusual incidents, such as the teacher responding to a child expressing distress, behaving unexpectedly or making a surprising remark. During my observations, I constantly looked out for potential critical incidents in occasions or events where the teacher’s response (or lack of response) might illuminate some element of her understanding. As Tripp (1993: 8) indicates, whether any incident is deemed critical depends on the observer’s ‘interpretation of the significance of an event.’ I selected them on the basis of an apparent dissonance from, or reinforcement of, a view expressed in discussion, or a response which seemed to reflect underlying beliefs. However, I tended towards inclusion of incidents as potentially critical, even where they did not fit these criteria exactly, including some incidents not involving the teacher directly, but prompting me to further reflection. Most use of critical incidents in educational research has been to promote reflection or discussion involving the teacher. I often used critical incidents in this way in discussions. However, given the importance of not appearing judgmental, and my wish not to lead the teacher into a particular view of spiritual development, it seemed inappropriate to raise some with her, including one described in 8.iv. However, rather than discarding these, I used them to enrich my interpretation of the environment created and the teacher’s expectations.

I also wanted to record what I called ‘emerging viewpoints’, combinations of less obvious events or incidents from which I could develop further hypotheses and questions for the second and third discussions, based on a further level of selection from, and interpretation of, observed events. So I expected my observations to produce a substantial amount of data, mostly as field notes, notes of

‘critical incidents’ and ‘emerging viewpoints’. I designed my research note format to enable comment or cross-reference to a particular discussion point or other incident.

I describe in 6.ii how the pattern of visits developed and in 6.iii how this approach to observation worked in practice.

109 5.iv Developing the structure of the discussions

My M.Sc. study had convinced me that one discussion could not cover the full range of questions to be asked. This was not simply a matter of the length of time spent with each teacher. More importantly, reflection over time both on questions previously considered and other issues was likely to provide insight into their deeper understandings. The gap between discussions, especially with my regular presence in the classroom, gave teachers time for further thought on the issues raised, and others they might wish to raise.

Holding discussions at the start of the visit, during the second week and at the end of the visit would, I hoped, enable me to:

 discuss the teacher’s initial views;

 talk again when the teacher was more familiar with me and I had observed her in practice and

could refer to specific certain children or situations; and

 explore how these views clarified or changed.

Before deciding on the questions for the discussions, I gave considerable thought to how best to encourage the teachers to express their views. While teachers could clearly respond to questions as they wished, the areas highlighted in my questions and how these questions were presented would invite them to consider particular aspects rather than others. I anticipated presenting a series of questions in similar format for each teacher at the first discussion, and using the second discussion to pursue issues arising from the first discussion and the subsequent observation. Similarly, I wanted to use the period between the second and third discussion to consider which issues had been insufficiently explored previously, so that I could use the third discussion both to raise these as well as a few concluding questions, outlined below.

110 I wanted a systematic basis for selecting which issues to raise and the sort of language in which to present them. The three main potential ones available were:

 my own experience both in schools and in my M.Sc research;

 the categories within which advice on curriculum guidance and planning for the early years is

framed; and

 the more academic concepts discussed in Chapters 2 and 3.

These clearly overlap. The decision was largely tactical to enable the teachers to feel comfortable and to avoid imposing alien frameworks or language. Relying only on my own experience was likely to skew the issues raised towards those I feel most important. The advantage of starting from curriculum guidance is that it is much more familiar both because teachers see and understand the language used and because it is rooted in practical activities, the ‘what’ of teaching rather than the ‘why’. Against this, such guidance makes little direct mention, and suffers from a surprisingly unclear view, of what spiritual development entails, as the conversation with the LEA

Adviser described in 4.vi suggested.

The advantages of using more academic language are that this results from a tradition of thought and research, and are, usually, defined or described with some clarity. Against that, some areas, and language, important in the academic literature tend to be formulated in abstract terms and might prove daunting. I thought, for instance, that terms such as existential, and aesthetic, might be unfamiliar, open to misinterpretation, or even threatening.

The teachers’ experience of children, rooted in specific contexts, seemed a better entry point to get them to talk about how they understood their children’s spiritual development than decontextualised, abstract concepts. While this proved too wide a generalisation to sustain in

111 general terms, it was a valuable starting point for deciding on my questions and the categories to raise with teachers. I formulated my questions in the sort of language and frameworks of thinking familiar to teachers, in order to invite them to make links from the familiar to the unfamiliar, rather than the reverse. I was keen to encourage them to use their own experience and contexts by asking them to comment on specific situations and children. In simple terms, assuming that more abstract thinkers would be able to think both abstractly and concretely, I developed the research method, especially the questions, to include those who were less used to more abstract, or academic, terms.

So, on the basis of starting from what is familiar, I tended towards the terminology of curriculum guidance, while seeking to introduce more academic and abstract questions, where appropriate, in the later discussions or in response to prompts from the teacher which suggested that she was comfortable with such questions.

In formulating the questions, I was keen to address the key questions raised in 3.vii, while providing a framework sufficiently open to enable teachers to express other views. The questions form the basis of the thematic framework used in Chapter 9 to interpret the main features of the teachers’ understanding, though, as will become evident, the range of issues raised widened significantly, as expected. One difficulty was that several issues were best approached obliquely.

The best example was that several teachers gave a better indication of their understanding of spiritual development in talking about whether the notion of ‘spiritual maturity or awareness’ made any sense than when asked directly what it is.

It was neither easy, nor appropriate, to predict in detail the main areas teachers of young children might link with spiritual development. The discussions needed to be grounded in normal practice, without my presenting too strong a preconception of what spiritual development is. I wanted therefore to use open-ended questions related, especially at the start, to areas familiar in curriculum guidance and practice. Using the observations about four- and five- year olds’

112 development outlined in 3.ii, the key questions in 3.vii arising from previous research and my own experience both in schools and in my M.Sc. study, such areas were how the teachers believed that children:

 learn to process their emotions;

 develop personal values and beliefs;

 explore relationships with other people, with the world and, in some cases, with God; and

 experience awe and wonder.

While not all teachers were unlikely to include all of these categories, explore them in depth, or to give equal weight to all of them, this seemed an unthreatening entry-point.

The questions for the first discussion are reproduced as Appendix 3. I have given the rationale for these in general terms above. However, the specific choice and order was based on five groups:

 two open-ended and unthreatening opening questions, to which some teachers might respond

at length, but which might simply set the scene;

 two questions relating to possible influences on the teacher’s views, from such areas as

training and school policies;

 two questions inviting the teacher to consider spiritual development less personally by asking

what the school does to promote spiritual development and what the teacher thinks an

inspector would be looking for;

 a group of four questions asking about the links to other domains, the moral, religious,

academic and emotional;

 a group of three questions relating to children and incidents, asking for instance whether the

teacher could think of, and describe, a spiritually mature child, factors influencing the child’s

spirituality and whether a specific incident had led to a child’s, or group of children’s, spiritual

development being enhanced.

113 I wanted, for the above reasons, to try to avoid abstract questions, especially in the first discussion.

I made one exception, asking whether teachers believed that children develop spiritually, or whether they would adopt some other metaphor(s), as discussed in 3.iii. Asking this at a late stage in the pilot visit clarified a number of puzzling areas. In practice, this question was helpful with some teachers, though most did not entirely understand what I was getting at. My use, in these questions, of the language of development, maturity and awareness fairly interchangeably, reflects in part that teachers themselves used a range of words to allude to an elusive notion and in part the dilemma that using only ‘development’ implies that children do develop spiritually. I tended to use two or three of these words as alternatives for them to choose from. To do otherwise would have imposed a particular metaphorical structure on the teacher.

I wanted a mechanism to introduce some less obvious issues to provoke thought and reflection without necessarily suggesting a definite link to spiritual development. Raising these too directly would, almost inevitably, suggest a link and prompt teachers to make a stronger association than otherwise they would have done. Some were those which might be seen as more peripheral to spiritual development, such as the place of:

 creative activities, such as art, music and drama, in aesthetic awareness;

 story, related the issue of personal narrative considered in 3.vi; and

 potentially painful issues such as loss and death.

The first two are commonplace activities within the classroom, which I was bound to see. I wanted to know, without initiating the discussion, if possible, whether the teacher linked them with spiritual development. The last is an area discussed in 3.vi but which again I did not wish to initiate. My approach on all three areas was to follow any lead either from critical incidents observed or comments or examples made by teachers. While this approach worked with some

114 teachers, these opportunities did not arise with others. My success in exploring these issues was therefore, necessarily, uneven, though a number of useful insights did emerge where the approach outlined in this paragraph was successful.

A second group of issues were those which were controversial and which, on the basis of my

M.Sc. research, I thought that (except for attendance at worship), most teachers might regard as

‘off-limits’ or too risky. As such, I thought they might provide pointers to underlying beliefs. I wanted to introduce them without a direct question to see how much association the teachers made with spiritual development. These issues were:

 the place and importance of material possessions;

 the importance of attending a place of worship;

 gender; and

 family income and background.

To raise these, stimulate further thought and invite further reflection from the teacher, I decided to include them in what I called the self -assessment schedule, set out in Figure 5A on the next page.

115 Figure 5A Self-assessment schedule

1 How important is spiritual development in promoting the following areas for all children? Very Quite Not very Irrelevant ...... important important important Emotional security Religious ideas Morality Self-awareness Awareness of others Academic standards Good behaviour

2 How important are the following as indicators of the level of a child’s spiritual development? Very Quite Not very Irrelevant important important important Ability to sit in silence/pray Reading ability Sense of fairplay Good behaviour Kindness to children in distress A questioning attitude/curiosity

3 How important are the following as factors in the likely level of a child's spiritual development? Very Quite Not very Irrelevant important important important Gender (being a boy/girl) Attendance at place of worship Family income Sort of family s/he comes from

Although the format suggests a Lickert scale, I did not use it as such. The schedule was essentially a different form of questioning to contribute to the overall pattern of interpretation, and limited in its scope. Given this, the schedule fulfilled a useful double function when used at the end of the first discussion. It enabled me to raise certain issues which might not otherwise be considered and acted as a cross-check with the views expressed by the teacher at greater length in the discussions.

116 I do not accord too much significance to this as a research instrument, and certainly would not wish to use ‘results’ for statistical analysis. The results are recorded in this thesis only in Appendix

5 as it was essentially a tool internal to the research.

At the end of the first discussion, I asked the teacher to respond reasonably quickly on a four-point scale to discourage teachers from settling for the safety of a middle box. I asked the questions verbally in a random order within each category and wrote in the answer. In practice, very few teachers placed any issue in the ‘irrelevant’ category, probably through caution. That some teachers used the category of ‘very important’ a great deal reinforces the point that such an instrument is inappropriate for statistical analysis - a lesson with implications beyond this thesis.

Just as in the discussion above on the phrasing of questions for the first discussion, I tended to rely on the more familiar categories of curriculum guidance because the language is more familiar and

‘user-friendly’. Section 1 was based on categories drawn largely from the research discussed in

Chapters 2 and 3, and, to some extent, the curriculum guidance, as ones with which teachers would be familiar. These were couched in accessible and largely uncontentious language, to explore how the teacher understood spiritual development to link to more familiar areas. Sections

2 and 3 were originally combined but it soon became clear that I was trying to ask two quite different types of question - possible indicators of spiritual development if one were to assess an individual child and factors likely to affect spiritual development. Apart from splitting these in the main study, I used the categories as originally planned, with the (helpful) addition of ‘a questioning attitude/ curiosity’ suggested by Helen. Section 2 was intended, broadly, to encourage teachers to think about, and comment on, the characteristics of a spiritually mature child. Section 3 raised the possibly controversial factors mentioned above, often touched on in passing, by teachers in my M.Sc. study. Raising them indirectly like this, rather than as a direct question, was intended

117 to invite response or further reflection without suggesting too directly that they were important or otherwise.

During the pilot study, I decided that I would give each teacher a summary of the first discussion both to check its accuracy and to invite further comment. I decided not to prepare the exact questions for the second and third discussions in advance of the visit, except the few concluding questions set out below. I wished to adopt broadly the same structure in discussions with each respondent, but anticipated that critical incidents and emerging viewpoints from the classroom observation would provide questions for these discussions. My approach to observation was designed to enable these to be recorded and the questions formulated. I devised the exact questions during the visit within a general framework. Experience in the pilot school confirmed my belief that this was the best approach. I formulated the questions for the second discussion primarily from:

 following up issues raised in the first discussion, the summary I had passed on subsequently or

comments resulting from the self-assessment schedule;

 issues which the teacher had not covered in any depth in the first discussion;

 the ‘critical incidents’ and ‘emerging viewpoints’; and

 those issues which I intended to raise by the end of the second discussion to ensure that

various key questions considered, unless the teacher had already raised them, some of them

highlighted in 3.vii, others approaching issues raised in Chapters 2 and 3 more obliquely.

This last group included the teacher’s views on:

 assembly, and other gatherings whether of the whole school or the class;

 the role of awe and wonder;

 whether spiritual experience relates only to what is enjoyable;

118  the extent to which spiritual awareness or maturity is a matter of ‘gift or gain’, the balance

between genetic predisposition and environmental influences;

 the level of spiritual maturity of three specific children, one mature, one immature and one

who fitted neither category exactly, but seemed to show some specific quality which might

distinguish the child who was spiritually mature (or immature) as opposed to more general

maturity; and

 the ends, or hoped-for outcomes, in relation to spiritual development, and the means to

achieve these.

The first of these resulted from my wish to explore the role of the larger group, as opposed to that of the individual. The second resulted from the place accorded to it by guidance for teachers and what many teachers say. The third and fourth were to explore further more abstract aspects of the teachers’ understanding, based on two key issues within the academic debate. The fifth was an attempt to approach the question in the first discussion about the spiritually mature child from a different angle. The last, developed in the pilot visit, was to try and ensure that the teacher talked about both the purpose of spiritual development and how she approached it.

I used the self-assessment schedule again at the start of the third discussion. This second use had three purposes. One was to stimulate any final reflections on issues previously raised. This happened only occasionally. The second was to give a basis for comparing the teacher’s understanding between the start and end of my visit, to see to what extent this had changed. This was part of seeing how detailed discussion and thought affected the teacher’s understanding. The third use was to provide an internal research cross-check of my influence, such that in essence, if a large number of teachers were to have ‘promoted’ the same issue, this would, prima facie, have suggested that my influence had been too great.

119 In the third discussion, after repeating the self-assessment schedule, I planned to raise issues from the first or second discussions needing further clarification or amplification, in some cases one or more further critical incidents and issues arising from my observations and, for all the teachers, final questions on the following lines:

 how, if at all, the teacher would describe the spiritual within a specific subject area, with me

choosing one that they had not mentioned;

 the most important priority they would highlight for a student teacher or visiting inspector;

 asking again whether children ‘develop’ spiritually; and

 whether, and how, they thought their own view had changed during the visit.

Throughout, I was concerned to avoid the teacher adopting my position, or what they believed my position to be. I tried to avoid this by giving several assurances that I did not want that, and that it was in no one’s interests for such a position to be adopted. I attempted to offer leads as little as possible, though the need to encourage teachers who were reticent generally, or were unforthcoming on particular issues, meant that at times I intervened more than would ideally have been desirable. I decided not to raise directly more than twice any issue which the teacher had not responded to, making the judgement that, if I raised an issue a third time, she would be almost bound to think that I thought it important. Obviously the teacher could raise any issue as often as she wished.

I decided, if possible, to tape-record each discussion. This was valuable so that I could:

 concentrate on what the teacher was saying rather than taking notes, and so respond at the time

to issues raised, or seek clarification or amplification;

 complete the summaries and overall views more fully;

 re-listen to the tapes so that my initial interpretations could be reviewed; and

120  re-visit the tapes later with a view to looking for internal coherence and consistency between

teachers.

I considered the use of simple written ‘scenarios’ to which respondents re-act or comment on to what they understand to be occurring in relation to spiritual development. This was in the belief that there would be value in each teacher considering a similar contextualised (albeit fictional) scenario. While this instrument would have given some comparability between different settings, I abandoned them during my pilot visit, as they seemed likely to be too artificial and limiting, given that I was observing rich contexts with ample possibilities for contextualised discussion.

5.v Sharing interpretations with the teacher

As I considered my research method, and conducted the pilot visit, the more important I thought it to be to share my initial interpretation with the teacher involved as openly as possible.

Encouraging the teacher’s co-operation and reflection, to clarify her understanding, had a value in its own right and offered me a greater chance of understanding and articulating the teacher’s understanding. Three main aspects of this were:

 practical, to encourage the teacher to be more forthcoming;

 epistemological, to counter as far as possible bias and projection as raised in 5.i; and

 ethical, to avoid me misrepresenting the teacher’s understanding.

I started from the basis of being prepared to share with the teacher whatever I wrote during the visit, except the final part of what I called my overall view - and even that if pressed! In this section, I discuss the strengths and difficulties, and in 5.vi the ethical issues, which arose.

121 I planned to share directly with the teacher:

 my summary of the first discussion, given to her soon afterwards, inviting comment either in

writing or at the start of the second discussion. This usually ran to some two sides of A4,

including the summary of the first self-assessment schedule; and

 the first part of my ‘overall view’ which comprised three or four sides of A4, consisting of a

record and interpretation of views expressed in the second and third discussions, a record of

the results of both self-assessments, and a brief summary of the key points of the teacher’s

understanding. I sent this after the end of the visit, again inviting any comments, though I did

not expect there to be many, since I was fairly confident that the teacher was likely to be in

agreement. No teacher did contact me to correct this overall view. These are set out, slightly

edited, in Appendix 5 for each teacher.

The second part of my overall view was for my own use only and consisted of brief comments on the teaching environment and the structure of the day, a judgement about the teacher’s fluency and ability to articulate practice and which issues she did not place much emphasis on. I included the issues highlighted as very important in the first and second self-assessments and tried to identify the ‘ends’ and ‘means’ highlighted by the teacher. Finally I wrote a small section of overall impressions and possibly significant, and more personal, issues that did not easily fit in elsewhere such as dissonances between what the teacher said they thought was important and what they actually did. While I wished to share as much as possible with the teacher, I retained this last part for my own use, mostly because it gave me an opportunity to record some tentative hypotheses and some personal observations which formed the basis of patterns of consistency between the teachers. In total this second part of the ‘overall view’ usually fitted on one side of paper but occasionally went on to a second.

122 I hoped that this overall view would record and retain some of the freshness of immediate impressions and hunches to enable comparison between teachers which was likely to become more difficult after the visits. However, what started as a simple summary came to prove more problematical than I had anticipated. This was in terms of both the boundaries of confidentiality and openness which I discuss in 5.vi, and the management of a mass of data, open to differing interpretations which I needed to narrow, but not to finalise too soon. I return to this in 8.i.

I wished to be as open about my records as possible. I did not tell the teachers which parts I wanted to keep to myself, but I suspect that they would have been surprised at how little this was.

No teacher asked to see my field notes. I would have been prepared to show them, if asked, despite writing the odd, usually speculative, remark to myself to investigate some aspect to compare what

I had seen with another comment or observation, or that teacher with another. I would have phrased them more cautiously had I thought it likely that they would be read by the teacher. I was particularly careful to keep sensitive information confidential and anonymous.

I decided to offer feedback to the teacher at the conclusion of the visit, or afterwards. This was to pass on how I saw the teacher’s understanding fitting in with the literature and guidance available and with my own views, rather than any assessment of whether the teacher ‘taught spirituality’ (or anything else) well or not. The feedback consisted of a spoken discussion, a written summary or both, but with a strict injunction and agreement that it was not to be shared outside the school. I offered this with some reservations as teachers might (accidentally) have talked to others that I was going to visit late, and so disrupted my research there. However, I regarded this risk as worth taking both because of the strongly, almost universally, expressed wish for this both at the pilot visit and in initial visits, as part of the bargain of allowing me access, and because I thought that this would encourage the openness which, as indicated above, I wanted. In 6.ii, I describe some unexpected beneficial consequences of the feedback session.

123 5.vi Ethical issues

A range of ethical issues emerged as I considered the research method adopted. Some, of a practical nature, were relatively easily resolved. I negotiated with each school whether parents need to be informed of my presence, and my purpose in being there. I did not anticipate that this should pose difficulties and this was the case. I assured the school that I had been cleared with the police for criminal convictions. In one case, they decided to check this.

Although significant ethical problems can arise in working with young children, my approach to observation meant that these would be less than if I had been researching young children’s spirituality as such. As with all work with young children, there is the possibility of disclosure of personal or intimate issues. I was aware that I might see other adults, whether staff or parents, behaving inappropriately. I decided to follow the policy of the school and the LEA in responding to such occasions had they arisen. In practice, no such issues did occur to cause me disquiet. Some more significant ethical issues emerged during the visits to schools. It is not easy to separate how much these were considered, and resolved, during the planning stage and as the visits took place. I introduce these here and return to one significant difficulty below.

I became increasingly sure that treating teachers as subjects and partners in exploring their understanding would both serve my purpose best and be ethically more appropriate. I was open about my intention to use a range of means to gather information. Comments in our discussions were made openly and teachers were aware that I was watching and noting what went on in the classroom. However, it was reasonable that the teacher would expect that some information would remain more private. Occasionally, this was explicit, such as comments made only once the tape- recorder had been turned off. More often, a casual remark, or an overheard conversation, might reveal views, or ways of expressing such views, which the teacher might be uncomfortable that I

124 should have heard, whether from the teacher or a third party. I could not entirely discount those expressed by the teacher. However, I did not use those from a third party except to prompt questions to be examined with the teacher. As it happened, I did not encounter any major dissonance between what was said, or done, knowingly in my presence and what I heard, or saw, without the individual’s knowledge.

One aspect to which I had given insufficient thought, to which I return in 6.iv, was the possibility that talking about very personal issues, even raised at the teacher’s own instigation, might cause distress. Such issues mentioned included the death of one teacher’s own mother or the severe illness of a friend’s child. On three occasions I was concerned that what the teacher had said might have uncovered serious personal issues. In two cases, the teacher assured me that this was not the case, as far as she was concerned. I discuss the other in 6.iv. These experiences made me wary of exploring such issues too deeply and prompted me to offer teachers the chance not to continue when they raised, or seemed to be approaching, such areas. I did consider offering a general warning about this, in advance, to those teachers I worked with subsequently but decided against this as it was likely to set off greater and needless anxiety.

It was both fortunate and deliberately engineered that in my approach to teachers practical considerations coincided with ethical ones. It was in my interest both to offer and to maintain full confidentiality, in discussion, and anonymity, in publication or dissemination. Any breach of trust had the potential not only to be morally deplorable but to undermine my whole methodology.

Without the trust I worked hard to establish and maintain, I was unlikely to bring out the teacher’s deeper understanding. In practice, it was most unlikely that anyone would wish to identify particular teachers in the study, with the possible exception of present or potential employers but I was careful from the outset to state, re-iterate and maintain my total independence from the LEA, school managers or governors, or any outside body in terms of this research. In theory, my inside

125 knowledge of the teacher’s views might place me in an awkward situation, were I to undertake another role in the LEA or school. While such a remark inevitably sounds trite, I tried hard to ensure that no confidence can, or will, be abused by me or another other person.

5.vii Conducting and learning from the pilot study

In summary, I originally anticipated that the typical visit would consist of;

 a discussion of up to thirty minutes near the start of my visit, including at the end the first

completion of the self-assessment schedule, followed shortly with a written summary;

 between twenty and thirty hours of observation spread over up to ten days within a three week

period, with field notes of what I observed and of informal discussions;

 a second discussion in the second week of up to thirty minutes, following up issues from the

first discussion and ensuring that all the issues to be raised by then had been; and

 a third, probably rather shorter, discussion at the end of the visit, starting with the second

completion of the self-assessment schedule, the purpose being largely to summarise and check

but also including a few concluding questions; with the second and third discussions referring to critical incidents or responses observed and using pre-prepared scenarios, though as discussed in 5.iv, I decided not to use these scenarios.

I wanted to test this approach by conducting a pilot visit in one school, in particular to evaluate:

 how much time to spend in the classroom, and how best to use that time;

 how best to make my presence as unobtrusive as possible in order to put the teacher at ease;

 to what extent my approach to observation and data gathering enabled me both to record what

appeared to be going on and to frame appropriate questions for the discussions;

126  whether the pattern of three discussions revealed a change of view, and, in particular, whether

any such change appeared to stem from further reflection or from prompting, conscious or

otherwise, from me; and

 whether there was a prima facie case that such an approach seemed likely to work.

The meeting to set up the pilot study visit, mentioned in 4.viii, was successful, in that the teacher,

Yvonne, who had returned to teaching only some six months previously, after a break of about fifteen years, agreed to take part. Although Yvonne was very nervous, the head was subtly supportive of me, presumably because she anticipated a gain in terms of professional development.

This suggested to me that I could persuade the teachers, and heads, that they might gain something from my visit.

At the meeting the nursery nurse who worked full-time in the unit was also present. Naively, I had not sufficiently considered the importance of other adults in the units. This was particularly important in this instance, given that the nursery-nurse, an experienced and a forceful character, who was considering training to be a teacher herself, asked several apposite questions. I considered briefly whether to include other adults working in the units in the research, rather than just teachers. However, I decided that, as proved to be the case, this situation was probably unusual. It was useful that this issue was raised, and resolved, early in the research. In the event, both Yvonne and the nursery nurse were extremely co-operative throughout my visit.

The value of the pilot visit was evident in the observation and, especially, in the discussions. As planned, I held three discussions with Yvonne. The first lasted about twenty minutes. She was unsure at the start, but became more enthusiastic and thoughtful as she attempted to articulate views she was unsure about. On some questions, she was happy to say that she was not sure, and wanted time to think. I was encouraged in relation to whether I would lead teachers towards views

127 similar to my own. Yvonne, although nervous, was willing to say that she did not think an aspect that I mentioned - for instance, nature - had much to do with spiritual development. And her view, although changing somewhat during the course of the discussions, retained the core that she articulated initially, rather than taking on completely new aspects. This seemed to suggest that she, at least, had not been too susceptible to unconscious manipulation and that my conscious efforts to avoid influencing her had been successful.

The second discussion was not very successful in developing my own understanding of her view.

This was largely because I did not cover all the areas that I had intended to and became too taken up in the direct context of the individual unit. I decided just beforehand not to use the written scenarios, largely because they seemed to offer such an arid and decontextualised position compared to the richness of what I was observing. During the third discussion, it became clear that, while Yvonne had made various oblique remarks about how spirituality develops, and can be nurtured or enhanced, her view of this was very different from what I had come to believe. As a great deal seemed to flow from this conceptual position, I decided to ask this question explicitly in the first discussion. Other than this, and ensuring that I had raised all the planned areas by the end of the second discussion, the pattern of questions used in the pilot was to remain largely unaltered in the main study.

The success of some specific approaches in the pilot visit led me to adopt them in the main study.

The first was to give the teacher the written summary after the first discussion, so that she could confirm these, or modify them, and to prompt further thoughts on the issues raised. The second was to abandon the pre-prepared written scenarios. The third was the use of the self-assessment schedules, both after the first, and before the final, discussion. While this instrument has some flaws, it helped to confirm impressions of a change of emphasis, which I had noted, and to highlight possible changes that I had not. It provided an interesting overview which did seem to

128 me both to highlight those answers which remained constant throughout and those where they had changed. I decided, slightly later, to divide the self-assessment schedule into three, instead of two, sections, as described.

Some aspects of the pilot visit led me to approach the main study differently but were a little misleading. These included:

 the disruption to the curriculum because of the proximity to the end of the summer term;

 how willing children were to approach me and talk to me, often at some length, a feature far

less common in the main study schools. This made little long-term difference, but it initially

surprised me that, in other schools, the children were less willing to approach me; and

 the relative inexperience of the teacher, and experience of the nursery nurse. This led me to

imagine that a closer, and more even, relationship between the teacher and other staff was

more common than proved to be the case elsewhere.

In retrospect, these insights were helpful, though initially unsettling, when I started the main study visits. The main value was to make me more aware to approach each visit with as few preconceptions as possible. A large number of other issues, mostly quite minor, emerged from the pilot visit. The most important result was to conclude that the overall format;

 was practicable;

 enabled me to be relatively unobtrusive so that, after a while, the teacher would largely ignore

me; and

 offered effective ways of minimizing the extent to which I imposed my own view on the

teacher, either overtly or through particular lines of questioning.

129 In particular, I decided that the pilot visit supported my view that:

 focusing for a period of some three weeks and having three discussions would help the

teachers reflect on what they had said previously, and amend or clarify their views, though

subsequently it transpired that with some teachers the third discussion could be quite brief;

 there were positive benefits in spending that amount of time with each teacher, partly to enable

informal conversations;

 the documentation and approach, both before and during the visit, and the personal

introductory approach all worked well. The format of the summaries developed during the

pilot proved to be useful; and

 it seemed likely that spending ten full days would not be necessary, as at times I had felt that I

was not gaining very much from being there so long, but that around eight days, or part-days,

was likely to be a minimum.

By the start of the main study visits, I believed that my research method addressed the key dilemmas raised in 5.i and offered:

 an approach to observation which was feasible and able both to provide rich data in itself and

to suggest appropriate questions for the second and third discussions;

 a framework of questions grounded in classroom practice with a sound rationale comparable

for each respondent but not too restrictive in that I could introduce new areas without forcing

my own views or influencing the respondent unduly; and

 a method of initial interpretation which involved the teacher to some extent and encouraged a

cross-checking, amplification and clarification of my interpretation.

130 In the next chapter, I describe the advantages and limitations of this research method in practice.

6 Working with teachers in schools - from theory to practice

6.i Introducing the early years units

In this chapter I describe how the research method outlined in Chapter 5 worked in practice. As indicated, my final sample consisted of the fourteen teachers highlighted in Figure 4B, on page 99.

I outline, in this section, features of the early-years units, including several aspects such as the physical environment and the structure of the day which may appear unrelated to spiritual development. In Chapter 8, I consider the extent to which such implicit elements may reflect, or influence, the teachers’ understanding of spiritual development. I describe, in 6.ii, the structure and pattern of the visits, in 6.iii, how my approach to observation worked in practice, and, in 6.iv, the discussions. In 6.v, I reflect on three key issues inherent in my research methods.

In 4.vii, I outlined three specifications for early years units, relating to the provision of appropriate qualified staff, the age of the children and the availability of a secure outdoor play area. In this section, I comment on the extent to which these were met. The staffing and size of the ten early- years units in my final sample, and the numbers of children in each, is set out in Figure 6A on the next page. The size, and organisational complexity, varied from A where the teacher-in-charge’s role was very like the head of a nursery school, managing several staff, or D where three teachers had to plan and liaise closely together, to those at H and G where the unit operated largely as a separate class, and J, with a group of only six children for the afternoon session. The condition that each unit should be staffed by at least two adults, one a teacher, the other preferably a nursery nurse (NNEB), or alternatively a trained learning support assistant (LSA), was met everywhere, except (arguably) G. Often other adults, whether learning support assistants or volunteers, were involved for part of the week. In the single-teacher units, the teacher had clear responsibility for

131 the planning of the curriculum. The level of responsibility given to other staff varied, depending both on the level of qualification and of trust between the teacher and the other staff. Experienced

NNEB staff operated in some units much like another teacher in working with the children, as at F and J. Less experienced NNEB staff were (understandably) given less autonomy, as at H and E.

Untrained learning support staff were usually given less autonomy and more specific instructions, as at G where no member of staff was NNEB trained. Such an approach is unsurprising.

Figure 6A NB NNEB - Nursery Nurse, LSA- Learning support assistant

SCHOOL NUMBER OF OTHER NUMBER OF NUMBER OF TYPE OF TEACHERS ADULTS FULL-TIME PART-TIME CLASSROOM IN UNIT CHILDREN CHILDREN A 2 (see note 1) NNEB (2), LSA, 46 18 pm only Six rooms of Student teacher different sizes B 2 (see note 1) NNEB 34 0 Double classroom Part-time student C 2 NNEB 12 20 am only Double classroom (see note 3) D 3 NNEB 0 57 am only Purpose built, LSA spacious, 3 bases and shared area E 1 NNEB (am only) 13 9 (see note 3 Single classroom (LSA pm only) and 4) F 1 NNEB 14 13 am only Single classroom 14 pm only G 1 LSA (2, one full 16 14 am only Free-standing time, one part- 13 pm only single classroom. time) Outdoor play area out of action. H 1 NNEB, LSA (1 0 26 am only Double classroom session per week) J 1 NNEB (am only) 6 12 am only Single classroom K 3 (see note 2) LSA (am only) 11 22 am only Large double classroom Note 1: At A and B, I was working with only one of the two teachers. Note 2: At K, there were three part time teachers, with two sharing the teaching on any morning. Of the two teachers I worked with, Kirsty worked three mornings and two afternoons and Kate worked three mornings and three afternoons. Note 3: Only two units (the morning group at C with 15 boys and 5 girls and the whole group at E with were 14 boys and 8 girls) had a significant gender imbalance.

132 Note 4 During the visit to E, almost all of the ‘morning-only’ children changed to all day attendance for three days of the week. Where there was more than one teacher, the responsibility for planning depended much more on the level of experience of the teachers and other staff involved. At one large unit, A, the second teacher was relatively inexperienced, and the unit leader took a major responsibility for the deployment of up to six adults. In the other large unit, D, the three teachers planned together so that they offered a similar curriculum to each class, working out the deployment of staff and use of resources systematically. In both cases, the support staff were given a considerable level of responsibility working within this planning framework. At C and B, one teacher was longer established at the school and the more senior partner. At C, the personal confidence of the newer teacher, Caroline, meant that she was keen to inject her ideas into the planning. At B, the second teacher appeared to be happy for the senior partner, Bridget, to take a lead. At K, the responsibility for planning seemed to be shared evenly. I discuss observing, and interpreting the understanding of, teachers in units with more than one teacher, in 6.iii.

The specification that early-years units should cater only for children in the reception year was met in all the units except A, where three-year olds were admitted for the afternoon session, largely as a response to the considerable social needs in a very disadvantaged area. Inevitably, most children in the units visited towards the end of the year were older than those earlier in the year. However, except at A, there was never an age span of more than one year. The pattern of which groups of children attended for which sessions varied from unit to unit. To some extent, this reflected at what point of the year my visit occurred. As indicated in Figure 6A, there was considerable variation in whether all the children stayed throughout the day, or some for only part of the day, or whether a new group of children came for the afternoon only. At H and D, early in the year, the children attended only for the morning. Later in the year, the number of children staying for the whole day increased, as the older children reached statutory age and/or because of the school’s

133 policy to extend this opportunity to younger children. The oldest children were those who were offered an all-day place when this was available. Much of my observation took place in the mornings. In morning-only units, this was inevitable. In the all-day units I tended to concentrate more on the mornings, as these were the times when most children were present, and several units had such small afternoon groups that my presence was intrusive. However, I did spend at least two afternoons at each all-day unit, to see if the teachers’ approach altered.

The requirement for morning and afternoons sessions to be of equal length, and difficulties fitting this with the school lunchbreak, meant in several units that a smaller group stayed for between ten and thirty minutes usually before, and occasionally after, lunchtime. Teachers approached this in very different ways providing an insight into their underlying, and often tacit, beliefs. For example, Georgina took the opportunity to work intensively and directly, often with the reading and discussion of a story, with the older group before, and the younger group after, the lunch break. Fran used the time for the older children to have free choice and relatively undirected play.

Jane used a shorter period of time for the older children to read on their own.

Physically, and structurally, the units offered a surprisingly wide range of approach and provision.

However, all had a carpeted area where the children could gather for registration and class discussion, all had a home corner, and most had sand and water trays and a painting area set out permanently. Most had other areas designated for specific activities and tables where particular materials such as puzzles or counting equipment were set out. Most units were at least adequately equipped with puzzles, construction equipment etc. appropriate for the age-group.

The specification to have a safe and secure outdoor play area was very largely met, though the size and quality, and the level of equipment (both fixed and moveable), varied considerably. This often reflected considerations of space or of conversion of older accommodation. At D, for example, a

134 beautifully designed and well-resourced classroom block had only a very small outdoor area. At

H, a very well-equipped outdoor area with expensive climbing frames and plenty of space contrasted with a classroom in a state of relatively poor repair and resourcing. Significant building work at G meant that the outdoor play area was temporarily unavailable.

The extent to which the unit was perceived as integral to, or separate from, the rest of the school varied considerably. This operated both quite explicitly and subtly. Among the explicit indicators were the extent to which the units were expected to act like other classes in relation to such matters as starting and ending sessions with prayer, participation in assemblies and whole-school approaches to behaviour management. The subtle indicators are too numerous to list, but included such things as how the teachers themselves described the unit, whether other members of staff or older children visited the unit and the sharing of resources.

In some schools, notably H, the unit seemed almost to be free-standing from the rest of the school.

In others, notably the Catholic schools and two of those where a whole-school Family Links

Programme was in place, the class was much more integrated within the life of the wider school community. In the case of the Catholic schools, and the Family Links Programme, the teachers explicitly related this aspect to children’s spiritual development. I therefore comment briefly on each, and return to their significance in 8.ii.

All three Catholic schools (C, F and E) were open and explicit about their mission. This was reflected in the units especially in relation to assembly and worship. In all three, the children joined regularly with older children in assemblies. At C and E, there was an expectation of starting and ending each session with prayer. Even at F, where this was not expected, there was a strong sense of being part of a wider Catholic community. All four teachers in Catholic schools, three of them not Catholics, made regular reference to, and emphasised, the school’s religious aspect. This

135 was different from the only Anglican school in the sample (K) where the influence of the school’s foundation was much less obvious, though this evidence is too slight to draw any firm conclusions.

Three schools (A, B and G) had adopted an approach called Family Links, the implementation of which was one of the few approaches which the teachers said was expected of them as part of a whole-school approach. The programme is predicated on a belief that even young children can choose how to behave well and learn the consequences of not doing so. In all three schools, it had been introduced throughout the school to help children to process their emotions and improve their behaviour. Two were schools serving very disadvantaged catchments, where the children’s behaviour had been identified as an important issue. All three teachers were enthusiastic about how successful the programme had been and it led to a distinctive approach, especially in the emphasis to children that they were making choices about how they behaved. This was frequently re-inforced publicly in circle time and when children were starting to misbehave. Those teachers were, explicitly and consciously, very precise in how they responded and used language to model for children a language of making choices and personal responsibility.

In these schools, the teachers set great store by circle time where all the children, or at least a large group, gather formally to discuss situations, and their feelings about them. This was usually at a planned time, but could also be used in response to difficult situations. The usual pattern was for a toy animal or similar symbol to be an indicator of the person allowed to speak, with all the other children expected to listen in silence. Usually, this was passed round, with the child allowed to pass it on if she or he did not wish to speak. At D, there was a similar approach, though less formalised, with the three teachers implementing it in their own way.

Few of the units had more than one or two children from ethnic minority backgrounds. Only

Debbie and Kirsty, both of whom had lived and worked in multi-cultural communities, made

136 significant reference to ethnicity and how active membership of a religious tradition other than

Christianity might be related to spiritual development. Debbie recognised that schools like hers, rightly or wrongly, tended to assume a common cultural background. Kirsty drew from her own daughter’s experience to highlight how racism affected self-esteem and identity, and related these to spiritual development. Several schools tried to help children recognise the differing needs of children in other countries, through posters and displays, as at F and G, or through drama as Derek did. Given that most schools served largely homogeneous white communities, such a lack of emphasis may be unsurprising but it reflects one limitation of this study which could be expected to be different in more heterogeneous schools.

6.ii Examining the structure and pattern of the visits

In this, and the next two, sections, I describe my visits. As I shall discuss further, any description is inevitably subject to an initial process of selection and interpretation. However, I seek to present this, at this stage, without making substantial interpretative claims.

I confirmed arrangements for my visit about ten days in advance. I arrived well before the start of the first session, so that I could re-introduce myself to the teacher, talk about how I hoped to proceed, at least for the first day or two, and establish some basic ground-rules. These included how I should be introduced to the children and administrative details such as the use of the staffroom, storage and so on. I asked the teacher to introduce me to the children saying that I had come to work in the unit and help them, to enable the children to approach me if they wished.

Most teachers, understandably, anticipated my visit with some nervousness, given that the presence of someone unknown watching one teach for a long period of time is quite unnerving. I reiterated that I was not looking at whether the teacher taught well or badly, in general terms or in relation to spiritual development, to try and put the teachers at their ease as much, and as soon, as

137 possible. I reminded teachers that I wanted them to continue as normal, and certainly not to prepare any special lessons. Most of the teachers were, I suspect, slightly puzzled about what I would actually do. Some teachers in the later visits were less clear about my research than those at the start, probably because of the passage of time between our first meeting and my visit. For instance, Fran was unclear initially that my research focus was on teachers’ understanding. While her introduction of me to some parents as ‘looking at children’s moral development’ might be taken as a slip, other comments suggested that this was not so. In contrast, Georgina asked perceptive questions about my hypothesis and method at our first meeting, immediately said

‘Good’ when I confirmed that I was coming and was inquisitive throughout about my method.

Several teachers, at least initially, found my presence awkward. In most cases, the teachers’ initial nervousness, as anticipated, rapidly diminished after the first two or three days. This is unsurprising as teachers of young children are used to other adults in the classroom.

The most surprising event was on the first morning at C, where I had agreed to work with

Cathleen, not realising that there was a second teacher, Caroline, who introduced herself to me and indicated during the morning a wish to participate. While this might have skewed the sample in a statistically representative survey, I believed that including her would widen the scope of the project without affecting the timescale. With the agreement of the other teacher and the head, I added her to the sample.

The pattern of visits varied between units, depending on such factors as the level of confidence of the teacher, the approach to pedagogy, the shape, size and layout of the unit and the children’s own responses. For reasons set out at the end of this section, the visit to B was truncated. This apart, certain patterns emerged in each visit which I conceptualised in three phases:

 the introductory;

 the further hypothesis- and question-forming; and

138  the checking-and-concluding phase.

Within each phase, there were patterns of teacher response, of responses from the children and research perspectives on which I concentrated. While the timing of these phases altered slightly, they provided a useful, though unplanned, framework to check my progress and ensure that I stayed on track.

The introductory phase usually lasted for two or three days. Initially, I recorded teacher conversation and interaction in as much detail as possible, while trying to remain unobtrusive. The pattern for my interactions with the teacher was usually set on the first day. For example, Erica came and talked to me quite a lot as she taught, reflecting on events as they occurred, and Fran was somewhat over-attentive to my needs. Others interacted with me hardly at all. Although most teachers were understandably self-conscious, often checking what I was doing and ensuring that I had all that I needed, most seemed quite happy for me to sit and take notes and became less wary once past the initial phase of unfamiliarity. During this phase, while familiarising myself with the unit and with the children, my intention was to gather initial impressions, especially of the classroom environment, and to become a familiar face to the children and adults. I rarely initiated conversation with children, but responded when approached. I discuss in 6.iii how the children responded to my presence. By the end of the introductory phase, I had usually completed between twelve and eighteen pages of field notes, conducted the first discussion (usually on the first or second day), drawn a plan of the unit and started to draft the more factual and descriptive elements of the overall view.

The second phase involved the formation of further hypotheses and questions, both for me to answer and to ask the teacher in the second discussion. These emerged mainly from the summary of the first discussion which I wrote after listening to the tape recording. Showing this to the teacher, to make my own preliminary interpretations clear, invite her comments about accuracy

139 and stimulate further thought, proved an important part of the methodology. It was salutary and valuable for me, in my first visit, that Diana felt that I had been both unduly judgmental and careless in not quoting her exactly and said so. Certainly the second criticism was fair. This made me much more careful in my phrasing. Caroline made detailed annotations of my summary, correcting or clarifying specific points. Most teachers made a few short comments or answered specific points on which I had sought clarification.

From the start, I was keen to note ‘critical incidents’, as discussed in 5.iii. Typically, I noted between four and ten during each visit, of which I describe some in this thesis, while others enrich my interpretation without being specifically highlighted. Recording them generally proved both easy and instructive. During the hypothesis-forming phase, especially on the third, fourth and fifth days, I increasingly used ‘emerging viewpoints’ to formulate further questions for the second and third discussions. This worked slightly differently from how I had anticipated it, tending to become a list of queries, and emerging hypotheses, about the teachers’ understanding, to be checked in the subsequent observations and discussions.

I spent time in the second phase focusing on specific children to identify three individuals on whose level of spiritual maturity I asked the teacher to comment in the second discussion. This proved surprisingly useful. Apart from the intended outcome, it helped to focus my observation on the children’s experience of the unit and to interpret the activity of the unit, and the teacher’s specific instructions and responses, from that perspective. In essence, this provided me with a mechanism of moving from looking at the general, with the risk of seeing only generalities, to focusing on the specific and gaining a different perspective on what was happening. In doing so, I found myself starting to consider in more detail not only what was evident, but what was missing compared to other teachers and units.

140 The second discussion normally took place on the fifth or sixth day. Soon afterwards, I decided how many more days I wished to spend at the unit, and arranged the third discussion accordingly.

From that point, my visit entered the checking-and-concluding phase. By then, I had written the descriptive elements about the unit within the overall view. The final two to three days were used mainly for considering possible dissonances between stated beliefs and practice, and issues which remained a puzzle, or had not been covered. I concentrated rather less on the teacher directly and more on the overall environment and specific children. Although I originally set aside up to ten days and indicated that I might be present for that length of time, most visits, in practice, occupied eight or nine days. I wished neither to impose myself on the teacher nor waste my time by staying beyond the point where I felt that I was still gathering new and useful insights. A three week period within which to fit in these visits enabled me to observe the teacher on different days of the week and allow for absences, as well as giving a flexibility which proved valuable in terms of my own commitments and not overburdening the teacher.

On the final day, I held the third discussion, thanked the teacher(s) involved and other adults and offered feedback if requested. Either then, or soon afterwards, I wrote to the head of the school to offer my thanks for their welcome and co-operation and to offer to come and lead a staff meeting for some or all of the staff. Despite four saying that they would be interested in this, only one did contact me to arrange such a session.

After my visit I sent my overall view (apart from the final page as mentioned in 5.v) which included my summary of the second and third discussions and of the teacher’s understanding, inviting comment if they wished. In all cases except three, teachers were keen for a feedback session. Ostensibly this was to give my views about spiritual development, but it offered a chance for the teacher to reflect further on her beliefs and my initial interpretation. One example was with

Georgina who questioned what I meant by writing that she was perhaps more within a behavioural

141 tradition than her comments had suggested. When conducted after the teacher had read the final overall view, the feedback session helped to confirm that it was accurate. Usually, the session preceded the writing of the overall view and helped to confirm and clarify my interpretations. The teacher’s reaction was a further tool in the interpretative process.

At H, I did not conduct the third discussion. I discuss this further in 6.iv. In only one school, B, was I unable to complete the visit sufficiently to feel confident that I had explored the teacher’s understanding adequately. On a number of occasions, Bridget indicated that she was doing assessments and preferred that I did not come. By the end of the second week, I was far enough behind to be concerned. However, we fixed the second discussion and I was hopeful that the visit could be completed on schedule. She contacted me to postpone it and despite numerous attempts to contact her I could not do so to re-arrange it. Reluctantly, after four weeks, I decided that it was no longer feasible. Although there is a case for withdrawing Bridget from the sample, I did not do so because the visit highlighted key issues related to a teacher who appeared to be uncomfortable with exploring these issues in depth. It also made me aware of the limitations of one discussion and a short time of observation. The visit to B provided a different and valuable perspective, although the content must be treated with caution.

6.iii Observing teachers at work - practical issues

I described in Chapter 5 how I envisaged using both observation and discussion of actions and language that are open to differing interpretations within a complex social setting. I had decided to spend a substantial length of time observing the teaching environment and pedagogy to see how well these matched with the teacher’s spoken responses. I was looking primarily at the expectations and environment they created. This included the use of space and materials, the structures developed, the teaching approaches adopted and how the teachers related to the

142 children. Seeing what was missing, or little emphasised, was at least as important as what I did observe.

Spending more than twenty hours with each teacher was intended to:

 indicate both that I was taking the task seriously and that these questions are not open to

simple answers;

 enable all the adults and children involved to become familiar with my presence and so help

me to see the unit functioning as normally as possible, as well as critical incidents;

 provide a shared context for discussion for examples which tended to bring the conversation

back to practicalities rather than abstractions; and

 offer the chance of informal conversations which may be more illuminating than prepared or

formal responses.

I referred in 5.iii to the difficulties inherent in observing teachers working with young children.

Researchers usually try to act as detached observers. For part of the time, I tried to do so, but this was not always easy, appropriate nor in some cases possible. I engaged with the children, sometimes through supervised group-activity, often through responding to their approaches, and occasionally through conversations that I initiated. I wanted to observe the teacher, and be able to see and hear what was going on, without being too invasive or obtrusive. I also watched how children interacted either with adults, each other and the learning environment. I deal with several considerations in turn, though the ease, and success, of the observations depended on a combination of these.

The first was the size and shape of the unit itself. Ideally, I wanted to observe from different physical positions, usually keeping the teacher in view, and preferably within earshot. I decided to

143 move position reasonably frequently, to see each unit through a variety of ‘lenses’, to try and envisage what the experience might be understood by the outsider, the teacher, and the child.

Although adopting different physical positions was only part of this, this did help me experience the unit from different perspectives. I tried not to move at times when I would disturb the teacher.

While it was usually convenient, in terms both of comfort and note-taking, to sit at a table, I joined children on the floor either at their request or, at times, to see the unit from their height and physical perspective.

Usually, the architecture of the units and arrangement of furniture enabled me to adopt positions where I could see what was going on without feeling conspicuous, especially when the children were engaged in a range of activities, as opposed to a large-group gathering. The notable exception was A, where six different rooms, and the demands of some very needy children, made it extremely difficult, especially on the first two or three days, to find suitable places to observe the teacher. After initial teething troubles, I decided to remain fairly static in the room where Alice predominantly worked. Though there were occasional difficulties elsewhere, this was the only unit where the physical layout proved consistently troublesome.

A second consideration related to the type of teaching. Put simply, at certain times, the whole group was together, for instance when the teacher was taking the register or telling a story. At other times, the children were working in a number of groups, usually supervised by an adult, or were engaged in activities or play that was more child-directed, often individual, or in small but constantly changing groups. Examples of the latter often occurred in the home corner, or at the sand and water trays. As one would expect, the balance of these altered from unit to unit. Often a mix of small-group work and individual play went on simultaneously. It was easiest to observe the teacher-directed activities, especially in larger groups, though I tended to feel more intrusive. Such sessions proved to be both the most revealing, when there was an interplay of ideas and responses

144 between teacher and children, and the least revealing, when the teacher was teaching a specific skill. Activities where teachers were working with small groups were the hardest to observe, mainly because I could not be close enough without being very intrusive. In several units, this pattern of group work was adopted for the more didactic sessions, often based on numeracy and literacy skills. Less clearly structured activities and individual conversations are inevitably difficult to observe systematically, without using a method such as recording events at set intervals. However, most units operated in such a way that I was able to follow the movements of the teacher, or a particular child (for instance if I wished to see how the teacher would respond to a particular incident), or an activity based in one place. This entailed some pre-selection of what I judged to be likely to be significant. In a complex social situation, this is inevitable. While some objectivity may be lost, the gain in deciding, from a mass of possibilities, what to focus on outweighs this.

A third consideration was how I interacted with the children. As indicated, I believed that engaging with the children could help me understand the teacher better, and make me less obtrusive. Although I had offered to help and support the teacher, how much they asked me to undertake particular tasks varied considerably. Most were, I think, unsure whether I really wished to be involved, or did not wish to disrupt their usual pattern of organisation. As a result I was, in most units, for most of the time, left with a fairly free hand, with the teacher suggesting that I engage with the children as I wished. On only a few occasions did I feel constrained by being asked to supervise a group of children. In the introductory phase, I spent most of my time observing the teacher closely, taking notes and becoming familiar with, and within, the unit. In the phase of further hypothesis- and question-forming, I tended to observe the teacher’s specific actions less closely but to concentrate on the wider environment and expectations. Being engaged with a group of children, or tracking specific children, was often valuable in this phase. In the final phase, that of checking-and-concluding, I often tried to step back from the detail of what I did see,

145 to consider what I was not seeing, or what was little emphasised. At this time a freedom to move around the room without being too tied to a group of children was useful. This enabled me to choose a mixed approach to observation, within the obvious constraints imposed by the teacher’s own planning and activities.

Such young children tend to respond in a much less sustained and predictable way than older children. While generalisation is hazardous, because the pattern altered from unit to unit, two or three children often ‘latched on’ to me early in the visit, within an hour or so of my arrival. These tended to be the more needy, and less secure, children who interacted with me fairly regularly throughout the visit. By the third or fourth day, more children tended to come and talk to me, show me their work, ask me to read a story or interact with me. This suggested a recognition that I was available, having got over an initial wariness which the more needy children did not share. Often, in the final phase, others would replace these children, some approaching me with just a passing remark or request. Many children, especially in the early stages, took little notice of me, though later responses indicated that, for many, this was a phase of deciding what to make of me. Some seemed barely to notice my presence. For others, I seemed to become quite an important source of attention, maybe because they were unused to having an adult, especially a man, available to respond to them. The most startling, but peripheral, example, was when one very needy boy at A took me firmly by the hand, set me down with some bricks, exhorted me to ‘Play!’ and proceeded to monopolise my attention for almost an hour.

A fourth consideration, closely linked to the previous two, was the attitude and style of the teacher, especially in relation to discipline. In most units, this presented little problem, not least because I was careful to ensure that my approach accorded with the teacher’s. Most teachers, after an initial period of wariness, were happy to let me continue with my observation and interaction with the children, as long as I broadly adopted the unit’s approach. However, the presence of an adult

146 whose role was not clearly defined offered for children in some units the chances to test boundaries. This was more of an issue in units where the teacher controlled children’s activities closely. For example, a child at B, came to me on the first morning, presumably trying to establish my role in the unit, to whisper that her sister had called her a ‘fucker’. More mundanely, a group of children at J regularly did not respond immediately to Jane’s instructions if they were working close to me, to see whether I would reinforce, or indeed subvert, her instructions, both of which I wished to avoid. Occasionally, this took on an ethical dimension. For example, the same children were keen to play a chasing/hide and seek game with me. This became at times irritating but I steered a course between sometimes agreeing and sometimes saying I was doing something else.

On one occasion, I had just agreed to do so, when Jane intervened, pleasantly but firmly, to say that she didn’t think it was a good idea. The children were (rightly) aware that she was the arbiter of discipline. Such incidents were very few but did provide valuable insights into the teacher’s expectations.

A fifth consideration in observation related to the number of adults present. This did not prove problematical in the single-teacher units where it was known that I was concentrating particularly on the teacher. While other staff were co-operative, and in most cases very welcoming, my observation was only marginally related to their work. There were two complications in the larger units. The first, where I was observing more than one teacher in the unit, was how much I should focus on only one teacher at a time, while ensuring that I spent enough time with each teacher.

This posed two different sorts of difficulty. At D, where the teachers worked separately, the problem was that of ensuring that I spent enough time with each teacher. While I feel that I spent long enough to formulate a clear view of each teacher’s understanding, it would have been better, in retrospect, to visit the unit later in the year, when part of the unit would have been operating full-time, or to have set aside a four-week, rather than a three-week, period. At C and K, the practical problem, at times when both teachers I was observing were teaching, was more one of

147 where to position myself and of ensuring that I did not concentrate on one to the exclusion of the other. More generally, I needed to plan so that I saw each teacher covering as a wide range of activities as possible. Given that I did not need to spend exactly the same amount of time with each teacher, this was primarily an issue related to planning my visit. I felt confident that I had spent long enough observing each teacher. More difficult was the interpretative issue raised in the next paragraph.

The second complication arose where I was working with only one of the teachers, as at A and B.

I needed not only to observe each teacher in her micro-interchanges with individuals or groups, but to judge the extent to which the overall environment reflected, or was at odds with, her underlying beliefs. Where I was working with two teachers, as at C and K, or all three, as at D, a similar judgement had to be made as to the extent of the individual teacher’s contribution to, and comfort with, the unit’s environment. Although problematical, this process was valuable, especially where dissonances between different teachers’ views or approaches appeared. Points of tension and disagreement seemed indicative of strongly-held views. In 8.iii, I discuss further the interpretation of environments and expectations.

6.iv Talking with the teachers - practical issues

The teachers varied enormously in how they approached the discussions. Most expressed an uncertainty about what spirituality is, with Georgina, for example, asking me to define it. Some were quite happy to talk about it despite this uncertainty. For example, Helen said, at least initially, that she had no idea what spirituality meant in relation to young children, Debbie was sceptical about whether certain aspects were anything to do with spirituality and Cathleen and

Derek, for quite different reasons, were reluctant to draw a sharp line between the spiritual and other domains.

148 The teachers generally seemed to understand my questions and were happy to ask for clarification.

As indicated in 5.iv, my questions were based on an expectation that many of the teachers would find it hard to describe and articulate their views. This proved to be somewhat patronising. Some teachers were comfortable with expressing their thoughts in words, others less so. Some, such as

Caroline and Derek, were very precise in their use of language, others, such as Erica or Kirsty, more exploratory in their answers. Several were surprisingly self-deprecating. Those who became enmeshed in worry about what spirituality is were less fluent than those who felt able to operate with the uncertainty of a looser level of definition. However, by the second discussion, all, apart from Bridget, seemed to find it relatively easy to talk about the issues raised. My encouragement to give practical examples and refer to particular incidents seemed to work well in most cases. As indicated, I encouraged teachers to be discursive and to talk around the subject. I found it easier to elaborate my understanding of those who were more discursive. They offered a greater range of issues to follow up either immediately or in future discussions. I was keen to allow the teacher opportunities to consider responses to difficult questions or ones where further thought leads to a change of emphasis and to keep checking with the teacher that my interpretation fitted with their intended meaning.

While it was in no way incumbent on teachers to introduce aspects of personal belief, some, such as Debbie, Diana and Alice, gave examples of quite a personal nature from their own lives. Others concentrated much more on their professional context, often those who offered briefer and less discursive responses, such as Cathleen and Jane. This appeared to result from nervousness that they might not make sense or from a certainty which usually reflected a more traditional, religious basis in their views. It seems likely that those who were suspicious of what they perceived

(rightly) to be my own different belief-system which they did not share recognised (probably implicitly) that discursive discussion was likely to undermine, or water down, the fundamental truths they wished to express. In many ways they appeared more coherent. A matter-of-fact

149 approach, especially when backed by evidence that what they did reflected what they said, often suggested simple, strongly-held beliefs and a concern, usually implicit, that my questions and research methods would undermine these.

The timing of the first discussion depended largely on the teacher’s availability. It was usually completed by the second day, though once it was postponed to the third. Its length varied between twenty and thirty-five minutes. The questions for the first discussion followed the standard pattern, set out in Appendix 3, followed by the completion of the self-assessment schedule which I found helpful in preparing the written summary. While there were occasional surprises or mismatches, there was a surprisingly close match between what the teacher had articulated at length and how she responded under a certain time pressure. How she answered the questions in it gave some indication of the level of importance ascribed to that issue, especially when issues were immediately regarded as very important or dismissed at once. As hoped, the schedule stimulated thought in many teachers, introducing in not too directive a way aspects which the teachers might not have associated with spiritual development, without pressing them too hard. Several returned to these issues in the second or third discussion.

I devised the questions for the second discussion on the basis described in 5.iv. I wrote the questions in advance, though the approach of following up issues not fully covered in the first discussion and of drawing on my observation to formulate new questions meant that the questions varied between teachers. However, I managed to ensure, with the occasional minor omission, that, by the end of the second discussion, the full range of intended questions and topics had been covered, either through following leads in the teacher’s answers or direct questions. The length of the second discussion varied from twenty-five to forty-five minutes, except for Bridget and Helen.

I have described the curtailment of the visit to B in 6.ii. In Helen’s case, the second discussion went on for around an hour and evoked very detailed responses. In all cases except these two, I

150 held three discussions as planned. Usually, the third discussion proved to be relatively short, no more than twenty minutes, starting with the self-assessment schedule again, with the questions written in advance based on issues unclear or unresolved from the second discussion and the planned group of final questions. As I could not arrange the third discussion with Helen, because of her other commitments, I could not complete the final batch of questions or the second self- assessment schedule. Given the length of the second discussion, this was not too great a concern.

As expected, the teachers expressed their views both during the discussions, and more informally, showing or telling me something they thought would be interesting. Some teachers became less guarded once the microphone was turned off, especially on issues which might be not entirely in keeping with the official school ‘line’. I tried to treat with some scepticism ‘standard’, or textbook, answers and took particular notice of when the teachers were ‘off-guard’. In so doing, they often gave examples, told stories, or referred to other issues, which gave the opportunity for comparison with more formally constructed answers. This occurred both during the discussions when they were giving examples, answering questions about a different area, making ‘throwaway’ remarks or finding it difficult to formulate an answer and at other times.

It was valuable simply to ‘be around’ a lot, especially at the end of sessions, to pick up comments about the session or a particular incident or child, whether directed to me or to members of staff.

Informal, or passing, conversations were often especially illuminating. Similarly, occasional comments from other members of staff, to me, or to the teacher in my hearing, provided lines to pursue in the formal discussions. An example of the former occurred at A, in relation to the children’s awareness of the natural world, which prompted a revealing discussion with Alice.

While there were potential ethical difficulties in using such comments, I was careful only to use them as prompts to further questions to, or observations of, the teacher. An example of the latter

151 occurred at E, where the nursery-nurse indicated that the National Literacy Strategy had prompted a change of approach, a point I pursued with Erica.

Certain types of response seemed most likely to reveal strongly-held beliefs, where the teacher:

 clarified or amended previous comments, either as a result of my summary or some incident;

 volunteered additional comments or interpretations, such as when Helen said that the

categories in part 2 of the self-assessment schedule were not associated with spiritual

development but suggested that ‘a questioning attitude/curiosity’ is very important;

 contradicted or challenged my position or interpretations, as when Diana took exception to

what she saw as my making too personal a judgement about her teaching;

 made potentially controversial responses in an uncomplicated, matter-of-fact way, without

justifying the remark; and

 made ‘throwaway’ remarks, often outside the formal discussions, or at the end of answers to

other questions, which may be more revealing than considered and safer responses.

The most powerful example of the last of these came when Bridget indicated, as we walked away from the first discussion, her very strong feelings about religion in relation to her own education.

In retrospect, this suggested why she did not complete the discussions. In considering, in 5.vi, ethical issues I left one issue outstanding. This was that of where teachers became really uncomfortable with the issues raised. Most teachers said that they had enjoyed my visit and the opportunity it presented. However, personal and potentially painful issues were approached, or raised, several times. When done consciously, the teacher could draw back from discussing these, or I could suggest that she might not wish to continue. I felt that this was well-handled on both sides. Much more difficult was when it seemed that questions, or thinking about the issues, raised less conscious memories and connections. Even though this affected me, to some extent, I had not

152 expected it to affect the teachers significantly. This is an especially sensitive area when working with teachers as subjects, in a sense co-researchers, where I was trying to share my findings with them. In my view, this proved almost certainly a major problem with one teacher, and to some extent with one other. It is difficult even to write about it here, not simply because the process of research may have been over-intrusive, but because to write about it may be even more so. I think it likely that Bridget’s reason, a busy schedule, for the visit not being completed, with arrangements for the later discussions and visits postponed so that I felt it best to stop asking, was genuine, but that other issues were not made explicit. With Helen, any possible upset seemed to occur early on and I think that the rest of the visit helped her to explore, positively, her own personal approach to spirituality. I consider, in 11.ii, wider issues about teachers who may not wish to engage with potentially painful issues.

I asked each teacher whether, and how, she thought her own view had changed during the visit.

Although such an approach is of only limited value, most said that their fundamental view had not changed, but that they had realised the limits of their initial view. The self-assessment schedule repeated before the third discussion tends to confirm that the level of importance ascribed to most issues remained largely similar. In 11.i I consider my influence on the teachers.

6.v Reflections on my research method

In 11.i, I discuss the strengths and weaknesses of my approach, but reflect briefly here on three key concerns in approaching the interpretation in the next three chapters.

The first was that I had been concerned that too great an emphasis on the children would deflect my focus from the teacher. With the occasional lapse, I managed to control my inclination to get too involved with children’s activities. Watching children interacting with the teacher, and with each other, was a tremendous privilege for someone who has spent over twenty years as a teacher.

153 More importantly, I felt that my interaction with the children hugely enriched my understanding of the teachers’ understanding and beliefs. Except for a few children who were extremely possessive of me, a problem especially at A, this rarely interfered with my ability to observe the teacher.

The second concern was the extent of my influence on the teacher’s view. This underlies the issue of projection and bias, discussed in 5.i. I had been especially concerned about my own position of power as the researcher. This was not only in the sense that my presence was likely to make the teachers behave differently or avoid ‘politically incorrect’ ideas or controversial topics. A retrospective, and possibly naive, view suggests that the length of time spent with the teachers and the non-judgemental style adopted may have reduced this danger. Strangely, bias came to seem a diminishing difficulty. I became less attached to my original views, in recognising the complexity of understanding anyone else’s understanding. I took some comfort from discovering, at various points, such as those children on whose level of spiritual maturity I asked the teachers to comment, that several teachers understood those children quite differently from me. But projection became a more enduring problem. I became so steeped in the language of spiritual development, and in interpreting the words and practice of teachers, that it became hard to imagine that teachers who taught with such care, thoughtfulness and consistency did not think about these issues much and, when they did, did not structure their understanding in the same terms as I did.

The third concern was how much my presence would inhibit the teacher. It is impossible to know how much this was the case. The success of my attempts at unobtrusive observation varied.

Occasionally I felt uncomfortable with what the teacher said or did. On only one occasion, at G, was I tempted to leave the room when a group of children were behaving very badly, in part probably because of my presence. Speaking with the teacher afterwards, she had felt comfortable with my staying. The teacher and nursery nurse at F commented that they had on occasion held back from being more forthright with the children because I was there. Erica remarked (early on)

154 that she kept seeing me with the tag ‘headteacher’ above my head. But, arguably, it is those least able to make such comments who are most inhibited or influenced by an outsider’s presence.

The emphasis on, and respect for, confidentiality was essential as a foundation for the trust which most teachers appeared to develop that my agenda was not concerned with making any report on their abilities. This, and the amount of time which I spent in each unit, formed the basis of a relationship which both made the formal research process operate smoothly in most cases and encouraged more discursive, at times throwaway, remarks which enriched my interpretation. I came increasingly to see myself as someone to some extent both an insider, in the sense of understanding the context of education, and an outsider as I was only in the unit for a short time and understood the local context only partially. While at times I felt like an intruder, almost a voyeur, it was a privilege of being able to act in partnership with a range of teachers. They came from a variety of backgrounds and had little incentive to allow a stranger to look at their practice in such depth. My thanks for their welcome seemed inadequate at the time and remain so, even when repeated.

155 7 Exploring the teachers’ understanding - initial interpretations

7.i Approaching the interpretative task

In the next three chapters, I present different approaches to the interpretation of the teachers’ understanding. I describe, in this chapter, the individual units and the teachers’ understanding based on the overall view for each teacher written during the visit and shared with her. Slightly edited summaries of these appear in Appendix 5. These represent a preliminary interpretation based largely on what the teacher said. The emphasis was on the internal coherence of the teacher’s understanding and was fairly uncritical. However, the teacher had, at least implicitly, agreed with this interpretation. Writing these during the visits both helped me determine the level of coherence of each teacher’s understanding and suggested, increasingly as time went on, emerging hypotheses about consistency and common themes. Writing both my notes and summaries, but more significantly the early drafts of this thesis, during the empirical work was an interpretative tool in itself.

Within a natural science paradigm, the researcher develops hypotheses, gathers data against which to test them and then analyses the data. In complex social situations such distinctions become blurred as the data and the interpretation are often interwoven, a dilemma reflected throughout these chapters. Interpretation involves the tidying of a reality that is inevitably messy. It is tempting to pretend that the consequences of every decision were anticipated, that clear hypotheses were tested against a static reality, that ‘data’ will be subjected to ‘analysis’, that results are ‘objective’. The language and metaphors of the natural science paradigm remain compelling and seductive. However, reality can be described meaningfully only within the context of the language, meaning and values of the researcher and the wider culture. I had intended my work to be largely descriptive, avoiding, as far as possible, both making, and articulating to the teacher, judgements about the quality of teaching. This did not prove entirely possible, given that

156 any description implies an element of evaluation. From the moment of first defining the research question to the crossing of the final ‘t’, the researcher is engaged dynamically with what she or he experiences. Data is always filtered through the researcher’s understanding. Although, for clarity, I refer to ‘data’ and interpretation, to separate the process into data collection and analysis is simplistic and, in some ways, misleading. The challenge is one of serial re-interpretation, conducted systematically and critically from several perspectives, exposing, as far as possible, one’s initial beliefs and constantly re-visiting and re-formulating interpretations.

One problem inherent in my approach was to tend to elicit responses suggesting a greater significance both to the whole area and to particular aspects within it than the broader picture over time supports. A simple example was a tendency in the self-assessment schedule for teachers to place many aspects in the ‘very important’ category. If they believed these to be so important, they would surely have previously engaged in more training or discussion. Since teachers tended to avoid the other extreme category of ‘irrelevant’, this suggests not so much a tendency to avoid the extremes, a well-known difficulty with such instruments, as over-promotion of the positive elements. Since answers are contingent on the questions asked, the challenge was both to use systematic procedures and constantly to question my own emerging interpretations. I adopted a strategy which, put simply, was to be sceptical about what teachers said and to pay more attention to what they did than what they said, although I found it difficult to avoid giving more credence to their words than to their actions. I tended to take especial notice of comments and actions which challenged my existing presuppositions and interpretations.

Over three hundred hours of observation, around twenty-five hours of recorded discussions and countless little incidents, both noted and otherwise, was bound to present a mass of disparate, and untidy, data to sift and interpret. Much was in note form, whether the field notes, the notes of critical incidents, the emerging viewpoints and drafts of questions for the second and third

157 discussions. The field notes typically consisted of around thirty pages for each visit, consisting largely of what I recorded from what I saw and, to a lesser extent, from informal discussions.

These tended, as indicated in 6.ii, to be more detailed early in each visit. I highlighted separately the critical incidents and the emerging viewpoints. I compared what teachers said they believed with what their actions suggested, their answers to direct questions with discursive answers to other questions, their casual comments against more prepared answers. At a more subtle level, I considered the metaphors and examples used as indicators of more deep-seated beliefs. By the end of the thesis, one interpretation, and many more questions, emerge. These result from a series of micro-interpretations and micro-hypotheses. During the empirical work I moved constantly between planning, refining, observing, reflecting, writing, revisiting data, and re-writing.

Subsequently, this process continued, though, clearly, without further direct observation.

I had to find ways to manage this data, retaining some of the visit’s freshness and excitement, but treating any summary or interpretation as transitional and open to further re-interpretation.

Preparing my overall view at the end of each visit had benefits and drawbacks. One benefit was to lead me to preliminary interpretations with the experience still fresh in my mind. A second was to enable the teacher to see and, if she wished, comment on a reasonably short summary. Against this was the tendency to give too much credence to what she said, and the danger, as my supervisor, and others, warned, of ‘shrinking the data’ and reaching definite conclusions too soon. While this concerned me, concentrating on the teacher’s actions so as not to accept her spoken views uncritically, and sharing my interpretation with her helped me avoid making too dogmatic a judgement. I felt that the benefits outweighed the dangers. Concerned that the passage of time would result in my memory of each teacher losing its freshness, I devised a matrix for the purposes of comparison, in February 2001, half-way through my empirical work, but did not use it during the visits. In 9.i, I describe the matrix and explain its value.

158 I started to make a distinction during the visits between what might be called the ends of spiritual development and the means adopted to achieve, or enable, these. This forms an important element of the new understanding set out in 10.iv and the discussion in 10.v of development. I address this briefly here because this distinction appears in the summaries. On the surface, a simple example of

‘ends’ might be ‘religious faith’, and of ‘means’ ‘reflection’. A lack of clarity about ends would seem to make it hard to know how to go about achieving those ends. This surprisingly appears in academic texts and guidance for teachers. For instance, ‘a grappling with existential questions’ or

‘a search for spiritual identity’ seem examples of ends in themselves, or at least more than simply means. But ‘an exploration of inwardness’ or ‘an encounter with mystery and transcendence’ seem, logically, only means towards some greater end. Yet Slee (1992 cited in Wright (1999: 21)) lists all four as areas in which religious education should concentrate its efforts without distinguishing between them as different in kind.

However, this distinction is more complex, and less clear-cut, than appears at first sight, for three main reasons. First, ends often require multiple and potentially conflicting means and actions may

(and often will) be means to different, and maybe conflicting, ends. So means cannot be matched one-to-one with ends. Second, some activities in the spiritual domain may be seen as both ends in themselves and as means to other ends simultaneously. What may appear to be ends prove to be means as well as ends. So, for instance, ‘building self-awareness’ may be of value both in its own right and as a way of developing other abilities and dispositions. ‘Experience of transcendence’ might be an end in itself, or a means towards an end, or both simultaneously.

The third reason is more important, that means are so closely tied up with ends that they cannot be entirely separated. Since process is intimately bound up with outcome, the means adopted may in some way embody the desired outcome. For example, reflection may be seen not simply as a value-free ‘technique’ but as an activity which, in itself, is a type of spiritual experience

159 embodying desirable qualities. The purpose lies within the activity itself, rather than appealing solely to some ulterior purpose. To offer two comparisons, the growing of vegetables may be worthwhile not only for the harvesting of a good crop, but for the satisfaction gained in tending the vegetables. Or painting a picture may be at least as much about the experience of the activity as about the end result.

In Chapter 8, and subsequently, I use this to suggest that what is implicit in the teaching environment may be at least as important, in relation to spiritual development, as those aspects which the teacher explicitly articulates as such. Even though means and ends are intimately tied up, there must be ends, however fluid, to spiritual development, even when teachers (or others) do not explicitly articulate them. Without this, spiritual experience is in danger of becoming a value- free, individualised, ‘simply emotional’ type of activity. Most teachers appeared, at least initially, to concentrate on means - the ‘how to’ - rather than ends. I encouraged them to consider ends as well. Considering why teachers acted as they did helped me to clarify how they understood spiritual experience. I suggest in 11.iii that for teachers to consider both the why and the how of spiritual development may be helpful in meeting their training needs.

7.ii The units, the teachers and their views - a summary

In this section, I offer a brief portrait of each unit and teacher, giving a practical feel of the context she works in, her personality and her understanding expressed both in their teaching and discussion. These descriptions draw heavily on the overall view, and especially the summary which forms part of that, completed at the conclusion of each visit. The bullet points at the end as are as written, with the exception of Erica, for whom I had summarised this in text, but which I have converted to bullet points for consistency. I did not complete an overall view for Bridget for reasons described below. The summaries for Cathleen and Caroline (my third visit) were, on reflection, too brief, and I reverted to a longer format for my subsequent visits.

160 School A was one of the two most socially disadvantaged schools. Alice is the co-ordinator of a large unit, with one other teacher, two nursery nurses and almost sixty children. She agreed that her job was more like that of the head of a nursery school than a class teacher. The whole school had adopted the Family Links programme. Alice was very keen to give the children freedom and choice, while perceiving a need to emphasise raising skills of literacy and numeracy which are at a low level on entry. She was explicit about her misgivings about the amount of content within, and consequent pace of, the current curriculum for young children. She organised the curriculum with a considerable emphasis on play and free-choice activities, interspersed with relatively brief but frequent small- and large- group activities.

Alice said that she had not given much thought to spiritual development prior to my visit. The large number of ‘very importants’ in the self-assessment schedules, and other comments, suggested a wish not to prioritise these too sharply relative to each other. Alice had a very strong emphasis on emotional development, often referring back to this in examples. This seemed to emerge partly from her own well-articulated knowledge of child development, partly from the school’s context where issues of conflict and anger take up a great deal of time. The boundaries of acceptable behaviour were often tested out as many children, especially boys, found it very difficult to control their behaviour.

Alice seemed clear about the ends of spiritual development. Although she has a wide range of strategies for seeking to achieve these, the demands of curriculum and the community constrain her from pursuing all of these as she would ideally wish to. Both she and I believed that Alice had to be more controlling and interventionist than she would have wished. She focused more on personal development as an individual rather than as primarily part of a collective or cultural group, with more mention of personal qualities (kindness, respect, friendliness) than collective ones (such as fairness, conformity, incorporation into the Church etc.). She sees the spiritual as

161 something wider than religion, though I suspect some tension between her own valuing aspects of organised religion and religious thinking and not wishing (even if it were possible) to impose this on unwilling or immature minds.

I summarise Alice’s view of spiritual development as the development, over time, of human identity and self-awareness and understanding of ‘where one fits in’, through children learning to:

 process their emotions, so that they are more able to control and understand their emotional

responses;

 explore and articulate their feelings, both together and in individual conversations;

 learn to imagine how it is to be other than one is, through discussion, play and other means;

 develop appropriate values and patterns of behaviour, especially through role-modelling and

the setting, and discussion, of specific expectations.

School B served a very disadvantaged community. The unit occupies a double classroom with thirty-four children, all full-time, with one other teacher, not involved in the research. There was a strong emphasis on behaviour, with the school, and the unit, having adopted the Family Links approach. The teaching pattern involved a large-group gathering for registration followed by adult- directed numeracy and literacy activities occupying most of each morning. During the afternoon session, the teaching pattern was more fluid but still fairly directive. There was a break-time in mid-morning rather than the more fluid use of outdoor facilities evident in most other units. In the afternoon there was usually a longer period of outdoor playtime for all the children at once. There were few other opportunities for play.

I referred in 6.ii to why the visit was not completed and in 6.iv to ethical dilemmas resulting from this. My view of Bridget’s understanding is inevitably tentative because based on only one

162 discussion and about half the observation conducted with other teachers. In her teaching, she demonstrated a strong commitment to the Family Links approach where children are encouraged to recognise that they can choose how to respond. In the discussion, Bridget linked spiritual very much to personal and moral development, expressing strongly that it is a very different domain from that of religion. Bridget’s emphasis, in both words and actions, was on developing moral and ethical behaviour, especially how children treat each other. Awareness of, and empathy for, other people’s feelings and thoughtfulness in one’s actions are key aspects of spiritual maturity. Her approach emphasised that this was done collectively rather than individually, especially in terms of her practice. While she mentioned awe and wonder as important, I am unsure what sort of experiences she would include. Inevitably, I was left with further questions and should have liked to explore her view of creativity, of values and of how children learn moral behaviour. I thought that she did not see the spiritual domain as distinctive from the personal and moral and that, probably, she believed to talk of spiritual experience for children of this age does not make much sense separate from general personal development. However, I do not summarise her view as I did not complete the visit.

School C is a Roman Catholic school in a relatively settled and prosperous area. Of the thirty-two children on roll only twelve stayed for the afternoon session. Cathleen taught throughout the day,

Caroline for the morning only. Being part of a distinctively Catholic community was strongly in evidence, for example in the prayers at the start and end of each session. At the start of my visit

Cathleen led the prayer focus in a somewhat routine way. This altered, noticeably, in my view and that of both teachers, to invite more interaction and offer brief moments for reflection. The unit, and both teachers separately, emphasised small group activity with relatively little time spent in whole class activities. There was a strong emphasis on the teaching of literacy skills, though some creative work was also in evidence especially in the afternoon sessions. There was relatively little time for sustained individual play, especially outdoors, though the weather may have influenced

163 that. High expectations of behaviour were almost always met. The atmosphere was one both of care and control.

Cathleen was the only Roman Catholic in the sample. Her views were very much those I would expect to be common among Catholic teachers. She was strongly committed to the practice of her faith and saw the school as part of a wider Catholic community involving the parish and other social groups. This leads to an incorporation of the young child into a whole way of life such that the practice of religion and the development of belief go hand in hand. She saw the separation of spirituality from the totality of involvement in the Catholic community as slightly artificial, and the development of spiritual experience and belief as intertwined. While prepared to recognise dilemmas raised, Cathleen was not a very discursive talker. She exemplified a teacher with definite views expressed most cogently in her actions.

I summarise the most important aspects of Cathleen’s understanding as the spiritual:

 not separate from faith, with faith (as belief) and spirituality (as experience), coming together,

and suffusing everyday life and thought rather than something separate or especially out of

the ordinary;

 involving appropriate relationships with other people, with the world around and with God

based on mutual respect (for each other) and gratitude (for what is created);

 being introduced for young children largely by incorporation into the community of believers

to provide the foundations for a knowledge of, and mature relationship with, God, giving the

opportunity of involvement (or not) later on, this being linked to enabling the exercise of free

Caroline was involved only by chance, as described in 6.iii. She was, in a sense, the only active volunteer. She was, as a new teacher and a non-Catholic, the ‘junior partner’. Part of her agenda

164 appeared to be to use my visit as a way of becoming more involved in thinking about how the unit worked. She commented (approvingly), for example, that the prayers had been conducted more thoughtfully as a result of my visit. She was a parent of children in the school, including one in the unit. She was strongly committed to the school’s ethos and mission. When Caroline discussed with children the choices they made, she was very precise. This was self-consciously done, as she recalled, informally, with amused exasperation, how she had that morning suggested that children go to the toilet because it was time for assembly, the very example she had recently given of an association she sought to avoid! On one occasion, she asked the children to choose another child who should have a sticker as a reward for good behaviour or kindness and to highlight what that behaviour had been. At one level, this was an exercise in encouraging empathy. But, in discussing this, she offered a very thoughtful rationale for how rewards affected children’s long-term intrinsic motivation and beliefs. Caroline was keen to express her views and did so forcefully and thoughtfully. She was, generally, much more cerebral, even academic, in her choice of language, than any other teacher. She was very careful in her use of words with me and corrected minor nuances in my summary of the first discussion as no other teacher did.

Caroline’s understanding involved especially:

 the child’s perspective moving away from the egocentric/selfish and towards empathy with

others and a recognition of where one ‘fits in’;

 the universal values encapsulated in ethical behaviour combined with awe and wonder as a

means of recognising one’s place in the ‘bigger picture’;

 development through ‘stages of awareness’, especially in the moral/ethical domain, from

selfish/extrinsic towards more intrinsic motivations;

 a separation of the spiritual from religious denomination, belief, or faith, as such.

165 School D is large, with a mainly affluent and culturally homogeneous catchment. The large purpose-built early years unit has three parallel classes, each taught separately but with shared space and non-teaching staff. It is very well-resourced. At the time of my visit, all the children attended the unit only for the morning session. In most sessions all three teachers gathered their whole class at the start of the morning, at mid-morning snack and in the period leading up to the end of the session. There was a strong emphasis on large-group work. At other times, there were opportunities for individual or group play, while teachers worked with small groups. The standard of behaviour within the unit was generally very good. All three teachers agreed to take part, even though Derek had started at the school only four weeks previously.

Debbie is the unit leader and the most experienced teacher. She taught the oldest group in the year.

Much of the unit’s activity appeared to be based on patterns that Debbie had built up, though

Diana had also contributed to and supported this. When teaching, Debbie offered clear boundaries, without being controlling. She led large-group sessions with great confidence and made use of humour in her teaching. In our discussions, Debbie proved very reflective and aware of what she does as a teacher. Having taught in more socially and culturally mixed areas, she recognised that those in more challenging contexts might need to adopt a different approach and that her own view might have been different.

Debbie was suspicious of the language of spirituality, probably because she connected it with religion, for which she expressed little sympathy. She said that, prior to my visit, she had not given much thought to spiritual development. Although she thought deeply about the issues, she thought that her views had stayed largely the same. I wondered, on re-hearing the tapes, if she became more reluctant to think in terms of ‘spiritual’, as separate or significantly different from personal/emotional, as time went on. On a number of occasions, she was (deliberately) unforthcoming on questions designed to explore the distinction by encouraging more discursive

166 responses. However, she was very open to discussion and she raised personal issues early on. She highlighted the pressures to teach children literacy and numeracy skills and to prepare them for a

‘Literacy Hour’ approach while wishing to remain available for conversation at what she called

‘moments of significance’.

I summarise Debbie’s view as:

 having a strong emphasis on the personal and emotional, to the point of considering that nearly

all of the spiritual is in fact covered within these;

 believing that how adults respond to children’s emotions, and especially conflicts, and

moments of significance, as critical in helping the child to gain control of this;

 focusing on individual development, while recognising that individuals develop through their

relationships with others, so that group sessions and gatherings are a particularly important

means of influencing both the individual and the group; and

 remaining uncertain that she would use the language of the spiritual (much) while recognising

that many of the things she holds to be most important are those which others might include

within the spiritual.

Diana had trained relatively recently as a mature student, having been involved in the school as a parent. Her understanding was best expressed through her practical teaching. In our discussions, she was uncertain at first, but grew in confidence, started to challenge me, and she became increasingly fascinated during the course of the visit. Her approach seemed to be that of seeing what is ‘spiritual’ in what intuition and experience suggests is right rather than working back from abstract principles. She articulated her views and clarified what might be encompassed within the spiritual much more easily by giving practical examples, or contextualising abstract ideas. While she retained from her own personal experience and faith a view of the importance of religion, she

167 recognised that this could not be appropriate for all children. While she clung strongly to her core beliefs, her view of spiritual development broadened as she thought about it more. It may be argued, with some justification, that talking at length with a researcher about spirituality may make a move towards a wider definition likely, an important methodological consideration.

However, Diana’s examples, her tone of voice, and the personal elements she introduced in later discussions suggested that this resulted from the process of discussion, rather than my prompting.

I summarise Diana’s understanding as:

 stressing the importance of personal and social values, built through relationship with family,

school and community and wider school ethos;

 building the foundations for religious belief, without too definite a view on how to do this,

except through the emphasis on values, and helping children to explore their personal beliefs;

 helping children to move away from centredness on self, especially for children of this age, by

becoming part of various larger groups and emphasising such issues as sharing and fairness. I

think that she would see emotional security as an essential foundation for this, not least

because she came to say more on that as time went on, after initially giving it less significance.

Derek, the only man in the sample, had been recently appointed. He taught the youngest age group in the unit. I knew him slightly beforehand, as he had been a parent at the school where I was headteacher. He had trained as a mature student, having previously been a biologist. He had a higher degree, had thought a great deal about issues involved and presented his views very clearly and forcefully. He was less confident in the practice of his teaching but had made a positive choice to teach, and was keen to extend his experience with, young children. Although he fitted in with the structure of the unit, my sense was that, with a free hand, he would have organised his teaching

168 differently. His approach was very much to enable children to explore and express their views and emotions.

In what Derek said, there was a strong anthropological approach, with a basis in biology and nature, with spiritual development fundamentally interwoven with the development of the personality, not just as an individual but as part of the larger group. He was very clear about the ends of education for spiritual development, though still working out how to achieve these. He placed a high emphasis on values in what he said, and on circle time in his practice. He was vehement that spirituality is not primarily to do with religion, but that it relates to something much wider, and more fundamental, in what it is to be human. He expressed a strong dislike of organised religion but personal interest in spirituality. However, he argued that the dichotomy between the material and the spiritual is a false one. I suspect he could have been more dismissive of the language of spiritual development than actually he was.

I summarise the key aspects of Derek’s views as that:

 the whole development of the child should be seen holistically with the spiritual as a thread

running through every aspect of this;

 children are active creators of meaning for themselves rather than being passive receivers;

 it is important for children to become self-aware, aware of others, and aware of the world

around, especially via nature. He is much more sceptical about the transcendent/God;

 the extent to which the main thrust of this may vary from person to person, and certainly will

vary at different ages, but the very strong link at this age with a natural and necessary

movement away from ego-centredness. This in turn is closely linked to emotional maturity so

much that the spiritual is not a separate category; and

169  values are transmitted from one generation to another through the sorts of relationships we

create and encourage children to create.

School E is a Catholic school serving a prosperous catchment area. The unit had twenty children in it, with some children staying for the mornings only. However, my visit coincided with a gradual move towards most of these becoming full-time. The unit is based in a classroom which gives on to a playground and designated outdoor area, both of which are well-used by the children.

There is a strong emphasis throughout the school on its Catholic mission. This was reflected in the unit in the prayer focus at the start and end of each session and the attendance at a whole-school assembly with a very strong religious theme. The importance Erica gave to the prayer focus is evidenced in the seriousness with which she took it and expected children to do so. Although Erica is not a Catholic, and was quite prepared to express strong views, she was definite, and quite happy, that both teachers and parents had ‘signed up’ to the religious ethos in becoming part of the school community. While fully in tune with the school’s religious mission, both her words and actions suggested that spirituality is something wider than religion. She indicated some unhappiness that she was not, as a non-Catholic, allowed to teach Religious Education to those children who had reached statutory school age and that the unit had not been included in the denominational inspection.

Erica places a high value on the creation of a happy, secure environment, where children can explore their own feelings, their relationships with others and the world around. There may be less emphasis on the need to develop emotional security at least in part because most children come to school reasonably secure and confident in their relationships (relative to other geographical areas).

Children were given considerable freedom of choice of activity within wide but definite boundaries, with a strong emphasis on play and a tolerance of children getting incredibly messy.

She did quite a lot of directed, but short, large-group activities on literacy and numeracy skills, but

170 the emphasis was much more on exploration. She expressed concern at curricular pressures which restricted creative activity. A lot of art, especially painting, was in evidence. Erica spoke quite freely, after some initial nervousness. What she did seemed to reflect what she said.

I summarise Erica’s understanding as:

 children having innate capacities, especially for joy, which it is the teacher’s task to nurture;

 involving a strong emphasis on individual exploration, within a regular, but not overbearing,

framework for ritual in terms of the prayer focus, assemblies and whole-class sessions;

 developing astuteness and insight, especially into how it is to be someone else, without quite

saying why it mattered; however, I suspect that it is to do with children moving away from an

egocentric perspective;

 more to do with self-awareness and relationships to others and to the environment than simply

with religion, though she placed a considerable emphasis on the religious aspect of the school;

 enabling children to behave because of the inherent rightness of their actions rather than

because of external constraints came through both in her words and in her teaching;

 related to the development of values, learnt implicitly, for the most part, but secured by the

process of discussing and articulating them.

My interpretation is that Erica’s approach to spirituality has two slightly separate strands, one encouraging innate dispositions such as that towards joy, and the other developing the ability to see beyond the superficial and to perceive the world from another point of view.

School F is another Catholic school in a reasonably affluent town. Fourteen children attended full time, with two different groups (of thirteen in the morning and fourteen in the afternoon) making up the class. The classroom was quite small, with a wide range of activities available for children

171 to choose from. The curriculum emphasised the child’s free choice very strongly. Although the unit was an integral part of the school in aspects such as assembly, in other respects it was quite distinct. While the adults taught through group or individual work on a systematic basis, the children were encouraged for much of the time to choose activities with relatively little adult direction. Fran’s approach to teaching was based on individual enquiry, supported by adult guidance, as opposed to a more directive, didactic approach. One striking aspect was how the day started. The children came in with their parents or carers and settled straight down to activities so that there was a seamless transition from home to school. There was no gathering at that point and relatively few at any time. The approach of the adults was very much to appeal to children rather than to exercise control, though Fran commented that my presence had on occasion inhibited her and the NNEB correcting children’s behaviour as they would usually have done. Although quite self-deprecating, Fran defended her approach strongly, recognising it as unusual.

Fran is not a Catholic. She said that she had been recruited because of her strong links with the school as a parent. However, she strongly supported the school’s mission, describing how she had moved her own children there. She was initially unsure about the focus of my work and frequently said that she wanted more time to think about questions. Although she found it difficult to express her thoughts precisely, she gave the subject a lot of thought and made some very perceptive remarks, especially about ‘negative’ spirituality. Fran’s view developed and refined during the visit. She concentrated more on the means used than on the ends of spiritual development. Some of what seemed most illuminating appeared as if in passing rather than in answer to direct questions. For example, in the third discussion, she spoke of spirituality as being to do with fundamental questions such as ‘why am I here? who made me? and where do I come from?’, which she had not highlighted previously.

172 I summarise Fran’s view as one that:

 incorporates a much wider field of human activity and enquiry than that of religion and faith

traditions, though such traditions may well provide an appropriate location for such search;

 involves exploration of relationships and the responses which the child receives from others

around him or her, within a safe and secure environment, offering opportunities rather than

imposing structures of meaning;

 is based on a belief that children’s questioning and curiosity is an important tool to acquire

knowledge and understanding of themselves and the relation to the wider world;

 is best approached by encouraging children to think or approach a task in a particular way

rather than related to specific content or knowledge;

 aims to develop strength, confidence and self-esteem based on a framework of morality,

values and conscience;

 requires an environment of adults who model and espouse, both implicitly and explicitly,

appropriate values and beliefs for children to adopt;

 occurs at this age in particular much more as an individual than a group activity, especially

through play and activities which are not adult dominated;

 encourages intrinsic dispositions such as an attitude and approach to work and to enquiry

which incorporates such qualities as hard work and striving rather than reliance on innate

qualities.

School G serves a less affluent area of the same town as F. The unit is in a free-standing building.

Sixteen children attended full-time, with an additional fourteen in the morning only, and thirteen in the afternoon only. The classroom space was generous and the unit well-equipped. The outdoor play area was out of use due to building work. As a result, the children were able to go outside only for a set play-time. Georgina expressed her frustration at the constraint that this placed on the

173 organisation of the curriculum. This did seem to be the case, as the break often interrupted the considerable opportunities for play. This was the only unit where one teacher worked without trained support staff. She worked very intensively with groups of children, in part because she felt less able to delegate than teachers elsewhere. There was a strong emphasis on stories and circle time with groups of about ten children, often at the start and end of the morning and when the

(younger) children arrived for the afternoon. She managed this, at some considerable personal cost, only by cutting short her own lunchtime. Often Georgina suggested to children particular activities to select, based on the theme for the week. There were almost no occasions when the whole class gathered, except to leave the room. The teaching was mostly in half-class groups or with more individual free choice. Georgina managed both to work very intensively but to find time to move around having conversations with children.

Although young, Georgina was confident both in her teaching and in describing it. She had previously worked as a psychologist. The school had adopted the Family Links approach. Both factors seemed to influence considerably her teaching approach and beliefs about children’s learning. She seemed very comfortable with this approach, though it sat strangely with other aspects of her practice. While what she did in groups tended towards imposing structures and expectations, the rest of the curriculum was more enabling, an aspect featuring strongly in what she said. In her emphasis on play, creativity and exploration, she seemed to espouse the view of children having natural gifts which need space to flourish. In her approach to emotional and moral development, she emphasised behaviour modification in line with the Family Links programme.

There was a very strong emphasis in Georgina’s teaching on giving consistent messages and reinforcement of the positive and not responding to negative behaviour. I noted no occasion when

Georgina, who worked a great deal with half the class, especially in circle time activities, departed from the approach she adopted, of children not calling out, even in the face of disruptive behaviour.

174 Georgina expressed considerable interest both in the subject and in my research methods. She was articulate and reflective in the discussions. While I do not think that her view changed much, she found the dilemmas and paradoxes very interesting. She increasingly saw the spiritual as not so much a separate domain as more like a way or an approach to deal with any task or experience.

I summarise the emphasis of Georgina’s view of spiritual development as:

 about intrinsic qualities which need nevertheless to be channelled, or developed, largely

through relationships, both adult-child and child-child;

 based on children learning to process their emotions, such as resolution of conflict, mainly

through constant re-inforcement of what is approved of, usually in relatively small groups and

not gaining benefit from other behaviours;

 dealing with issues which are wider than religion and much more to do with the development

of the whole person, though religion, or the appreciation of beauty, may provide a way in

exploring these;

 related to learning about oneself by learning about others, and about difference, implying a

curiosity and questioning attitude, and exploration, normally guided or led by an adult, of

those people whose culture is different or situations which are unfamiliar.

School H is a village school, but it serves a less homogeneous community than expected, in part because of proximity to an army base, from which some children came who had an unsettled background. The class included two boys, both of mixed-race background, whose behaviour was disruptive, though both were absent for part of my visit. The unit operates separately from the school apart from singing and assembly. The classroom is large, but poorly resourced. The outdoor area was beautifully laid out and well-used. There was no afternoon session at that point of the year. The pattern of the morning was for the class to gather, usually followed by a singing,

175 rhyming or similar activity. After about twenty minutes, small-group activities were usually set up, after which children were largely free to choose activities, except when an adult asked them specifically to work on a directed task. At the end of the morning, the children gathered before going home, but without any apparent ‘going-home’ ritual often apparent elsewhere.

Helen was especially interesting because she challenged some of my fundamental assumptions, and added her own, very different ideas. This was very valuable, though disconcerting, coming on my second visit. For example she said initially that she was not sure about any aspects of what spirituality meant. She said, and maintained this later, that the spiritual has no link with any other domains, such as the moral or emotional, and is entirely separate. She suggested, without prompting, that ‘a questioning attitude/ curiosity’ is extremely important. After the first discussion, it was very unclear how to proceed. However, she was personally very interested in the area and when, at the start of the second discussion, I asked her if she had any comments on my summary, she spoke for almost forty-five minutes, with the whole discussion taking around an hour. It was very clear that thinking about spirituality made a considerable personal impact. Although the third discussion did not happen because of parents’ evenings, Helen contacted me subsequently for a feedback session, both to discuss my views and reflect more on her own.

I found Helen’s understanding difficult to interpret. I think that she uses the word spirituality in two different ways, which are linked but not in an obvious way. One is the spirituality - what I would call spiritual experience - relating to profound, existential matters, such as death, separation and loss, which largely lies dormant because of the pressures and concerns of day to day living, but which difficult events may bring out. The other is the different types of spirituality, or spiritualities, inherent within each person, though expressed, developed or manifested quite differently from individual to individual, which affect us at a profound level. The link as I see it is what take us beyond, or beneath, everyday concerns. While this can be consciously brought about

176 to some extent, it is mostly not within the individual’s control. Questioning and curiosity, rather than acceptance, provides a main route into exploring our own spirituality. I think she was sceptical of being able other than superficially to know much about anyone else’s spirituality, except in so far as one recognises that people have it, without knowing quite what it is like.

I summarise Helen’s understanding as that:

 each of us has different types (and levels) of spirituality, more or less developed depending to

some extent on how much we have tried to develop them;

 it is based on a self awareness, especially of those aspects of ourselves which lie below the

surface, encouraged by questioning and wonder of what is other than ourselves, especially

what is both alive and other than ourselves;

 such awareness is brought particularly to the fore at times of crisis or by entering an

environment or lifestyle where such questioning is encouraged or assisted;

 we all have to some extent experiences which can deepen our spiritualities, but the concerns of

the everyday tend to stop this occurring;

 the spiritual is quite separate from the moral or emotional, but perhaps entered by the

questioning/imaginative approach which underlies some art, music etc and which religious

thinking and symbolism may evoke.

I remain puzzled by Helen’s view of children’s spirituality, both given her repeated lack of confidence in knowing how to nurture children’s spirituality, and her belief that spirituality is inherent, and that too many answers or too much direction inhibits this. This highlights a dilemma, paradox or contradiction; that it happens naturally and cannot be taught but teachers are supposed to teach it with a curriculum very much based on a corpus of knowledge. Helen, arguably,

177 expresses in her uncertainty that much of spirituality operates beyond the conscious level, and not able fully to be described.

School J serves a reasonably settled, homogenous catchment area in a medium-sized town. The unit was relatively small in numbers, with a group of only six children attending in the afternoon.

Jane was in close control of the children’s activities, with a lot of both large- and small-group work, interspersed with times when children could play. The sessions were tightly structured with a definite break-time. With a quiet authority, Jane controlled what went on. There was a considerable emphasis on numeracy and literacy skills, even in the afternoon with the smaller group, though the children did have a range of opportunities to work with water, sand and paint.

Jane taught more than any of the other teachers through large-group work, with high expectations in terms of sitting still. Although the school was not of a religious foundation, Jane emphasised

Christian values strongly, for instance talking on one occasion of ‘We Christians’. In the discussions, she gave a clear rationale for this, outlined below. She was less discursive than most of the other teachers, which I interpreted as stemming from a clarity and certainty of objectives relating to spiritual development which many others did not share.

Overall, I think that Jane understands spiritual development as relating to a range of different aspects of human growth and development, rather than a separate or narrow domain. She sees spiritual development as related to natural individual dispositions towards joy and wonder and the values and beliefs which help the individual to find his/her place within society. I think that she would see the role of the parents and teacher to encourage and enable those ‘natural’ opportunities and of the family initially, and then growing from that, school and other groups to help develop the values within the common Judaeo-Christian tradition. While therefore everyone has natural aptitudes and dispositions, these need to be nurtured, and this may, for some, offer a basis for religious belief and involvement.

178 The ends of spiritual development would therefore be of two sorts, those which enhance common human qualities, such as compassion, empathy and ability to appreciate the extra-ordinary, and those which incorporate children into a tradition of morality based on Christian values. There is therefore both an individual and a collective element.

For children of this age, this development consists of a constant development, in small stages, from a very egocentric perspective, towards recognition of being part of a larger community, where children can both develop their own opportunities for joy, wonder etc. and learn to make individual choices within the framework of other people’s needs. While language and learning by example are the major tools for the development of the latter, creative activities such as music and art can particularly develop the more individual dispositions.

I characterise the main elements of Jane’s view as related to common human dispositions, such as:

 compassion and empathy (qualities in how we relate to each other); and

 awe and wonder, as recognition of being part of something bigger (qualities in how we relate

to the world around and to what is not easily understood);and

 incorporation into the values and beliefs of a society based fundamentally on Christian values,

which emerges strongly from the home and family background and is definitely involved with

the development of moral and ethical behaviour, and in some cases the foundation of a

framework of religious belief.

School K is in a fairly affluent village, with a largely homogenous class. It was the only Anglican school in the sample. Although I attended one whole assembly led by the vicar with a specifically religious element, it was not evident to me that the denominational aspect affected the early-years unit. Both teachers confirmed their view that this was so. The class occupied a double classroom

179 and operated largely independently from the rest of the school. I worked with two of the three teachers all of whom work part-time on the pattern set out in the note to Figure 6A. The teachers plan their activities so that all of the children within a set period would work on that activity with the teacher, so that each had an element of responsibility for the whole class (unlike at D).

Although two of the three teachers had only been at the school for a short time, all appeared to be comfortable with the approach to teaching, despite quite differing personalities. The children used extensively a large and well-used outdoor play area to explore and play for much of the time, helped by a spell of extremely good weather. The children spent little time on large-group activities and, when they did so, appeared to be unused to sitting quietly for any length of time.

Whole-class discussions and stories were rare. The bulk of the time was spent on individual activities or small-group work directed by an adult, with children spending most of the time in activities which they had selected. While the children were often noisy, I observed very few examples of aggressive behaviour. A weekly class reward for every child complying with a target based on a specified behaviour had been recently introduced.

Kate was the longest-established and the ‘senior partner’ of the three teachers, having taught at the school for many years. Although her teaching style was informal, quiet and based on enabling rather than directing, a number of interventions where she pre-empted trouble and arrived immediately a child was distressed demonstrated that she was well aware of what was going on.

Although she appeared wary of me, initially, she exhibited, especially in informal remarks, considerable interest towards the end of my visit, indicating that she held strong, unexpected views in relation to spirituality.

Kate’s understanding of adult spirituality has a strong religious (or quasi-religious) element, exploring and experiencing another dimension beyond what is obvious. The existence of, or search, for power beyond ourselves, or what is comprehensible, may lead us into organised

180 religion but it is a fundamental human need. I think that she would see this as something we can know fully only as adults. The more basic need for young children is for them to be happy and secure in order to learn to move away from an inherent egocentricity, learning to curb natural self- centredness and often aggression. This development is primarily individual within a supportive moral framework and environment - provided by the family and school - within which appropriate individual choices can be made. I think she would see a direct link between the practice of niceness/ kindness and rightness and greater emotional well-being. Qualities of relationship, such as co-operation and empathy, help children to be more spiritually mature, in seeing the world not only from our own perspective, but being aware of the impact we have on other people. The spiritual is something prior to, and more basic than, the religious, though it may manifest itself in religious belief and practice for some people but there is, at this age, little need for introducing religious ideas or beliefs.

I characterise Kate’s understanding of spiritual development as concerned with:

 a natural, inherent aspect of the child’s growth and development from emotional, survival

mechanisms into moral choices, in practice often manifested through appropriate behaviour

such as kindness to others;

 a movement away from an egocentric perspective towards a growing awareness of one’s place

in a wider cosmos both of people and of the natural world around;

 the exploration of areas of experience beyond our sensory knowledge, and so to do with the

mysterious and the incomprehensible; and

 a growing understanding of fundamental issues of life, death and existence, often (for older

people) in the context of religious faith.

181 Kirsty was relatively new to the unit, teaching on a temporary basis as numbers had risen during the year. Her teaching style was very different from that of Kate. She adopted an out-going and dramatic persona with groups of children but with individual children she was very quiet and calm, especially when discussing with them alternative approaches after incidents of conflict. In both her words and her actions, she indicated the importance of such discussions. In what she said,

Kirsty proved to be self-deprecating, frequently supplementing answers by saying that she was not sure. She was much more comfortable in the discussions with practical examples than discussing abstract ideas. In the latter part of my visit, especially the third discussion, she became more forthright than initially.

Kirsty’s view of spiritual development is wide-ranging and not easily tied down into neat categories. She sees it as consisting of something broader than religion, or at least organised religion or religious ideas. Of the two main strands to her approach, one is framed with reference to a deity, or at least a greater power outside oneself, albeit at only at a fairly basic level for young children at this age. The second relates to the development, or restraint, of natural capacities and dispositions, specifically the encouragement of co-operation and the curbing of natural self- centredness and greed. There is a strong basis in children’s moral and ethical behaviour in the development of values which, while individually internalised, are at root collective. Most of her views about young children relate to the developmental aspect, whereas much of what she said about spirituality related more to the ‘greater power’ strand, to which young children have only limited access. The link between the two strands is maybe a developing awareness of oneself and

‘not-oneself’, whether people, the wider environment (often through experience of nature and in particular experiences of awe and wonder/transcendence) and, usually for adults rather than children, God or a greater power. She has a strong sense of development from self-centred infancy to mature adulthood, rather than a belief in children’s distinctive capacity for spiritual experience.

She would see the spiritual as primarily to do with positive and life-affirming activities. She

182 would, I think, emphasise how experience is processed. Especially important is making things explicit such as through positive affirmation or talk and vocalisation whether with others or to oneself, usually in individual conversations and small-groups, rather than through silence, creative activity or other more implicit ways.

I characterise the main aspects of Kirsty’s view of spiritual development as:

 linked to developing one’s identity by learning about oneself in relation to other people,

involving for young children a basis of emotional control;

 based on the values and beliefs of the culture the child grows up in, the responses learnt within

the family and the incorporation of these in the individual;

 developing moral and ethical principles, manifested in the individual’s behaviour towards

others rather than simply an internalised, private process;

 involving an appreciation of the world around, especially through awe and wonder, often in

experience of nature;

 largely related to positive, life-affirming experiences;

 ultimately related to awareness of or belief, or otherwise in, a deity, though for young children

this will normally be at a very preliminary stage.

As indicated, such summaries are only preliminary, based on the discussions, and emphasising the most important aspects. In Appendix 6, I summarise in chart form the teachers’ responses to the questions. From these sketches of each teacher, while there is a wide variation, certain patterns start to emerge, both within each teacher’s understanding and between the teachers. These need to be set alongside the description, in Chapter 8, of the teachers’ practice, exploring implicit elements and those they explicitly associated with spiritual development and the thematic interpretation in

Chapter 9, looking especially at consistency between teachers. By the end of Chapter 10, having

183 considered how the empirical work can enrich a new understanding of spiritual development, I offer answers based on these several layers of interpretation to the many questions raised.

8 Interpreting the teachers’ understanding - making sense of what they did

8.i Extending the process of interpretation

While the summaries in 7.ii give a flavour of the teachers’ understanding, they offer only a preliminary and partial interpretation. They concentrate on the individual teachers’ understanding and do not highlight the patterns between the teachers. They underplay the understanding expressed through the teachers’ activities and reflect too uncritical an interpretation. I had always seen the overall view as a preliminary summary subject to further adaptation. A more nuanced interpretation must bear in mind the practical activities of teaching and a wide range of what is communicated more subtly. In this chapter, I extend the interpretative process by considering in more depth what I observed.

One result of being open with the teacher was a tendency to treat their views, at that stage, largely at face value, and so not to probe, or expose, areas of incoherence. In the months after the visits, I explored both these and the level of consistency between teachers. The thematic framework used in Chapter 9 primarily explores the latter. Refining the themes and writing drafts of this exposed areas of incoherence not evident to me during my visits. Although these are presented separately, the exploration of each informed my understanding of the other.

The process of writing was an important way of sorting the data, testing the emerging hypotheses and providing a structure for the interpretation of the teachers’ understanding. I had planned originally to write separate chapters on the coherence of teachers’ views and their consistency, but the interplay between the two made this unwieldy. I toyed with presenting a brief narrative

184 account of each teacher followed by a chapter describing coherence in what teachers did, in what they said and then between the two - and the same for consistency. Once again this proved artificial and required constant referencing back and forward. In the end I adopted an approach of, in this chapter, describing and further interpreting the teachers’ practice, and, in the next, approaching this thematically, to explore levels of consistency.

In 8.ii, I highlight aspects of their practice explicitly related by the teachers to spiritual development and, in 8.iii, more implicit aspects. In 8.iv, I consider five critical incidents. In 8.v, I draw out some general lessons from these three sections. In 8.vi, I discuss the influences which affected the teachers’ understanding.

In 7.i, I characterised my approach as serial re-interpretation, rather than data collection followed by analysis. I had already, during the visits, selected, and interpreted, the data to a significant degree. I had also tried to move towards an interpretation based on what the teachers did, and the interaction between what they did and what they said. The second part of the overall view, not shared with the teacher, enabled me to make comparisons and formulate initial hypotheses about the consistency between teachers. After the visits, my task was essentially one of sorting, resorting, and re-interpreting the data without becoming too remote from it, taking undue account of one part of it or moving too rapidly to final interpretation. This involved relistening to the discussions and rereading my field notes with particular hypotheses in mind. I did not transcribe the discussions exactly, noting the length of pauses, or inflection of voice, but my summaries were reasonably full accounts of the discussions and I referred regularly to the tapes. I did not adopt more formal methods of discourse analysis for two prime reasons. First, the language is so contested and elusive that I did not believe words were used with sufficient commonality of meaning to give a secure foundation to this approach. Second, this would give too great a primacy to the spoken word rather than to the teacher’s actions. Whereas the dramatic moment may excite

185 the researcher, the teacher’s most basic beliefs may be embodied in the detail of conversation and response, of body language or gesture, which cannot be quantified.

However much I tried to counter it, hearing the discussions again brought the spoken word back more vividly than the observed action, because the tapes maintain their immediacy and rekindle the memory more directly than field-notes. I found it hard not to overemphasise what had been said, precisely the reverse of how one should seek to make sense of other people’s understanding.

My approach was to search for patterns, both within the teacher’s understanding and between teachers, to devise hypotheses to be tested by returning to my records of the visits. Evidence to test these emerging hypotheses came from a range of sources, both from the observations made of teaching style and environment and often in several questions in the discussions. For instance, a teacher’s understanding of young children’s inherent capacity for spiritual experience may be exemplified in her actions and in diverse answers to questions such as whether children develop spiritually, the place of spirituality within a curriculum subject and describing the spiritually aware or mature child. Searching for understanding was always a case of assembling diverse, fragmentary data.

I came to believe that only a multi-faceted approach could give any confidence that I was coming to grips with teachers’ understanding. I have used the metaphor of trying to see the situation through a series of lenses. So, for example, one may try to look as an inspector would, or through the eyes of a particular child, or consider hypotheses by concentrating on issues of gender or social deprivation. I tried, in the phase after the visits, to consider the data through a succession of lenses.

Valuable though such a metaphor may be, we should recall that a lens does not actually make things bigger, or clearer; it only makes them seem so. A lens may clarify or correct our vision, but it can also distort or delude.

186 Only with time do underlying patterns become evident. I returned repeatedly to the data to be wary of a tendency to move too quickly towards final interpretation. Too rapid a closure risked either superficiality or a reflection of my, rather than the teachers’, beliefs. This is reinforced by the tendency for any thesis to present complex social situations too tidily. The challenge is to make a large quantity of disparate, and untidy, data manageable, without overtidying or losing the richness embedded in the detail. Interpreting this necessarily involve subtle nuances of emphasis, rather than very sharp dichotomies.

8.ii Aspects of the teachers’ practice explicitly related to spiritual

development

In this section, I highlight the most important aspects of their practice which the teachers related explicitly to spiritual development. While these were not in evidence with all teachers, they were sufficiently common to be more than individual views. I present these without lengthy interpretation, but highlight important elements in 8.v.

I referred in 6.i to the importance that Alice, Bridget and Georgina ascribed to the Family Links

Programme. This affected very strongly the practice of all three. Each explicitly saw the programme as more than a way of encouraging good behaviour, but related it to spiritual development, especially in terms of learning to be part of a larger group. This was the main element of her practice that Bridget related to spiritual development. All three adopted a particular language and structure to help children learn to listen to other children, reflect on their behaviour and process their emotional responses. Children were frequently reminded that how they behaved was a matter of choice, with clear consequences if they made inappropriate choices. One remarkable incident occurred when, working with half the class, Georgina ignored eighteen successive interruptions from one child, until she adopted the appropriate approach and was effusively praised. Both Georgina and Alice built much of their teaching around circle times, for

187 instance by reading a story and exploring the messages together. Circle times dealt with some tense situations at times. On the only occasion in the whole year when I almost left the room because I felt that my presence was seriously constraining the teacher’s actions, Georgina persisted in emphasising other children behaving well despite a circle time being continuously disrupted by three children. An incident at A, described in 8.iv, resulting from a boy’s account of a smashed window, demonstrates how the children’s excitement disrupted the circle time’s hoped- for calming influence.

Elsewhere, most teachers highlighted circle time as valuable, often relating it to spiritual development. All three teachers at D adopted an approach to circle time supporting aspects they associated, to some degree, with spiritual development. Debbie, in particular, spent a lot of time modelling how to resolve difficulties by talking with an individual or group while other children listened and watched in whole-class settings. However, elsewhere, its use was much more uneven.

Three teachers (in two schools), despite talking about its value, showed no evidence of having done any circle time during the period of my visit. This should remind one to be wary of what is said. In four schools, circle time was neither used nor mentioned other than in passing. This seemed to reflect a pedagogy using large-group work only for certain types of work, as at E and H, or one which rarely gathered the whole class except for very short periods, as at C and F.

All the teachers, except Fran, started, and most ended, each session by gathering the children together. This served the obvious purposes of checking who is present, collecting messages from home and so on. However, many teachers used this to greet the children individually and collectively, to explain what was planned for the session and, more subtly, to establish a boundary between home and school and in some cases between the parent’s authority and the teacher’s.

There was a wide variation of views and practice about assembling with the rest, or part of, the school. In the Catholic schools, the importance of this was evident, both in practice and in most of

188 the teachers’ views. Cathleen, Erica and Fran stated definitely that it was important in contributing to the children’s involvement in the wider school community. Alice and Jane, in non- denominational schools, shared this view, with some reservations. Caroline, in a Catholic school, was less enthusiastic, her position being similar to that of Kate, Kirsty and Georgina that such young children benefited little from joining larger groups for gatherings which were often too long and ‘above their heads’. Helen did not see assembly as related to spiritual development but seemed to accept it as part of school life, without strong feelings about its value. At D, the unit joined the rest of the school only for one (very large) whole-school assembly. Although Debbie and Diana suggested that the children gained from such an assembly, no assemblies with other, slightly older classes were arranged.

Most teachers were sceptical of whether such young children could engage in any sustained period of collective reflection, whether using silence or music, and did not try to organise them. Georgina was the only teacher who set up periods of reflection for more than a few seconds, regularly using circle time for this. At C and E, a time for prayer at the start and end of each session was treated with great seriousness, but with only a short time for personal reflection. Erica articulated the importance of the prayer focus and demonstrated this by where she sat, how she gathered the children, and adopting a different tone of voice. She set apart, quite explicitly, a secluded corner for intimate time together, especially the prayer focus. The lack of such times of reflection suggested, in most cases, that the teachers believed that this was beyond the children’s ability and that it was too difficult to train them to do so. A majority of teachers were reluctant to have the children sitting as a group for long periods of time for any reason. Some tended to prefer small group activity, as at C, or emphasised individual play, most strongly at F, E and K. The exceptions were at D, where up to fifty minutes of the morning session in total might be spent in large groups, Jane, who expected quite sustained periods of listening, Helen who did quite a lot of collective singing and games and Georgina, as outlined above. I was surprised how little emphasis

189 there was overall on stories and how few stories were told, as opposed to being read. In three units, whole topics of up to a week in length were built around one story, which might be read several times. In others, stories were used primarily during a small period of time such as at the end of a session. To my surprise, even in story time, few teachers laid a great emphasis on setting the foundations for children to engage in being together for sustained periods of time.

Most teachers, unsurprisingly, associated Religious Education with spiritual development.

However, its role was uncertain, possibly because children of statutory school age are supposed to be taught R.E., while this is not a requirement for younger children. Most classes consisted of a mixture of the two groups. I observed little teaching anywhere which I considered distinctively religious education, even stories with a religious theme, including those possibly seen as part of common culture, such as Noah’s Ark or David and Goliath, despite it often being in teachers’ plans and quite prominent in their discussions. In most non-denominational schools, while ethos, values, behaviour and relationships were deemed very important, religion had a low profile in the expectations which either the school placed on the teachers or they themselves demonstrated in practice. The exception was Jane, who operated on the basis of a shared common set of values, explicitly Judaeo-Christian. She spoke to the children once of ‘we Christians’, clearly, from the tone, including all of them. Both Alice and Diana, with a personal religious faith, lamented in what they said that there was not a common Christian heritage, but their practice indicated little, in this respect, different from other teachers in community schools.

Several teachers explicitly referred to the use of symbols. In some cases, this was to provide a focus of attention. For instance, most circle times involved a furry toy, or similar item, which the person speaking had to hold. Georgina placed a candle in the centre of circle times, and at C a cross and a candle were placed centrally as a clear symbolic point of focus. Occasionally, there were more subtle visual symbols, with a less explicit rationale. For example, Diana pointed out

190 what she called her ‘dream catcher’, a bunch of twigs above the door, saying that she rarely mentioned it, but felt that it provided a spiritual element to the classroom, without being able to explain quite what she meant by that.

There was a variety of views as to the importance of ‘awe and wonder’ experiences. It is not entirely clear what the teachers meant by this, but, broadly, it seemed to refer to what is remarkable and incomprehensible. I saw few occasions when the teachers either explicitly encouraged this or set up opportunities where this was likely to occur. At K, the birth of some chicks in an incubator, described in 8.iv, presented a deliberately created opportunity. Erica gave as an example when her own class had visited an exhibition where they were able to view, in darkness, a model of the night sky. On occasions, such experiences occurred without active prompting. For instance, I observed a boy at F, talking to himself for around three minutes, as he explored, entranced, what happened when he looked at different items through a tank of water.

Helen, who found it difficult to describe what she meant by spirituality, referred to one little boy’s fascination with nature, and especially small animals, as akin to mystical experience.

Most examples of ‘awe and wonder’ occurred through interaction with nature. However, I was surprised to see how little use teachers made of natural materials, especially in those units other than those visited in the summer where this was a strong emphasis in their topics. Most teachers said that the extent of their emphasis on nature depended very strongly on the season. At A, the first snow-fall of the winter led me to expect great excitement, discussion with the children and an opportunity for ‘awe and wonder’. The unit carried on as if nothing had happened. When I raised this with Alice, she said, with some resignation, that the children were not very good at noticing such things. Nevertheless, I was surprised that opportunities were not exploited and staff more proactive, whether, like Derek and Helen, they associated exploring the natural environment with spiritual development or not. Derek, who recalled with passion how looking at rockpools left by the retreating tide had been an experience he might have called spiritual and was certainly

191 significant, made only limited use of his huge enthusiasm for, and knowledge of, nature.

Opportunities were rarely taken for bringing in natural materials like flowers, buds and shells, in pointing out and discussing weather and seasonal change, or in keeping animals.

8.iii Aspects of the teachers’ practice less explicitly related to

spiritual development

In this section, I consider various aspects of the teachers’ practice less explicitly associated with spiritual development but which provide an insight into their understanding of it. I alluded, in 5.ii, to how the environment and expectations which the teacher creates may give a clearer indication of the values which she espouses, in practice, than what she says. Any teaching environment both reflects and dictates the teachers’ beliefs about children and their spiritual development. However, given differing levels of teacher experience and autonomy, it is important to consider how much the teacher is in control of, or is able to create, this environment. The teacher’s understanding is exemplified in how she responds to the constraints and opportunities.

A rationale for inclusion in such a discussion is inherently problematical because it tends to impose my own boundaries of the spiritual domain, the dilemma raised in 1.i. Put simply, I argue that a holistic view of spiritual development must look at a very wide range of often fairly ordinary, everyday, aspects of children’s lives. This provides pointers to important aspects of the new understanding of spiritual development which I present in 10.iv. In this section, I discuss several aspects alluded to in Chapter 3, even though only occasionally did any teacher relate these to spiritual development.

Many aspects of teachers’ understanding are so embedded in their practice that they rarely articulate them in words. The most obvious example is how the teachers and children related. In all the time I spent observing, I was struck by the almost complete absence of any comment

192 designed as a put-down or to undermine the child’s self-esteem. The only such comment noted was not from one of the teachers involved. An uncharitable view would be that the teachers were careful not to expose any views dissonant with how they were ‘supposed’ to behave. However, I think that I was with each teacher for long enough to see them behaving relatively normally. The overall context was always one of the teacher taking great care to establish and develop good relationships.

This is not to say that everything always ran smoothly. There were, naturally, occasions of reprimanding children or telling them to hurry, or not including some children as much as I might have regarded appropriate. But there was no occasion in the whole year when a teacher shouted in anger. How the teachers talked with the children inevitably varied according to personality, teaching style and the specific context. Sometimes a teacher would have quite different styles in public and private conversation with children. Kirsty was the clearest example of this, being loud and dramatic with the whole group, but very quiet and calm with individuals. Jane, on the other hand, had a very measured and consistent style of talking with both individuals and groups. There was no shortage of humour in our discussions, or informal contacts, and an abundance of kindness evident in the teaching, but I was surprised at how little humour teachers used in their teaching, only observing three teachers who consciously used it as a teaching technique. Even then, one,

Debbie, maintained that that was just ‘how she was.’ This was curious given young children’s capacity for joy and their love of humour. I return in 11.ii to the importance of humour.

All were conscious that how they spoke, or acted, offered important implicit messages to the children. Even when exasperated, teachers continued to demonstrate the sorts of behaviour which they expected from their children. In observing the teachers, I noted too many barely-conscious examples to record them all, from the smile to the warning look, from how adults spoke to each other to how they arranged materials. All the teachers ascribed great importance to children

193 learning through example. Most spent a large amount of time consciously modelling the behaviour they expected. For example, each teacher, several times each day, talked with children about how to resolve conflict, often very briefly, occasionally spending longer periods discussing what the appropriate response would have been. This provides another example of pedagogy so self-evident and commonplace to teachers that they did not emphasise it strongly in what they said. Several teachers explicitly pointed out other children’s behaviour as models for children to adopt or that of other adults, both explicitly and otherwise. This became most obvious when a teacher saw an inappropriate role-model. For example, I interpreted the speed with which Erica intervened when a group of children, working with a sixth-form student, appeared to be getting out of hand not simply as supporting the student but as ensuring that the children did not receive inappropriate messages.

Unsurprisingly, the emphasis on (often implicit) learning through role-modelling was also supported by behaviour codes and rules. The codes and rules made expectations explicit in relation to a safe environment and appropriate social interactions but was only rarely explicitly related to spiritual development. They reinforced the subtler values which the teachers wished to promote and so may be related to their understanding of spiritual development. The teachers’ use of rewards was very varied. Several used stickers quite freely. Jane had a board on which she publicly praised those children who had done well - but it was rarely updated. At K, a scheme had been introduced whereby every child had to earn a cork to put in a jar, to result in a class treat when it was full - but many children took little notice and at the end of the week various spurious reasons for some children to earn their cork were invented. Fran and Erica expressed quite clearly in what they said and in practice their dislike of extrinsic rewards such as stickers, while both

Alice and Jane were apologetic that they did not use them more. Caroline and Kirsty spoke of them as symbols of adult approval. The approach to extrinsic rewards, surprisingly, did not appear to relate to differences in teaching style.

194 Examining how the curriculum in early-units operates in practice would constitute a major research project in its own right. In three units, most teaching of literacy and numeracy was done in small groups. However, most teachers used large groups, often working on skills, phonics or mental mathematics. Some, especially Bridget and Jane, appeared quite comfortable with this.

However, several teachers were much less so. Debbie was explicit, though matter of fact, about how her teaching approach had to reflect ‘getting children ready’ for moving to the next class, even when she did not deem such an approach appropriate. Alice, Erica and Georgina allowed a great deal of free choice, but did short, didactic large- group sessions. Erica related spiritual development to aspects of teaching she called ‘gaming’, in contrast to didactic and skills-based approaches. She spoke at length and with passion of the pressures, and disadvantages for the children, of ‘getting children ready to enter Key Stage 1.’ Fran explained how she had resisted pressure for significant amounts of large-group work, relating this, albeit obliquely, to the children’s spiritual needs. Georgina, normally very measured in her responses, immediately cited current approaches to assessment as the main aspect of teaching not related to spiritual development.

While most teachers regarded certain subjects, or aspects, as offering particular opportunities for spiritual development (and others not), they articulated it as a process which could occur within any subject area. I concentrate briefly on two areas previously discussed, play, raised in 3.iv, and creativity, in 2.iii. Winnicott (1980) emphasised the role of play in personality development.

Unsurprisingly, play, in different forms, constituted a large part of what children did. It is difficult to generalise about what teachers believed that children gained from play. Most felt that the children gained enormously through experience of sand and water and stressed the importance of children learning to take turns and operate within a group. Some explicitly related play with spiritual development. This was not apparently linked with whether the teacher thought play, as

195 such, important. Alice, for example, spoke of how the needs, in terms of spiritual development, of her (disadvantaged) children involved extensive opportunities for exploration and play. Georgina related children learning how it is to be other than themselves by dressing up and imaginative play specifically to spiritual development. Fran spoke of play as ‘getting to know themselves, pretending to be someone from a story, or a fireman, for example, and working together.’

Broadly speaking, the teachers’ attitude was on a spectrum between those who used play as central to how children learn and those who seemed to use it primarily as a break from more formal

‘work’. The best example of the former was at F, of the latter B. Fran’s curriculum was so based on play that there was little group activity, except for activities where children needed specific adult support. It was a highly individual curriculum, with children choosing their activities most of the time. At B, group activity was always closely supervised by an adult and it was explicit that children should play, for instance with a board game, when their ‘work’ was finished. There was very little time for more individual undirected play. Several teachers’ schedules offered children the chance to play when they were not working directly with an adult. In four units, children could play outside freely if they wished often for a significant part of each session, giving plentiful opportunities for self-directed physical activity and outdoor play, as recommended in curricular guidance. Only rarely was there any active attempt by teachers to influence or direct who children played with or what they did. This results in a dilemma about influencing children’s attitudes discussed further in 8.v. Incidentally, there were few formal physical education sessions in any unit, which may reflect the time-consuming nature of changing clothes with young children and some of the curricular pressures highlighted in 1.iv.3.

Many of the same considerations apply to ‘creative’ subject areas such as art and music. They occupied, in some cases, significant amounts of the children’s time, but most teachers found it hard to articulate how these contributed to children’s spiritual development. At A and B, all-day

196 units with similar numbers in the morning and afternoon, there was rather more opportunity for free play and creative activity in the afternoon. However, in three of the four units where only the older children (usually only a few) stayed for the afternoon, I was surprised that this time was used to provide older children with more direct literacy teaching rather than extension activities, such as those related to the creative arts. Erica was a notable exception.

Much of what I observed reflected the often disjointed nature of young children’s lives. Each unit offered structure, some much more strongly than others. However, in several units, I observed activities and expectations which had a ritual quality. I referred in 8.ii to some activities deliberately set up as rituals, most obviously the prayer focus at C and E with the lighting of a candle and the saying of a prayer, and circle times. In several classrooms ritual, in the sense of a regularly repeated activity involving a level of seriousness, occurred more subtly. Some were relatively unremarkable. At F, the children came straight into the class and selected an activity without any prompting, with elements of a ritual in ways hard to capture in words. At J, one child each day was chosen to count all the others, who stood up together and sat down when touched, during registration. At D, all the children sat down and went to collect their mid-morning snack in a pre-determined way, whereas, in contrast, at F and H, children ate their snack as they moved. At

E and H, the time when children were allowed to go outside was announced with a public, almost ritual, flourish. One memorable moment with a strong sense of ritual occurred at A where a bell was passed round a circle of children, with great care, so that it did not make a sound. I return in

8.v to whether such activities should be linked to spiritual development.

In concluding this section, I refer to elements of the teachers’ practice which suggest, or otherwise, that they were making different provision on the basis of factors such as gender or age. This leads to a more detailed discussion in 9.iv.5. Although I looked very hard, I saw nothing in the teachers’ practice dissonant with the view expressed by most of them that gender was not related to spiritual

197 development. In relation to age, the only example was a pronounced emphasis for Jane to ask questions of older children in large-group sessions. This was, I assumed, in line with what one might call an apprenticeship approach, with the younger pupils being incorporated into a learning tradition. However, in 10.i, I highlight tensions when their view of such factors as gender and age, as said and practised, is placed alongside other elements of what the teachers said.

8.iv Reflections on five critical incidents and their relationship to

spiritual development

I referred in 8.i to how easy it is for the researcher, and reader, to become remote from the data.

Such remoteness does not, for the researcher, result simply from the passage of time. More importantly, without some of the detail of my observations, the interpretation too easily becomes arid and generalised, failing to reflect the messy and uneven vibrancy of young children’s lives. In this section, I seek to redress this balance by considering five critical incidents which do not fit into neat, exclusive categories. Any selection of critical incidents is, inevitably, a matter of judgement. I have included incidents which were quite dramatic and those where very little out of the ordinary occurred. In choosing these five, I have tried to demonstrate some of the complexity of teaching, and of observation, and to select incidents which illustrate more than one theme described in the next chapter. In relation to each, I offer a brief description and interpretation, suggesting links with the spiritual domain, even though the link may appear tenuous until I set out the new understanding I offer in 10.iv. I refer to these incidents, in 8.v, and in future chapters, to indicate how specific incidents may link aspects of spiritual development in ways which a prescribed boundary or a thematic interpretation may miss.

The first incident occurred on a Monday morning at A, when a student teacher was conducting circle time, with Alice watching. When all the children gathered to discuss the weekend, a boy described with some passion how his big brother had become very angry and smashed his Nan’s

198 window - but ‘he hasn’t got arrested’. A number of other boys became quite excited and animated.

Alice intervened to say that she wondered how his Nan felt. The student was unsure how to respond and brought the discussion fairly rapidly to a close. In discussion, Alice brought this up as an example of how the experiences which the children brought into school could often dominate their thoughts. She indicated that she would not have continued with the next lesson as planned but would have spent time discussing further what responses would have been more appropriate. This incident raises issues of how a teacher most appropriately handles such a situation where emotional intensity and pressure from the peer group can very quickly dominate a situation planned quite differently. Alice explicitly related such a situation to spiritual, moral and emotional development.

The second incident occurred at E in the home corner, at that time being dominated by some boys playing noisily. I observed R, a very quiet, timid girl, approaching the area, apparently wishing to enter. She hesitated and watched, for several seconds, before seeking the help of the nursery nurse who told her to go back and say that Mrs H had said that she (R) can play in the house. R went back and looked into the playhouse, for about forty-five seconds, apparently impassive but keen to go in. As she approached she smiled, and looked back, presumably for re-assurance, at Mrs H, who was watching. R returned and said that the boys were playing dinosaurs. Mrs H said ‘Go and say Mrs H says you can play in there - and the house is for everyone’. R looked doubtful but went back with two other girls. They held hands, waited for two or three seconds and then went in together. Although they did not stay long, a threshold, both literal and metaphorical, appeared to have been crossed.

This incident raises issues of emotional maturity, the role, and methods, of adult support and freedom of choice, with implications in terms of the factors affecting children’s approach to spiritual experience, such as gender and age. It highlights the importance of the classroom

199 environment, both physically and in terms of relationships. Even though Erica made some thoughtful remarks both at the time and subsequently, I include this incident to demonstrate how teachers may, often without being aware of doing so, enable spiritual experience. For example, this illustrates hospitable space in action, allowing the girl to explore her own place relative to other children and her own emotions. How much, and how, this was created by the teacher could be the subject of a paper in its own right.

The third incident, at G, was less remarkable. Georgina read a story about a girl, in Africa, carrying on her head a basket of fruit, the contents of which kept changing without her knowledge, as various animals took different pieces of fruit. Georgina engaged in discussion both during and after the story. Both story and discussion operated at several levels, evoking excitement and humour, encouraging the children to reflect on what the girl could see, and why she was unaware of what was going on, presenting issues about morality, intention and values, and helping children to learn about unfamiliar fruit and culture. In discussing this with Georgina, both when I asked directly, and when she was illustrating another point, it became clear that she had chosen the story, and highlighted aspects of it, for several reasons. The most basic was about counting and listing what was in the basket. However, Georgina articulated other aspects, such as the moral message which she did not wish to highlight, but was prepared to discuss if a child raised it, and might return to at a later date. More subtly, she said that she had chosen the story to illustrate cultural diversity but did not wish to highlight that aspect specifically, preferring to let the message operate at a latent level. The incident raised issues of how identity and culture can be explored and values inculcated, both overtly and at subtler levels.

The fourth incident took place at H. There were two black boys, in a largely white class, whose behaviour was disruptive and attendance poor. They struggled to make appropriate relationships with other children and were often in trouble. While I was working with a group, including one of

200 them, his question about whether boys can love girls led to a discussion about the various different people one can love, the role of siblings and of parents and of the relative size of adults and children. He then said ‘My daddy’s a black man’ which continued into a more personal, somewhat poignant, discussion about identity. I had a strong sense of him being confused, but questioning, about his identity. He seemed able with a man who was a stranger with time to listen, to find a place in which to explore such puzzling and personal issues. I chose not to mention this incident to

Helen, and, as far as I know, she was not aware of it. She did not therefore relate it, or otherwise, to spirituality. It was, at most, a two minute conversation which my presence encouraged and enabled to be recorded. However, it provides a good example of the complexity of what the observer may notice and how children may often to wish to discuss such issues, given the right context and classroom environment.

The final incident relates to the keeping of eggs and hatching of chicks at K. Although the children, despite occasional reminders, took little notice of the incubating eggs, the hatching led to much excitement and eager observation and questioning from some children, while others took no apparent notice. When I asked the two teachers (separately) why they had set up the incubator, they offered the expected answer about children having a chance to see the wonder of new-born life and the cycle of life over a sustained period. Though Kate did relate this to spiritual development, she knew that I was interested in life and death, having pointed out at least two conversations in which children raised this. Kirsty did not do so explicitly. This incident occurred because the teachers had set up a situation where the children were likely to experience dramatically the wonder of nature. The children’s response demonstrates how setting up teaching environments for young children often leads to opportunities to which one cannot know how the children will respond.

201 8.v Synthesising how the teachers’ understanding was expressed in what they did

In this section, I consider the elements of the teachers’ practice raised in this chapter to discuss how this relates to spiritual development, highlighting several themes which re-appear in Chapter

9, and four dilemmas.

The first dilemma was the extent to which spiritual development involves an individual search and to what extent involvement in a larger group. All teachers agreed on how young children focus very largely on their own needs and the importance of learning how to get on with other children.

There was less commonality on the importance of being part of a bigger group. For some, especially those within religious traditions, whether personally or as a school, this was especially important. The importance of assembly in Catholic schools, of circle time in the Family Links

Programme schools and those where a similar approach was adopted and of collective class activity all provide examples of this. For others, spiritual development was a much more internal, individual process. Those with a strong emphasis on play tended to exemplify this approach. There is a danger of presenting this in too polarised a fashion. For all teachers, spiritual development involved both aspects. It was how they balanced the two which was important. Erica gave children considerable freedom to explore, but called them together for brisk large-group sessions. Georgina based her direct teaching on group work, but gave opportunities for individual play. Jane, Bridget and the three teachers at D, in contrast, tended to concentrate primarily on large-group work.

The attitude towards assembly provides a good case in point. For the teachers in Catholic schools, except Caroline, such gatherings were a crucial part of group identity and involvement in a wider tradition, both of the whole school and beyond. Most others were, at best, ambivalent about the

202 value of assemblies. This was more than a criticism of the actual assemblies themselves, though in some cases it was. Rather it was a rejection in principle because the teachers did not believe that assembly in such large groups served a worthwhile purpose for such young children. This was further reflected in the approach to periods of collective, quiet reflection. Some schools explicitly provided a structure for this, whether in class or assembly, taken up differently by individual teachers.

My description in 8.iii of different types of activity with a ritual quality indicates that such activities do not need to be confined to the religious sphere. The classrooms demonstrated elements where an activity repeated in a particular way both indicates significance and offers structure and security. These are examples of how, in 10.iv, I characterise transcendence. As

Kimes Myers writes (1997: 78), ‘rituals have functions of conservation and transformation: that is, they ceremonially preserve certain patterns even as they provide occasions in which the dynamics of transcendence can occur.’

A second dilemma was whether, and how, to help children to engage with those aspects of experience which are not just temporarily puzzling but are beyond human comprehension, what

Otto (1950: 25) calls the ‘wholly other.’ Some teachers stressed the importance of ‘awe and wonder’ experiences, in our discussions, relating incidents which I had observed to young children having what might be called mystical experience. Others referred to their own experience as children, such as Derek’s experience of looking down into rockpools enabling him to imagine different worlds beyond his own experience. He indicated that this had had a profound influence on his beliefs about the nature of the universe and his own choice of career as a biologist.

However, most teachers were very unsure how to enable these. Some suggested that they occur naturally, others simply did not know. Yet the incident with the chicks at K, or a visit to a garden at E, or to a wild natural area, at J, show that these can be encouraged, if not ensured. There

203 appeared to be a reluctance to let children engage with what is inexplicable. This seemed to confine the children more than necessary to what I described in 3.iv as d-mode thinking.

Most of the examples of engagement with mystery related to the natural world. Few teachers mentioned painful and unsettling experience, except, sometimes, in relation to themselves. Most wished, understandably, to protect children from this. However, occasionally, teachers did demonstrate a willingness to enable children to explore this. Observing, and commenting on, such incidents is awkward both for practical and ethical reasons. However, the willingness of Catholic schools, as at C, to invite children to think of those relatives who were dead offers one example.

Kate handled a discussion about relatives who had died with sensitivity and without sentimentality. The critical incident at A, about the broken window, suggests how a teacher thought she would have wished to address a difficult issue. However, stories as a forum for raising and reflecting on such issues were used less than I had expected.

A third dilemma was how teachers could inculcate values, and how much they believed they should do so. Most teachers, in their practice, modelled appropriate behaviour and values with great care. Some, notably those in the Family Links Programme, were very explicit in their expectations. As indicated in 8.iii, there was a wide variety of practice about the role of extrinsic reward in developing intrinsic qualities. Although the incident at G demonstrates a clear view of the place of stories in the implicit and explicit passing on of values, the role of story in this area was surprisingly slight. Kirsty spoke of the importance of stories with a moral tale, but I did not observe her making much use of them for this purpose. This dilemma reflects a broader one of how much to intervene and how much to let children explore for themselves. Too great a level of control limits children’s chances to make meaning for themselves. Yet simply to let children do what they want does not challenge pre-existing beliefs and values. Except to ensure safety, the teachers were remarkably reluctant to intervene when children were playing on their own.

204 A fourth dilemma for the teachers was how much to concentrate on enabling young children to understand their own immediate relationships and environment and how much to introduce elements of wider cultural awareness. This provided a challenge for the majority of schools which were relatively homogeneous, culturally. Again, the use of the story about the girl and the fruit at

G provides an example of how this can be done subtly. The use of displays at F, from around the world, provided another example. Some teachers recognised that education implied preparation for a world beyond that immediate locality, and the complexity that implies. These tended to be those who had experience, whether professional (like Debbie) or personal (like Kirsty), of multi-ethnic communities. The evidence of my observations was that most teachers, in practice, did relatively little to extend their children’s awareness beyond their immediate cultural experience.

All teachers responded to these dilemmas according to their own beliefs and contexts. In highlighting them, I do not pass judgement on the teachers’ responses, but a new understanding of spiritual development needs to bear such complexity in mind.

In 3.iv, especially, I linked spiritual experience with identity and develop this further in 10.iv.

Since both gender and ethnicity are crucial elements of identity, I looked especially carefully at these aspects of the teachers’ practice. The incident with the black boy at H clearly related to both aspects, and those at A and E seemed strongly related to the children’s gender. Yet, although some teachers wondered whether such factors affected spiritual development, most neither thought nor acted as if they did. The relationship of age and maturity to spiritual development was more complex. There was some indication, as when Jane worked with large groups, or when only the older part of the class was present, of different practice according to age. While any link with spiritual development may appear tenuous, I shall develop the argument in 9.iv.2 and 10.i that these aspects indicate some tensions in the teachers’ understanding and important issues to be addressed.

205 The class environment offered many insights into the teachers’ understanding. While many were not able to articulate how they enabled spiritual development, the structures, patterns and opportunities set expectations, at a variety of levels. I highlight here four aspects initially highlighted in Chapter 3. The first is the importance of children having safe emotional space in which to explore and to learn, as in the critical incident involving the girl at E. A second is the permission which teachers offer to children for exploration and making meaning, recalling

Bruner’s (1996) ideas from 3.iv. A good example was the incident of the chicks at K. This was most noticeable by its absence where children were offered few such opportunities. The third feature is the importance of appropriate relationships in enabling the child to explore his or her place within a wider web of relationships, most obviously between the teacher and child, and child and child. However, this includes how all adults related to children and to each other and relationships with the wider world. Most teachers took enormous care in establishing an appropriate relational environment. Finally, much of the observation supported the commonly held view that spiritual development was a matter of process and pedagogy rather than content. I discuss this further to 9.iv.4, leading to the argument in 10.i that external expectations on the teachers can cause difficulties when in conflict with their own beliefs about children’s needs.

8.vi Examining the factors that influence the teachers’

understanding

I discuss, in this section, the formative influences on the teachers’ understanding which provide pointers towards a new understanding of spiritual development. Put simply, one needs to know not just where the teachers are, but how they got there. Without this, it is hard to elicit the policy and training implications, as I shall in 11.iii. The process of systematic sampling is predicated on an assumption that the teachers’ understandings are not entirely arbitrary, and that these teachers reflect, to some extent, the wider population of teachers. I draw on the teachers’ own description

206 of their background and experience, on answers to direct questions about what influenced them and on comparing the teachers’ understanding expressed in their teaching. The first of these was straightforward, through the questionnaire reproduced as Appendix 1. The second was less so, with most teachers, when asked directly, being unsure and identifying a range of different influences, but then, at other times, exploring how they had come to a particular understanding.

The third relied on my interpretation of the influences affecting their understanding and so is more based on apparent associations. I make no extravagant claims in terms of correlation, let alone causality. The size of the sample, and the complexity of the issues involved, mean that this can only suggest trends, rather than provide definitive conclusions. I do not seek to examine the relative importance of influences likely to operate in both directions, how school-related factors influence the individual and vice-versa.

In 4.vii, I considered a range of possible factors, as reflected in the questionnaire and my sampling, for instance that teaching in church schools, or the teacher’s age, might be significant. In this section, I highlight only those influences which appeared significant rather than discussing each in detail. I do not consider two possible factors. The absence of heads and deputies means that I make no comment on McCreery’s (2001) suggestion that they understand spiritual development differently from class teachers. Having only one man in the sample results in a similar silence in relation to gender but I discuss, in 11.iv, possible implications of an overwhelmingly female teaching force with young children.

As expected, the school’s religious character, or otherwise, appeared to influence the teachers’ understanding, especially in Catholic schools. Although only one of the four teachers was a

Catholic, all four were explicit that the religious foundation made a big difference, all accepting, without demur, the emphasis on educating children as Catholics, including the role of prayer and of assembly. However, all articulated spiritual development as concerned with more than just

207 religious faith or practice, though the only Catholic, Cathleen, saw incorporation into the faith more as a whole ‘package’. One can draw only the most tentative conclusion about Anglican schools, given that the sample included only one, with the religious foundation having no apparent impact. However, the unwillingness of other Anglican schools to be involved may suggest an ambivalence about spiritual development.

The religious character relates not only to religion, but, more subtly, to ethos. Several teachers, in different types of school, emphasised the importance of the support of colleagues, and the school ethos, in approaching an area all were uncertain about. The Catholic schools, especially, seemed to offer a context within which it was regarded, institutionally, as more appropriate to address issues associated with spiritual development.

The nature of the catchment influenced the teachers’ pedagogy, and often the emphasis of their comments. There was a strong emphasis on emotional development in the most disadvantaged communities, more consideration of curricular and parental expectations and pressures in more affluent areas. The low level of reference to ethnicity may be related to most schools being in culturally homogeneous areas. Understandably, teachers focus most on issues related to their present context.

Mostly, the teachers appeared to have considerable autonomy in how they taught, with some important exceptions. Some of these were practical, such as constraints of resources, space or school procedures. Others were more to do with the school’s expectations. The most obvious example was the Family Links Programme, which affected considerably both the teachers’ actions and how they articulated their understanding of spiritual development. In this case, the teachers welcomed this, whereas the teachers’ responses to other institutional expectations, such as those relating to assembly, were more varied. The most important of these related to the curriculum. The

208 influence of curriculum advice was evident more in the impact of overall curriculum design than direct advice on spiritual development, recalling, from 4.viii, the uncertain place of ‘spiritual’ in the LEA guidelines (Oxfordshire, 2000). Several teachers highlighted the influence on pedagogy of the national agenda emphasising skills and children being ‘ready’ for a teaching approach based, for example, on the ‘Literacy Hour’. Several teachers articulated a tension with their own view of children’s needs, while accepting such influence as a given. For many teachers, the potential or actual tensions between a philosophical approach emphasising outcome measures and one based more on process emerged the more they explored the complexity of spiritual development.

Written policies, or guidance, specifically related to spiritual development, seemed to have made little impact. Few teachers could initially say how this was dealt with in written school policies, though most were apologetic about this. Some referred to them subsequently, but there was little indication that these had shaped their thinking. There was some limited evidence of the impact of the national guidance mentioned in 1.iv.3, but this went little further than such phrases as ‘awe and wonder’. The expectations of inspectors appeared to have influenced the teachers’ understanding little, if at all. Most teachers thought that individual inspectors’ views would vary, some saying that they had no idea, some assuming that these would be similar to their own, some that it would be quite different. Most seemed untroubled by this, with Bridget saying that this uncertainty actively re-assured her. There seemed little fear of being criticised for ‘doing it wrong’. It seemed to have too low a priority in inspection for teachers to be greatly concerned.

Such external influences might be expected to work more indirectly through training. What the teachers highlighted about training was linked to their view of spiritual development. Cathleen, for instance, mentioned religious studies at Catholic teachers’ college, but without being sure that this related to spirituality. However, most said that they had had little or no training explicitly related

209 to the spiritual. There was little mention of in-service training, even within their own school. The main exception was Caroline’s description of the impact of a visitor discussing the school’s role in encouraging a sense of vocation. No-one reported attending any training explicitly related to spiritual development outside the school setting.

The teachers’ personal beliefs and experience, especially as parents, influenced their understanding very strongly. This offers support to McCreery’s view of the importance of ‘life experiences’, raised in 1.iii. Two teachers, Derek and Helen, were explicit that their views were shaped primarily by their personal exploration of spirituality. Others mentioned the impact of books and personal experiences, but most were unsure of the formative influences on their understanding.

Unsurprisingly, the teachers’ own religious beliefs affected how they spoke about spirituality and how they taught. About half indicated that they saw themselves helping to provide a foundation for possible future, or support for existing, membership of a faith tradition. Quite what this meant, and how it should be done, varied. Few teachers were neutral about religion, although there was, as indicated in 8.iii, little recognisable religious education. For the teachers in Catholic schools religion was integral to the job, though how they interpreted this varied. Equally, in the other schools, with less overt expectations, there was a variety of responses. At one end of the spectrum were those, like Jane and Diana, in community schools who worked to provide a foundation of faith. At the other, three teachers were very clear that there should be no religion in school such as

Derek who explicitly said that he would not choose to teach in a school with a strong emphasis on

R.E. In the middle were both those who hankered for a framework of religion, but thought it inappropriate with such young children, and those who gave it a low priority. Although teachers’ understanding was clearly influenced by their personal religious belief, there was a complex interplay between this and other influences.

210 Turning to personal experience, those who engaged most with complexity were those who - in discussion rather than teaching - related the issues to, and explored painful and difficult aspects of, their own experience. One powerful influence seemed to be parenthood. To have asked about the teachers’ own experience as parents seemed too intrusive, but most of the teachers in the discussions drew on their own experience as parents.

I had expected the teachers’ personal interests to be reflected in their approach, for instance if they were keen on music or nature. This happened surprisingly little. Where teachers had studied religion or biology as the main subject of their higher educational studies, this seemed to be reflected in their understanding. For instance, Cathleen and Jane had studied religion and associated this strongly with spiritual development. All four who had studied biology showed a strong emphasis in their understanding on the child’s natural, inherent capacities. Two teachers had worked outside teaching in areas related to science, Georgina as a psychologist and Derek as a scientist. This influenced Georgina’s thinking and teaching, and Derek’s thinking, though less so his practice, though he was very new to teaching. Both these two, and Caroline, were those in the sample with the highest level of educational qualification and among those most able to cope with abstract thinking, tending explore the complexities of the subject more. In 10.i, I discuss further to what extent this may mislead the academic researcher.

In terms of professional influences, although most teachers had taught a wide range of age-groups, including three in secondary schools, no clear pattern emerged. The length of previous experience in that school, and of overall teaching, seemed to make a difference to the confidence with which they approached the subject. This probably reflects being comfortable with school ethos and the importance of life experiences. I found no evidence that the teacher’s current area of curriculum responsibility (if any) made any difference.

211 The teachers’ comments about unfulfilled intentions, for example to bring in flowers, or make more use of stickers, should act as a reminder that my presence was bound to influence what teachers said and did. My presence, and the extent to which the teachers, consciously or otherwise, were affected by my views, is one major issue, linked to bias and projection, previously discussed in 5.i and further addressed in 11.i.

In summary, personal belief and life experience seemed the most important influence in most teachers’ understanding of spiritual development. The school’s foundation and ethos appeared to be the most important professional influence. There was little evidence of the impact of guidance, inspection regimes and curriculum advice influencing practice, except, importantly, the overall curriculum models and pedagogical approaches and expectations associated with it which appeared to be stronger than that of initiatives specifically related to spiritual development. This study did not set out to establish which teachers enhanced, or otherwise, children’s spirituality.

However, a willingness to reflect on their own life experiences, especially profound ones, seemed to be related to their confidence in areas associated with the spiritual domain.

In Chapter 9, I consider the teachers’ understanding thematically, looking especially for patterns between the teachers.

212 9 Interpreting the teachers’ understanding - a thematic approach

9.i Establishing a thematic framework

During the visits, but especially after all were completed, I categorised the teachers’ responses thematically to impose some pattern on the data and consider the teachers’ coherence and consistency. In this chapter, I use a framework of fourteen themes within three main headings to discuss patterns in the teachers’ understanding. Each of the next three sections considers a group of loosely related themes within one of these headings. In this section, I discuss the rationale of such an approach, the process of, and problems implicit in, devising such a framework, and how I decided on the specific headings and themes.

Formulating the framework was the hardest aspect of the whole study, a lengthy and tortuous process entailing a considerable element of judgement. Using any thematic framework, while valuable, entails two major difficulties that, in breaking a person’s understanding into discrete areas, we may lose sight of the whole picture and that certain important questions will not fit neatly. I return to these in 9.v, but at this stage simply highlight that the themes should not be considered as entirely discrete. The framework adopted is to some extent a convenience to make the data and interpretation manageable. It also reflects what I chose to include within, and exclude from, the spiritual domain, given that, for reasons outlined in 1.i, I had deliberately left the boundaries loosely defined. Inevitably, this is open to question, as this reflects, to a large extent, the researcher’s own understanding. However, the basis for the themes was the outline, in 3.vii, of key questions arising from considerations of previous research. This, in turn, influenced what I looked for and the questions I asked, as discussed in 5.iv. These questions proved a starting-point, albeit an inadequate one, as the emerging themes were refined during and after the empirical work, in the light of what the teachers said and did. I needed to be open to issues raised by the visits. It

213 was difficult to decide how much emphasis to place on aspects implicit in the teachers’ practice, but not explicitly related (by them) to spiritual development, of which I offered examples in 8.iii.

Mid-way through my empirical work, I had devised a matrix referred to in 7.i and reproduced as

Appendix 7. Although I did not ultimately use it, this helped to develop a preliminary list of themes and categories. It was primarily intended as a transitional tool to keep the data manageable and to uncover trends between teachers to be revisited and scrutinised repeatedly. Both my supervisor and other students warned me that this might ‘shrink’ the data too soon and that it seemed too like a quantifying scale. I argued that I would not use it as such, but only as a way of comparing the teachers relatively rapidly. I planned to use the matrix for each teacher, but kept postponing this. When, six months later, after all the visits had been concluded, I decided to do so,

I found that it simply did not work. The warnings, that it oversimplified the rich data available and tried to reduce to numbers what is not quantifiable, proved correct. While the matrix had not worked as planned, I retained the idea of a number of themes grouped together under overarching headings to provide the structure for describing the teachers’ understanding.

Some fifteen possible themes emerged, most based on my initial questions, some on the empirical work and initial interpretations summarised in the overall views. I tried different provisional frameworks with the headings and themes subject to constant change and re-grouping. The number of themes fluctuated between fourteen and seventeen as I wrote the content of each. In doing so, it often became clear that there was overlap between the themes, or that they could be more coherently grouped together differently. This usually entailed making connections and re- arranging themes, rather than uncovering new ones. It is too tidy to suggest that the themes preceded the headings, or vice-versa. Rather, they developed in parallel. The process was much more fluid and dynamic than the traditional model of all hypotheses being formulated prior to data gathering.

214 Somewhat surprisingly, the headings changed at a fairly late stage. Faced with considerable complexity, I decided that each heading should, broadly, contain the themes related to a simple question. These were:

 what do the teachers think is distinctive about the spiritual?

 what do the teachers understand the nature of children’s spiritual experience to be? and

 to what extent do the teachers believe young children can and do engage in spiritual

experience?

These headings are the titles of the next three sections. Each theme is highlighted at the start of each subsection, with a complete list in Appendix 8. A brief rationale for the choice of themes follows, indicating where each has been previously discussed, although several draw on a range of different questions.

The five themes within the first heading explore how the teachers understand the relationship between the spiritual and the emotional, moral and aesthetic domains, whether spiritual development depends on involvement in a faith tradition and whether the term should be abandoned. These address questions raised, respectively, in 3.v, 3.vi, 2.ii, 2.iv and 2.v.

The four themes within the second heading consider the teachers’ understanding of whether, and to what extent, spiritual experience:

 is primarily internal;

 involves engagement with the mysterious;

 involves awareness of, and relationship with, other people and the wider environment;

 entails addressing what is potentially painful; and

 is related to values.

215 The first of these pursues a question raised in 2.vi, the second an issue first considered in 2.iii, but underlying much of the guidance and teachers’ comments in relation to ‘awe and wonder’. The third explores wider relationships, drawing on Hay and Nye’s (1998) work, as discussed in 3.vi.

The fourth was originally raised in 3.vi. The fifth considers a question raised in 2.vi, and subsequently.

The five themes within the third heading examine children’s capacity and ability for spiritual experience, the factors which enhance or inhibit such experience and where spiritual experience fits into the school curriculum. The first examines issues raised in 3.iii. The stimulus for the second and third emerged from the sampling process, and the empirical work itself. The fourth explores the point, initially mentioned in 2.iv in relation to Wright’s (2000) work, but underlying the rationale for the whole study, of whether, and how, the school, and the curriculum, can address children’s spiritual development.

In the next three sections I set out, within each theme, the hypotheses with which I started, and, where appropriate, others emerging during my visit. Given that the themes were not predetermined in advance, hindsight inevitably means these hypotheses appear more neatly articulated than they were during my visits. I present evidence related to these hypotheses and summarise briefly issues arising from that theme.

9.ii What do the teachers think is distinctive about the spiritual?

9.ii.1 To what extent do the teachers distinguish between emotional and spiritual development? Initially, I thought that some teachers, especially those from a religious background, would see spiritual as very distinct from emotional development, whereas others would largely equate the two. I rely primarily on the discussions, especially in probing whether the idea of spiritual maturity, or awareness, (which I used fairly interchangeably with the teachers to facilitate

216 discussion) made sense and what distinguishes that from more general emotional maturity. The questions about the spiritually mature child were especially illuminating.

Almost every teacher said that they could make sense of the idea of spiritual maturity. The three,

Alice, Debbie and Helen, who initially said otherwise, suggested certain features, in further discussion. All the teachers, ultimately, (though some reluctantly), could identify certain characteristics of spiritual maturity. Many made little distinction between spiritual maturity and more general emotional maturity. Debbie, for example, said that she could not identify separate aspects which she would describe as spiritual. Others, notably Cathleen and Derek, did not wish to isolate what was distinctively spiritual or separate it from a more holistic approach.

Those children considered mature spiritually were usually thought of as mature in general, usually based of characteristics such as self-control or awareness of other people’s feelings. Although emotional and spiritual maturity, therefore, overlapped, most teachers suggested that the latter suggested something beyond emotional maturity. Among the characteristics highlighted, though not consistently agreed, as spiritual were capacities for joy, curiosity and kindness, a sense of wonder at the mysterious, and awareness of other people’s feelings. Some, such as the last, are related to emotional maturity, others somewhat different in kind. Those who highlighted specific qualities as markers of spiritual maturity, such as Cathleen, Erica and Jane, tended to be those with a personal religious faith. No-one mentioned beliefs.

In their teaching, the teachers unsurprisingly concentrated heavily on the children’s emotional needs, with countless examples where children were helped to cope with strongly felt emotions.

Most teachers saw these interactions as at the heart of their task. Less evident was the teachers’ active encouragement of those qualities highlighted as specifically spiritual. It is difficult to know whether this reflected teaching approaches emphasising other skills and qualities, whether teachers

217 believed that such capacities were natural or whether they did not know how to. The small amount of time dedicated to quiet reflection, for example, may indicate similar uncertainties.

9.ii.2To what extent do the teachers equate moral and spiritual development?

My initial hypothesis was that the teachers would understand moral as largely distinct from spiritual development. This seems strange in hindsight, but I expected that they would consider moral development as a separate area, more easily defined and more actively ‘taught’, with spiritual development inherently elusive and harder to teach. The interaction between observation and discussion was most fruitful, looking at how the teachers tried to influence children’s behaviour and attitudes and how teachers explained their approach.

Most of the teachers made a strong connection between moral and spiritual development. Helen was a clear exception, saying that the spiritual was entirely separate from not only the moral, but also every other, domain. Caroline described spiritual development as the learning of general ethical principles, and a capacity for awe and wonder. Diana saw the moral as ‘underpinning the spiritual’, a view similar to Kate’s. Bridget saw them developing ‘in parallel’. Just as with the emotional, the teachers offered examples from the moral to describe the spiritual domain, usually highlighting the importance of relationships with other people. Derek mentioned learning to be part of a group, Georgina learning respect for, and awareness of, other people. However, only occasionally did teachers speak with any confidence about how children learn in areas other than the cognitive or how children’s moral thinking and behaviour develops. This was reflected in their practice, as discussed in 8.iii, with differing approaches to rewards and how this affected intrinsic motivation.

Three areas important in the teachers’ practice were relationships, values and role models. I discuss relationships further in 9.iii.3 and values in 9.iii.5. Role- models were highlighted only occasionally in discussion, but emphasised very strongly in practice. Only Cathleen mentioned

218 role models without prompting, referring to Jesus in this respect. However, much of the teaching was based on modelling moral behaviour. The approach - and, in my view, the success - varied, depending on the teacher’s personality and style and the values they espoused, but the importance of modelling how to behave was universal.

Most teachers seemed not to equate moral and spiritual development, but to regard spiritual development as incorporating elements of moral development but extending more widely. There was a strong emphasis on awareness of other people, and the child learning, and reflecting on, the impact of their behaviour on other people, but it is difficult to pinpoint what, if anything, the teachers saw as distinctively spiritual. Many saw the process of making moral and ethical choices as central to spirituality, based, it seemed, on such choice being at the core of human identity. In

10.v, I argue that spiritual development relates to fundamental aspects of human identity, with the moral a facet rather than a separate element of this.

9.ii.3To what extent do the teachers associate aesthetic and spiritual development?

Initially, I expected considerable variation in how much the teachers linked aesthetic and spiritual development, with some, especially those for whom artistic or musical activities were important, either in themselves or a route into their own spirituality, making a close link. I expected others to make little association. I wanted to consider both the creative and appreciative aspects of aesthetic development. I thought that the importance of art and music in the curriculum for young children might make the association closer than for teachers of older children. In discussing this, I rely especially on observations, largely because of the methodological dilemma referred to in 5.iv that asking direct questions suggests that the subject raised must be important. This was the area in which I dealt least successfully with this dilemma.

Most teachers made little mention of aesthetic development in what they said, and did not tend to associate this with spiritual development. Most were surprised at questions which touched on this

219 and appeared not to have given a great deal of thought to this. Some, such as Kate and Kirsty, when asked about the role of creative subjects in spiritual development, simply made no link.

Several gave the example of art and music as ‘routes into’ spiritual experience, but emphasising this less than personal, social and emotional routes. However, Alice saw creative subjects as ways of children finding space to express themselves and explore their emotions and Diana, with some passion, described a child engrossed in the Fireworks music as an excellent example of spiritual experience. Most said creative subjects were important, but the association with spiritual development was not close. In 9.iv.4, I discuss where teachers ‘located’ spiritual experience in the curriculum.

The teachers’ practice varied in relation to aesthetic development. In most units, the children had chances for activities related to art and music, though, as indicated in 8.iii, in several the emphasis remained on literacy and numeracy, even when there appeared to be opportunities for a broader range of activities. There were exceptions, notably Erica and Fran, who encouraged such activities.

This seemed to stem from a strong philosophy based on children as learning through activity and, possibly, the teachers’ own interests. However, most teachers did not offer much rationale for such activities being related to the children’s aesthetic, let alone spiritual, development. Little time was set aside for the appreciation of music or art. Teachers rarely drew children’s attention to the beauty, or otherwise, of artefacts or natural materials.

The teachers did not make a strong link between spiritual and aesthetic development, in either creative or appreciative abilities. Certainly, few articulated any link until prompted, and even then any association was fairly peripheral. Curricular pressures appeared to result in the aesthetic domain being given less emphasis than expected, except where individual teachers ensured otherwise. There was little evidence of the rationale for ‘creative’ activities being associated with

220 spiritual development, except where teachers such as Alice, Erica and Georgina gave examples of didactic, skills-based teaching as not meeting the children’s spiritual needs.

9.ii.4Is spiritual development meaningful only within a specific faith tradition?

Initially, I expected that most teachers would make a strong association between spirituality and religion, whether directly or through the examples given or metaphors used. I thought that these would reveal considerable residual elements of linkage between spirituality and religion, even for those who expressed a conscious view that they were separate. I expected a minority of teachers to associate the spiritual primarily with a religious tradition, that another minority would dissociate the two, but that most would regard the spiritual domain as encompassing a wider area than that of religion. I expected most to subscribe, broadly, to an inclusive description.

In what the teachers said, there was, unsurprisingly, a very diverse approach to religion. Most teachers focused on its credal and organisational aspect. No teachers thought that such young children were yet ready for individual commitment to this, except Cathleen and Fran, in exceptional cases. Several, especially, but not exclusively, those in Catholic schools, saw it as part of their task to introduce the children to some extent to the practice of religion, and some ideas and beliefs at an appropriate level. Erica, for example, when asked about non-Catholic children taking part in specifically Catholic practices, was clear that they should take part because their parents had ‘signed up’. Religious practice such as prayer was built into the structure of each day. Only those in the Catholic schools seemed to see the school’s role as involving the children’s incorporation into faith community as desirable. Some others wished to support religious belief developed at home but were ambivalent about whether the school was an appropriate place to do so. Some were reluctant even to talk about religion with children for fear of being accused of indoctrination. Kirsty, for example, spoke strongly about the sensitivities of the situation. A minority, most forcefully Bridget and Derek, explicitly stated that they did not think that children should be introduced in school to religious ideas, except at the most factual level, if that. No issue

221 roused such fiercely held views. In practice, as discussed further in 9.iv.4, Religious Education occupied very little time, even where teachers said it was important. I asked the teachers about religious experience, as opposed to faith, doctrine or ‘knowledge about’, a distinction, although debatable, explicitly used within Religious Education. I discuss this further in 9.iii.2.

The teachers expressed a consistent view that spirituality occupies a domain wider than that of religion. Even those, such as Cathleen and Jane, who thought the development of children’s religion extremely important, considered that religion did not encompass children’s spiritual needs. In Erica’s vivid words ‘if you chopped religion off you would still have to sort out spirituality’, before continuing that in her school ‘religion is in there (in every aspect).’ No teacher explicitly related spiritual experience, necessarily, to involvement in a faith tradition. Most, particularly those within a religious tradition themselves, reflected the strong associations within language between spirituality and religion, especially in the examples and metaphors they used. In

10.iii, I consider how this empirical evidence affects the philosophical argument in 2.iv.

9.ii.5Is spiritual development a term to be dispensed with or abandoned?

Initially, I thought that most teachers would believe that children’s spiritual development is important, without being able quite to say why, or indeed what it entails. I expected that they would believe that the school had a place in enhancing this aspect of children’s development, while unsure how to approach it.

As indicated, some teachers were suspicious of the language of spiritual development, for

(differing) reasons outlined below. Helen, initially, maintained that she had no idea what it meant in relation to young children. However, most spoke fluently about it, suggesting that, however elusive, it encapsulates some aspect not entirely covered by other categories. I shall argue, in 9.v, that this offers evidence that the term should not be abandoned. Although the teachers were not

222 sure quite what spiritual development was, much of what they did reflected elements which they associated, however loosely, with it in discussion. If teachers use a certain language to describe aspects of their practice, it seems on balance unwise to abandon such a term, unless a better concept can be found to describe that practice. As a category, the spiritual retains a value, however much for some people this appears residual. Without it, there are elements of the whole range of the children’s needs not covered by other categories.

I identified four main reasons why different teachers were uneasy with the term spirituality.

Different teachers demonstrated these elements to differing degrees. One was represented by

Derek who adopted a holistic approach and thought that separating the material from the spiritual is an artificial distinction. His association of the term with religion and a strong wish to reject any indoctrination reinforced this. A second was represented by Cathleen who saw her religious faith as a whole, and did not wish to separate the spiritual from the doctrine and practice of religion.

This reflects, I think, a justified suspicion of those who, like me, would separate spirituality from belief. However, while this may argue for spiritual development to refer only to certain aspects, it does not justify abandoning the term. A third, best exemplified by Bridget, appeared to be afraid of uncovering unsettling and possibly painful, personal issues. I address this further in 9.iii.4. Helen’s uncertainty what spiritual development involves, especially in relation to young children, represents the fourth position. These positions suggest the spiritual aspect of spiritual development should be further explored rather than dispensed with. The themes in 9.iv address the development aspect.

223 9.iii What do the teachers understand the nature of children’s spiritual experience to be?

9.iii.1 To what extent do the teachers understand children’s spirituality as primarily internal? My initial hypothesis was that most teachers would understand young children’s as comparable to adult spirituality, which, in turn, I expected them to understand as primarily internal, involving such activities as reflection and prayer. I expected many to find the idea of such young children engaging in these difficult. This theme is closely related to that of young children’s capacity and ability for spiritual experience, discussed in 9.iv.1. I could not easily address this theme directly, so this interpretation relies on a synthesis of data from several sources.

In their teaching, the teachers did not emphasise strongly the role of activities which might be considered internal. As indicated in 8.ii, few presented opportunities for sustained reflection as a group, though Georgina was a notable exception. Even the reflective aspect of the prayer focus was usually brief. This seemed, generally, because they were unsure whether children could manage anything more. The lack of emphasis on creative activities, and, in several cases, limited opportunities for imaginative play reflects curricular changes emphasising literacy and numeracy and measurable outcomes. But most of those who gave the greatest opportunities for such activities seemed to do so on the grounds that they enabled children to explore their internal world.

In what they said, most teachers emphasised the relational aspect of spiritual development more than the internal. This probably reflects a belief in the primacy in young children’s needs of forming appropriate relationships. However, various different aspects which are hard to pinpoint suggest that this may not fully reflect their underlying beliefs at a deeper level. Many of the examples and metaphors which they used, especially when uncertain, seemed to reflect spirituality as something more internal, but which these young children were not (yet) capable of. For

224 example, Georgina suggested that one child would in time be ‘a spiritual person’, based on seeing him sitting, listening and being quiet and being quite intuitive; and Kate referred to quiet times as

‘that’s when a lot of thoughts go through your head and ideas pop out… ’ Some teachers’ characterisation of a particular child as spiritually immature seemed, usually, to be based on the child’s egocentric and unreflective approach, suggesting a view of spiritual experience dependent on an ability for ‘internal’ reflection. Several teachers found it hard to see how to encourage the spiritual development of emotionally volatile children, again suggesting that this involved the internal, reflective processes which they found hard. Helen’s belief that we cannot really understand anyone else’s spirituality because it is so personal again suggests that she saw spiritual experience is primarily internal and individual, open to view only in glimpses. The difficulty that most teachers expressed with the whole topic may be associated with a tension between an underlying view of spiritual experience as primarily internal and an articulated view of children’s spiritual development based far more on relationships.

I came to no very definite conclusion in relation to this theme. Although most teachers articulated a view of young children’s spiritual development as based on relationship, there were indications that for several the internal process, which they thought most children of this age not yet ready for, was more important than appeared on the surface. This was re-inforced by those who articulated their own view of adult spirituality tending to focus more on individual, internal processes.

9.iii.2 What importance do the teachers ascribe to children’s engagement with what is mysterious? In one sense, young children experience mystery much more regularly than older people.

However, I restrict this discussion to how teachers understood children’s engagement with what adults, too, find mysterious, in particular ‘awe and wonder’ and religious experiences. Initially, I expected most teachers to highlight associate awe and wonder experiences, based on my M. Sc.

225 experience and other discussions such as that with the LEA adviser mentioned in 4.vi. I wanted to explore the teachers’ rationale for this, in the hope that this would provide an insight into their understanding of children’s spirituality. In relation to children’s religious experience, I expected responses as varied as those on religion itself and wanted especially to explore how those who linked spirituality closely to religion understood religious experience.

In 8.ii, I discussed how few opportunities for awe and wonder experiences occurred, either by creating an environment where children would be encouraged to respond to naturally occurring opportunities, or engineering situations likely to lead to such responses, or both. The lack of the use of nature was surprising, as this offers one concrete possibility in an area inherently hard to plan for. Erica’s passionate, and uninhibited, willingness to let children experience the joy of nature, either through a visit to the garden or visiting the prayer garden, was in marked contrast to the more reserved, serious approach of most other teachers. Given the importance that the teachers ascribed to role modelling, surprisingly few modelled wonder or curiosity.

The discussions led to no consistent response on the importance of awe and wonder. Only Jane made any distinction between awe and wonder, on the lines of Otto’s (1950) view of awe as akin to dread. It was as if the two concepts had been mysteriously elided, meaning, in practice, wonder.

Some, notably Caroline and Jane, presented awe and wonder as central to their understanding of spirituality. Cathleen highlighted the appreciation of nature, seeing it as important in developing attitudes such as gratitude. Erica stressed how a sense of awe and wonder is ‘naturally there’.

Some teachers could give a rationale why such experiences are valuable, such as Caroline and

Erica’s comment that they help the child to learn a sense of perspective, or Jane’s about unleashing natural dispositions for joy. Others said that such experiences were important without being clear why or giving them a high priority. Those unsure about a rationale tended not to say that such activities were pointless, but maintained that they are valuable without knowing quite why.

226 Raising this often revealed a confusion of ends and means. It was almost as if ‘experiencing awe and wonder’ had become an end in itself.

In 9.ii.4, I highlighted that almost all teachers thought that commitment to religious belief was inappropriate for children so young. I sought to explore the distinction between religious belief and experience. The majority who accepted such a distinction believed that children have spiritual experience or a spirituality separate from religious faith, based, presumably, in part, on experience of the ineffable. However, some were uneasy with such a distinction, especially those within faith traditions. Most notable was Cathleen, who spoke of the mystery of faith, and was reluctant to see spirituality separately from being part of the faith community. To think of separate ‘spiritual’ experience was not therefore appropriate. While Cathleen was the only teacher to articulate this, this view is widely held within faith traditions and so should not be ignored. Fran’s characterisation of a child’s intense, but not intellectually understood, experience of a school mass as spiritual seems an example of a similar belief that young children can be incorporated into the faith community without an intellectual commitment.

Most teachers were doubtful how much young children could engage with the mysterious aspects of experience. This was true both of awe and wonder and religious experience, though there were notable exceptions for each, often showing both passion and clarity. The focus of teaching tended to be on skills or individual exploration, such that most teachers did not encourage children to engage with what is mysterious.

9.iii.3 To what extent do the teachers believe that children’s spiritual development is related to an awareness of other people, and the wider environment? Initially, I thought that the teachers, especially in their practice, would emphasise strongly how children related to other people and were aware of, or empathetic with, their needs. However, I thought that they would see this primarily as emotional development and personal and social

227 education, rather than strongly relating it to spiritual development. I thought it unlikely that they would relate knowledge of different cultures to spiritual development, with such young children, but expected that appreciation of the natural environment would be seen as important.

Both in what they said and how they taught, the teachers placed a considerable emphasis on the children’s interpersonal relationships, in areas such as conflict resolution, thinking about other people’s feelings and learning to work together. This was reflected in the time that most teachers allocated both proactively to discussing appropriate strategies and reactively to incidents and upsets. All teachers emphasised children learning to be more aware of other people’s needs and less taken up with their own. Any number of examples could be given from the consistent language in the Family Links schools, to the use of rewards at several schools for kind and thoughtful behaviour and the individual discussions observed on most days. The extent to which the teachers related this to spiritual development varied, for similar reasons to those set out in

9.ii.5. However, most made a surprisingly strong association between awareness of other people’s needs and responses and spiritual development.

Given the importance of young children learning from direct experience of their immediate environment, and the cultural homogeneity of most of the schools, one might not expect teaching about cultural diversity and difference to have a high profile in the schools visited. Cultural diversity was highlighted more than expected in the displays of work, stories, and references to holidays or visitors. For example, at F, one governor pointed out the various subtle ways in which this was highlighted. At D, the story of Paddington Bear (from Peru!) was used to help raise money and extend children’s knowledge of the world. G articulated, in her discussion of the story of the fruit, discussed in 8.iv, her wish to raise these issues subtly rather than directly. However, most teachers did not associate awareness of other cultures, for children of this age, with spiritual development.

228 I commented in 8.v on how infrequently opportunities were taken to make use natural materials or events, especially in the winter months, even so exciting an occurrence as the snow storm at A.

Derek, who frequently gave examples from nature, gently contradicted me when I summarised his

(supposed) view that nature was not a unique ‘route into’ the spiritual. No other teacher made a connection anything like as close, though Helen considered the exploration of nature an important route into spirituality for some children. Erica related a visit to a garden, Jane a visit to a local wild area, and Kate the hatching of the chicks, in some way to spiritual development, but such an association was, probably, made largely because of my presence. Most teachers made little association between spiritual development and appreciation of the natural environment. It is difficult to separate whether this approach resulted from pragmatic considerations, not having thought about it, or an active belief that the two were unconnected.

The teachers consistently emphasised the importance of children developing inter-personal skills and relationships and related this closely to spiritual development. Given the age of the children, neither the lack of emphasis on cultural diversity and difference generally, nor that they did not relate this to spiritual development, was surprising. More surprising was that few teachers related the children’s experience and appreciation of the natural environment with spiritual development.

9.iii.4 To what extent do the teachers understand spiritual development as about addressing what is potentially painful? Initially, I was unsure whether my M.Sc findings that several teachers believed that how the school had dealt with difficult and painful issues had enriched the children spiritually would be repeated. However, I expected most teachers to associate spiritual development, especially for young children, only with pleasant and life-affirming experiences. I thought it likely that the more teachers reflected, the more they would make a link with potentially painful issues. For obvious

229 reasons, the data available varied depending on how open the teachers were and how frequently such events occurred and could be observed.

The question of what constitutes potentially painful issues is not simple. What causes pain varies from person to person. As Debbie highlighted, apparently trivial events may be acutely painful to the child. In almost every unit, when children were upset by conflict with other children, the teachers helped them deal with these. However, in this theme, I am considering more universally painful experiences, such as conflict, separation and death.

The attitude in the discussions varied considerably. Some teachers were very open about events they had found painful and disturbing. For instance, Debbie, very early on and unprompted, talked about what had caused her distress, including the death of a pupil. Diana mentioned the illness of a child and the response of other children to a boy with physical disabilities. Cathleen spoke of how the death of a child’s parent had led to the children’s spiritual development, mentioning the link between faith and suffering. Kate, after an initial uncertainty, spoke about the children’s view of, and interest, in death and what happens afterwards. Often, the teachers became more open as the visit progressed. Others were much less open, often steering the discussion away from such issues.

I believe that the evocation of issues painful to her personally resulted in Bridget not wishing me to complete my visit.

It is difficult to judge the teachers’ understanding exemplified in practice in so sensitive and infrequent an aspect. Alice’s response to the incident of the broken window, discussed in 8.iv, indicated that she would have wished to help the children to make sense of a difficult issue, not avoid it. Diana re-assured a girl distressed by her mother’s going abroad, relating this to the child’s spiritual needs. Kate joined in, and extended, a conversation about death initiated by a group of children. However, teachers rarely raised such matters pro-actively with the children. Uncertainty

230 how to approach them other than reactively and a wish to protect the children seem likely reasons.

Only at C and E did I observe a willingness to raise the issue of death, by asking the children to think of, and pray, for a loved one who had died. A whole-school ethos which enabled such issues to be raised sensitively was seen to be important. As an aside, lest one think that such young children do not discuss such questions, I observed groups of children engaging in profound and reasonably sustained discussions about death, on three occasions, two without, and one with, an adult present.

This theme is not easily summarised, but illustrates the value of teachers reflecting over time, rather than giving immediate answers. Most teachers did, to some extent, relate spiritual development to painful issues. However, several were reluctant to discuss them in depth and few discussed them with children. In 9.v, I relate this to the idea of ‘moments of significance.’

9.iii.5 To what extent do the teachers believe values to be important in children’s spiritual development? Initially, I thought that most teachers would see values as important but would not link them very closely with spiritual development, seeing spirituality as more like a set of experiences. It was not easy to explore, in discussion, values largely because they are so often implicit, and not articulated. However, by asking, both directly, in words, and through observation, why the teachers did what they were doing helped move both the teachers and myself into the arena of values and whether spiritual development can be coherently conceptualised as value-free.

The teachers emphasised the importance of values consistently, even though the actual values espoused might vary. Some, notably Jane and Derek, articulated that values were at the heart of their teaching philosophy. Most emphasised values strongly both in the discussions and in their teaching, with their interactions with children imbued with issues of value. Without suggesting that teachers always acted in line with the values that they articulated, values underpinned the

231 learning environment. Without a framework of values, both for themselves and their children, most teachers seemed to find spirituality too nebulous, too much ‘something and nothing’. In 9.v, I discuss the importance of values in judging whether spiritual experience can be distorted.

The basis of values varied. Jane was clear that values had their basis in Judaeo-Christian culture.

Cathleen, Diana, and Kirsty, more surprisingly, given her more hostile view of organised religion, expressed a similar view, though less forcefully. Derek, in contrast, did not appeal to religion as a basis for values, basing them on common universal need, and what enables society to function properly. Alice, Caroline and Erica expressed a broadly similar view. Although such an interpretation tends to suggest polarised views, for most individuals the distinction was much less sharp.

Most teachers presented values as an arena of consensus rather than one of constant contest and choice. Much of what the teachers said and did related to uncontroversial values, such as caring, sharing, and looking after each other. Some, notably Jane and Cathleen, and to some extent Diana and Kirsty, based their teaching on common values within a framework of religious belief. This would have been harder in less homogeneous social contexts. Some recognised this tension, such as Debbie who had taught in a multi-ethnic school, and Kirsty, who highlighted her own experience of racist behaviour, suggesting that, in practice, values are not shared. However, there was a marked, almost universal, reluctance to discuss controversial issues with me. Only rarely did

I press the teachers on these. The best example was Derek who repeatedly mentioned values, but was reluctant until pressed to discuss the pernicious influence, as he saw it, of such items as

Pokemon cards in encouraging consumerism and selfishness; a view he held vehemently. In interpreting this, the teachers may have thought it appropriate for such young children to internalise some simple, uncontested values. However, it fits into a pattern of unwillingness to engage in controversial areas, a point to which I return in 11.ii.

232 9.iv To what extent do the teachers believe young children can and do engage in spiritual experience?

9.iv.1 To what extent do the teachers believe that young children have the capacity, and ability, for spiritual experience? Initially, I thought that most, if not all, teachers would say that young children develop spiritually.

It seemed important, especially given the difficulty with this metaphor discussed in 3.iii, to explore what they meant by this, to expose their beliefs both about spirituality, generally, and distinctive issues for young children. The answers both presuppose, and illuminate, the extent to which the teachers understand spirituality as inherent or involving the acquisition of skills or learning of attitudes, reflecting the distinction made in 3.iii between capacity and ability. I expected a varied response on both children’s capacity and ability. An emphasis on the former was likely to suggest inherent capacities which could be lost, or blunted, in later years and which the teacher’s task is primarily to encourage. An emphasis on abilities would suggest qualities more obviously learnt, or acquired. I expected that most would consider young children’s ability to engage in spiritual experience to be limited, except in so far as this demonstrated inherent capacities.

Common usage would suggest that children’s development, in every area, is likely to be part of any teacher’s aims. Almost all teachers, in both the first and third discussion, said that children develop spiritually. Most thought of spiritual, like physical, development as moving up a gradient, however uneven. Helen was the only teacher to articulate clearly, though others, such as Fran, felt their way towards this, that young children may have a facility for spiritual experience which diminishes with age, for instance in the experience of joy. Helen’s view which initially appeared incoherent seems, in retrospect, an attempt to articulate that spiritual development works differently from other types of development.

233 In what they said, most teachers spoke of inherent capacities. Jane and Erica, though contrasting characters, talked of enabling, rather than inhibiting, their children’s natural joyfulness and capacity for wonder. Several other teachers mentioned the latter, and Helen emphasised curiosity.

In terms of abilities, several teachers spoke of the importance of inter-personal qualities, such as compassion, in Jane’s case, or empathy, as with Bridget, Caroline and Helen, which develop with maturity, but can be accelerated or slowed. Especially those who considered means rather than ends focused on specific skills or techniques to be taught. For example, all three teachers involved with Nurturing Programme emphasised, in their view of spiritual development, an approach with children learning to make appropriate choices.

Most teachers could think of an incident which had enhanced a child’s, or group’s, spiritual development. So they did not think that events or interventions made no difference, that spiritual development depended just on either on inherent qualities or environmental factors. The uncertainty about how to affect the children’s intrinsic attitudes and motivation is reflected in the fairly consistent belief that certain approaches would enhance the children’s spiritual development, without quite knowing how. In considering the factors affecting spiritual development in the next two themes, I seek to illuminate this theme further, especially given the challenges in interpreting what the teachers did.

All the teachers believed that certain capacities, or qualities, can be developed to enhance the children’s spiritual development, such as empathy or the ability to make moral choices (if these are related to spiritual development). However, the link between capacity and ability is not simply one of maturation. Curiosity provides a good example of an inherent capacity, which can, with training, result in positive abilities for insight, or, without appropriate direction and value, outcomes to be deplored. In 9.v, I consider the appropriateness of thinking of spiritual development as consisting of two interwoven, but separate, strands.

234 9.iv.2 To what extent do the teachers believe that the child’s age, gender and ethnicity affect spiritual development? Examining what factors teachers believe influence spiritual development, considered in this, and the next, theme, helps illuminate what is being influenced. In doing so, I drew together evidence from a range of different questions, the self-assessment schedule and observation. In this theme, I consider the non-environmental factors of age, gender, and ethnicity. In relation to age, in this context, I focus especially on how teachers understood what spiritual development means for young children, rather than how this relates to older children or adults.

I expected that most teachers would think age to be important, and gender not. I did not know what their view of ethnicity would be. I expected that, as in my M.Sc. study, most teachers would find the whole idea of factors quite puzzling, but hoped that discussion, over time, and observation would provide some insight. In the event, several were reluctant to identify factors affecting a group, which may reflect an unwillingness to attach ‘labels’ or a genuine puzzlement at the idea.

As indicated, most teachers said that children do develop spiritually, albeit often unevenly.

Unsurprisingly, older and younger children were often treated differently. This was institutionalised in which sessions children attended and in how children were grouped. For example, most teaching groups were based largely on age, with some variation on the basis of ability. At times, the teachers’ expectations of older children were made explicit, for instance in looking after younger children or setting standards of behaviour. At J, for instance, much of the class work was based on interactions between the teacher and older children, with younger children learning by listening and observing. However, neither the teachers’ words, with one important exception, nor their actions, suggested that they approached what they associated explicitly with spiritual development differently depending on whether the child was just four or over five. For instance, the teachers at C and E treated the prayer focus as a class gathering, rather

235 than splitting the class by age. Though Georgina split the class by age, and differentiated the activities, she seemed to have broadly similar aims. No activities were set up which explicitly related to the spiritual development of only one age group. This was in contrast to the approach in several units to literacy and numeracy. The exception was that, while no teacher directly said that very immature children lack what is needed for spiritual experience, there was some suggestion of this. This may simply reflect uncertainty how to enhance, or enable, children’s spiritual development. However, I suggest in 10.i that such a view implies a tension when held alongside an understanding based on inherent spiritual capacities.

Most teachers were definite, initially, that the child’s spiritual development is not affected by gender. This is reflected especially in the responses to the self-assessment schedule. Most maintained this view throughout, though, on further reflection, some were less certain. Alice, for instance, focused strongly on the emotional needs of boys, Debbie saw boys’ and girls’ needs in terms of relationships as very different and Fran speculated out loud on possible areas of difference. While there were numerous examples of boys and girls being treated differently, I could detect no difference of approach in aspects explicitly related to spiritual development. In terms of ethnicity, the results are inconclusive. I did not think that I could ask the question directly, especially given the cultural homogeneity of most of the schools, without suggesting (in doing so) that ethnicity is important. Few teachers mentioned it, though Kirsty spoke passionately about how her own daughter’s experience in relation to this and other children’s responses had affected her, a view summarised in Appendix 5, on page 135 of the Appendices. There were too few children from ethnic minority backgrounds to draw secure conclusions from the teachers’ practice. Overall, gender was consistently thought not to be significant in terms of spiritual development and there was little evidence that teachers thought ethnicity to be so. In 10.i, I argue that some tensions emerge from this position. The teachers’ understanding of these factors

236 suggests that they saw spiritual development as based on the child’s individual capacities and abilities, rather than group characteristics.

9.iv.3 To what extent do the teachers believe environmental factors affect children’s spiritual development? I consider here the influence of family background, attendance at worship, level of income, and peer pressure. Initially, I had expected the first two be seen as important, with a range of views on the third. The issue of peer pressure arose mainly from the teachers’ responses. I do not consider the influence of the school, largely because the children had spent so little time in school, or of wider social and cultural influences. Most teachers were happy to talk about less controversial aspects such as attendance at worship or the child’s upbringing, I had great difficulty in encouraging discursive responses on income. Some were more forthcoming towards the end of the visit, especially when ‘off-guard’ or speaking in confidence.

Almost all teachers rated the sort of family in which the child had been brought up as very important, both when answering direct questions and in other comments. The responses on how children had been spoken and listened to fitted well with the emphasis on process. The importance ascribed to values was coherent with the view that these were primarily learnt from the culture of the family. The teachers consistently held that the patterns of spiritual development are well established by the time that children start school. Teachers possibly underestimated their own importance, and that of the school, in enabling spiritual experience.

Most teachers saw attendance at a place of worship as not affecting spiritual development very significantly, though it might especially when part of the wider family upbringing. There was little emphasis on it, even for the teachers in Catholic schools. For them, it tended to be a given but there was some uncertainty about how meaningful it was at this age. Those who were most

237 positive, such as Cathleen, saw church attendance as incorporation into a faith tradition, recalling her wish to see the practice of faith as a whole. Several teachers, even those like Diana and Jane who explicitly highlighted the value of church attendance, commented that where this was forced on children, or the experience was inappropriate, it could positively restrict their spiritual development.

When the level of family income was raised, most teachers were reluctant to make a connection with spiritual development. While none argued that income and spiritual development are causally linked, some suggested an association. Erica’s comment that ‘it shouldn’t do so’ was typical.

However, those who took it further expressed strong feelings. Alice, in a school where many children showed a high level of aggression, was quite explicit that poverty made a big difference.

Debbie, who had taught previously in a more disadvantaged area, recognised similar challenges.

Kirsty was uncharacteristically precise in saying how the stress of low income became a contributory factor in increasing the stress on children. She continued that, in more affluent areas, high levels of income might lead to parents spending insufficient time with their children or distorted values. While several teachers, at least implicitly, recognised that difficult external circumstances would impact on children’s emotional responses and behaviour, they were reluctant to make a connection which might label children from particular socio-economic backgrounds.

I had not considered that, for children of this age, the teachers would have regarded the influence of the peer group as significant. However, several did raise this. For example, Caroline highlighted the importance of this in relation to internalising motivation, Debbie in the relationships formed, especially for girls, Diana on the values and behaviours learnt and Erica in curbing, or otherwise, inherent qualities.

238 Most teachers were reluctant to see children’s spiritual development as strongly influenced by prior experience or environment, apart from a belief in the importance of family background and upbringing which was an almost universal view. This would seem to re-inforce the conclusion of the previous theme that teachers related spiritual development much more to the child’s individual capacities and abilities than to group influences.

9.iv.4 Where in the curriculum do the teachers think that spiritual experience takes place? Initially, I thought it likely that those who associated spiritual development primarily with religion would emphasise the importance of school ethos and of religious education and collective worship. I expected others to say ‘everywhere’, but highlighting personal, social and health education especially. I wanted to explore whether certain subject areas were seen as more conducive to spiritual experience. An emerging hypothesis was that those who reflected most deeply would indicate that spiritual experience could occur in any activity and was a type of process rather than a set of experiences or a corpus of knowledge.

Much of the data for this interpretation has been presented previously. I refer to important aspects briefly. Most teachers referred especially to R.E. and personal and social education (PSE). Even those who associated spiritual development with a faith tradition and spoke of the importance of

R.E. actually did very little of it. Religious Education for all units had a consistently low profile. In

8.v, I highlighted the variety of view, and practice, in relation to assembly. However, the approach to class worship at C and E seemed to back up what was said about the importance of religion.

There was a consistent emphasis, in practice, on the importance of individual responses and PSE, though the use of circle time was less consistent.

Some other subjects were seen as conducive to spiritual development, such as the creative arts, others much less so, such as ICT. Which these were varied between teachers, and what was said

239 did not always reflect what happened in practice. However, most teachers rejected the idea of subject areas being the location for spiritual development. The danger of spiritual development being ‘everywhere and nowhere’, especially within a curriculum structured around subjects, was recognised for example by Debbie and Helen. However, there was a fairly consistent view that the spiritual is a matter of process and pedagogy rather than content. So, for example, Erica said that didactic approaches to literacy and numeracy offered few opportunities, compared to what she called ‘gaming’. Georgina highlighted a competence-based approach to assessment as not spiritual. While some teachers found it hard to pinpoint opportunities in subjects deliberately chosen as not immediately associated with spiritual development, most could, with some thought, do so.

9.v Drawing out significant issues across the themes

As indicated in 9.i, a thematic framework risks losing sight of the whole picture in breaking understanding into discrete parts and of failing to address significant issues which fit less easily within the boundaries of the headings and themes. In this section, I highlight such issues arising from this chapter.

As indicated in 1.i, this whole study has had to beg the question of what spiritual development is, given the intimate linkage between usage and definition. By setting up discursive conversations and observing what teachers did, I tried to gather evidence to illuminate common underlying elements in what the teachers understood by spiritual experience.

Most teachers thought that young children can engage in what the teachers associate, in their different ways, with spiritual development. Most found this hard to describe precisely, but were able to talk about it, albeit often circuitously. Several were open about, and frustrated by, the difficulty that they believed that the ‘spiritual’ was ‘there’ but were unable to put their finger quite

240 on what it consisted of. Most teachers saw spiritual experience as a process, a type of experience, rather than a set of experiences. They were able, at times haltingly, to associate spiritual development with children’s everyday lives rather than unusual or exotic experience. Most saw the school as having a role in enabling, or enhancing, spiritual development. There is a prima facie case that the term should not be abandoned, unless some other term can capture what the teachers were trying to describe.

In trying to work out what this was, a fairly abstract, and problematic, question proved helpful, whether there is ‘negative spirituality’. For example, how one can describe spirituality so that it would not apply to the emotional manipulation of a crowd by Hitler? More mundanely, how might one judge experience of the occult, often claimed as spiritual? Fran reflected that she could make sense of this only by thinking two intersecting spectra that cross each other, one of potential or capacity for spirituality, the other of positive or negative motivation and values. An experience or activity may be of a type to be considered ‘spiritual’, but, unless based within the values of a culture, may be distorted. To think of spiritual experience only, or primarily, as internal, or intense, is inadequate. Spiritual experience is not value-free, with values, whatever their origin, located within a social and cultural tradition. Fran’s insight seems both profound in its own right and indicative of a more widely held, but less clearly articulated, understanding of spiritual experience. In 11.ii, I consider two implications for teachers, the importance of addressing difficult situations and of values.

In 9.iv.1, I suggested that the teachers’ understanding of spiritual development had two interwoven strands, one of natural capacities to be allowed to flourish, the other of attitudes and values to be acquired and skills to be learnt. The former view would suggest the teacher’s task as primarily one of presenting opportunities and experiences, the second of teaching techniques. This second strand

241 is reflected in many teachers’ emphasis on means rather than ends. In 10.iv, I argue against separating the two strands.

Simple phrases and metaphors can often shed most light on complex matters. Debbie, who was sceptical of the term ‘spiritual’, related it to responding to ‘moments of significance.’ In 10.ii, I highlight that the teachers understood spiritual experience as relating to things that are significant, of more than transient importance. However, as only some teachers recognised, this presents a problem in seeing spirituality only in terms of pleasant, life affirming experience. Though many teachers found this hard, a view of spiritual development based on significance implies engagement with what is painful, even with young children.

One aspect consistently highlighted as important in spiritual development was that of helping children to move away from the dominance of their own immediate desires and to develop an awareness of other people’s needs and feelings. While this is especially apposite to this age-group, it reflects those traditions mentioned in 2.iii that see rationality as a barrier rather than a route into spiritual experience. One potent argument about Hitler’s spirituality was that his obsession with power forced him back into egocentricity and away from undistorted spiritual experience.

In 3.vi, I cited Hay and Nye’s (1998) emphasis on the child’s awareness of other people, of the world around and of the Transcendent Other. The teachers emphasised the first consistently, but much less the other two. While the lack of emphasis on the last is unsurprising with children so young, some teachers saw their task as laying the foundations for religious belief, others that this was either a matter of family or individual commitment for children at an older age, or not their role as teachers. I present in 10.iv a view of transcendence, appropriate even for young children, based on reaching beyond one’s current understanding.

242 Most of the teachers did understand their children as having access to spiritual experience, though some were unhappy with the language. One might argue that the presence of a researcher looking at spiritual development without setting a narrow boundary is almost bound to prompt teachers to relate what they might otherwise see as emotional, personal, or moral development to spiritual development. Several linked this to their own experience as a child, reflecting Robinson’s (1977) findings. However, with one important exception this implied a view that all people, regardless of age, have access to experience which may be called spiritual. This exception was an occasional, though muted, suggestion that some children were too immature for spiritual experience, implying that there may be a ‘baseline’ before which spiritual experience is impossible. Further thought about the nature of spiritual experience for tiny infants (or people with severe learning difficulties) may resolve this, to some extent, and enrich a broader understanding of spirituality. I shall argue in

10.i that such a view presents significant difficulties when held simultaneously with other views.

The link with religion provided the area of least consistency, and most passion. For a few teachers, spirituality and religion were quite separate. For most, especially those linked to a faith tradition themselves, spirituality was linked with, but something beyond, religion. All teachers could describe, however uncertainly, spiritual development outside a faith tradition. I shall argue in 10.v that those who confine spiritual experience to a religious (or quasi-religious) tradition face several difficulties including the basic one that the majority of children are de facto excluded. Developing

Wright’s point raised in 2.iv, my new understanding describes a framework for schools to provide a context, and a tradition, for spiritual experience outside a faith tradition.

In Chapter 10 I draw together the philosophical issues raised in the first three chapters and the interpretation of the teachers’ understanding to move towards a new way of understanding, and enabling discourse about, young children’s spiritual development.

243 10 Moving towards a new understanding of spiritual development

10.i What can be learnt from the empirical work?

In the first three chapters of this thesis, I examined a range of disciplines and traditions to highlight key questions, summarised in 3.vii. In the final two chapters, I return to these in the light of the interpretations of the understanding of fourteen teachers, based on detailed observations and discussions. This is predicated on a belief that these interpretations, drawing especially on the teachers’ practical understanding, can offer insights into a wider understanding of spiritual development. There have been, in a sense, parallel discourses which need to be brought together, considering what is best approached philosophically, and what empirically, recognising the constant interplay between the two.

In 10.ii, I discuss the philosophical and practical difficulties of formulating a new, coherent way of understanding spiritual development. In 10.iii, I provide a rationale for the new understanding which I describe in 10.iv. In 10.v, I consider its implications, addressing the distinctiveness of the category ‘spiritual’ and returning directly to the issue of spiritual development.

I explore in this section what can, and cannot, be learnt from studying the understanding of this group of teachers. In 9.v, I argued that the teachers’ responses provided a prima facie case against abandoning the term ‘spiritual development’. Most teachers thought this related to something important, without being able quite to describe what, or what is distinctive about ‘spiritual’. The existing language, and the lack of definition, appeared to confuse many teachers, especially at first. Yet they were, mostly, willing to talk, at length and often personally, to try and describe what spiritual development entails. Most were striving towards an inclusive view. But the term remains problematic. If it is to be used, a coherent and accessible understanding is worth striving for. If it is

244 to be abandoned or replaced, some way of describing what those teachers were trying to describe is needed.

It is unrealistic to expect clearly articulated or argued philosophical responses from the teachers and inappropriate to draw uncritically on what they said. However, examining the coherence and consistency of the teachers’ understanding revealed:

 new associations and metaphors and direct insights; and

 issues and tensions to be addressed in a coherent, new understanding.

Teachers often struggle to articulate important aspects of their understanding because these are so deep-seated and ingrained that they appear obvious, natural, or even instinctive or because so much refers to what is personal, embarrassing and often controversial. Even though I found the spoken word, carefully expressed, quite compelling, being too easily seduced, in discussion, by those who spoke most abstractly, the empirical work’s main value stemmed from observing, interpreting and reflecting on the teachers’ practice. Hence my emphasis in 8.iii on several aspects which the teachers did not explicitly relate to spiritual development. I tried to understand especially the lessons to be drawn from their teaching, using careful listening and watching to inform, and enrich, both how they understood spiritual development and my own understanding.

In 10.iv I suggest that spiritual experience does require some sort of ‘end’, or purpose, however fluid. However, given the argument in 7.i that the means to spiritual development cannot be separated entirely from its ends, I came to see their understanding of spiritual development as, often implicitly, embodied in what they did.

Most teachers expressed an understanding that was, at least superficially, reasonably coherent, in what they said and, more importantly, between what they said and what they did. The possible

245 exceptions were Bridget and Helen. Even so, the evidence for Bridget is insufficient to make such a judgement confidently and Helen’s view, on further examination, suggested a willingness to engage with complexities that other teachers tended to avoid. In 4.iii, I argued that coherence and complexity are intimately related. One consequence is that coherence, as such, is not an unqualified good. Superficial coherence may result from consideration of only a narrow range of issues. Even those who appeared confused demonstrated a range of understanding more profound than I initially recognised or I suspect than they would have realised. Those who seemed most sure or coherent did not ‘know all the answers’. Those, like Alice, Diana and Erica, who took more risks as the visit progressed, came to recognise, and be fascinated by, the paradoxes they uncovered. Those who explored the complexities, notably Fran and Helen, were often uncertain of their ground. The wider the boundaries of an enquiry, and the more complex the subject matter, the greater the likelihood of tensions within their understanding.

An individual’s coherence, as such, is not important in the context of this thesis, just as the consistency with which a view is held does not make it right. However, exploring coherence and consistency revealed a range of tensions. I briefly highlight in this section the most important of these tensions as hazards to be recognised, and minimised, in formulating a new, coherent understanding. Many teachers recognised these tensions and found ways of reconciling them, at least in part, or of realising the dilemmas presented.

Some tensions were between different elements of what the teachers articulated, often where maintaining either, or any, of two, or more, positions is reasonable but not both, or all, of them at once. For instance, most articulated a linear, albeit uneven, view of spiritual development. Such a view conflicts with the belief occasionally hinted at that some children are so immature and egocentric that they are not capable of spiritual experience. As indicated in 9.v, a belief that there is such a ‘baseline’ of maturity undermines the idea of spiritual experience being universal.

246 Practically, the consequence might, presumably, be not to cater for the spiritual development of those children not (yet) able to engage in spiritual experience.

A similar tension emerged where many teachers stressed the relational aspect in what they said explicitly, but demonstrated in many of their examples a strong sense that it was largely about activities, such as reflection, based on an internal view of spiritual experience. The suggestion which several teachers made that the children were too young to engage in such activities seems to indicate a residual notion of spirituality as primarily internal, in conflict with an understanding which emphasised relationships.

Such examples may indicate nothing more than tensions between different aspects of what the teachers articulated. Since teaching is ultimately a practical activity, this may not matter much. Of greater concern are tensions between what they said and what they did which might suggest insufficient reflection on the consequences of their teaching or self-delusion. I offer two examples.

First, most teachers initially associated the spiritual primarily with pleasant, life-affirming experience. Several maintained this throughout. However, some who espoused this view also considered it to be about questions of personal significance. Yet exploring such questions must be potentially painful. This tension becomes important if the teachers, in practice, inhibit the children’s search for personal meaning to protect the children from being upset. This might lead to a failure to help children come to terms with their ‘shadow’ side.

The second example refers to gender. Most teachers said very clearly that gender was not a significant factor. This was consistent with their teaching. Several recognised the problems which many boys have with processing emotion and managing behaviour. Yet many thought that spiritual maturity was largely the same as emotional maturity. To hold these views simultaneously is, ultimately, incoherent. I can resolve this tension only by arguing that gender must affect

247 spiritual development, a point to which I return briefly in 10.iv. A similar argument must be made for ethnicity and other elements of identity, such as physical ability or mental capacity, though the teachers barely touched on these. This issue becomes potentially important if, in practice, teachers do not consider that specific groups may have particular needs in relation to spiritual development.

Perhaps the most troubling tension is that between a teacher’s understanding of spiritual development and external expectations in conflict with this. Most teachers’ understanding emphasised process, linked to the consistently expressed belief that spiritual experience can be located anywhere in the curriculum, although some subject areas offer more promising opportunities. Most emphasised the importance of reacting and responding to the child’s concerns.

Yet even those who broadly supported the current curricular emphasis on skills lamented that there was less opportunity for such responses. These tensions emerged in practice most strongly for those such as Erica and Alice who passionately advocated the importance of play. They were very pragmatic and made the curriculum work, but at some considerable cost. I return in 11.ii to the implications of this. This tension was not between different parts of the teachers’ understanding but between two belief systems in conflict.

Two possible tensions appear whether spiritual development is understood as primarily about inherent capacities, such as joy, curiosity and wonder, or as dependent on specific content, techniques or experiences. I shall suggest in 10.v that this is a false polarity, emphasising the two strands mentioned in 9.v, of natural capacities to be allowed to flourish, and of attitudes and values to be acquired and skills to be learnt. However, for those who see spiritual development primarily as involving the former, the social and cultural pressures of the peer group and the wider society may dominate and inhibit those capacities from developing. For those who espouse a more content- or technique-based approach, the tension is how to give sufficient prominence to those aspects which the child raises and needs to explore.

248 In 10.v, especially, I consider other tensions between the teachers’ understanding and the philosophical considerations raised in Chapters 2 and 3.

10.ii To what extent can a new understanding of spiritual development be formulated?

In this section, I discuss the philosophical and practical difficulties involved in articulating a new understanding of spiritual development. One danger is that a new description may simply add to the existing confusion. However, this is easily overstated. As teaching contexts change, so the language to understand and describe them must change. My description will be adopted, and adapted, only in so far as it reflects, and illuminates, the context within which teachers work more accurately than current descriptions.

It may be argued that all education is spiritual, especially given an inclusive description. In a sense, this is true. However I shall argue in 10.v against replacing ‘spiritual’ with a broader term.

To be of value, a new understanding needs to identify specific aspects of the child’s experience.

However, this brings us to the most powerful argument against a way of describing spiritual development as if it were some entirely separate category of experience. Just as with Ryle’s (1980) exposure of the ‘ghost in the machine’ in the Cartesian division of mind and body, the most fundamental assumption may be wrong. It may be inappropriate to describe the spiritual domain as if it were a separate entity rather than a dimension or facet which cannot be separated from the whole which it describes. The danger is that, in even allowing such a distinction, a split similar to that which Ryle highlights is created, leading to too reductionist an approach. Derek argued this case, emphasising that the spiritual and material domains cannot entirely be separated, as how we learn, how we think and how we are constitute a seamless entity. Philosophically, this is a powerful argument. However, it is hard to see how one can gain any purchase on such an elusive

249 concept without making such a separation. It is a necessary convenience, the limitations and dangers of which must always be borne in mind.

Three possibilities are to:

 determine that there is nothing distinctive about spiritual experience not covered by other

categories;

 decide that there is but provide another category name; or

 present a new way of understanding spiritual development.

All three depend on an attempt to formulate a description, though the conclusion may be that this endeavour is unsuccessful. If the conclusion is that ‘spiritual development’ describes nothing distinctive, existing categories will presumably be revised to include areas which would otherwise be associated with it. If there are distinctive elements, but best not called spiritual, the alternative is to find some better name. In 10.v, I argue that there are distinctive elements and that the term

‘spiritual’ is the best available.

One may argue that the ambiguous and elusive nature of ‘spiritual’ gives it much of its power and that no language will ever quite do justice to it. Many aspects of spiritual experience are best understood without words. To present an understanding in words when I have stressed that understanding is not expressed primarily in words is paradoxical. Language may help to describe this type of experience, but always inadequately. This is not just a problem of the existing language but of language itself. In a sense one is trying to describe and embody what is beyond understanding, just as liturgy or mystical poetry both describes and embodies the ineffable.

However, this is an argument for caution and care rather than inaction. Even though ‘philosophy is the fight against the bewitchment of our understanding through our language’ (Wittgenstein cited

250 in Watzlawick, 1984:165), the prime tool of philosophy is language. Language may be too blunt a tool, but it is the best available.

Whatever language is used both reflects and structures what it describes. This is especially problematic where the meaning of words is contentious. A new understanding has no very firm starting point. One’s presuppositions dictate to some extent one’s conclusions. There is an element of circling around the subject. In Symington’s (1986: 11) words, describing the problem of describing psychoanalysis, ‘I am talking of a single reality but coming at it from different perspectives. This is the Hebrew rather than the Greek way of treating a human phenomenon. The

Hebrew way is to go round and round a subject, each time using different images to illuminate what is most profound. The Greek way of arguing by logical stages can never, in my opinion, do justice to any deep experience.’ In 9.ii.2, I described the moral as a facet of spiritual development, rather than a separate category. The metaphor (of a facet) from jewellery suggests that spiritual development is best understood when approached from different angles.

In a domain so open to personal belief and to deeply held convictions, formulating a new understanding is largely a task of creating a new narrative, more in the nature of a thesaurus than a dictionary, of association rather than definitive answers, of emphasis rather than sharp polarities.

This does not imply imprecision, so much as refreshing existing metaphors, suggesting the abandonment of outdated ones and introducing new ones. So I use a range of different metaphors, recalling the discussion in 3.iii. Any metaphor brings with it both advantages and further problems. For example, as Helen commented, the notion of a journey (which I find helpful) holds within it a sense of linearity and of specific goals, rather than that of depth, which she wished to emphasise. I am trying to sketch out a map, to outline the terrain rather than the detail of the journey. The danger is that the term becomes too fluid to be valuable, an issue to which I return in

251 As indicated, the more complex and wide-ranging the subject, the greater the likelihood of incoherence. In Geertz’s words (1993: 18), ‘the force of our interpretations cannot rest, as they are now so often made to do, on the tightness with which they hold together or the assurance with which they are argued. Nothing has done more… to discredit cultural analysis than the construction of impeccable depictions of formal order in whose actual existence nobody can quite believe.’ Recalling Wittgenstein’s notion of ‘family resemblances’ I do not strive for too tight a definition, as an understanding of spiritual experience needs a certain elasticity and open- endedness. A new way of understanding spiritual development must recognise, and minimise, underlying tensions, such as those highlighted in 10.i, without sacrificing complexity in searching for too tidy a coherence.

10.iii What is the rationale for this new understanding?

The danger is that these complexities induce paralysis in reader and writer alike. In this section, I reflect on the rationale for the new understanding in 10.iv which aims to be philosophically coherent but inclusive, easily comprehensible to teachers and consonant with their experience and relating to as wide a range of teachers, children and contexts as possible.

I try to write in relatively simple words. This is not because teachers of young children are simple- minded. Far from it. Rather that they are rooted in the practicalities of the everyday. My focus on the teaching environment stems from my belief that understanding is embedded in actions rather than words. Rather than start with what spirituality is, my interpretation of some teachers’ practice, and how they describe it, forms an alternative starting point, reflecting what teachers actually do and providing pointers to what they might do differently. I hope to shed light on both those elements explicitly named as contributing to spiritual development and others more latent and embedded but not named as such. While not written primarily for teachers, my understanding aims

252 to evoke a response like ‘yes, I have always thought that on the basis of my experience but I had never quite seen it like that, or considered all those elements linked to spiritual development.’

A danger to be avoided is too great a desire for consensus. Any description of spiritual development will always be open to challenge and debate but, in Macintyre’s (1999: 222) words,

‘traditions, when vital, embody continuities of conflict.’ Thatcher (1999) rightly cautions against too great an emphasis on consensus. Any description is, inevitably, incomplete, partial and open to both the challenge and the enrichment of future re-descriptions. Any understanding of spiritual development not only may, but should, provoke debate and be open to personal interpretation. Just as I argued, in 3.iv, that young children are active creators of meaning, any reader needs to make sense of someone else’s new understanding critically and test it against his or her own experience and pre-existing beliefs. An ‘off-the-shelf’ language, too clearly delineated, may lose the provocative edge to stimulate the debate which unsettles or provokes the questioning of pre- existing assumptions.

One basis of the new understanding must inevitably be my own revised understanding, enriched by a range of experiences, in particular that of study and reflection on the visits. This understanding cannot be entirely impersonal, but is influenced by my own beliefs and preconceptions. A common narrative is both constructed from, and helps to construct, personal narratives. However, I draw on a range of influences. One is obviously previous research from those disciplines considered in Chapters 2 and 3. Other disciplines will in future no doubt offer other perspectives and insights. For example, research on the neurophysiology of the brain is rapidly altering our view of learning and the debate about inherent and acquired learning. The other major influence was the experience of my empirical work. I have commented on what I could draw directly from my interpretation of the teachers’ understanding.

253 It is not customary to include personal experience in such a study. However, having highlighted the importance of life experiences and of personal vulnerabilities, I allude briefly to three influences which prompted my own interest in this area. Two were the death of my father and the experience of helping the school community of which I was headteacher come to terms with the murder of a pupil. This, surely, influences my interest in the role of potentially painful experience.

The third was how a succession of children, mostly boys, often from disadvantaged backgrounds, did not thrive well. While their difficulties were often manifested in getting into trouble and finding it hard to sustain relationships, I came to see this as related to spiritual development. This again may explain my interest in such issues. The process of research, especially in such personal areas, is bound to change the researcher. I explored aspects of my own personality, upbringing and personal beliefs in many, often unsettling, ways. This is not to say that this research was a form of therapy, rather that thinking about profound issues did not leave me unchanged. This is, inevitably, reflected in the description in 10.iv.

10.iv Key features of a new understanding of young children’s spiritual development

In this section, I present, at last, a new way of understanding spiritual development, especially related to young children and their teachers. I approach the task with some trepidation and humility. Having argued that too tight a definition is unhelpful, I build my understanding around this working description drawn from reflection on the key questions raised in 3.vii, commenting on significant elements, emphasised in bold:

‘spiritual experience is that which enables, or enhances, greater personal integration

within a framework of relationships by fostering exploration, conscious and otherwise, of

identity and purpose, transcending the current level of self-knowledge and altering, or

regaining, appropriate perspectives and values.’

254 I emphasise experience rather than experiences, arguing that there is no list of ‘spiritual experiences’ which children should undertake, a curriculum based on content, as one might for a language of mathematics or history. The locus of spiritual experience can be anywhere. What matters is how experience is processed. One can never know, in advance, to what extent any experience will be within the spiritual domain.

Recognising that means and ends are closely intertwined and presenting personal integration, as discussed in 3.iv, as the end of spiritual experience, I am not suggesting that integration is a fixed point. The faultlines within an individual’s personality may open or close, in a constantly shifting process, leading to greater integration, or the reverse. Integration is often associated with a personal, ‘interior’ process, including the ‘shadow’ side of our personality, but needs also to involve the incorporation of the individual into wider social and cultural groupings, initially the family, then increasingly into local, then national groups and cultures and a common humanity.

Participation within a range of traditions, with their shared beliefs and expectations, is a way of being incorporated into something beyond our own time and place. It is not simply an individual matter. It may help to envisage several layers of integration occurring at once, often with differing levels of success. For many children and adults, the search for integration is harsh and unsuccessful, often because external circumstances make knowing where one fits in such a challenge. The fragmentation of social communities can be a factor in making the search for meaning for individuals within them especially hard.

The research literature and the teachers’ responses emphasise the importance of relationships.

Secure relationships offer young children a protective, nurturing framework without which their ability to learn is impaired. However, maturity implies a move beyond this protective framework, so that the individual is not too dependent on such a nurturing framework. Spiritual development

255 may, in part, be conceived as moving from dependence on exclusive relationships to mature dependence, borrowing Fairbairn’s phrase, cited in 3.iv, within a wider network of relationships, rather than towards a self-reliant autonomy. For the teacher, the challenge is to offer a relational environment which is ‘nurturing enough’ without being either too protective or too controlling.

Hay and Nye’s (1998) framework of the self, other people, the world around and the Transcendent

Other is a useful way of characterising these relationships, recognising that each is likely to developing, to some extent, at any one time. At a young age, the focus is, inevitably, mainly on the self and immediate others. However, very young children can learn, for example through an appreciation of the natural world, how they relate to the wider environment. Think only of a baby’s fascination with the detail of a leaf or the colours of a butterfly. Young children may have a much greater ability than adults imagine to experience what is mysterious and not open to rational

‘comprehension’.

One paradox of identity is that very early experience, notably attachment, as discussed in 3.iii, is profoundly important, and yet each person’s identity does not remain constant. We construct our identities within an increasingly complex web of relationships but decreasing dependence on those on which the individual has at some point relied most strongly. Following Hull’s position, discussed in 2.vi, this search for identity is personal, but not individual. The psychoanalytic tradition has tended to consider people as individuals, but identity is social and cultural, a matter of where and how we belong. It is affected by gender, by ethnic and linguistic background and by sexuality, for example. Identity is formed within a series of groups starting with the mother and immediate family and moving into friendship groups, playgroups or nursery, and into the relationships within the school or groups in the neighbourhood. Identity grows within an ecology of interdependence. This is consonant with Gilligan’s (1982) position, but opposed to that of

Cupitt (1980) who saw autonomy as so obvious an end-point that he did not even argue the case.

256 The child’s - and everyone’s - quest for identity and purpose involves, in simple terms, existential questions of who we are, where we fit in and why we are here. To ask who we are is, in this context, less a question of what it is, intrinsically, to be human, than of exploring the web of relationships which makes each of us who we are. This is integrally linked to whom we are not and closely linked with where one fits in, both in time and in place. Where we belong determines our identity and depends on the relationships we form. Questions of purpose are especially difficult both to ask and to discuss, not least because they are not open to simple answers, except, arguably, within a powerfully held meta-narrative. From an early age, young children explore similarity and difference, two sides of the coin of identity. The importance of friendship patterns, and of fashion, depends on perceptions about which groups one belongs to, and those from which one is excluded. Williams (2000: 49) explores how present-day culture exhibits a ‘reluctance to think about the role of time in the formation of identities’ giving the example of treating children as consumers, with the seductive possibility of instant gratification. He writes, dismissively,

(2000: 49) ‘the style obsessions of our day help to re-inforce the idea that identities can be purchased and discarded.’ Protective space, within which the child can safely explore questions of identity, over time, is crucial to the construction of secure identity. Williams’ plea (2000: 51) for

‘protection of the imaginative space of childhood’, to learn about the consequences of choice, with facing the real consequences of real choices, resonates with the notion of hospitable space, discussed in 3.iv. Among the factors which militate against this process are the fear of failure, the stifling of curiosity and an over-reliance on a limited range of learning modes and techniques. A teacher who is too controlling, busy or ready to impose external patterns of understanding risks denying the child such safe space. For young children, especially, play offers a chance for hospitable space, where they able to reflect individually on, and make sense of, their experience.

257 These existential questions may often be painful, not least because they challenge existing patterns of belief and have no easy answers. As adults, to protect ourselves, we have developed strategies to avoid asking such questions very often. The points at which they come to the fore are usually those where such a pattern is unsettled, for instance by the death or illness of someone we love, or major tragedies. The lack of such strategies for self-protection both leaves young children more vulnerable and may enable them to ask such questions more easily, unless adults inhibit this. As

Debbie suggested, since young children have less settled frameworks of making sense of existential questions, they may be less inhibited in asking such questions.

These aspects of identity and purpose come together in the story, or narrative, that we tell of ourselves. In Macintyre’s words (1999: 221) ‘ the story of my life is always embedded in the story of those communities from which I derive my identity. I am born with a past; and to try to cut myself off from that past, in the individualistic mode, is to deform my present relationships. The possession of an historical identity and the possession of a social identity co-incide.’ Using this quotation, Wright (1997: 16-17) suggests that an individual’s narrative needs always to be placed in the context of a meta-narrative such as national identity, a view challenged effectively in

Erricker (2000: 39). Such overarching identities form only part of our identity, where differing demands and expectations are always in conflict. The young child’s emerging identity must not be seen as entirely individual and context-free, but as constructed within the child’s communities, both of time and place. Identity is neither entirely given nor totally fluid, but based on the narrative we construct, the story we tell of ourselves. The importance of personal narrative as a powerful force for integration suggests the importance of children having the chance to hear stories and narrate their own, to make sense of their own experience. In Macintyre’s words (1999: 216)

‘deprive children of their stories and you leave them unscripted, anxious stutterers in their actions as in their words.’

258 The search for integration may be conscious or otherwise. Our culture places a high value on the conscious, the visible, the explicit and the measurable. Before Freud, James (1907: 483) wrote of a

‘department of human nature’ which we must ‘distinguish ..... from the level of sunlit consciousness.’ Traditions of religion and spirituality emphasise the implicit and symbolic, often by-passing consciousness. To take simple examples, a particular piece of music, a smell, a visual similarity may evoke an association of which we have no conscious awareness at the time, or at all. Much of our learning occurs at an unconscious level. I referred in 3.v to how enactive and iconic learning seem to by-pass conscious processes and to Claxton’s (1997) ‘slow ways of knowing’, not relying on the ‘conscious, deliberate, purposeful’ approach which he calls d-mode.

As adults, we rely heavily on d-mode, often at the expense of other, creative and lateral approaches, which young children may be particularly able to adopt. Traditions of spirituality suggest that too much conscious activity may block the search for meaning. If the unconscious is to be allowed to work, the conscious mind needs to be not too busy. Creative space gives a chance for the unconscious mind to work. Such a view challenges a modernist, rational belief which gives primacy to knowledge that can be articulated and brought to consciousness and to public scrutiny.

Religious and psychoanalytic traditions suggest that, necessarily, certain areas of knowledge remain latent and mysterious.

Adults often lose the ability which children have to move beyond conventional structures and to leave a space for mystery and uncertainty. Traditions of spirituality suggest a strong link with transcendence, where experience moves the individual beyond a current, or normal, level of understanding. The metaphors implicit in this word might lead one, initially, to question its usefulness when considering young children. However, a dictionary definition (OED) describes transcendent as ‘beyond the range or grasp of human experience, reason, belief, etc.’ Kimes Myers draws on the work of Lonergan (cited 1997: 11) to think of transcendence as ‘our innate human dissatisfaction with ourselves and our world’, involving learning to ‘transcend … present reality.’

259 Transcendence entails going what is beyond one’s current understanding rather than what is beyond this world. Since adult human experience, reason and belief are less static than once believed, and that a young child’s is constantly on the move, transcendence becomes an active and everyday process, rather than engagement with some distant mysterious being. Conceiving transcendence as related only to the immaterial and the exotic easily results in spirituality being accessible only to a few. As young children’s understanding is more fluid and their experience of the mysterious more commonplace, they are especially open to such experiences of transcendence, which is more common and less extra-ordinary than for adults.

Successful integration requires an ability to adopt appropriate perspectives, which help to place our experience within wider contexts of time and space. This helps the individual to move away from too great an emphasis on the self and offers the chance to see oneself and one’s concerns as if from afar. The individual becomes able to see him or herself in a wider context of relationships: with other people, with the world around, or with transcendent reality, to borrow and amend Hay and Nye’s (1998) structure of relational consciousness. The experience of wonder, for example at the natural world, may help to alter perspective, to enable the individual to understand him or herself within a wider context. The teachers’ emphasis on helping children to move away from an egocentric viewpoint, for example through activities of caring or empathy, is intimately related to seeing the world ‘as-if’ from another perspective. Young children often find it very hard to adopt such a change of perspective, given the immediacy, and strength, of their emotional response.

Greater maturity tends to lead to less egocentric perspectives, both naturally with a widening of experience and with the acquisition of skills and techniques. Yet, at times, most obviously when anxious or under severe stress, adults return to an egocentric perspective. This move away from, or back into, egocentrism is, in many respects, a natural and appropriate part of survival and growth.

260 My use of the word ‘appropriate’ highlights that spiritual development is intimately tied up with values. The teachers consistently emphasised the importance of values. Culture is transmitted from one generation to the next in what is valued. The basis for values is beyond the scope of this study, but the current debate about values and citizenship has generally been predicated on a discourse that there are common, shared or universal values. This too easily results in an equation of values with worthy, but unexceptionable, values such as ‘sharing and caring’, avoidance of controversial issues or attempts at a false consensus, elements evident in the teachers’ responses.

Such a consensus works only at a superficial level, since the domain of values very rarely entails a simple choice between good and bad. With luck, the choice may be between better and worse.

More often it is between areas of different types of benefit or difficulty, such that the demands of justice conflict with those of truthfulness, or those of loyalty with those of compassion. However, identity is fragile if based in transient or superficial values. Values are rigorously tested only when different values which one espouses come into conflict and choices have to be made. Such discrimination and judgement is the seed-bed of identity and significance, and so central to spiritual experience.

Spiritual experience is neither neutral nor value-free. While the value given to a particular activity may be a matter of debate and discussion, any activity is worthwhile only in terms of the values it espouses and promotes. Hence my concern at too great a concentration simply on means rather than ends. Means do not incorporate considerations of value, and so may be used towards false or misguided ends. For example, the ‘exploration of inwardness’ is not of value in itself and may, in some cases, lead to self-indulgence or increased egocentricity, and in others it may lead to experience inner peace, or some other desirable end. Insight becomes harmful if used as a way of devising better means of torture, or more mundanely how best to bully another child. Even so apparently a universally approved quality as compassion might be seen as negative when directed towards a person who abuses children and is unrepentant.

261 My use of the verbs, enabling, enhancing and fostering, highlights the young child’s capacities, such as those for joy and curiosity, with the adult’s role often involving not too active an intervention. These verbs are intended to suggest that adults cannot force spiritual development on children. However, this does not imply that this happens unaided. In 9.v, I introduced the idea of spiritual development having two strands one of allowing natural capacities to flourish, the other of attitudes and values to be acquired and skills to be learnt. This implies a balance between different approaches for the adult to enable the child to adopt different modes of learning. The context, both explicit and implicit, within which this occurs needs to provide such a balance.

Children make meaning and construct their identity on the foundation of the attachment with the prime carer, within the home and carried through into wider milieux such as the school. For the teacher, the challenge is that of creating teaching environments which offer opportunities and space to incorporate the child into a wider culture in ways comparable to those of religious traditions, without inhibiting natural capacities. This involves activities and experiences within different domains, such as the religious, aesthetic, moral, social and cultural, as mediums for, and routes into, spiritual experience in creating and constructing meaning.

10.v What are the implications of this new understanding?

In this section, I consider how much this study has helped to answer the research question, and in particular the central issue of spiritual development. Before doing so, I reflect on the nature of the whole study. I have approached this task both philosophically and what might be called ethnographically, to see whether the teachers’ practical wisdom can enrich a new understanding of spiritual development. Rather than starting from a pre-conceived notion of where the teachers should draw the boundaries of spiritual experience, I have tried to establish where they do draw them and establish from there a philosophically coherent description, or narrative, especially in relation to teaching young children. To offer an analogy, one might approach a study of

262 vegetarianism either by determining in advance what vegetarianism is and whether individual practice accords with this, or by considering eating habits and what vegetarians understand vegetarianism to mean. My approach is more akin to the latter. I tried to look initially at a wide range of the teachers’ beliefs and practices as possible. Since setting the parameters of questions in advance inevitably creates certain boundaries, these need to be left wide at first, moving gradually towards a more definite position. Too early a foreclosure, and too great a certainty, risk losing elements of the complexity and elusiveness of the subject. The nearest comparative research in education that I know is Jackson et al. (1993)’s approach to moral education, examining the moral significance of everyday events and actions as well as what is explicitly called ‘moral education.’

I now consider the strengths and limitations of the description of spiritual experience I presented in

10.iv, to argue that this largely answers, in the affirmative, the second part of the research question, whether the empirical work offers pointers towards a new and appropriate understanding. In particular, I consider whether this description:

 describes something distinctive from other possible categories; and

 meets some other external set of criteria for what spirituality relates to.

I turn first to the relationship of ‘spiritual’ to other categories, primarily the emotional, religious, moral and aesthetic. The conundrum is to establish which aspects are distinctive, while accepting that much of spiritual experience can be described within existing categories. In 2.iv I cited Lewis’

(2000: 266) argument that ‘(Carr sees) useful distinctions as being exclusive categories.’ The overlap of these areas means that this is often an issue of balance and emphasis rather than exclusive categories.

263 Wright (2000: 75-7), rightly, argues against an inclusive understanding if this implies a rejection of tradition, an abandonment of critical reflection and a concentration on ‘inner’ emotional experience. My new understanding seeks to be inclusive without falling into these traps. I have suggested the importance of tradition, both in drawing a description of spiritual experience from the context of the classroom, with its traditions and structures, and from explicitly spiritual traditions. The idea of critical reflection may seem strange in relation to young children. However, my emphasis on children as active learners, and on values, are important foundations for a critical approach to making sense of experience. In particular, though, I have presented spiritual experience as not necessarily, nor primarily, internal, as discussed in 2.vi, which Wright criticises as giving too much primacy to emotion.

Since emotions are basic to how we experience the world, it is unsurprising that the link between emotional and spiritual maturity is so close for those working with young children. The importance of the emotions as potentially a ‘route into’, or a factor inhibiting access to, spiritual experience is considerable. Intense emotion, often through the arts, is often a prompt to spiritual experience, enabling us to see ourselves as part of something larger than ourselves. However, too great a dominance by intense emotion overemphasises the place of the ego and disables the sense of perspective for which I argued in 10.iv. However, in Fay’s words (1996: 25), ‘it is not feeling but meaning which we must have to be said to know someone (even ourselves).’ Spiritual experience is integrally related to significance and meaning, dependent on much more than emotional experience. So, while learning to manage or process emotion is an important part of children learning to make sense of themselves and their world, emotional development is only one facet of spiritual development.

The understanding presented in 10.iv is based on a view of spiritual development neither necessarily nor primarily linked to a religious tradition. These relate to the question initially raised

264 in 2.iv. Copley (2000: 141/2) argues that the language of spirituality is based so deeply within religion that the link is ‘an umbilical cord, to be cut only at great risk.’ Extending the metaphor, however much an embryo may rely on the mother for sustenance, the needs of the new-born child may make the risk of not cutting the cord greater. The empirical work highlights three pragmatic arguments for the separation of spiritual development from religious traditions. In 9.ii.4, I indicated that the teachers were remarkably consistent that spiritual development encompasses a wider domain than that of religion and does not depend on involvement within a religious tradition. Second, the link with faith traditions tends to be associated with a package of beliefs and practices which may scare many people off. Third, social change means that a large majority of children have no link to such a tradition. Does spiritual development does not apply to such children, except in so far as they can be incorporated into such a tradition? If so, spiritual development should not be included, without considerable qualification, in the legislation and guidance outlining teachers’ responsibilities.

However, I indicated that this question should be approached philosophically as well as empirically. In 2.iv, I countered Carr’s argument as unproven that the link between spirituality and religion is so close that spirituality necessarily requires engagement within a religious tradition. I shall not elaborate on my argument there except to point out that making the ‘spiritual’ a separate category provides the basis for dissociating it from necessary links with a particular tradition, as discussed in 10.ii.

This debate provides an instructive example of how language structures our understanding. How we describe something profoundly influences our understanding of what we describe. A similar argument can, of course, be levelled at me, that my description presupposes what I am trying to describe. That is the nature of language. The necessity of the link with religion depends on how spirituality is understood described and a certain view of spirituality could predetermine such a

265 link. The argument has a circular logic of its own, but is incoherent with wider social and historical reality, risking the marginalisation of spirituality if this is to rely on traditions increasingly alien from most people’s experience. Indeed, continuing to link spirituality necessarily with religion seemed, for the teachers, to hinder a wider understanding of what spiritual experience consists of. This is not to say that a framework of religious tradition and practice does not offer a valuable, and arguably the best, context for the search for meaning and identity, rather that it is not a necessary framework. In the absence of any convincing contrary argument the evidence of the teachers’ (and much other) usage is that such a search may be coherently characterised as spiritual experience. That all teachers seemed to understand spiritual experience as common to all people, rather than implying adoption of an explicatory meta- narrative or adherence to particular traditions of belief or practice, is powerful evidence against an exclusive understanding such as that of Carr.

While spirituality may not necessarily imply any link with beliefs or practices, it might nevertheless be seen as a quasi-religious experience. This begs the question of what is meant by a quasi-religious experience. One might presume this to be largely emotional, mystical and individualistic, possibly on the lines of Wordsworth’s (1966) experience. It is hard to see that such quasi-religious experience would have the characteristics of collective, embodied practice which

Carr emphasises as central to a tradition of spirituality. In 2.vi, I argued that spiritual experience involves the relationship of the individual to wider communities and the cosmos involving social, relational and external aspects rather than being solely or primarily an individual or interior experience. My work with teachers suggested that they made little link between aesthetic and spiritual development. This would seem to reflect the limited, skill- and content- based nature of the current curriculum. However, while the aesthetic is an important facet of, and route into, spiritual experience, as a category it is too narrow to contain the full range of those aspects discussed in 10.iv.

266 Several teachers linked spiritual very closely with moral development. This has greater areas of overlap with spiritual development, in part because our identity and purpose are so grounded in relationships, actions and intentions. With a wide definition of the ‘moral’ this, of all the categories considered, would perhaps come closest to subsuming ‘spiritual’ reflecting many of the relational and values-based aspects. But it remains too narrow. For example, only a remarkably wide definition of the ‘moral’ would include the intra-personal elements and my emphasis on the unconscious.

A new understanding needs to reflect that spiritual experience describes something affecting the personality as whole. To link spiritual development too closely with the emotional, religious, aesthetic or moral risks making it exclusive in the sense of restricting its scope to too narrow a group of people or type of experience. Another alternative is to replace it with a broader term, such as personal, social or cultural. Lambourn (1996), as discussed in 2.v, argued for Sutherland’s

‘personal development in its fullest sense’ as an alternative. The problem with this is two-fold.

First, it severs the link with traditions of spirituality. More importantly, it leads to vagueness, too easily swallowing up, and so hiding, what is distinctive. In coming close to arguing that spiritual education is (synonymous with) education, it risks losing focus on important aspects highlighted in

10.iv. Of course, a new understanding of such a broad term could be formulated to include these.

But if these distinctive elements can, as I argue, coherently be described as spiritual, it is best to adopt a more specific, rather than more general, term. Otherwise, any distinction between different aspects within a broad category like personal or social could reasonably be dispensed with, and the broad category used to describe a whole range of needs. But this would make it harder to describe children’s specific needs and what teachers can do to meet them.

I now consider whether any other word with less confusing connotations than ‘spiritual’ can describe those distinctive aspects as well, or better. Given a clean slate, the term ‘existential’

267 would most nearly describe those aspects I highlight. However, this brings its own difficulties. Not only is there still the task of description of the boundaries of what this means but it carries with it at least as many confusing connotations, is somewhat daunting and breaks the link with the language, and especially the practices of, traditions of spirituality. It is ironical, in passing, to note that James (1907) used the terms ‘existential’ and ‘spiritual’ to differentiate between two different orders of enquiry into aspects of religion. This shows how language may alter within so short a time so that it is possible for two terms previously used in direct opposition to each other now to be seen as so close in meaning. Any direct alternative term to replace ‘spiritual’ potentially causes greater confusion and loses the insights of spiritual traditions, or is too specific or is so broad as to leave one no clearer what it entails. While, in a very real sense, stuck with the term, we can also draw on the wealth of traditions it brings with it.

To reflect on whether my description is more than eclectic and personal, I consider now to what extent this accords with another set of criteria. Priestley’s (2001: 10-11) description of spirituality in the modern context suggest that it should be seen as:

 encompassing a broader domain than that of religion;

 dynamic;

 distinct from just knowing and doing;

 utopian;

 personal and communal; and

 holistic.

What I have presented in 10.iv reflects these aspects, with the partial exception of ‘utopian’, for which reason I consider this first. Spiritual experience may be utopian in the sense of imagining possibilities beyond what is already known or familiar. But just as with transcendence, my

268 understanding presents spiritual experience as neither exotic nor inaccessible. Traditions of spirituality have often overemphasised the importance of intensity, for instance of seclusion, emotion or asceticism. This is reflected in some teachers’ problems in describing spiritual experience within the everyday classroom. My emphasis on young children has been intended to show how spiritual experience is often located within ordinary activities, with their significance lying in their impact on personal integration. It is utopian in the sense that it envisages new possibilities rather than that it is inaccessible.

The new understanding described in 10.iv accords with the other aspects of Priestley’s list above. I have considered the link with religion. The transformative process towards personal integration reflects the dynamic aspect. The emphasis on the unconscious and different modes of understanding shows it not to be simply about knowing and doing. My view of integration including both the intra-personal integration and wider integration into the web of relationships, culture and values runs counter to one based on individualism and ‘interior’ process. Considering the totality of children’s lives is important if this understanding is to be holistic. Breaking this into separate aspects runs the risks of losing the whole picture reflecting the discussion in 10.ii that separating the spiritual from other elements of experience is a convenience, but potentially a dangerous one. I have tried to avoid this by presenting, and moving between, analytical, thematic interpretations and narrative, integrating ones. In Cathleen’s words, ‘it’s not this thing in a dictionary, unworldly, you know, it’s all about what’s happening to us in the world now.’

In conclusion to this chapter, I return to the first part of the research question and especially whether the term spiritual development is appropriate and how I link this with spiritual experience.

In 3.iii, I discussed Priestley’s (2000) unease with the use of development in this context, largely on the grounds that its connotations have moved far away from its origin as natural unfolding towards a more linear, Piagetian meaning. My discussions with teachers confirm both that the

269 original meaning is largely lost, but, more puzzlingly, that it has different meanings in common usage, many in conflict with each other. While, therefore, the teachers consistently agreed that children develop, they used the word to talk both of acquired skills and of inherent capacities. The term has become so loose in usage, but in such common use, that it cannot be abandoned but is rarely used with enough precision for its meaning to be clear. Since defining what ‘development’

‘means’ is so contentious, I adopt the pragmatic view that it has to be retained as one metaphor among many to describe what happens to young children in terms of spiritual experience.

Not only is ‘development’ used loosely, but what ‘spiritual’ means is elusive and contested. The problem is exacerbated by how language works. How one describes ‘spiritual’ presupposes, to some extent, whether it is something which develops, and one’s view of children’s development affects the understanding of ‘spiritual’. There is, in a sense, no firm ground on which to stand, no obvious place to enter the circle. However, I have tried to create two points from which to address this question, a description of spiritual experience and a possible end-point of spiritual development.

Priestley’s suggestion that ‘growth’ should replace ‘development’ helps to highlight that a

Piagetian view of spiritual development through linear stages is inappropriate. He is right to reject the idea, implicit in some meanings of development, if children are to be seen only as incomplete adults, and their experience valid only in so far as it leads to predetermined outcomes or models of completenesss.

The teachers were largely consistent in their view that children do develop spiritually. The idea, introduced in 9.v, of two strands, of natural capacities to be allowed to flourish, and of attitudes and values to be acquired and skills to be learnt is helpful, though too sharp a distinction between the two is a false polarity. Children have natural capacities, the development (in Priestley’s

270 original sense) of which can be enabled and enhanced or, often, inhibited by adults, in the classroom or elsewhere, but which develop well only in the right context. What happens to people affects how their inherent capacities develop. Take the analogy with physical growth. Children grow naturally, unless deprived of food, water, sleep and so on. But how they grow physically will depend on the nature of this sustenance. They may grow big and strong with certain foods.

Alternatively, diet may lead to them becoming overweight or not growing properly. Some effects may be reversible with a change of diet, others not. Some outcomes will be seen universally as undesirable, such as starvation-induced disease, others, such as size, more culturally determined.

To take a personal, and pertinent, analogy this thesis has, I trust, developed, with an element of unfolding, but some logical progression and building up of an argument. Spiritual ‘development’ seems comparable in that spiritual experience to some extent happens naturally but is of value in so far as it contributes to personal integration. This process is neither static, simply internal, nor the same for everyone. Since it is not static, it suggests a never-ending process. Since it is not simply internal, it locates the individual within relationships, history and culture. Since it is not the same for everyone, its nature remains a matter of endless debate.

Even though many of the connotations of spiritual development are inappropriate, others are not.

Although it is a problematic term, I argued, earlier in this section, against either abandoning it, or re-naming it. More pragmatically, the term development is explicitly attached to spiritual in legislation. Even though the term is not ideal, it is unrealistic not to make use of it. Rather it should be treated with considerable caution, and other metaphors constantly introduced to ensure that too limited an understanding does not become dominant.

271 11 Drawing out the implications and conclusions

11.i What are the methodological strengths and difficulties of the approach adopted?

In this chapter, I summarise the implications and conclusions of this study. In this section, I consider its limitations, strengths and authority. In 11.ii, I discuss the implications for teachers and, in 11.iii, those for policy related to the curriculum and the training of teachers. In 11.iv, I reflect on what this study suggests about a wider understanding of spirituality and, in 11.v, highlight issues meriting further research and summarise the main conclusions.

In this thesis I offer a new understanding of young children’s spiritual experience, and development, to enable teachers to understand better, and reflect on, what this involves and so, ultimately, make better provision. By articulating individuals’ latent beliefs, the researcher’s interpretation can help to clarify these and, potentially at least, lay the foundations for greater self- understanding for the individuals and ultimately the wider group. There is a danger of oversimplification or reductionism, but without a new understanding which can make such a complex concept accessible, it may remain too elusive and too daunting.

I questioned in 1.iii the value of surveys in this area because it is unlikely that:

 the sample is representative;

 responses can be elicited that reflect deep-seated understanding; and

 all the respondents understand questions in the same way.

The language is so contested and personal that any attempts at statistical approaches must be treated with considerable suspicion. No sample, however big, would provide definitive answers where the meaning of words is bound always to be a matter of debate. A more interactive and interpretative approach is required. An approach based on discussions resolves some of the

272 difficulties raised above, as specific groups or individuals, more likely to be representative of the wider population, can be sampled and responses explored in greater depth. But even when an atmosphere for discussion is created which elicits honest responses, what the teachers say describes their understanding only in part. Watching the teachers at work, and co-operating with them, in exploring their understanding, helps to make those aspects that are latent more ‘open to view’.

I adopted an empirical approach, different in kind from a natural science model setting the parameters of research in advance and probing only within such parameters. In 10.v, I compared this to ethnography, working intensively with a small sample. Philosophically, I have approached this area differently from those who have previously done so, examining and evaluating the teachers’ understanding, based especially on their practice, to look for pointers towards a new, but coherent, understanding. In Chapter 10 I argued that this may provide a better starting-point than prescribing the boundaries in advance. However, practical teachers may tend to widen these parameters beyond what is philosophically sustainable. It is the philosopher’s role to evaluate such views critically.

I dealt at some length, in Chapter 4, with how much this, or any small, group of teachers, and schools, can be seen as representative of a wider population, arguing that this sample is probably not atypical. Although it is right to be cautious about drawing wide-ranging conclusions, I believe my findings to be authoritative and valid, though, inevitably, not conclusive. This authority stems not only from close engagement with the context and the data but from constant re-interpretation of such data and critical reflection on the researcher’s own pre-conceptions and presuppositions.

However systematic the procedures, the researcher must constantly question the reliability of any interpretation. I brought four distinctive perspectives:

 the empirical approach which I reflect on in this section;

273  an interest in young children and how they learn;

 my own experience as a teacher and interest in the day to day task of teaching; and

 a background outside religious education, or even, to any sustained extent, a tradition of belief

and worship.

The interplay between different research traditions, the teachers’ own understanding and my distillation of this in the light of my own experience helps to make the understanding set out in

10.iv both rooted in the reality of the classroom and philosophically coherent.

The difficulties of the approach adopted may be summarised as whether:

 the teachers’ understanding can be articulated, especially when drawing on many aspects

implicit in their teaching;

 this research method involves ‘leading’ the teachers towards a particular understanding; and

 this forms a sound basis for a philosophically coherent understanding.

I considered the first difficulty in 4.ii, recognising that no such description is either definitive or final. Given that the teachers’ understanding requires critical evaluation, this offers pointers rather than ready-made answers. I discussed the last of the three difficulties at length in 10.i. The issue of ‘leading’ the teachers which needs further consideration should be seen in three senses:

 encouraging the teachers to talk about their practice in terms which otherwise they would not

have used;

 changing their views in the process of research; and

 ascribing to them the researcher’s own understanding.

In relation to the first, most teachers were unused and, at least initially, uncomfortable about using this language, several finding it difficult throughout. Although this language might be seen as

274 inappropriate, the purpose of the visits was to see how the teachers understand spiritual development. Since language both structures and reflects understanding, the researcher needs to know whether and how they use, and understand, the language to illuminate this aspect of teaching.

As expected, most teachers seemed to clarify their own understanding in thinking about, and articulating, what spiritual development means. Just as the researcher proceeds to a succession of new interpretations, most teachers uncovered more questions the deeper they delved. Given that it is inherently an elusive domain, and one not often articulated, this should perhaps be no surprise.

Extended thought may make one both clearer about what one knows (or thinks one knows) and more unsure about what one does not understand (or recognises that one does not understand). To take a personal analogy, articulating my views on what I have thought about only in general terms, such as astronomy or architecture, tends both to clarify what I do know and to expose what I am less certain about. Inevitably, during the visits, many teachers changed their minds, elaborated points and shifted emphasis in their spoken views, and, in some cases, their teaching approach.

Looking back at field notes, and re-listening to discussions, confirms this. This was not a source of worry, as long as I was not leading the teachers towards my position. A static position would be of greater concern, maybe suggesting a lack of engagement. The process of research tends to suggest, erroneously, that understanding is static and open to scrutiny like a laboratory specimen.

Articulating one’s understanding necessarily imposes a pattern on, and so changes, that understanding.

To help hesitant teachers express themselves required at times that I lead them into areas they had not previously explored. While I tried to avoid offering support to what the teacher said, to encourage her to continue, doing so proved at times useful. This was bound to affect the responses.

Inevitably, I led them to some extent but this was necessary and is, in any case, not entirely

275 avoidable within a social science context. To consider whether I led the subjects towards my own understanding, merely to confirm my own previous beliefs and preconceptions, requires a consideration of bias or projection, discussed in 5.i. I approach this both theoretically and practically, taking account of Gadamer’s view, summarised by Wright (2000: 106/7). Although

Gadamer writes about understanding text, this is relevant to the process of understanding more generally. He dismisses the possibility of neutrality, arguing that we always anticipate meaning from prior assumptions. Understanding always involves projection, but ‘we acknowledge

(prejudices) precisely in order to allow them to be challenged by new meaning and new truth.’

Wright (ibid.) quotes Gadamer thus ‘this kind of sensitivity (towards what we are trying to understand) involves neither “neutrality” in the matter of the object nor the extinction of the self, but the conscious assimilation of one’s own bias so that the text may be present in all its newness and thus able to assert its own truth against one’s own fore-meanings.’

This helps to clarify the researcher’s place in the research process. My methodology, inevitably, reflected, to some extent, my pre-existing beliefs about research, spirituality and teaching. This, in turn, influenced the questions asked, what I deemed more important and probed more fully. No interpretation can ever be neutral. Neither the subjects nor the researcher emerge unchanged from the process of research. To counter this, I have been as explicit as possible about my beliefs and preconceptions and used a variety of approaches, both systematic, especially in the discussions, and more exploratory in the observations. I have set out the data, especially from the discussions, in the appendices and my interpretations in Chapters 7 to 9. By taking particular account of what was unexpected and where teachers challenged my own presuppositions, I have tried to counter any tendency towards simplistic or unreflective interpretation. Having two teachers, Bridget and

Helen, who upset my expectations was at the time unwelcome, but, in retrospect, an unexpected benefit. By encouraging the teacher to comment on my initial interpretation, and re-visiting the

276 data from different viewpoints, I have subjected my interpretations to repeated challenge. It is for others to decide whether these interpretations are coherent and sustainable.

Although my empirical approach worked well, it was not without flaws. For instance, I probed the teachers’ underlying beliefs less well early in the year than at the end. On reflection, I would have phrased some questions differently, asking more directly about the link between creativity and spirituality and including a question about whether they had children themselves. However, these are matters of detail. A particular strength was the trust built to enable the teacher both to behave as normally as possible in her teaching and to articulate her own understanding. For this to happen the teacher had to feel safe and confident to explore areas of personal and professional belief which she may be unused or unwilling to reveal. Central to this was my not being too judgmental about the quality of the teacher’s teaching, or her understanding, at least overtly.

The amount of time spent in the classroom helped to reduce the wariness which, at least initially, most teachers understandably demonstrated. Although many of the teachers enjoyed thinking and talking about, and became fascinated by, the subject, I underestimated the level of anxiety. With

Bridget, this did not dissipate. With others, it did so to differing extents, but in most cases the teachers relaxed and appeared to take less notice of me. This led to many of the teachers making comments when they were ‘off-guard’, the value of which I raised in 6.iv. Those comments made when respondents have little or no time to think militate against too sanitised a view and reveal aspects which the teachers may not articulate more formally. Without this, and an exploration of personal values and beliefs, it is too easy to be taken in by conscious rationalisations, latent aspects of the teachers’ understanding do not become evident and too easy a coherence is established. More pragmatically, this approach catches teachers’ remarks which may come to mind at a particular moment but be forgotten or overlooked in more formal discussions.

277 Researching any social or cultural situation raises issues of status and power. Gilligan’s (1982) critique of Kohlberg, raised in 3.iv, should make us wary of innocent but profound and unnoticed assumptions. My own background was as an ex-headteacher, a male, and academic researcher in classrooms where almost all the respondents were female class teachers. An ex-headteacher, however self-effacing, is likely to be seen by many respondents as intimidating or threatening. A man is likely to evoke different responses, to see the situation differently and make different interpretations from a woman. An academic researcher is likely to bring a theoretical framework which may feel remote from everyday experience in the classroom. Let alone someone in all three of categories! Similar considerations could, of course, be raised in relation to age, ethnicity and other factors.

11.ii What are the implications for teachers?

In this section, I consider the implications for teachers, especially those for classroom practice and the curriculum, leaving the policy issues related to the curriculum until 11.iii. One important implication is that many important aspects of provision for spiritual development were evident, even where teachers did not articulate this clearly. Just as Moliere’s (2001) bourgeois gentilhomme was unaware that he had been speaking in prose for over forty years, many teachers enhance spiritual development without calling it that. This is not to say that all do so well, nor that all elements are given sufficient emphasis.

My emphasis, echoing that of the teachers, on process and pedagogy rather than knowledge to be transmitted and of outcomes, has considerable implications for teaching. The two strands, of natural capacities flourishing, and of attitudes and values to be acquired and skills to be learnt, mean that spiritual development involves neither simply letting natural capacities develop unassisted, nor learning techniques. Given the current emphasis on techniques, rather than the

278 ends, of teaching, this runs counter to much of the current approach. Teaching is not simply about the transference of data, it is an engagement with another person’s world.

One important aspect of the new understanding is my emphasis on the teaching environment, both those elements explicitly related to spiritual development and others. As indicated in 8.v, the teacher is not entirely in control of this, and many aspects are dictated by external influences.

However, this study re-emphasised the centrality of the teacher, often in spite of such influences.

Most teachers in this study demonstrated many positive qualities too easily taken for granted.

Many are deeply ingrained, such as concern, an ability to listen and personal warmth. Teaching is so personal a task, and young children’s learning so based on relationships, values and example, that pedagogy cannot be separated completely from the teacher’s personal qualities. Since much of what is most important is learnt implicitly, it is important for teachers actively, often explicitly, to model some qualities highlighted in 10.iv. Among the most important are empathy, or compassion, and awareness of other people. Where the teacher models awareness of the self and of the needs of others, the child is more likely to learn appropriate responses. To do so requires that the teacher explores these areas within herself, part of why spiritual development provides such a challenge.

This new understanding presents a view that spiritual development occurs throughout the curriculum and that how experience is processed matters more than specific experiences. Since there are always conflicting priorities for time, a strong case needs to be made if another part of the curriculum is to be displaced or downgraded. However, if spiritual experience is a type of experience rather than a menu of experiences, what to teach becomes less important than how to engage with the child. Spiritual experience does not happen only within particular subject boundaries, though Religious Education and collective worship, music and art, play and drama may offer particular opportunities. As with personal and social education, or moral education, spiritual development can, and must, occur throughout the curriculum, rather than just in specified

279 activities. This makes it hard for teachers to plan for spiritual development especially within a culture dominated by pre-determined learning objectives, which tends to fragment learning into specific sub-skills. However, it means that an environment to enable children to explore and make meaning is especially important. It is neither possible for me to prescribe the detail of such teaching environments, nor appropriate for me to try. Although they will vary according to the children’s age and needs, the teacher’s personality and the context, this study suggests various common features.

One feature is the level of control exercised by the teacher. While a level of control is essential, most obviously in relation to safety, the danger of over-control is to limit the opportunities for the child’s exploration. Often the teacher’s role should be to enhance and enable capacities, such as the child’s curiosity, sense of wonder and playfulness, none of which the teachers modelled well.

Young children have a natural curiosity. At best adults tend to lack this curiosity themselves; at worst they may stifle it. Learning to understand situations from a perspective different from their own and to be ‘as-if someone else’ is a powerful tool to help children move from egocentricity.

Similarly, for children to have experiences of wonder and mystery helps them recognise their place within a wider context. Children have a playfulness which enables them to approach what they experience from unusual perspectives and to adopt different modes of learning. Recalling

Erica’s use of the term ‘gaming’, humour may have been underrated as a way of helping children to understand experience from different perspectives; quite apart from the opportunities for joy and pleasure.

A second, related feature is that of space. Young children need boundaries which are enabling and wide, but firm and clearly maintained, within which to think and to make choices, without being too personally exposed. Hospitable space, in Kimes Myers’ term, offers physical, emotional and relational security, where children can explore safely without actually bearing the consequences of

280 choice. The teachers, rightly, focused on the children’s emotional needs. Personal integration implies the ability to move away from an egocentric perspective, and an emphasis on immediate needs. This does not imply simply offering emotional warmth without challenge. It is rather that, unless children’s emotional anxiety is contained within safe space, other learning will be impaired.

Children need space for the reflection and imagination which give the chance for the unconscious to work. Values are, to some extent, internalised over time without conscious effort. Similarly, ritual may operate, unseen, on the unconscious. Such opportunities, while difficult for young children to sustain, may offer the potential for what Tacey calls the ‘sense of the sacred’, cited by

Priestley (2001: 11). This, and a breadth of curricular opportunities where the child is an active learner, helps to encourage a wide range of learning modes. Too great a focus on rationality and what Claxton calls ‘d-mode’, may get in the way. For example, appreciation of a work of art, or the response to intense emotional experience, may be hindered by too ‘rational’ or intellectual an approach.

Much of what I have written does not apply only to teachers. I now turn to aspects in which the school has a particularly important role. One is to incorporate the child into wider, social groupings. The search for meaning is not simply individual but is based on relationships and takes place within a culture and a tradition. One important element of the teacher’s task is to help the child to explore and construct their individual identity within the group. Activities related to personal identity were common, from children learning to recognise, or write, their names, or talking about their own experiences and interests. One example occurred at D where stacking bricks, with children’s names on, were grouped in different ways. Other opportunities occurred with the celebration of birthdays and in gatherings such as school assemblies, notably in the

Catholic schools, and circle time, class discussion and story times in most schools. The structures

281 and rituals which teachers establish can contribute more subtly to the children’s spiritual development.

The understanding in 10.iv does not imply that the teacher should simply let children ‘get on with it’. In 2.v, I highlighted the importance of education for spiritual development encouraging young children to become critical. While children of four- or five-years old may be thought too young for this to matter much, exploring different, and conflicting, values, often raised in circle times and stories is an important foundation for such critical reflection. Encouraging children to engage with what is mysterious and inexplicable is a further example of helping them to see truth as often complex and multi-faceted. Those who offer a very wide element of choice run the risk of children having a highly individualised range of experience. This may militate against the child being incorporated into the wider social group and make it difficult to challenge undesirable values, such as consumerism, or stereotypes. The teachers’ role in spiritual development may need to be more interventionist also in addressing potentially painful issues. What is significant is at times bound to include what is difficult. Jung’s description of the ‘shadow side’ indicates that such issues should be addressed, even with young children. The school is an especially appropriate forum to do so. As discussed in 3.vi, Erricker highlights the tendency of adults to sentimentalise painful situations, in the name of protecting the child, which often closes down rather than facilitates the child’s search for understanding. However, this may often be a cloak for protecting the adult. Adults’ own needs may make it difficult to help child process the emotion prompted by difficult issues. Engagement with what children find painful may trigger the teacher’s latent, unresolved pain. For many teachers, this may represent the hardest aspect of providing for children’s spiritual development.

It is important for teachers to adapt their practice depending on individual and contextual needs.

Children’s spiritual development depends on their prior experience and how they have learnt to process emotion, to make relationships, to internalise values and so on. The teacher builds on this,

282 often having to compensate for children from those families where this had been learnt inappropriately. Where the children had experienced a lack of attention and relationship with sympathetic adults, this was reflected in how their behaviour and approach in school. This study suggests that the challenge for the teacher is much greater in some contexts than others, most obviously in areas of social deprivation. Teachers often had to work hard to help children to process their emotions appropriately and the struggle for control was often greater. The child’s search for integration within a hostile environment makes the teacher’s task harder but even more important. Children who are less resilient as learners need safe space particularly acutely.

However, as Kirsty pointed out, and I saw elsewhere, an affluent background was often associated with a lack of parental attention for some children. In such schools the children’s needs, and so the teacher’s role, were very different.

This study highlights many occasions when the teachers’ practice offered opportunities for spiritual development, often in spite of considerable difficulties, notably too crowded a school day and too much emphasis on the acquisition of skills. Unless young children have space to be listened to, adults will not know what is significant to the child. Teachers rarely found as much time to help children reflect on issues of significance to the child as they would have wished.

Sometimes, this resulted from a lack of recognition of the importance or these, or disorganisation.

But very often it seemed to result from the curricular pressures mentioned in 1.iv.3.

11.iii What are the policy and training implications?

In this section, I consider the wider policy implications, especially in relation to the curriculum and the training of teachers. Given that the research was not evaluating the quality of provision, it is right to be cautious about such implications.

283 In 1.iv.3, I described curricular changes for older children in the last ten years. Among the most significant has been much greater emphasis on literacy and numeracy and especially on skills and techniques with the criteria for success narrowly defined, most obviously in the demand for raised standards. This presupposes that these are value-free, universal, non-contestable ends. These changes have reduced teachers’ autonomy, rightly or wrongly. With outcomes and content increasingly prescribed, pedagogy has been presented as primarily a set of skills largely dissociated from personal belief. The understanding in 10.iv runs counter to this, emphasising the teacher’s personal qualities and judgement. A further result is that, as Ashley (2000: 9) notes,

‘since 1988….the school curriculum has moved away from valuing experience towards the valuing of a body of passive knowledge.’

This study suggests that the philosophy underlying this approach has increasingly affected the teachers of younger children. This is evident in curriculum documentation, though this still retains a strong emphasis on process and personal development. However, what happens in the classroom is affected not only by what is written in curriculum guidance, but by expectations on teachers, both explicit and otherwise, at school level and cultural and societal expectations. Several teachers said that they had adopted a more didactic style to cover all the expected content. Several pointed to the tension of conflicting curricular priorities, and advice from different sources, often resulting in feelings of uncertainty or inadequacy. While most accepted this as ‘how things are’ several were worried that their teaching styles were resulting in children being more passive learners.

Most highlighted the lack of space within the current curricular framework for listening to children and for children to explore personal identity and meaning. It seemed that teachers spend less time on activities which particularly encourage this, such as the creative arts, drama, play, stories and conversation, than previously. Some more experienced teachers, in particular, spoke of growing pressure in the last two to three years to ‘get the children ready’ for Key Stage 1 and how this

284 affected their teaching. These were often those who found the greatest tension between their beliefs about child development and external expectations.

The understanding of spiritual development in 10.iv emphasises many aspects which are in considerable tension with current curricular trends. While recognising a place for skills, it highlights skills different from those currently emphasised, presents children as active learners, with space for exploration, and concentrates on process than content. It relates to the whole range of the child’s learning, rather than fragmenting this into discrete subject areas.

Providing a coherent national policy structure for spiritual development has proved problematic for several reasons. In part this is because of the wish for consistency of approach and of pedagogy has led to a prescriptive approach. The discourse and advice to teachers has concentrated on what to do without enabling or encouraging them to question why. Process is far less amenable than content to policy dictat. In part, policy makers tend to work on the basis of consensus - as for example in the debate about values - which as indicated in 10.iv may be neither possible, nor even desirable, in relation to spiritual development. Without coherence, consistency may be a force for harm rather than good.

One of this study’s most important implications is that teachers need to believe that the whole area matters. Without this, they are likely to be afraid of it and so not to reflect on how to enhance their provision. It matters less if teachers disagree with the understanding in 10.iv than if they ignore spiritual development. I have referred to those teachers who did not wish to take part, to many teachers’ initial wariness and in 6.ii to Bridget’s withdrawal. While respecting their rights in this respect, this highlights that many teachers find this area difficult, whether for personal or professional reasons. This study also shows a mismatch between the importance that teachers ascribe to spiritual development in what they say and what they have previously done in terms of

285 training or thinking. This is neither surprising nor a cause for blame, since curriculum documentation barely mentions it. As Helen memorably said, ‘I don’t know what the big hoo-haa about it (spirituality) is if it’s only one page (out of forty in the Oxfordshire guidelines). What’s all the fuss?’ Rather than being at the heart of curriculum guidance, spiritual development is either ignored, like an embarrassing intruder, or used as a left-over category once other aspects have been apportioned elsewhere.

For the last decade, attempts to influence practice in relation to spiritual development have focused on guidance, the inspection regime and encouraging schools to devise policies. This study offers little evidence that national guidance on spirituality has affected teachers much. Some of the language has gained currency, often in the form of catch-phrases. While these can be useful, this may tend to promote a simplistic understanding of spiritual experience. However, more general curriculum guidance has affected the teachers’ practice and understanding significantly. The implication is that guidance on spiritual development must be more embedded within general curricular frameworks. Inspection seemed not to have encouraged teachers to consider what provision for spiritual development entails, or how to improve it. The approach to policy development based on central prescription seems to be inappropriate since there is no one-size- fits-all ‘curriculum for spirituality’. However, renewed debate is needed. The new emphasis on citizenship and values may offer a renewed impetus to this, following a quiet period in the last five years. Since detailed national guidance has been at best patchy in impact, the strategic policy- maker’s role may be to consider the implications of the understanding presented in 10.iv within overall curriculum guidance and to offer a framework, and a permission, for the detail to be considered at local, and particularly at school, level.

This study did not suggest that written policies had made much impact at school level. Even where schools had policies, the teachers, even knowing that a researcher was coming, had little

286 knowledge of them. Rather, the process of discussion and reflection may provide the double benefit of a supportive ethos for an exploration of the implications and the chance for institutional values to be discussed and internalised. Such debate has become less familiar to teachers in the light of more prescriptive approaches. By helping teachers to consider the wider balance of technical skill and professional judgement, such a debate can help to clarify an elusive and hard- to-grasp area.

While not a training exercise, my visits offered an extended opportunity for the teachers to think and talk about spirituality in depth. Their reactions suggest that the very process of them clarifying and articulating their views, over time, seems to help them understand more about spiritual development. Most teachers ended the third discussion by saying that articulating their views had helped their understanding and their confidence that they knew what it was about. The impact on teaching, and on children’s spiritual development as such, is beyond the scope of this study.

Simply ‘talking a good game’ is not enough, but articulating and reflecting on what they do may help teachers ‘do it’ better. Without this, it is hard to see how the current fear of, and confusion about, spiritual development can be satisfactorily addressed.

If this debate is to take place within the school context, it is inappropriate for me to prescribe its nature. However, this study offers some pointers. Struggling for a definition can be quite debilitating for teachers. For instance, several teachers found it difficult to approach the subject because they knew neither what is it nor where to start. Ironically, in the right context, this very difficulty may present an opportunity. Too restrictive a definition of spirituality stifles debate. For teachers to think what to include within the boundaries of the spiritual domain may enable discussion on what really matters to them. Starting from what teachers do, what they believe, and their values appear a more promising avenue than concentrating on definition. My discussions with the teachers suggested that, while considering both the ends of spiritual development and how

287 to achieve these is necessary, thinking about why before how may be a promising starting point.

By considering their practical knowledge, reflecting on incidents and offering examples, most of the teachers were able to gain purchase on ideas that they found more difficult when thinking abstractly. Too abstract or unfamiliar a language is likely to be a hurdle which the willing will be unable to cross and a defence behind which the doubtful will hide. While the understanding offered in 10.iv may be useful, it may not be the best starting point for teachers and is far from sufficient.

One possible advantage of separating spiritual development from religious traditions is to involve teachers who are wary either of religion itself, or of possible indoctrination. An understanding of spiritual experience which can include both those in, and those outside, religious traditions, is more likely to involve such teachers. This is especially important in schools with children from a range of different faith backgrounds, or none. In an international context, such an understanding may provide a rationale for this domain of experience, or such activities as reflection, in contexts where worship or Religious Education does not occur in schools.

In 8.vi, I discussed the influences on teachers, including several aspects which appeared to have made little impact and three, life experiences, the school ethos and, where appropriate, religious foundation, which seemed especially important. While this study does not consider the effectiveness of training, this suggests that these three should be taken into account in planning training. In what follows, I suggest that a context is needed where teachers feel able to reflect on their life experiences and the training needs of the individual are best met within the school setting, so that the individual’s understanding is enriched by, and incorporated within, the wider staff group. I make little distinction between initial and in-service training. Similar principles apply, though there may be particular challenges at the initial training stage. The school staff group may be a particularly suitable environment. It seems likely that discussion, over time, within

288 a supportive ethos offers the best way forward, related to the teacher’s own context and beliefs, and reflecting what happens in the classroom context.

There are some striking parallels between the implications for training and the view of spiritual experience I have outlined. The first is that the quest is not entirely individual, but is best undertaken within a group. The emphasis on the school as a good location for training emphasises the place of the individual within a network of support. A second is the need for time and space for reflection, where answers are to be drawn from a reflection on practice, rather than provided largely from outside. A further similarity is that this space needs to be ‘safe’ to enable exploration of unfamiliar and potentially personal issues. A facilitator from outside the school community to guide the discussion, give permission and provide safe boundaries may help provide this.

I have emphasised the importance of addressing personal attitudes, values and beliefs to achieve a change to pedagogy at other than a superficial level. Those who appear most coherent may be those who restrict their view within narrow parameters and maintain coherence by not exploring wider issues. It is relatively easy to appear coherent if the boundaries of discourse are narrow. It is important for teachers to feel safe taking risks. This entails creating a culture of trust. The stakes must not be too high if the training is to impact at the level of personal values and beliefs.

Addressing significant, and personal, issues may also entail addressing issues which are painful or distressing. The non-participants in this study are likely to be typical of a group within the wider population of teachers, not wishing to engage with personal issues. Many teachers may not welcome such training, especially with so many other competing priorities and so busy a schedule.

In summary, the implication may be less central imposition, and greater autonomy for schools. It may be necessary to accept that the impact of any training in relation to spiritual development is likely to be, at best uneven. While it may be attractive to try and impose, this approach seems

289 especially unpromising in this area. This is similar to the paradox commonly encountered by teachers that relinquishing an element of control is necessary to enable learning. It is perhaps appropriate that a study such as this should, as with so many traditions of spirituality, provide a challenge to the prevailing culture.

11.iv What are the implications for understanding spirituality more

widely?

While this study considered the understanding of teachers of young children, I believe that there are implications for a wider understanding of spirituality. In this section, I consider these briefly.

There is currently a strong interest in spirituality outside education, as evidenced in the wide range of books published and courses or events advertised. For example, many mental health professionals show a strong interest in the term. This results, in part, from the social changes outlined in 1.iv.1 and the loss, or reduction in the power, of explicatory meta-narratives, most obviously religious belief. To know where one fits in is much harder is a society where relationships both within and beyond families are far less secure and where fewer people live within secure communities, knowing and trusting a range of extended family and neighbours.

Fragmentation makes it harder to know who one is within a context of multiple, often shifting, identities. Without religious belief, many people find the questions which I have placed at the heart of the understanding set out in 10.iv especially hard to address.

One feature of what is meant by spirituality is that the definition tends to be inclusive and not located only in religious traditions. For instance, the National Curriculum document on

Citizenship (DfEE/QCA, 1999: 7) writes of citizenship providing opportunities for spiritual development ‘through fostering pupils’ awareness and understanding of meaning and purpose in life and of differing values in human society.’ The same is true of many religious organisations. A

290 Mothers’ Union pamphlet (2002) on children and spirituality in the section ‘More than religious education’ says ‘Religion and spirituality are related, but they are not the same thing.’ Given the discussion in 10.v of the inter-relatedness of the language used to describe and the understanding of the concept, not too much should be made of this. However, it provides further evidence that the concept is not to be understood solely within religious traditions. This provides some support that the new understanding presented in 10.iv is part of a widely understood, emerging pattern of usage and that the burden of proof is on those who would argue for the necessary link with a religious tradition.

My emphasis on spiritual experience was a way, as indicated, of putting on hold the debate about development. However, there is a wider purpose. While the commentary on my description concentrated on young children, this description, with amendment to take account of age and context, is applicable beyond the specific aspect of young children’s spiritual development.

Approaching this by considering young children and their teachers has some advantages, among them that young children have, to no very great extent, become involved in religious commitment or conscious, rational moral choice. This lack of sophistication makes it easier to observe inherent capacities which in the adult become inhibited or covered, qualities which are lost, or re-gained only with great difficulty, in adulthood. This reflects those traditions of spirituality such as

Traherne (1963) or Wordsworth (1966) which question that maturity is incremental. Similarly, traditions of psychoanalysis suggest that learning about ourselves and our own identity is about the overcoming of resistances and an uncovering of what is already there. Rahner, (cited in Bunge,

2001: 14), from the Christian tradition, ‘came to regard children not only as fully human creatures who are worthy of dignity and respect, but also as models for adults.’

The idea of there being two strands, or spectra, raised in 9.v, has a wider implication linked to my wariness of the term ‘spirituality’. I have argued that consideration of value must be at the heart of

291 spiritual development. Hence my emphasis on so elusive and unmeasurable an end-point as personal integration. Without this, there seems no way of excluding any unpleasant, or immoral activity which claims to be ‘spiritual’. How is one ultimately to decide that there cannot be a spirituality of Nazism, or of genocide? I see no alternative to accepting that these could be seen as spiritualities, but that these are distorted because their values are not those of integration but of fragmentation. This echoes Ashley’s (2000: 31) criticism of animal liberation activists as engaging in ‘a spirituality undisciplined by the moral critique which must accompany all forms of deep, inner conviction.’ Without this, the seductive appeal of instant gratification and emotionalism which is one of the underlying connotations of ‘spirituality’ is very strong.

The teachers in this study, almost exclusively women, were initially afraid, in our discussions, of an abstract concept such as spirituality. However, most were keen to talk about it by relating it to their everyday experience. More significantly, much of what they did, as if by intuition, reflected an understanding of spirituality as closely related to children’s everyday lives, but remote from many of the more academic, abstract and male debates. In 3.iv, I cited Slee’s research that for women ‘spirituality was rooted firmly in the everyday, mundane world of work, relationships, home life and contact with others.’ This accords strongly with the understanding of the teachers, and that which I presented in 10.iv. One implication of this, supporting Gilligan’s (1982) position, is that female teachers, with their emphasis on relationships and interdependence, are likely to offer at the least a different, and arguably a more appropriate, approach to spiritual development than those within a more male, rationalist tradition. Different perspectives, not only in relation to gender, but from other cultures and systems, both in research and in teaching, seem necessary to enrich a wider understanding of spiritual development, and spirituality, both in schools and beyond.

292 11.v What conclusions can be drawn and what are the implications

for further research?

In this section, I suggest some of the more important avenues for further research and end by summarising the most important conclusions of this study.

My research method was based on a small sample of teachers, examining their practice in depth. I have drawn wide-ranging, albeit tentative, conclusions from this. One obvious line of further research to support, or amend, these conclusions would be to replicate the research with another group of teachers. This could usefully consist of either a similar, wide-ranging sample or focus on a particular group, such as teachers in a particular type of school or those of a particular background or age. At this stage, further research could usefully examine the differing contexts of the nursery school or class, with older children, or in other geographical locations to consider whether these support the new understanding presented in 10.iv. Without some more commonly agreed understanding of spiritual development, the danger is of endless exploratory studies, whereas the longer-term aim must be to consider what actually constitutes good provision, within more generally agreed parameters.

I have not explored in great depth the relative importance of individual and school factors. It would be helpful to look more closely at a group of schools with similar characteristics. Obvious groups would be those which I did not cover at all, or only superficially, such as multi-ethnic schools and, in particular, Anglican schools. The extent to which such an understanding is held among teachers in Roman Catholic schools would be of particular interest. One smaller, but interesting, question would be teachers’ understanding in schools with a religious foundation of both those who subscribe to that faith and those who do not. Further research is needed on the influences on teachers, such as the impact of life experiences. One question especially pertinent

293 for initial training and for younger teachers is how best to enable younger teachers to address these issues.

More research is needed to look at children’s spiritual development (or growth) directly. This study suggests that exploring factors such as gender, ethnicity or involvement within a particular religious tradition would provide an interesting insight not just into those groups but into the nature of spiritual experience and development. The current emphasis on social inclusion suggests the value of research to consider the impact of contextual factors such as social disadvantage, and communities under pressure. It would be valuable to explore whether any link can be established between what I have characterised as personal integration and academic achievement and to evaluate how much different teaching approaches to spiritual development can change attitudes or raise levels of achievement, however defined. However, all these projects would have to be wary of using crude measures of achievement and measures of integration, or maturity, would be very problematic.

There are many possible research topics into what spiritual experience is. Inter-disciplinary approaches would be especially valuable, introducing perspectives from other disciplines, as I have with psychology and psychoanalysis, or bringing a deeper knowledge than mine.

Neurophysiology is one obvious candidate. The other distinctive element of my research which could be valuably replicated is the empirical, inductive approach. However, such research would best be conducted by a group rather than an individual. Individual interpretation of complex social situations runs the risk of results missing important elements or overemphasising others.

Triangulation between a team of researchers would be especially useful, ideally including people who bring different backgrounds and preconceptions and views of spirituality; for instance both male and female researchers and those from different disciplines and faith backgrounds. However,

294 researching as a group might make it very difficult to establish the level of trust with the teachers which I believe that I (broadly) established.

I do not claim that this study is definitive. With so complex and elusive a topic, any conclusions are inevitably tentative. My view, set out in 3.iv, of knowledge and the construction of meaning as constantly shifting, and therefore transitional, refers to this study as much as other knowledge. The most one can do is to make an exploratory foray into largely unmapped territory to elaborate existing understanding. Any such understanding will be always subject to different emphases according to time and context.

One distinctive aspect of this study was the concentration on the understanding of teachers, and on teachers of children of a particular age group. This suggested that, while the teachers used the term

‘spiritual’ in different, sometimes confused, ways, they demonstrated a reasonably coherent level of understanding, especially expressed through their practice. Their understanding was inclusive in that it referred to an aspect of education and experience for all children. Even those teachers who understood spiritual development as closely related to religious practice and belief described the spiritual domain more widely than that of religion. In trying to understand how this group of teachers understood an elusive and confusing concept, I try to provide for other teachers an understanding to enable a clearer discourse to take place. The language in which my description is framed both reflects current, and helps to construct future, understanding. While agreeing that the idea of spiritual development is far from satisfactory, I argue that, rather than abandoning it, we should use a variety of metaphors.

The teachers’ understanding, critically evaluated, forms the basis of the new understanding set out in 10.iv and addressing the key issues set out in 3.vii. That understanding highlights distinctive elements of spiritual experience, although other aspects of children’s development overlap with it

295 and are facets of the search for identity and purpose which form the core of spiritual experience.

This is presented as a process leading towards personal integration rather than a set of experiences.

Categories such as personal and social development are too broad and unspecific to replace that of the spiritual. Among the important distinctive elements is an emphasis on community and relationships rather than such experience being primarily individual or internal. The classroom environment is presented as especially important with implicit aspects such as personal example especially important in how emotions are processed and values internalised. Spiritual experience is something much deeper and more subtle than engaging with experiences of awe and wonder.

The title of this thesis is ‘Beyond Awe and Wonder’. In Ashley’s words (2000: 4), ‘If spirituality is all ‘awe and wonder’ and nothing else, is it just a symptom of a current fad for emotionalism in education, which is best ignored?’ I have argued for a new understanding based on an inclusive understanding, in the belief that all children need the chance to explore profound issues about identity and meaning. Teachers have a knowledge, often based on experience, which recognises, and meets, important aspects of this. However, the lack of an appropriate understanding to describe this leads to uncertainty and fear about spiritual development and, at times, an unwillingness, institutionalised in a narrowly focused view of the curriculum, to engage with the significant aspects of children’s lives. It is my contention, and hope, that this understanding will help to open up ways of helping children towards personal integration within the everyday experience of the ordinary classroom.

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