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To cite this article: Kate Crehan (2011) Gramsci's concept of common sense: a useful
concept for anthropologists?, Journal of Modern Italian Studies, 16:2, 273-287, DOI:
10.1080/1354571X.2011.542987
To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/1354571X.2011.542987
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Abstract
The article begins with a brief look at the anthropological notion of culture and some
of its ghosts, contrasting this with Gramscis very different approach. It goes on to
look in detail at Gramscis concept of common sense, arguing that common sense as
theorized by Gramsci provides anthropologists (whose discipline is so concerned
with the quotidian) and others, with a useful theoretical tool with which to map
everyday life. Gramscis understanding of common sense encompasses its givenness
how it is both constitutive of our subjectivity and confronts us as an external reality
but also stresses its contradictions, fluidity and potential for change. To help clarify
the specific character of the Gramscian notion of common sense, the article compares
it with another concept that has been widely embraced within anthropology and
elsewhere: Pierre Bourdieus notion of habitus a notion, I argue, that remains in
many ways tethered to its anthropological origins.
Keywords
Gramsci, common sense, culture, anthropology, Bourdieu, habitus.
Kate Crehan
sagacity, the Italian term has none of these positive connotations. Senso comune
refers simply to the beliefs and opinions supposedly shared by the mass of the
population. And indeed one of the main arguments I want to make in this essay
is that one of the great virtues of Gramscis concept of common sense for
anthropologists is precisely its broad, all-inclusive character. To understand why
this inclusiveness might be so helpful to anthropologists, however, it is necessary
to go back to the historical origins of one of anthropologys most fundamental
concepts, the concept of culture, and the lingering effects of these origins.1
The anthropological view of humankind as comprised of a diversity of
cultures, each with its own way of life, emerges out of Romanticism and
nineteenth century narratives of Nationalism. At the heart of these narratives is
the claim that a nation represents a specific people born of a specific territory
to which, by virtue of this special kind of belonging, they have an inalienable
right. Actual nation-states may be quite recent creations in historical terms and
their boundaries in reality far from fixed, but nations themselves those
imagined communities, as Benedict Anderson termed them, underpinning the
concept of the nation state seem almost to inhabit a realm outside time. They
both loom out of an immemorial past and glide into a limitless future
(Anderson 1991: 1112). This assumption of a fixity and permanence rooted in
tradition is one of the major roots of the anthropological concept of culture.
In line with this way of imagining cultures, there has been a tendency for
history to be seen as something that happens to cultures, rather than cultures
being seen as themselves the ever-shifting products of history.
One strand in the broader discourse of nineteenth-century Nationalism, as
Andersons use of the term community indicates, is a fundamental opposition
between gemeinschaft and gesellschaft. And this has left its legacy in anthropology.
The opposition was first formalized by Frederick Tonnies in his enormously
influential Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft (1887). Here Tonnies defines gemeinschaft
as an authentic, usually relatively small, community, which is woven together by
ties of kinship, and often a common religious affiliation, into a tight-knit web of
moral cohesion. Gesellschaften, by contrast, are the impersonal, conflict-ridden
and essentially artificial associations characteristic of the modern industrial
world. The allure of community an entity more often evoked than defined
remains powerful. Tellingly, unlike other terms of social organization, such as
state or society, community is a term that seems, as Raymond Williams noted,
never to be used unfavourably (Williams 1983).
Let me be clear here: in no way am I suggesting that contemporary
anthropologists think of the cultural worlds they study in the Romantic terms
of nineteenth-century Nationalism. My point is, simply, that the notion of
culture remains marked by its emergence within this context and that the
anthropological concept of culture continues to be haunted by the ghost of the
traditional, and the pervasive warm glow of gemeinschaft.
Another significant characteristic of the anthropological notion of culture is
the assumption that cultures are essentially systems. In an enormously
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is only when there is a genuine dialogue between intellectuals and nonintellectuals that an effective political force, a historical bloc, capable of
transforming society can come into being:
If the relationship between intellectuals and people-nation, between the
leaders and the led, the rulers and the ruled, is provided by an organic
cohesion in which feeling-passion becomes understanding and thence
knowledge (not mechanically but in a way that is alive), then and only then
is the relationship one of representation. Only then can there take place an
exchange of individual elements between the rulers and ruled, leaders
[dirigenti] and led, and can the shared life be realised which alone is a social
force with the creation of the historical bloc. (Gramsci 1971: 418)
If they were to have any hope of being effective, in Gramscis view, Italian
revolutionaries needed to understand the complicated relationship between
intellectuals and the mass of the population over the course of the history of their
country, and devise strategies for change that make sense in the cultural worlds
occupied by the mass of the population. This conviction lies behind Gramscis
interest in culture and its prominence as a topic in the prison notebooks.
The prison notebooks themselves were Gramscis response to his
incarceration. Despite having been condemned in 1928 by Mussolinis fascist
regime to a twenty-year prison sentence, Gramsci was determined, as far as
humanly possible, to use his time to study and write. And, not surprisingly, a
question that runs through the prison notebooks is: What had led to the defeat
of the left in Italy? And how might that defeat be reversed? Before his arrest,
Gramsci had a long career as a political journalist, but while he saw such writing
as important, he also saw it, as he put it in a letter from prison to his sister-inlaw Tatiana Schucht, as essentially ephemeral: In ten years of journalism I
wrote enough lines to fill fifteen or twenty volumes of 400 pages each, but they
were written for the day, and in my opinion, were supposed to die with the
day (Gramsci 1994: 66). Forcibly removed from the immediacy of the day-today political struggle, Gramsci was determined to devote himself to a more
rigorous study of the roots of fascisms triumph in Italy and the failures of the
Left that had led to this triumph. Understanding this required, in Gramscis
view, an exploration of culture. When and how has culture changed? When
and how has it persisted? The concept of culture here is best understood as a
shared way of being and living, which has come into existence as a result of the
interaction of myriad historical forces, and that remains subject to history.
Cultures for Gramsci, while they may seem to persist for long periods of time,
are always also in flux, coming into being, undergoing transformation, passing
away. Gramsci never assumes that cultures constitute systematic wholes. The
degree to which a given culture can be seen as some kind of system is an
empirical question which, like the question of its persistence or transformation,
can only be answered by careful empirical study.
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Gramscis thinking was very much grounded in Marx and for him, as for
Marx, the ultimate shaping forces in human history were a societys basic
economic structures structures defined by how resources are distributed in
that society. The systematic and persistent inequalities of such structures give
rise to distinct classes. But while Gramsci saw culture as fundamentally shaped
by economic forces, he was no crude economic determinist, stressing, for
instance (Gramsci 1971: 162), Engelss caution that,
According to the materialist conception of history, the ultimately determining factor in history is the production and reproduction of real life. Neither
Marx nor I have ever asserted more than this. Hence if somebody twists this
into saying that the economic factor is the only determining one, he
transforms the proposition into a meaningless, abstract, absurd phrase. (Marx
and Engels 1975: 394, original emphasis)
One way of characterizing Gramscis approach to culture is that culture is how
the realities of class are lived.2 We all of us come to consciousness as members of
specific cultural worlds at specific historical moments and we tend to experience
the particular realities of our cultural world as fixed and unalterable, no more
than simple reflections of the way the world is. Such realities as disparities of
wealth and power, for instance, may be thought of as the manifestation of the
laws of economics or of divine will, and they may be celebrated or railed against,
but to those whose everyday reality they are, they appear unchangeable. Only a
fool or a madman would even try. The emblematic figure here is Don Quixote
charging windmills. To capture the solidity and apparent naturalness of
cultures in the eyes of those who inhabit them, Gramsci uses the notion of
common sense, and it is this aspect of Gramscis approach to culture on which I
focus here.
I want to begin, however, not with Gramsci, but with another theorist,
whose way of naming the taken-for-granted in everyday life has been widely
embraced within anthropology. The theorist is Pierre Bourdieu and the
concept that of habitus. Habitus has seemed to many anthropologists to offer a
powerful theoretical tool for those wrestling with the problem of theorizing
everyday life. Here I want to use the notion of habitus to throw into relief the
character of Gramscis very different concept of common sense.
Habitus and doxa
The concept of habitus was introduced into sociology by Marcel Mauss in his
essay Techniques of the body, but it is Bourdieus formulation (very different
from that of Mauss) with which most anthropologists are familiar. Although
Bourdieu would come to define himself as a sociologist, he began his intellectual
career as an anthropologist, and it was empirical anthropological research that
gave birth to many of his theoretical concepts, including his elaboration of
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of the result of an organizing action, with a meaning close to that of words such as
structure . . . . Second, it also designates a way of being, a habitual state
(especially of the body) and, in particular, a predisposition, tendency, propensity, or
inclination (Bourdieu 1977: 214, original emphasis). For Bourdieu, therefore,
the disposition captures the crucial but unarticulated knowledge that in the
course of their socialization embeds itself not only in patterns of thought, but in
the very bodies of individuals. Such dispositions play a powerful role in
directing their actions, even if they would find it hard to put such knowledge
into words. This acknowledgement of the importance of embodied knowledge
often unmediated by language and simply lived, is one of the strengths of
habitus as a theoretical concept.
In addition to a system of dispositions (a habitus), any established order is
characterized by what Bourdieu terms doxa: an agreed account of how the
world works. The more this account is unspoken and taken for granted, the
more secure that regime of power. Doxa is both unspoken and essential; in his
much-quoted phrase, what is essential goes without saying because it comes without
saying . . . (Bourdieu 1977: 167, original emphasis), Bourdieu also makes a
clear distinction between doxa and opinion:
In class societies, in which the definition of the social world is at stake in
overt or latent class struggle, the drawing of the line between the field of
opinion, of that which is explicitly questioned, and the field of doxa, of that
which is beyond question and which each agent tacitly accords by the mere
fact of acting in accord with social convention, is itself a fundamental
objective at stake in that form of class struggle for the imposition of the
dominant systems of classification. (Bourdieu 1977: 169, original emphasis)
I want to draw attention to the implicit assumption in this passage that there
are societies without classes in which doxa rules unchallenged. Indeed, lurking
here, it seems to me, is something like Levi-Strausss problematic distinction
between hot and cold societies (see, for instance, Levi-Strauss 1969: 33). In
addition both the dispositions of habitus and doxa are concerned with ways of
being, habitual states embedded deep within the subjectivity of individuals,
and as a result they necessarily stress the fixity of certain ways of being.
It is not coincidental, I would argue, that the anthropological data that led
Bourdieu to develop the concept of habitus were collected during his
fieldwork among the Kabyles. This fieldwork was carried out in the 1950s in
extraordinarily difficult circumstances at a time when the Algerians were
engaged in an often brutal liberation struggle against the French colonial state.3
Nonetheless the Kabyles we encounter in Outline of a Theory of Practice which
builds its theoretical schemas on the basis of Bourdieus Kabyle data still
follow a traditional pastoralist life. Bourdieus well-known essay on the Kabyle
house (reprinted in Bourdieu 1990b: 27183) provides a similar picture of an
unchanging peasant way of life, in which each dwelling is constructed
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according to the same strict rules that determine the arrangement of every inch
of living space, down to the storage of each item of household equipment.
Within the world of the Kabyles, according to this account, any deviation,
however minor, is unthinkable. It is perhaps not surprising that a man so
fiercely opposed to French colonialism and so deeply sympathetic to the
Algerians fighting for their independence should stress the autonomy of Kabyle
culture and its profound difference from the culture of the French colonizers.
Something that is not apparent from Bourdieus account of the Kabyles is that
the Kabylia was in fact a hotbed of Algerian nationalist struggle.4
It is important to emphasize that, while habitus may focus on fixity,
Bourdieu does not see it as rigid and unchanging; in certain respects it is highly
flexible. As a system of dispositions guiding behaviour, this system of lasting,
transposable dispositions is continually having to adapt to specific and, in a
sense, unique circumstances:
[I]ntegrating past experiences, [this system] functions at every moment as a
matrix of perceptions, appreciations, and actions and makes possible the
achievement of infinitively diversified tasks, thanks to analogical transfers
of schemes permitting the solution of similarly shaped problems, and thanks
to the unceasing corrections of the results obtained, dialectically produced
by those results . . . (Bourdieu 1977: 83, original emphasis)
Nonetheless this flexibility has its limits. We can see habitus as something like a
particular language which, while it allows its speakers to come up with an
infinite number of different utterances, maintains an essentially unchanging
grammatical structure. This raises the question of more fundamental change.
How is it possible for this system of dispositions, woven into the very being of
individuals, to change in fundamental ways? And, since human history is a story
of transformations, in certain circumstances this must happen. Significantly, for
Bourdieu, it is not within habitus itself that the seeds of change lie, but in the
dialectical relationship between a specific habitus and objective events that
demand a response beyond that of the given habitus:
collective action (e.g. revolutionary action) is constituted in the dialectical
relationship between, on the one hand, a habitus, understood as a system of
lasting, transposable dispositions . . . and on the other hand, an objective event
which exerts its action of conditional stimulation calling for or demanding a
determinate response. (Bourdieu 1977: 8283, original emphasis)
This stimulation is conditional because it only acts on
those who are disposed to constitute it as such because they are endowed
with a determinate type of dispositions (which are amenable to reduplication and reinforcement by the awakening of class consciousness, that is, by
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constitute the solid structure of the mentality he requires for everyday life.
(quoted in Gramsci 1971: 422)
For Gramsci this was simply yet another example of the disordered crudity of
Gentiles thought. Honing in on Gentiles formulation: the truths of common
sense, Gramsci asks:
And what does a truth of common sense mean? Gentiles philosophy, for
example, is utterly contrary to common sense, whether one understands
thereby the nave philosophy of the people, which revolts against any form of
subjectivist idealism, or whether one understands it to be good sense and a
contemptuous attitude to the abstruseness, ingenuities and obscurity of certain
forms of scientific and philosophical exposition. (Gramsci 1971: 42223)
For Gramsci the messy conglomerate that is common sense precisely because
it is not any kind of systematic whole must be teased apart and its separate
elements analysed. And this is especially important for those seeking to change
society The bringing into being of new, genuinely counter-hegemonic
narratives a crucial part of any social transformation has to start with the
world inhabited by the mass of the population. And that world is the world of
common sense: the starting point must always be that common sense which is
the spontaneous philosophy of the multitude and which has to be made
ideologically coherent (Gramsci 1971: 421). As this comment makes clear,
while Gramsci insists on common senses chaotic and incoherent character
and incoherence is always negative for Gramsci he is far from simply negative.
The term he uses for the positive part of common sense is good sense, which
for him has a meaning closer to the English common sense than senso comune. In
several Notes he reflects on this good sense dimension of common sense,
writing in one, for instance:
In what exactly does the merit of what is normally termed common sense
or good sense consist? Not just in the fact that, if only implicitly, common
sense applies the principle of causality, but in the much more limited fact
that in a whole range of judgments common sense identifies the exact cause,
simple and to hand, and does not let itself be distracted by fancy quibbles and
pseudo-profound, pseudoscientific metaphysical mumbo-jumbo. (Gramsci
1971: 348)
In another Note he defines good sense more precisely. Taking the common
expression being philosophical about it, he notes that, while this expression
may contain an implicit invitation to resignation and patience, it can also be
seen as an invitation to people to reflect and to realise fully that whatever
happens is basically rational and must be confronted as such. It is specifically this
appeal to use reason rather than blind emotion that is the part of [common
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sense] which can be called good sense and which deserves to be made more
unitary and coherent (Gramsci 1971: 328). In general it is the elements within
common sense that reflect rational thought, however naive and raw a form this
may take, which for Gramsci constitute good sense.
For Gramsci, we can say, common sense is a multi-stranded, entwined knot
of, on the one hand, clear sightedness (good sense), which, like the little boy in
the story, is not fooled by the sophistry of the Emperors tailors; but, on the
other, blinkered short-sightedness that clings defensively to the comfortable
and familiar. Common sense is, as he puts it, crudely neophobe and
conservative (Gramsci 1971: 423). Nonetheless any genuinely counter
hegemonic narrative has to begin with common sense:
Is it possible that a formally new conception can present itself in a guise other
than the crude, unsophisticated version of the populace? And yet the historian,
with the benefit of all necessary perspective, manages to establish and to
understand the fact that the beginnings of a new world, rough and jagged
though they always are, are better than the passing away of the world in its
death-throes and the swan-song that it produces. (Gramsci 1971: 34243)
As this passage indicates, for Gramsci a central task for any serious
revolutionary is a transformation of popular culture which builds on the
beginnings of a new world that culture already contains. And it is this concern
that lies behind Gramscis interest in subordinated peoples understandings of
their world. He was very from being a disinterested, objective observer of
popular culture. It is important to stress this point, since anthropologists who
have drawn on Gramsci in part precisely because of his concern with culture
have not always paid sufficient attention to this basic differences between
Gramscis project and theirs. Anthropologists tend to focus on describing the
cultural worlds they study, and rather than seeking to change them, have often
argued passionately for their right to exist in their present form. Gramscis far
from celebratory approach to popular culture comes through very clearly in his
observations on folklore. While many of the original nineteenth-century
collectors of folk tales, such as the Grimm brothers, saw these tales, and folklore
in general, as in some sense an embodiment of the authentic and ancient nation,
Gramsci certainly did not. He did believe that it was important to study folklore,
but this was because of the traces of oppositional world views that could be
found there. By definition subordinated people tend to leave few traces in the
official historical record, any evidence of their narratives, therefore, however
fragmentary, is valuable. Folklore should be studied because it represents:
a conception of the world and life implicit to a large extent in determinate
(in time and space) strata of society and in opposition (also for the most part
implicit, mechanical and objective) to official conceptions of the world (or
in a broader sense, the conceptions of the cultured parts of historically
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