Th aler and Sunstein have been heavily criticised on many other counts, perhaps particularly vociferously by proponents of the fourth prominent strategy, that of ‘conversion’. 6 Strategies for changing values rely not just on making information available, but on personal education. Th ey stipu- late in addition moral and ethical improvement, a process which in its strongest form may be likened to religious conversion. It is a strategy probably closer to the hearts of social movements than to governments.
Th e tenor of the campaigning messages of movements is often one of persuading people to exercise their moral consciences and thereupon to behave better. Failure to act in accordance with the movement’s preferred values may be seen as moral failing. Even when the primary target of critique is the actions of private organisations or public policy, part of the message is that individuals must show personal commitment and ethical probity, especially in order to avoid the taint of avoiding sacri- fi ces demanded of others. Moral and ethical conviction is also promoted partly in the hope that if individuals hold environmentally friendly val- ues, or value social justice more highly, then they will live and shop dif- ferently. Although evidence is scant, a spillover eff ect is anticipated, such that a concern for, say, animal welfare will spread to greater use of public transport, reduced air travel, vegetarianism, a preference for sweaters over radiators, and for radical over conservative political parties. Conversion of a mass population to ethical support for environmental politics seems highly unlikely, however; indeed, it appears that in Britain at least the general public is showing declining sympathy for the environmental cause (British Social Attitudes 2011 ).
6 Th aler and Sunstein would have no truck with that strategy, and they do not address it, but it would for them be unpropitious because it requires costly and eff ortful deliberation and also unwelcome and intrusive external direction of personal aff airs.
Th is is not to deny that active social movements are absolutely essential as catalysts of political change. Framing an issue, drawing attention to the problem, voicing it in public and demanding responsive action demon- strate citizen concern. It is also necessary to promote belief that change in individual conduct in a positive direction is possible. In this regard, how- ever, prefi gurative collective action may be more persuasive. Groups of activists who already practice more or less comprehensive alternative ways of life—through communal living, social centres, informal economies—
perhaps provide a more convincing demonstration of the possibility of radical social transformation (Yates 2015 ). At the same time, most unin- volved observers probably fi nd it almost unimaginable that they would fi nd palatable the total reorganisation of their style of life.
Research in many diff erent fi elds fi nds evidence of a gap between val- ues and actions (Barr and Prillwitz 2014 ; Darnton et al. 2011 ; DEFRA 2008 ). People often do things voluntarily that they would rather not.
Food waste is an instructive instance. WRAP ( 2013 ) estimates that, in the UK, one fi fth of edible food and drink brought into the home in the UK in 2012 was sent to the rubbish tip. Th is amounts to 4.2 million tonnes of avoidable waste which would ‘fi ll Wembley stadium nine times over’. Reducing waste could, in principle, both feed some of the billion or so undernourished people in the world and reduce the quantity of greenhouse gases being emitted in the more affl uent parts of the world.
Th e embedded CO 2 , energy and water, not to mention human labour, contained in discarded food is politically embarrassing.
David Evans (2014) explores this matter sympathetically. Food waste, and waste more generally, is an excellent site for natural experiments because almost no one is in favour of waste. Th ere is no dispute over values. Rather, the fact that ordinary households discard food typifi es the lack of fi t between values and actions. Evans shows that people inad- vertently, reluctantly and unavoidably throw away food they have previ- ously purchased. Th ey recognise and regret waste. Th ey hold leftovers and otherwise unused ingredients in their refrigerators until the last possible moment, hoping they will not have to be discarded. But in the context of domestic provisioning, a wide range of factors conspire to ensure that much goes into the dustbin. Th e principal factors, according to Evans, for households buying more food than they consume include ‘cultural
conventions, the historical evolution of how people shop and manage their homes, commercial infrastructures of provision and the material qualities of the food itself ’ (p. 49). More concretely, the location of retail outlets, the portions in which supermarkets sell foodstuff s, the ethic of generosity which means that it is disrespectful to leave people hungry at the end of a meal, and the ideology of family care which requires moth- ers to give their children new foods to try while still ensuring they eat suffi ciently. One telling example is of a mother who cooks dishes she thinks her children should be encouraged to eat, but prepares back-up dishes in case they refuse the fi rst. Th is is a telling example of Wilhite and Lutzenhiser’s ( 1999 ) ‘just-in-case’ scenario.
Evans emphasises that social interactions, consideration for others, interruptions to routines, and so on, scupper planning in the recom- mended manner. Th e imaginary rational consumer would ensure that exactly the amount of food required by a household during a week would be purchased, cooked and eaten. But obstacles well up. More impor- tant priorities, arising from other practices—keeping children healthy, responding to the needs of friends, fl exible working hours, unanticipated opportunities for social entertainment—take precedence. Also, waste would in many instances be reduced if food shops were just around the corner and food purchase occurred daily, a situation common before households owned a domestic refrigerator. However, suburban living arrangements and the dominance of food distribution through supermar- kets makes adaptation to immediate and unforeseen needs very diffi cult, almost guaranteeing waste. Suburbanisation also, of course, adds to CO 2 because convenience requires automobiles for transportation and domes- tic freezing devices, not to mention water for gardens, which mostly don’t grow food. Th is is a reminder that there are indeed a set of infrastructural arrangements for the conduct of practices which constrain and steer per- formances but which are rarely brought to mind by either householder or social scientist when contemplating the throughput of the domestic larder. Also, incidentally, infrastructural imperatives run counter to the responsibilisation of the individual in matters environmental which ethi- cal consumption campaigns and governments decree to be in derelic- tion of personal duties. As Evans (pp. 49–50) observes, ‘the competing pressures on household schedules and the work of domestic provisioning
means that the routines of food consumption are not readily amenable to the rational and deliberate models of intervention that policy makers and campaigners are currently deploying in order to reduce household waste.’ For ‘“food” becomes “surplus” as a result of processes that have little to do with “waste” or consumers actively seeking to over-provision on the grounds that they do not really care. Rather surplus is presented as normative and something that occurs in the course of households doing other things’ (p. 50).
Th e strategy for value change remains essentially one which puts its faith in individuals, cognition and benevolent values. It has several other problems besides the yawning value-action gap. It remains cerebral in seeking to put individual ethical choice of values at the centre of projects for change. One fundamental objection is that values are not a principal source of action. Th ere is enough truth in the behavioural economics arguments to suggest that people deliberate infrequently in the relevant contexts and hence rarely consult their values in advance of action. It may also be that values follow habits. Haidt ( 2007 ), for example, says that mostly we act instinctively and then construct a reason afterwards for our behaviour if we are challenged. Similarly, the classic paper of C. Wright Mills ( 1940 ) asserts the irrelevance of motives for sociological understanding while pragmatist social philosophy attests to values being secondary to habits (Whitford 2002 ).
A further problem concerns the origins of commitment to values directed towards action consistent with collective programmes for social change. People do occasionally report experiencing an epiphany, a moment of sudden personal moral enlightenment which leads to a determination to act in accordance with new principles. Th is is prob- ably a rare occurrence, and without other forms of support may not have stable results. People’s commitments and convictions are probably more likely to alter in response to new circumstances and new social connec- tions. Often the process is informal and undirected, a function of social networks where, for instance, social honour or reputation require con- formity with a local social standard. One of the more successful envi- ronmental behaviour change initiatives in the UK has been municipal arrangements for the recycling of waste, but its eff ectiveness most likely emanates from fear of being thought uncivil by one’s neighbours.
Finally, developing sympathies for, or joining, social and political movements is another prominent source of value change. But not many people join. Th e number of people concerned and active in environmen- tal movements is few. Moreover, movements are in competition and the values promulgated by social and political movements are very likely to be vehemently contested. Recruiting enough people and maintain- ing their commitment is notoriously diffi cult. Vaisey ( 2009 ; Vaisey and Lizardo 2010 ) suggests that political values and world views are fairly stable, which makes conversion diffi cult. Of course, if it were otherwise and people changed values easily and readily they might abandon their new faith and leave just as precipitously. However, a model of personal education and value conversion generally neither explains collective mobilisation—evidence about recruitment, engagement and defection suggests greater complexity—and nor does it provide a scalable solution to environmental damage.
3 Prospects for Theories of Practice
I conclude that the four strategies referred to in Fig. 9.1 are unlikely to eff ect suffi cient change. However, in the search for alternatives, some of their defects might be eliminated if less emphasis were placed on indi- vidual choices. Th e many variants of the practice-theoretical approach acknowledge the limitations of the strategy of intervening at the level of individual behaviour (Darnton et al. 2011 ; Shove et al. 2012 ). Th e theory, as sketched in Chapter 5 , proposes that consumption is less a matter of individual expression and choice, and more a corollary of the conventions of the range of the specifi c, socially organised practices felt to be necessary to live a good life. Participation in a practice mostly involves the requi- sitioning of familiar items and their routine application to well-under- stood activities. Performances recognised as competent—for example, in the environmentally sensitive fi elds of eating, heating and cooling, and transport—fi nd their orientation in collectively accredited and locally sit- uated conventions associated with such practices. Most practices are self- regulating. All practices supply incentives, but they are often tacit, located in defi nitions of their purposes and associated standards of excellence in