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The uses of social science in the history of dutch socialwork, 1900–1980Sjaak Koenis aa Dept of Philosophy , Universiteit Maastricht , P.O. Box 616, NL-6200, MD, Maastricht, TheNetherlandsPublished online: 04 Jan 2008.

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European Journal of Social Work Vol. 2, No. 1, pp. 41-53 1999

The uses of social science in the history of Dutch social work, 1900-1980 by Sjaak Koenis

In this paper the author reviews the history of Dutch social work between 1900 and 1980 and tries to shed light on how Dutch social workers enlisted various insights developed by the social sciences to gain jurisdiction in dealing with social problems. He argues against the simplistic idea that scientific knowledge is merely ‘applied’ in practical settings such as social work. Social workers did not just apply scientific insights; they also used scientific insights strategically to demarcate their position from various opponents both inside and outside the profession. It is useful to differentiate between the reflexive and strategic uses of social sciences: reflexive means that new interpretations of the social world and the nature of social problems are offered which imply different ways of doing social work; strategic means that with these new interpretations new boundaries are created between social work and competing ‘actors’ in the field of dealing with social problems.

Introduction1 In this article I will analyse the uses of social science in the history of Dutch social work. How were scientific insights incorporated into this work and what were the consequences for both social work itself and its institutional position in the enfolding Dutch welfiue state. It is not my objective to give an exhaustive analysis of the interaction between the social sciences and social work. I will concentrate on the cultural role of the social sciences: to what extent and with what result did social workers use Scientific vocabulary to legitimate their work and to demarcate it from other actors in the social field, and how in the process was social work (re-)constituted. I shall limit myself to a number of crucial episodes which I will discuss in detail. In these episodes psychological, sociological, and andragological’ theories, concepts, and notions will be discussed, but as fir as their spe- cific content is concerned I will take an agnostic position: following W. I. Thomas’s dictum, ‘if men define situations as real, they are real in their con- sequences’, I will concentrate on how social workers employed the social sciences, without asking whether their interpretations of scientific theories or insights were correct.

The literature on the interaction of social work

and social science has already produced many com- plaints from scholars about how their sophisticated insights have been misinterpreted, and other com- plaints from social workers about how the academic community has no regard for their special needs. Probably one of the earliest and finest examples of the latter comes from an American social worker who, in 1925, summed up the problem as follows:

The social workw who r e d the sociologiurl literat- ure and who SCCI great promise and hope for a morc scimtafir type of social work in the sociological point of view, f ind himself in the condition of the thirsty wanher in the duwt who sm a mirage and expects to drink his fill only to be bitterly disappointed at the ftwtration of his hopes (cited in Heraud 1970, pp. viii-ix).

The main thrust of my argument is to criticize the popular notion that scientific knowledge is ‘applied’ in practical settings such as social work. This imagery of application is not subtle enough to

understand what Giddens describes as the ‘reflexive components’ of social science (Giddens 1984, 1990). Scientific insights constitute vehicles of meaning which play an important role in shaping and chan- ging the identities of individuals and groups, includ- ing professionals, and in the chronic revision of social

0 Oxford Univcrsity P r a s 1999

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practices. But stressing the importance of reflexivity and enlightenment in general is not s&cient to understand the actual employment of social science in practical settings. Social workers were not just enlightened by scientific insights, they also used them Jtrategically to demarcate their position vi&-vis various opponents from both inside and ounide the profession.

The speclflclty of soclal work, 1900- 1940

Early representatives of social work embraced what they called the 'sociological perspective' to outline the specificity of social work. 'Charity', wrote J. Everts, an advisor to che Dutch Society of Poor Relief and Charity, in 1928, 'has developed tremendously into a sociological direction, and the sociological social aid is strongly pervaded with humanitarian tendencies' (Everts, 1928, p. 97). This use of a 'soci- ological perspective' is remarkable in view of the fact that in the first decades of this century Dutch m i - ology had not yet become a distinct professional entity. But this did not discourage Everts from enlisting the notion of sociology to support his pro- ject. What he means by 'sociological' is that the indi- vidual should be seen as a member of a community and chat helping him should not be left to 'the inner desire' of people in philanthropy and in religious charity to do g o d . It should be the responsibiliv of the community. Social work is equivalent to com- munity care.

Everts and his supporters' made a strong case against the traditional rcligiwharitable form of aid, and in favour of a communal form, but com- munity care should not be identified with the state's interference in the helping process. In 1908 he had written his dissertation (Everts 1308) on the complex relations between the state and private initiative v:s-&-vi~ social aid, and he was quite aware of the fact that the representatives of the religious blocs4 would nor be willing to give up their autonomy in this field, nor did he think i t wise if they would. This posed the question of how co differentiate between social work and social

policy. Apparently, at the end of the 1920s Dutch sociology did not have much to o&r in this respect, as we can conclude from EWKS'S remark that

the solution to the question {of how speci$ic typ of need and Juffming shodd be &It with} rqaim stua'y and q t r t &nowledge. Inmingly this whole range of quutionr kame and bCcaKI a new and indcpmdmt part of the science of sociology, itself still so young (Everts 1928, p. 128).

It was not until the 1950s that Dutch sociology had anything to offer to social workers in this respect. Before World War I1 sociologists were not involved in research on social problems like pov- erty, but rather in (statistical) social geographical research (Gastelaars 1985, p. 234), while the fol- lowing generation who preceded the 'modern' soci- ologists were more interested in how the leaders of the religious blocs perceived social problems than in how social workers perceived them.

Before the war a different strategy to distinguish social work from social policy was followed, for instance by J. H. Adriani, one of the leading social-work theorists before World War 11. In 1923 he writes that the domain of social work had become more and more invaded by the effects of social insurance and social policy. He thought that it would be valuable to search for collective solu- tions to problems caused by factors beyond people's control. But he also emphasized to what extent these collective measures failed to be of any help to the poverty-stricken and destitute in the care of social workers, and he points out the importance of 'individualization': 'The strict requirement of individualization, which can only be effective if the aid offered comes from the circles closest to the pauper . . . is opposed to the levelling, generalising character of government-support' (Adriani 1923, p. 27). Since the government increasingly took over the financial responsibility for material assistance from the private enterprise of religious groups, it became important to differentiate the task of the social worker from the interventions of the state. Adriani does so by underlining the non-matmia[

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Uses of social science in the history of Dutch social work 43

nature of poverty. Poverty is not just lack of food, but also, and more imporrantly, it is the condition of not being able to grow spiritually.

This stress on individualization w& in line with the position taken by leading representatives of the religious blocs, who were not, in principle, opposed to the idea that the state should bear responsibilicy for the well-being of its subjects. What they did object to was the state 'meddling' with the non- material aspects of this well-being. As late as 1948 P. J. Roscam Abbing, an authoritative spokesman of the Calvinist bloc, wrote that the church should encourage the state to proceed along the road of stimulating social legislation, social insurance, and social aid, but this did not imply that the long- standing responsibilicy of the religious blocs for the non-material well-being of its members was rejected:

The church must retain the right to offer he4 wher- euer she wants to, which muns that the state has to gin way to religious social work. I t wouId be fataI ifthe state, as is customary in totalitarian countriu, sets itself up a the one and only organization entitled to giw aid at the expense of religious social aid.'

The overall effect of stressing the need for what Everts called a ' t d y sociological' form of aid was that in the first half of the century a new division of tasks between the religious blocs and the state developed. The representatives of the blocs, like the social workers, recognized the responsibility of the state for the well-being of its citizens, but a t the same time they made it clear that this responsibility should be limited to their material needs. The state should stay away from the individual's non-material needs. Here we see how the principle of individual- ization embraced by social workers reinforced the strategic position of the religious blocs. The profes- sionalization of social work, which became the prime focus of social workers between 1945 and 1965, took place within the overall institutional structure of the religious groups. They provided an institutional niche for developing a 'scientific' approach to social work.

The professlonalkatlon of modern soclal work, 1945-1955

Bcbre World War I1 social workers embraced a rather nondescript 'sociological perspective' to differ- entiate social work from philanthropy and traditional caritus, but this criterion was not sufficient to become accepted by ocher professionals who were at that time professionally involved in dealing with social problems, such as doctors, psychiatrists, and nurses. For this social workers employed psychological vocabulary. Psychology is an obvious candidate if one wishes to focus on specific problems of individuals, andor if one is not satisfied with 'blaming the envir- onment'. This is true for the United States, where from the 1920s onwards social workers turned away from 'progressivist', environmentalist kinds of strat- egies (like Hull House and the settlements) and made a dramatic move towards psychology. It is interesting to explore the situation in the USA a little further.

The popularity of psychological vocabulary in US social work is related to the impact of the Mental Hygiene Movement, the Child Guidance Movement, and the development of the veterans' services just after World War I (Ehrenreich 1985). These move- ments were so successful that within a few years notions like 'psychiatric social worker' and 'case- worker' were commonly accepted in professional circles. In the 1920s psychiatric notions were at their most popular, not because the treatment was particu- larly successful, as social workers themselves admit- ted, but because the psychiatry of the 1920s offered a keener diagnostic tool than social workers had pre- viously possessed. In the 1920s and 1930s social workers debated the useful effects of various psychi- atric and psychological theories which eventually resulted in a shift to a more client-centred psycho- therapy in the 1930s (Ehrenreich 1985, pp. 71-2).

The enquiry into the disputes of social workers about the best psychological or psychiatric theory for social work is more complicated considering the hct that most case-workers preferred an interpretation of casework which was a complicated mix of sociolo- gical (that is, environmental) and psychological ele- ments. The best example of this is Mary Richmond's

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Social Diagnosir (1 91 7), which was, about thirty years after its original publicacion, one of the most widely

sbort, we almost completely ignored the re.ruIts of psychology in our social work (Kamphuis 1948,

read foreign casework textbooks in the Netherlands. p. 81). According to Richmond, treatment involved both intervening in the environment to change it or to

enable the client to make progress towards such change, and changing the client directly (Ehrenreich 1985). At this point the pendulum of interpretations of the causes of social problems, which had swung to and from between purely environmentalist ‘sociolo- gical’ factors and purely ‘psychological’ hctors as revealed by psychiatrists, temporarily came to a halt in a ‘socio-psychological’ interpretation of social problems. And it was this interpretation chat the Dutch reception of social casework at the end of the 1940s was based on.

Turning to the Dutch situation, one should first of all note that before World War I1 the debates about casework in foreign journals were almost com- pletely ignored. Whatever the reasons may have been (American pre-war sociology suffered a similar tate), after the war this situation changed dramatically. Within a few yean of the renun of Dutch social workers from their Marshall-funded trips to the USA, ‘the Netherlands has become social casework- minded’, as one commentator noted in a 1950 issue of the Tija!schij5 mor Mautschappelijk Werk (‘Journal for Social Work’, TMW), devoted entirely to social casework.6 Reading the hrst reports of the US travel- lers one cannot miss the excitement and enthusiasm the acquaintance with casework caused in a small group of ‘young turks’, who proved to be most influential in the 1950s.’ Most of their enthusiasm had co do with the hopes (and expectations) that finally social work had entered the scientific era. Kamphuis writes:

Socral work has profited most from the sociological sciences, although we have to be aware of the f.(t that most of our contemporary sorial work is insufi- ciently accounted Jor sociologically. What we haw neglected most of all, or what we may not haw dared to use becauje of our Dutch caution, arc the

From Kamphuis’s perspective, psychology referred to the science of the ‘human soul’ and of ‘human rela- tionships’. It is interesting to note that Karnphuis is not very specific about particular psychological notions or theories; she merely states that psychology in US social work had overcome its one-sided h s on psychiatry:

the caseworker is not a psychiatrist, not for others

and not fw himself: I t {rusework) rmlw around basic i& such as: transjkmce, rcristance, repwsed thoughts, inhibition, felings of guilt, etc. which mainly stem from the Frendian School, and which are now commonly accepted in psychology and psy- chopathology (Kamphuis 1948, p. 84).

So far the resemblances with the situation in the USA are substantial, except for the hct that the ‘psy- chiatric approach’ was not nearly as influential in the Netherlands as in the USA. The only place where something like a psychiatric approach had taken hold was in the Medisch Opvoedkundige Bureaus (Medical Educational Bureaux). What made the Dutch situation different were two things: first, social casework had to be introduced in a situation where most of the actual social work was still in its earliest stage of professionalization. The notion of working methodically, as developed by Muller- Lulofi and Adriani, had barely been accepted, whereas in the USA the working on ‘cases’ in a sys- tematic way had a longer tradition.

Some Dutch social workers felt that they had always worked according to casework principles, but aside from the ‘what’s new?’ kind of reaction there was serious opposition to employing psychological notions because of their stigmatizing effect. J. C. van Dam, director of the Municipal Department of Social Affairs in Amsterdam, felt that the casewotk- literature seemed to imply that almost all the people in need of help were socially unadjusted:

r e d s of the science that g i m a w u l t h of i n f m - tion about the ‘structurcdncrs’ of the human being and the relation between two human beings. In

I speak fim experience when I say that many sufi- cimtly adjnsted persons can be helped in a humanit- arian way , . . without bothering them with search-

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Uses of social science in tbe histoq of Dutch soclal work 45

ing and lengthy dumsions and analyses . . . these psychological ContrKts are not without Lngw fw nonnal people. Digging deep into thir past and p- sent i~ only a l l d if they are socially ‘diseased’ . . . In all other uses a certain natural reluctance should iecp us f;om finding out mwc than is strictly necessary fw the simple help that suits thir posrnnJ (Problemen van het Social Casework 1951, p. 31).

The second, related difference has to do with how social work was organized in the Netherlands. Social casework was introduced in the Netherlands while the pillarized organization of Dutch society was going through a last stage of ‘ideological enthusi- asm’, with the traditional elites of the religious blocs trying to strengthen their grip on ‘their people’. So while in the USA the psychological vocabulary was mainly used to convince competing professional circles (doctors, psychiatrists, and psychiatric nurses) and to thwart progressivist social workers, in the Netherlands representatives of the religious blocs and religious social workers had to be convinced. They felt that social work should not be detached from spiritual care.

Their reactions to social casework were not totally negative. In September 1950 Kamphuis writes that many Protestant Christians agree that social case- work not only leaves ample room for the Christian vision of life, but even ‘that living according to the Gospel should have led to the kind of loving atten- tion for one’s fellow-man that is implied in practis- ing casework’ (Kamphuis 1950c, p. 268). About the strained relations between the Gospel and social work Kamphuis writes that there are still quite a few Protestants who do not see any substantial differ- ences between preaching the Gospel and doing social work (ibid.). Within casework, she argues, there is still ample room for religious matters, but the differ- ent kinds of need should be clearly separated. To preach the Gospel is to help people with their reli- gious problems, whereas doing social work is to help them with their social problems. And social prob- lems should not be interpreted in terms of material or spiritual need, but in terms of people’s lack of ability to adjust to new situations. To emphasize the

point that preaching is nor the same as social work, she states that a kind of ‘conditional trade’ between social aid and ‘christianization’ is morally unac-

The same Roscam Abbing I quoted earlier totally disagreed with the way the ‘modernists’ in social work differentiated bemeen social and religious need. He sympathized with social workers who felt that casework was nothing new, but he also thought that it would be senseless to make a distinction between psychology and evangelization to the extent that in social work psychology would achieve through scientific means what the traditional reli- gious influence tried to achieve kind-heartedly. He objected to the idea that the professional identity of the social worker is completely detached from his Weltanschauung. Social work tends to look too much for problems and mistakes around the human being instead of in him. If social work were to approach social problems from this larter perspective, he states, it would soon enough discover that ‘under- neath the s u r k e of psychic disorder there lies the Fundamental disease of not knowing God and living with one’s back turned to God’ (Roscam Abbing 1950. p. 3SO).

This reaction from Roscam Abbing is probably too conservative to represent the average Protestant, just as the reaction of H. M. M. Fonmann in the special issue of TMW is more progressive than that of the average Catholic. He concludes that casework and Catholicism get along quite well, although he adds that casework is not specifically Catholic. He does not equate psychological disturbances with ignorance of God, but it is his opinion that if a social worker works so intensively with the more profound codicts and needs of the clients, ‘it will be most difficult, if not impossible to help should the case- worker and the client be from different religious blocs’ (Fortmann 1950, p. 357). His strategic con- clusion is that more than ever social work will be the business of private initiative. The state should remain neutral and refrain from interfering too deeply in the private lives of its citizens.

The representative of the humanist block, J. P. van Praag, is far more positive about social casework. He claims that social casework does systematically

ceptable.

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what the best social workers used to do intuitively. In this respect social casework is in his opinion indif- ferent to religious background. Then he makes his strategic move: ‘Casework , . . is more than a tech- nique, it is practical humanism, a kind of social work based on humanistic principles’ (Van Praag 1950, p. 360). Apparently he feels chat this conclusion is tca bold, because he quickly adds that this does not imply that the Gospel and casework are totally unre- lated. The humanist, Van Praag writes, would be more than pleased if people from the other religious blocs could combine the technique of casework with their own principles. And to make sure that nobody will accuse him of incorporating casework in hwnan- ism, he adds that despite all the religious differences among the Dutch, it has more than once been proven that ‘a Catholic, a Protestant and a humanist are able to co-operate in practical affairs.’

The coalltlon between soclologlsts and social workers, 19S5-1965 While social workers-to use Bruno Latour‘s phrasesnrolled psychology to establish a profes- sional identity and to differentiate their ‘scientific‘ interpretation of social problems from religious notions of ‘spiritual care’. they enlisted post-war sociology co attune professional social work to social policy. After World War I1 a period of fruitful co- operation between sociologists and social workers developed. If there was ever a time when a ‘discourse coalition’ (Wagner ct a f . 1991) between sociologists and social workers existed, then it was in the 1950s. The fact thar crucial sociological insights and central ideas of social work were both imported from the United States may explain why sociologists and social workers got along so well right after the war. Their intellectual ‘inventory’ came from the same intellecrual wholesale trade, in which structural hnccionalism provided the basic concepts enabling social workers to attune their work to social policy.

Parsonian functionalism and in particular the Mertonian notion of ‘manifest’ and ‘latent‘ func- tions-as perceived by leading Dutch sociologists- were integrated in a general theory of modernization

in which the notion of functional adaptation became a key concept. Society was caught in a process of overall modernization, and both social groups and individuals were k e d with the need to adjust to the general dynamics of this overall process. IC was the sociologist Groenman who spelled out the implica- tions of functionalistic theory for social work. His theory of m u d adaptation points to an agenda for both social workers and social policy. Individuals and social groups have to adapt to the pace of moderniz- ing society. To the extent that they fail in this respect, social workers have to step in and remove the various obstacles they find on their way.

But this was only one side of the story. Groen- man’s theory of mutual adaptation also makes provi- sions for society to adapt to individuals, in particular in cases where ‘dysfunctional’ aspects of society are involved. Dealing with these dysfunctional aspects of society is the province of social. policy. The ‘curing’ of individual cases’, he writes in the 1952 issue of TMW, ‘only makes sense within a general frame- work. Without the backing of “general welfare- work” it becomes patchwork without roots’ (Groenman 1952, p. 199).

One of these ‘dysfunctional’ aspects was the still dominant position of the religious blocs. This not only affected the organization of social work, but also that of sociological research. It was at this point that sociological insights and concepts were most readily assimilated by social workers to undermine the tradi- tional leadership of the blocs. In an article about the pillarization of social work in 1957 De Jongh, dir- ector of the School of Social Work in Amsterdam, argues against the protagonists of a pillarited kind of social work who feel that all human activities in the area of labour, politics, education, and social aid should focus on religious groups. It simply is not true any more, he argues, that (potential) clients in most cases identiG with a specific religious bloc. If, as Lk Jongh strongly believed, social problems are not related to spiritual problems, then it becomes imperative to situate these problems in society at

large:

I t is the duty of a democratic society to enlarge the self-re.spKt of its citizens. Tbir is all the more the

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Uses of social science in the histofy of Dutch sodal work 47

task of social work: witbout self-rt.sp& the citizen who uIIs upon the sorhal wwka fw help will n e w be able to regain this m, this ability of self- &termination, that we see as thc goal of our effbts (Groenman 1952, p. 199).

In De Jongh’s view a shift of attention was needed from spiritual care to the monitoring of ‘human rela- tions’ in a rapidly changing democratic sociccy. It is the democratic community at large that should be taken up as the new point of reference for social workers. The sociological notion of ‘mutual adapta- tion’ supplied social workers with the means to dis- sociate themselves from traditional pillarized social work, and at the same time enabled them to attune their work to social policy at large.

If the democratic community at large was to be the new domain of normative integration, then this communiry should also delegate the task of helping people to professionals who should be supplied with the necessary means to perform this task. This claim for professional recognition on the part of social workers was partly granted by the Dutch govern- ment, which established a special Ministry of Social Work in 1955. Social workers were only subsidized if they were in possession of the required diploma from one of the various Schools of Social Work. Through such measures social workers became rela- tively independent of the organizational structure in which they had to work, at least as fiu as the content of their work was concerned. But this was certainly not suf6cient to develop into the kind of ‘free profes- sion’ they had envisaged in their struggle for profes- sional autonomy. To understand the precarious posi- tion of social workers in the 1960s and 1970s in the Netherlands, one has to keep in mind that wen though they were successhl in ‘secularizing’ the task of professional social work with the help of social science, they still remained employees in cradition- ally pillarized bureaucratic organizations.

This tension between ‘profession’ and ‘organiza- tion’ was discussed intensively by social workers and sociologists in the first half of the 1960s. It is inter- esting to single out two articles in particular, one by the sociologist J. A. A, van Doom (1961) and one by Marie Kamphuis (1962), because they illustrate

how the ‘discourse coalition’ between social workers and sociologists slowly collapsed in these YM. Up until the 19505 social workers and sociologists had ftedy referred to each other in their struggle for pro- fessional autonomy. We have already seen how Kam- phuis enlisted both sociology and psychology in her efforts to establish social work as a mature profession. Sociologists in the 1950s returned the compliment by enlisting social work as a kind of ‘applied’ soci-

But now both Kamphuis and Van Doom demar- cate their own profession by attacking the other. Kamphuis, for instance, points to the limitations of sociologists involved in research on ‘anti-social beha- viour’: they were unaware of interesting international research in this field. (Groenman 1952, p. 199) She is also worried about how social sciences in general tended to claim social work for their own purposes:

According to the j2mous &finition of tbe World Hurlth Organivrtion we arc a para-medical profu- sion; according to many psychiatrists we are a fm of social psychiatry; in the cyu of many mciologists we arePr;mariIy in the business of applirdsaciology, while others consider social work as a branch of saciaIpeaLgogy (Kamphuis 1962, p. 273).

ology.

What distinguishes social work from these discip- lines is that it is wolving into a science of practice, in which theoretical insights from various social sciences are integrated into specific methods of social assistance. Further steps on the road to professional- ism depend, according to Kamphuis, on whether social work will be able to strengthen its scientific foundations.

While Kamphuis tends to equate professionaliz- ation with ‘scientification’, without inquiring into the institutional conditions for this professionalit- ation, for Van Doom professionalitation primarily has to do with division of labour. That social work is rather unsuccessful in this respect has to do with the kind of work it is. It has to maneuvre

betwen the individual ‘use’ and society, or social relations. Social work is not Orclusiwly client- oriented, because all cfforts to help peopIe necessarily imply cffirts toward sorial reintegvation. On the

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other band, mciai work in most mu cannot consist of fine-tuning institutional policy, because it ir the vny failure of tbu poiicy which . . . bas Ied to per- mnaI distress (Van Doom 1961, p. 245).

Van Doom’s conclusion with regard to the posi- tion of the social worker is that it is both marginal and diffuse. It is marginal because he works at the borderline of orderly society, and diffuse because the causes of and solutions to personal problems are usu- ally not found within existing social institutions but generally cut across these institutions. There are no routine solutions to the problems social workers have to deal with, and for this reason Van Doom seriously doubts the possibility of social work becoming a solid profession. The hc t that social workers have to operate within established bureaucratic organizations makes this even more difficult.

The complex of well-belng, 1965- 1980 This diagnosis offered by Van Doorn turned out to

be correct as far as the institutional position of social work was concerned. Instead of securing their posi- tion in an independem profession social workers found themselves caught up in a kind of no man’s land between the traditional blocs and the state. The pillarized blocs remained the institutional base for social workers, even though they were successful in secularizing the content of their work. In this they were (unwittingly) helped by the state, which acquired an increased influence over their work, mainly through its subsidy policy and its educational regulations for social workers. So in one respect one might conclude that the professionalization of social work and the ‘etarization’ of welfare, the process by which the state assumes an increasing responsibility for the well-being of its citizens, reinforced each other (De Swaan 1988).

However, the institutional conditions under which this happened turned out to be detrimental for social workers. Instead of social work growing into a more or less independent profession, what actually came into existence in the 1960s and 1970s was a bureaucratic ‘complex of well-being’. This con-

sisted of more or less professionalized social work ‘fields’, which were chained to government- supported institutions. These latter remained organ- ized in the traditional bloc-structure, even though they had lost most of their traditional legitimacy. This usurpation of the responsibility for collective well-being by the state can be seen as the final stage in the long-lasting power struggle between the reli- gious blocs and the state over the responsibility for the non-material well-being of citizens.

It is against this institutional background that the rather sudden emergence of the notion of ‘well- being’ (welzijn) in social work and in the complex of well-being as a whole has to be situated. In the course of the 1960s this notion gained widespread currency in social work as a common denominator of all the different social work activities. In 1967 the National Council of Social Work, on which the tra- ditional religious blocs were represented, changed its name into National Council of Social Well-being. Similar changes occurred in a number of leading pro- fessional journals which adopted the notion of ‘well- being’ in their titles.

To some extent the popularity of this term can be explained by its role as the unifying flag under which various social work activities were regrouped. But more importantly, it reflects the increasing hold of the state over these only partly professionalized activ- ities. ‘Well-being’ became the explicit policy of the state, as can be read in governmental documents issued by the Ministry of Social Work (Broekman 1964). This policy towards increasing the well-being of people was clearly detached from overall collective action in the sphere of material welhe. Non- material ‘well-being’ deserved its proper institu- tional space alongside, but increasingly also in opposition to, material welfare.

The popularity of the ‘vocabulary of well-being’ is also related to the appearance, in the 1960s, of the science of ‘social agology’ or ‘andragology’ as a new social science in a number of Dutch universities. This new branch of social science did not develop out of the social work profession. In an earlier stage ‘modern’ social workers like Kamphuis and De Jong had not succeeded in winning support for an aca- demically based social work. Their efforts to attach

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Uses of soclal science in the history of Dutch soclal work 49

Schools for Social Work to the universities, for instance in Amsterdam, were blocked by an aca- demic establishment which resisted the integration of professional and academic education. So it was from the outside that andragological terminology infiltrated the profession, but its impact was none the less remarkable. It provided a new generation of social workers with a new vocabulary. Within a few years social work activities were rephrased into ‘agogical’ activities. What these activities had in common was that ‘processes of change’ were induced in ‘client-systems’ (individuals, groups, or organizations) and in society at large.’ The old pro- fessional images of ‘Lady Bountiful’ OK ‘Mr. Do- Good’ and the more recent image of ‘Miss Casework’ were now changed into the new professional image of ‘Mister Change-agent’.

The infiltration of new (andr-)agological vocabu- lary into the practice of social work did not take place without resistance, in particular from the gen- eration of social workers who had striven for profes- sional recognition in the 1950s. So, for instance, L. E. E. Janssen, director of an Institute of Social Work in Arnhem, wondered whether clients would really be so susceptible to ‘agogical’ interventions as was generally assumed (thereby unwittingly echoing the earlier sceptical remarks of Van Dam as to whether people were really so susceptible to psycho- logical interventions) Uanssen 1970, p. 191). What worried him in particular was chat the new ‘agogical vogue’ was used to down-play the established prac- tice of casework.

However, this did not diminish the popularity of this new vocabulary. It was enlisted by a new critical generation of social workers around 1970 to direct social work away from the established practice of casework to a more action-oriented notion of ‘social action’ and intervention, not just in individual ‘client-systems’, but also and more emphatically in organizations and in ‘society as a whole’. While the generation of ‘modern’ social workers had tried to establish a secure link between professionalism and academic scholarship, in the late 1960s and 1970s this new generation of progressive social workers turned its back on both professionalism and the

scientific pretensions of established social work alto- gether.

Here we see that the actual employment of scient- ific (agological) vocabulary did not necessarily imply the embracing of the scientific objectives of the aca- demic producea of this vocabulary. It was clearly not the scientific nature of agology that made its vocabulary attractive to restructure the ongoing practice of social work. Time and again social workers complained about the ‘abstract’ and ‘detached’ nature of academic (andr-)agology, and it is true that this new social science remained fairly aloof from social work practice (Gastelaars 1990).

What enhanced the infiltration of agological vocabulary into social work and also into the wider institutional setting of this work was not its scient- ific nature. Its main success had to do with two f a - tures of this vocabulary. First, i t employed a general notion of ‘well-being’ as a desirable goal for planned interventions. The goal of intervention was no longer to fight poverty, or to provide spiritual help, or to adjust individuals to modern society-to mention some of the objectives of earlier generations of social workers-but rather to bring about a state of well- being. This notion of well-being was explicitly normative, but at the same time it had no well- defined content. The ultimate goal of any kind of intervention was to be determined by the client, whether an individual, a group, or an organization. The second feature of this vocabulary was the notion of ‘change’ or ‘planned change’, which could describe a whole repertoire of structured interventions in vari- ous client-systems. The combination of these two features made this vocabulary applicable in many situations, both in social work and in the wider insti- tutional complex of well-being.

Agogical Vocabulary did not preclude any particu- lar political use. So within academic circles this vocabulary could be used to defend both a model of conflict and a model of integration, and this is exactly what happened. While Ten Have and some of his pupils used it to argue for a general notion of social integration, some critical andragologists at the universities used the same vocabulary to argue for a conflict-model. The image of the ‘social engineer’ was embraced in policy circles, where securing ‘well-

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50 SJaak Koenis

being’ became part of s a t e policy and planning. But it was very easy to produce a socially critical version of the same vocabulary, something which the andra- gologisc Van Beugen did in his in0uential book Soci- ah Technologic, published in 1968. In this book he criticized the founders of andragology, and in par- ticular Ten Have, for introducing the notion of ‘well- being’ only as a formal criterion, without giving it substance. There is some irony in this criticism, because the (temporary) success of the notion of well- being, and also the success of the ‘science of well- being’, including Van Beugen’s contribution to it, was largely due to this formal, abscract criterion.

Andragology became the perfect ‘superstrucmre- discipline’ for an institutional Moloch consisting of social work practice and sections of the State bureau- cracy committed to the development of policy in the field of non-material well-being. One of the uninten- ded consequences of this bureaucratization of social work was that the precarious balance between help- ing people and overall social policy was thoroughly disturbed. This balance shifted to the establishment of a bureaucratic state-financed complex of well- being which kept its distance from non-state-related collective action, undertaken by citizens in their day- to-day lives, in trade unions etc., to find collective solutions to their social problems.

Institutionally, well-being was firmly connected to the stace, but at chc same time disconnected from the rest of society. All through this century social work has been kced with the problem of defining its specific task in relation to the developing welfare society, and i c is precisely at this point chat the vocabulary of planned change had nothing to offer. The tension between individualization (the defining characteristic of social work) and collectivizacion (the dehning characteristic of social policy) was dissolved into a jargon of ‘permanent changeability’ of client- systems. In this jargon the planned interventions in individual ‘client systems’, groups, organizations, or society as a whole were situated on one and the same level.

By the late 1970s and 1980s the heyday of the welfare-state was over. The need for cuts in state expenditure became the prime lever used to dis- mantle the complex of well-being. This bureaucracy

was subjected to mounting criticism from intellec- ruals, politicians, entrepreneurs, and trade-union leaders. In this process social workers took most of che beating: they fell into such disrepute that it does not secm inappropriate to speak of a witch-hunt. Social workers had always been in the front line of welfare society, but now they were presented with the unpaid cheque of an ‘over-extended’ complex of well-being in the construction of which not only or even primarily they, but the whole political estab- lishment was implicated. Andtagology as an aca- demic discipline also took part of the beating: in the 1980s it was almost completely dismantled in the first phase of the reorganization of academic educa- tion.

Concluslon

In this article I have tried to shed light on how Dutch social workers enlisted various insights developed by the social sciences to gain jurisdiction in dealing with social problems. On the basis of the material analysed here I will draw a number of con- clusions which may be relevant for understanding the dynamics of social science in general.

First of all, we have to let go of the simplistic idea that scientific knowledge is merely ‘applied’ in practical settings such as social work. In the history I have sketched, social workers did not just apply scientific insights; they also used scientific insights strategically to demarcate their position from that of various opponents both inside and outside the profes- sion. If, for instance, Marie Kamphuis argues in favour of a sociologically and psychologically ‘saw- aced’ social casework, she does two things: she not only enlightens her fellow social workers and the general public about the nature of social problems- these have to do with ‘emotional problems in adapting to sociery’ (Kamphuis 19506, p. 114)-in a way that is open to theoretical criticism; but at the same time she tells the reader where to look for social problems (and, consequently, who should be in charge of dealing with them). Thus she argues that social problems are situated not in the (broader) environment (arguing against advocates of exclus-

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Uses of social science In the history of Dutch social work 51

ively social policy measures), nor in the ‘spiritual’ part of the individual (arguing against the dominant interpretation of social problems in the religious blocs, where social problems and spiritual problems were conflated), but in the emotional part of the individual (arguing in favour of employing profes- sionals to deal with these social problems).’

More generally: in trying to understand the prac- tical impact of social science on social work I think it is useful to differentiate between its reflexive and strategic uses: it was used reflexively in that new interpretations of the social world and the nature of social problems were offered which implied different ways of doing social work; and it was used suategic- ally in that with these new interpretations new boundaries were created between social work and competing ‘actors’ in the field of dealing with social problems .

The imagery of application is also unhelpful because it tends to downplay the extent to which social science and, in this case, social work are acm- ally mutually involved in each other’s projects. This involvement was so strong in the early years of soci- ology and social work in the United States that the general public found it hard to distinguish between the two. This proximity made the problem of mutual differentiation in these years more pressing than the problem of how sociology could be ‘applied’ to social work. Dutch sociology and social work were con- fronted with the problem of differentiation in a later stage of their development, but in general it is important to see social science and social work as ‘actors’ in one and the same ‘force-field’, in which differentiation is just as important as co-operation. It is this broader field which is effkctively eclipsed in the vocabulary of application.

In the case of Dutch social work another import- ant actor in this force-field was welfare society as a whole, which, through its ‘mechanism’ of the collect- ivization of social problems forced social workers time and again to redefine their specific tasks. It is in this continual marking-out of their particular tasks in competition with this general mechanism of a welfare-society (individualization versus collective legislation and insurance, non-material versus mat- erial aid, well-being versus welfare) that one should

look for the most important culr~ral role of social science in social work practice. Scientific insights and concepts were used, but just as easily discarded- in the case of psychologically oriented casework in the 196Ck-depending on whether they strengthened or weakened the visibility of social workers in society.

The contribution of social science to social work is not one of steadily and progressively enlarging the knowledge-base of social work. Rather, in the field where social problems are dealt with, insights derived from the social sciences play the role of sign- posts: they put social workers on a particular route, and away from other routes. Considering social sci- ence and social work as actors in this broader field, sometimes as competitors, sometimes as members of one and the same coalition, precludes the simple notion that ‘xientification’ and professionalization always work in the same direction. Dutch social workers learned this the hard way. They tried to win public recognition as an independent profession by strengthening the scientific foundations of their pro- fession. They failed to convince other professionals and the general public of the need for a ‘science of practice’ in the 1950s and 1960s. And by the time an academic science of practice developed in univer- sities, most spokesmen for the profession had already become too sceptical of science to be very charmed by andragology.

The conclusion of this altogether unhappy episode in the history of Dutch social work should not be that social work has nothing to gain from the social sciences. All it makes clear is that developing a pro- fessional identity should not be identified with ‘becoming (more) scientific’. Once this is realized a

more pragmatic and possibly more profitable use of the social sciences becomes conceivable, one in which both the social sciences and professional expertise are used to define a public role for social work.”

Notes 1 I would like to thank Karin Bijscerveld, Geert van &r Laan,

and Rein de Wilde for their cornmenu on earlier versions of this nrricle, and Joke Spruyt for correcting my English. Andngologie (the Dutch name for the scientific study of adult education. social work, community organization. and

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52 Sjaak Koenis

organiut iod development-I will LKC rhe neologism 'an- dngology' or 'agology'-is a social sciena with a brief but stormy history in the Netherlands, see Nijenhuis (1985) and Gvvlurs ( 1990). Among whom du mort imporrant were J. H. Adriani. M. G. Md~t-Luloh, and M. J , A. MolEr. For the term 'religious blocs' and their pervasive impact on Dutch history and politics. ye Lijphut 197s. There seems to be no adquare cnnslarion of the Dutch word Irrarbucbau- d i j k e Urilns. Zuil literally means 'pillar' (a vertical social group) and is unnrlared here by the word 'bloc' (cf. Lijphvr 1975, p. 17). h blocs were organized according to I m - &cbovrving (conception of life, or ideology), which den to both religious (Roman Grholic or Wvinisr) and secular (humanist or socialist) identities. I will use the term '(religious) b l m ' to refer to these vertical social groups and their organizations (including their social work organizations), but i t should be kept in mind chat che humanist social-work organizations M also included. The pining in strength of these religious blocs in the course of this century is sometimes referred to PI the process of 'pilluization' (-'ling). In the 1960s and 1970s this pro- ceu was revend ('depilluization' (onmiling)): the influence of the t n d i r i o d religious blocs (including che socialist bloc, which in the Dutch context WPI i n all mpeca the functional equivalent of P religiw bloc) diminished dramatically. Roscnm Abbing 1948, p. 113. This responsibility fdlowtd from the principle of 'rubsidiuiry' (subsjdiari:cits&~inrd), which roughly means that 'higher' stmctum. i t . the state. should not interfere in what is genenlly seen as the task of the 'lower' stmctures, i.e. the religious b l m . Bakker 1950, p. 287. For some recent work on the reception of the casework method in the Netherlands. ue Engberxn and Jansen 1991; in this section I uv Komir 19%. ch. 1. Most prominent in this new generation of 'modern social workers' were M. Kamphuis and J. F. de Jongh. Kamphuis. director of the Groninger School for Social and Cultunl Work (ASCA) until 1970. published +bout social casework in the TijdJchrif: wor MmtscAappZijk Wwk, and she also wrote a widely uud tatbook called Wba: is S a i d Cammrk?, which went through eleven printings between 1950 and 1978. De Jongh was director of the School of Social Work in Amster- dun. Dutch andngology developed out of German social ped- agogy and American planned-change theories, developed by Lippitt, Wacson. and Warley 1958 and Bennis, Benne. and Chin 1962. From the planned-change theories notions like planned change, client-syrrcmr. and change-agents were adopted. In the Nerherlands Ten Have was the lading theor- etician of this new social science, see Ten Have 1973. In Foucault-inspired research into the history of Dutch social work (e.g. Derckwn and Verplanke 1987; Michielse 1989), the history of social work and the involvement of social science tends co be described in terms of the development of L complex set of institutions and practices limed ar the over- all normallration and disciplining of people. My problem with this perspective is that the uvs of the social sciences are reduced to one scraregic use. rhe inregnl construction of normalization practices. The vvious tensions between social

workers, social scientists, and policy-makcn rend to be underatimared, if not completely ignored.

I have elaborated this point in Koenis 1993. pp. 107-115. 10

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Foundation.

Author's address

Sjaak Koenis, Faculty of Arts and Culture, Dept of Philosophy, Universiteit Maastricht, P.O. Box 616, NL-6200 MD Maastricht, The Netherlands.

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