Merton, that ‘in thinking about the subject of social policy research’ he had been stimulated by one of Merton’s papers.19 Published in 1949, this had discussed the extent to which social science could, and should, influence policy. In a passage which may have especially appealed to Titmuss, Merton argued that the ‘higher the social standing of a discipline, the more likely it will be to recruit able talents, the greater its measure of financial support, and the greater its actual accomplishments’.20 By the time of Titmuss’s correspondence with Merton, 1957, he had recruited ‘talents’ such as Abel-Smith, was actively pursuing research funding, and had already made a difference to policy making by way of, most notably, the Guillebaud Committee’s enquiry into NHS finances.
There can be no doubt that Titmuss was viewed, at least on the liberal left, as pre-eminent in analyses of the ‘welfare state’. This was further recognised in obituaries, and subsequent recollections. Marshall claimed that Titmuss had ‘exerted an influence, academic and political, at home and abroad, which has not been surpassed by any British social scientist of his generation’.21 Commenting on another aspect of Titmuss’s work, one often neglected, A.J. Isserlis pointed to his role in promoting better race relations through, especially, membership of the Community Relations Commission between 1968 and 1971. Titmuss’s approach was underpinned by ‘an awareness of the structural economic and social weaknesses in the community that created or threatened disadvantage for black, brown and white alike’.22 Tributes were not confined to Britain. The social policy writer and sometime US federal official, Alvin Schorr, in an edited volume on American child welfare services, observed that Titmuss had died while the collection was being completed. It was a ‘mark of his influence’, Schorr wrote, ‘that besides myself, three of the authors represented here in one way or another took instruction from him’. Taken as a whole, the volume variously expressed ‘three general points of view that (Titmuss) spent his life representing or exploring’, namely ‘an emphasis on the distributive consequences of social policy … a stubborn belief in altruism as a motive power for social policy … and a preoccupation with how individuals fare in social policy’.23 And, as we shall see, for some Titmuss’s legacy endures in the twenty-first century.
Understanding Titmuss: David Reisman
The present volume is the first full-scale account of Titmuss’s life. But here we should acknowledge David Reisman’s pioneering work, first published in 1977. Outside of Titmuss’s daughter Ann Oakley’s partly biographical (and autobiographical) accounts, this is the only full-length study of Titmuss’s ideas and, to a much lesser extent, his life.24 A second edition appeared in 2001. What did Reisman have to say? We can only give a flavour here, while acknowledging that much of what he argues, and his attempt to assemble a coherent account of what Titmuss was about, retains value. Reisman is complimentary about Titmuss in that he sees him as an ‘original, creative and sensitive thinker whose work has not always won the understanding it deserves’. He was, moreover, a ‘maverick and an outsider’. In terms of ideas, Titmuss was, for example, a ‘believer in voluntarism and getting involved’, unsurprising for someone who was a ‘committed communitarian’. Nonetheless, he had little to say about the voluntary sector’s role in welfare provision, in part because Titmuss derived his conviction from ‘value-consensus’, arguing that ‘the citizen, where dependent, has a right to service. Voluntarism, however, is by its very nature discretionary’. Reisman also draws attention to what he considers some of Titmuss’s weaknesses. He ‘never saw the need to make his underlying system fully explicit’ (one of Reisman’s aspirations), while his argument that the Second World War had generated post-1945 social reconstruction was inadequate when explaining other welfare systems. As Reisman puts it, ‘Titmuss was an English author. In describing the relationship between welfare and war, Titmuss knew that he was writing about his own country, and not about the whole of the race’. Concluding, Reisman suggests that nobody before or since Titmuss ‘has produced an intellectual map capable of situating and integrating so large a number of seemingly unconnected variables in the all-encompassing inquiry into welfare and society’.25
These selected extracts scarcely do justice to Reisman’s text. But they do raise analytical points, some with which the present author would agree, others not. That about war and welfare, for example, is well made, and contains significant elements of truth, while being more complex than Reisman allows. And it is certainly true that Titmuss was a ‘committed communitarian’. However, he was also committed to defending individual rights, and individual choice. Similarly, that Titmuss was an ‘English author’ is unarguable, although again something which can be further developed. As we shall see, Titmuss can be seen as belonging to a very English, radical, tradition. This is not to say, though, that he did not engage with welfare policies in other countries. Equally, a case can be made that Titmuss’s work has not always been fully understood, and he was certainly an unusual figure in post-war British academic life. But was he really an ‘outsider’? It can be argued that he was, by his death, an ‘Establishment’ figure, although again this is not straightforward. Titmuss’s attitude to universalism, and discretion, meanwhile, was rather more complicated than is conventionally claimed, as was his attitude to voluntarism. And while it is true that Titmuss did not produce a work synthesising his approach to welfare, it is debatable whether he nonetheless produced an ‘intellectual map’, or at least one capable of rebuffing the increasingly demanding claims of neo-liberalism. However, and as Reisman implies, Titmuss’s angular, and holistic, approach did provide him with original insights. So Reisman offers an important platform for our understanding of Titmuss; but more can be said.
Many of those interviewed for this volume remembered Titmuss as supportive, personally and professionally, and as a compelling individual. It is clear, too, that younger colleagues such as Tony Lynes and Mike Reddin benefitted, at least in the first instance, from Titmuss’s encouragement. Similarly, while critical of the overwhelmingly middle class composition of the student population of his day, he was caring and thoughtful with individual students. In one of the most striking (and much quoted) depictions of him, the Labour politician Shirley Williams recalled ‘Richard Titmuss, the London School of Economics professor with the gaunt face and the burning eyes of an El Greco saint’.26 Williams was not unique in her reference to Titmuss’s looks in these terms, which, in fact, pre-date her. But her portrayal of Titmuss is both powerful and has had a long shelf life. A.H. Halsey, sociologist and friend of Titmuss’s, likewise suggested the El Greco comparison, with Titmuss as an ‘ascetic divine’. But Halsey made the important qualification that Titmuss was no ‘saint, but a secular agnostic’. He was, though, a ‘remarkable figure’ who was ‘unsparing in his loyalty to his College and his country, a mark of integrity for the vast majority of those who knew him, whether at work in Houghton Street or at his modest home in Acton with his wife and daughter’. Reflecting on Titmuss’s time at the LSE, Halsey recalled that going to see him in his office would ‘always remain among my most vivid memories’. An ‘indefatigable and imaginative autodidact’, he continued to be, even after his 1972 election as a Fellow of the British Academy and numerous honorary degrees, a ‘devotee of the spirit rather than the conventions of academic institutions’.27 As Halsey suggests, Titmuss often went out of his way to welcome visitors to both the LSE and his home. He also provided advice and support where it was not strictly required. Given the unremitting pace of his own work
