Saturday, June 25, 2005

Revolutionary Government by Elmer Ordoñez

THE OTHER VIEW

Revolutionary Government

By ELMER A. ORDOÑEZ

Francisco Nemenzo Jr., former president of the University of the Philippines, has said at a Diliman forum that the alternative to the present administration—facing a crisis of confidence—is a revolutionary government.Francisco Nemenzo Jr., former president of the University of the Philippines, has said at a Diliman forum that the alternative to the present administration—facing a crisis of confidence—is a revolutionary government. He, in effect, says that any electoral change of government within the present framework would lead only to the continuation of the rule of the elites.The last time we had a "revolutionary government" was after EDSA in 1986, with the downfall of the dictator and the swearing in of Corazon C. Aquino as president. The government was authoritarian: the Batasan Pambansa was abolished, and local government heads were appointed. She named a fifty-member Constitutional Commission to draft a charter to be ratified in a public referendum. President Aquino seemed to have full powers to correct the basic ills of Philippine society. But she didn't or couldn't exercise them.Surrounding her were traditional politicians ("trapos") and another set of oligarchs. Her defense secretary (briefly hailed as an EDSA hero) was one of those who enforced martial law. So did her military chief of staff who served as PC chief under Marcos (also hailed as a hero at EDSA). Intact was the repressive apparatus of the Marcos regime.Other members of Aquino's Cabinet included those perceived to be close to big business and American circles. Her close-in staffers were human-rights lawyers who had progressive ideas about governance (like having a fellow human rights lawyer appointed as labor secretary but who was immediately painted as a communist and subsequently fired by Aquino under pressure). In the long run the "revolutionary government" could not prevail over the powerful interests of a US-backed military and a conservative business sector.Until the election of a new Congress under the 1987 Constitution, the period of the revolutionary government was anything but revolutionary. The period before and after was marked by coups, and the repressive executive orders issued by Marcos were not repealed. But happy days were here again for the "trapos" and new oligarchs. Reports of graft and corruption came from practically all branches of government. Patronage politics became the norm. Human-rights violations continued unabated and new massacres of peasants took place (in Lupao and Mendiola).Plunder and corruption had no letup until they came to a head during the term of Estrada, now being tried by Sandiganbayan. Another People Power uprising took place in EDSA, with the vice president taking over. Now the President is embroiled in allegations of electoral fraud and illegitimacy and members of the First Family are said to be involved in jueteng scandals.Now people are thinking about a snap (special election) or a transition council (junta) to take place if the President does not survive this crisis of people's confidence. A special election for sure will not produce a revolutionary government but more of the same. A transition council (with members from the right, middle and left with conflicting interests) will also not produce a revolutionary government if, by this, we mean an administration to effect radical social change. Maybe, a few reforms.The bourgeois-led revolutions like the French (1789-99) and the Philippines (in 1896-98) succeeded in toppling the absolute monarchy and ending monastic rule but new elites took over. In the Philippines another colonial ruler co-opting the native elites intervened. The broad masses continue to live in poverty and servitude. Not much has changed since independence in 1946. The local ruling class became the surrogates of the former colonizers. No Philippine president has won without US support. Any president who strays off the US path of interests is eventually given the boot.Cuba's history runs almost parallel to that of the Philippines. A former colony of Spain, Cuba gained its independence at the turn of the century while the Philippines had to fight off US interlopers. Independent Cuba was unable to shed its feudal society and became the playground of gambling casino owners and drug and vice lords until the Cuban people led by Fidel Castro managed to throw the rascals out and install a socialist regime in 1961. The US continues to harass Cuba with trade embargo and attacks by CIA-backed Cuban exiles. And the Philippines?So, what does ex-UP head Dodong Nemenzo have in mind for a revolutionary government? Under what concrete conditions? How will it be formed? By whom and for whom? Who are its enemies and who are its friends? The idea deserves another forum.


Ano sa palagay nyo?  Posted by Hello

Monday, June 20, 2005

The Basics of Theory (From the Notes of Justin Nicolas) A MUST READ!

Basics of Theory
Before discussing specific
theories,it is useful to
explore what social theory
is, and why it is essential
to sociology—as well as to
our understanding of
society.

What a Theory Explains
A theory explains what.
A sociological theory contains observations about the social world being a certain way. Details are provided to describe this widespread social condition, phenomenon, or way of being.

A theory explains who.
A sociological theory names the players involved—who makes this social condition happen, who enables it to persist, and who is affected by it.


A theory explains why.
A sociological theory offers an explanation for why this dimension of social life occurs, as well as why it persists over time.

A theory explains how.
A sociological theory describes the processes involved in this aspect of social life: What happens first, second, and so on.

A theory explains when.
A sociological theory offers a prediction as to what will or will not happen—and when it will or will not happen—given the various aspects of the social phenomenon being discussed.

In other words, a theory describes, explains, predicts. However, most people describe, explain and predict every day. Just about everyone discusses what they like or don’t like about the world they live in, and most everyone has some sort of belief about why things are the way they are, and what will happen in the future. So what makes a theory different from everyday talk?










Elements of a Theory
Theories emphasize consistent and predictable social patterns.
Theories strive to systematically generalize about the social world. We all make generalizations about people and society, but theories do this in a more consistent and in-depth manner. For example, a theorist might say something like: "Society is a three-level process. The A Level is all the individuals, the B Level is all the groups and organizations, and the C Level is the society at large. When A interacts with B, C is affected." This theorist would then employ this "ABC Model" to explain why something in society happened the way it did.


Theories have Propositions.
When you read theories in their original form, you will find that they often are expressed as propositions— generalized predictions about what will happen to A when confronted with more or less of B. For example, a theorist might assert: "The more powerful Level C is, the less powerful Level A is."

Theories utilize key terminologies.
The patterns and propositions of a theory are expressed through the consistent use of terminologies developed by the theorist to name and identify the various domains and components of society. These terminologies are intended to be both mutually exclusive and exhaustive. That is to say, what one term defines or describes is different from what another term describes or defines. Yet collectively, these terms are claimed to provide a full vocabulary for understanding whatever it is that the theory is trying to explain. For example, a theorist might state: "The C Level consists of culture, communication networks, normative processes, and economic production." The theorist would then describe, explain and predict about society by assigning all the parts of it to one of these four categories.

In Sociology, theories are purely sociological.

Different bodies of knowledge theorize on different aspects of life. In sociology, we focus on the social: How society and social groups form, persist, change, and how society and social groups cause events and patterns in people’s lives. In sociology, we do not look for biology, physiology, or an individual’s psychology to explain why things happen. We would not say: "He did what he did because of his male hormones," nor would we say it was because he was "crazy," or because of his left or right brain. We would look to see how social patterns compelled this person to do whatever he did. For example, we would analyze his life in terms of Levels A, B and C, as we outlined above. Other disciplines may well offer good information, but they aren’t sociology—they focus on other things.

However, the question could be raised: What is the use of these patterns, propositions, terminologies and this emphasis upon the social? Why do these tools help us to understand society?





Why Theories Matter

Theories get us thinking.

Most of us have fairly set ideas about life. We think we know the reason why a particular crime happened; we know exactly what is wrong with the world today, and how to fix it. By studying social theories, we expose ourselves to new ideas—things we haven’t thought of before. We often can see the social world differently for having studied a particular theory. We think to ourselves, "Oh, so that’s why that politician said what he did," or "So that’s why my mother said that to me when I was twelve."

Theories get us thinking critically.
Besides exposing us to new ideas, the study of social theory gets us to consider two or more different ideas at the same time. This is called critical thinking—the ability to consider more than one explanation at once. We can compare and contrast different theories, noting their similarities and differences. Good critical thinking skills sharpen our minds, and are important for both our professional and personal lives.

Theories are essential to sociological studies.

When a sociologist researches some segment of the human experience, he or she will employ a theory to frame the study. The theory might be used to generate research questions, inform the instrument of measure, or explain the findings. Sometimes, too, a new theory is generated as the result of a study. In fact, the theories you will find in a sociology textbook were all developed through the theorist’s empirical observations. He or she observed some aspect of social life, saw patterns, and theorized about it from there. Using a theory in a study helps keep the researcher from relying on his or her personal biases, or mere everyday "common sense." Theory helps to keep the study scientific and objective.

Using Theoretical terminologies is doing sociology.

Sociology "exists" only to the extent that we employ precise terminologies to describe a given phenomenon. If we merely say, "She did that because she was confused," or "Forty percent of the people surveyed answered 'yes' to Question Five," we are not doing sociology. Only when we explain the woman's actions in terms of a theoretical concept, or use theory to explain the answers to Question Five, are we exploring events sociologically.

So theories are building blocks of thought that make sociology possible. Before going on to explore the origins of sociological theory, there are a few more things to know about in the next section.

Other Things to Know
Sociological Theories Exist to Explain the Everyday World.

Theory is not about being so abstract and technical that the words have no meaning—it is created to help us gain more insights into the situations we face as individuals, and as a society. It helps us see why things are the way they are, and offers predictions about what might happen next, depending on what we do. If all you are doing is repeating back "meaningless" terms from a textbook, you aren’t understanding what a theory means. You understand a theory when you can give an example of it from the everyday world.

Sociological Theories Reflect the Differences of Opinion We Find in Society.

Since social theories are about explaining the world we live in, it only makes sense that different theories would represent the same debates we hear all the time—whether in dialog with ourselves, with other people, or watching the news on TV. Some theories suggest a match with moderate-to-conservative political viewpoints, while others are more in sympathy with a liberal-to-radical agenda. Still other theories offer more small-scale, individualized explanations that seem removed from politically-charged generalizations. In other words, theories reflect the world we live in, where some people are liberal, some are conservative, and some find these kinds of distinctions too broad and general.

Different Theories Focus on Different Aspects of the Social World.

If one theory explained everything, we would only need one theory. But such is hardly the case. It isn’t that one theory is "better" or "worse" than another, but that each theory focuses on an aspect of social life that no other theory addresses in quite the same way. This does not mean that the person who created the theory thinks that his or her ideas explain everything. It simply means that this particular aspect of the social world was what was most interesting to that theorist.

Different Theories Generate Different Research Questions.

Since theories explain the social world, sociological studies usually are framed by a particular theoretical perspective. If you want to figure out which theory you like "best," or which one you should use for a particular study, it goes back to what sort of question you are asking—what do you want to learn more about? If you apply Durkheim to your study, you will find yourself asking very different questions than if you applied Marx or Weber.

Sociology has Its Own Language.
In using precise terminologies to refer to specific social phenomenon, social theorists often assign new meanings to familiar words. For example, what a sociologist means by a word like "economy" might be highly specific—it may not mean what you assume it means. Not only that, but two different sociologists might assign two different meanings to the same word. For example, both Marx and Simmel refer to the "dialectic," but they use it differently.

Origins of Theory
Sociology came into being at a
particular junction in human history.
It asks certain basic questions about
social life, and much of its theory
reflects an historical debate that is
with us still.

The Advent of Sociology
Sociology, like other social sciences, came of age in Europe in the late 1800s, during the industrial revolution. Daily life in Europe had changed little since Feudal times. But suddenly, social life as it had been known was experiencing a dramatic upheaval.
We can take a look at several key social domains, and see how suddenly things were changing.

Geography:
Most people lived, worked and died on the farms they were born on. There were no automobiles, trains or planes; land and sea travel were costly, time-consuming, and risky. Moreover, there was no photography, so people literally could not see what other places looked like. People simply did not think in terms of ever going anyplace else. They did not ask themselves: Where do I want to live? Should I take that job that will force me to move to some other part of the country—or the world?
But with the advent of industry, new inventions changed transportation forever. Suddenly, people could travel to other places—even move to other places. And so they began to ask themselves new questions about where they wanted to live, and why.

Education:

Before the widespread use of printing presses, a book—and it would have been a single book— was written by hand. Most people never learned to read; the only book they knew of was the Bible, and they relied on their priest to tell them what it said and meant. Unless you were royalty or slated for the clergy, your "education" consisted mostly of learning the skills you would need to survive: farming, and home-related chores. Without access to formal schooling—or even a perceived need for it—people did not ask themselves: Do I want to go to college? Do I want to go to graduate school? What should I major in?
But with industrialization, many more books started getting written, published and distributed. Thus, there was a demand for more people to learn how to read—and so receive more formal education. Suddenly, people were asking questions about their education.

Work
Most people knew that they would always live on their farms, producing enough food and clothing to provide for their families. With no formal education, there was no formal career training. People believed that they were born into their station in life, in accordance with "God’s will." They did not ask themselves: What do I want to be when I grow up? Would I like to change careers or quit my job? How far do I want to go in my career?
But with the advent of industrialization, people could leave the farm to work in factories, and other places. They began to have more career choices, and so they began to wonder more about their professional lives.

Religion:
In Europe, most everyone belonged to the Church of Rome. It was taken for granted that people would be lifelong members of this one religion, and not question it. With so few people knowing how to read, there was little reason for anyone to do so. And so they did not ask themselves: Do I believe in God? What religion do I want to join—if any? Should I convert to my partner’s religion?
Only with the advent of mass-produced books (such as the Bible) did people learn to read for themselves, and some of them began questioning the religion they had been taught. This led to the Protestant Reform, along with many other expressions of dissatisfaction, doubt or disbelief in regard to religion.

Marriage:
A small percentage of people joined the Church, and so did not marry. Usually, by a young age they knew if this would be their fate, either by an inner "calling" or an arrangement made by their families. But the vast majority of people knew that if they lived to adulthood they would marry. Marriages were generally arranged, often to pay off debts or increase the family’s economic situation. Romantic love was not the point for most people; marriage was an inevitable matter of duty. If you were lucky, you were happy in your marriage, but if not, as long as you were having children and working hard to survive, little else mattered. Most people did not ask themselves: Do I want to get married, cohabitate, or live single? Do I want to leave my current partner for someone else? Am I straight or gay?
But with the advent of industrialization, people were reading, thinking, questioning, and moving away. The influence of the family lessened in some ways; there were fewer arranged marriages, and marriage by choice became the norm. And so people began asking more questions of themselves when it came to finding intimacy.

Children:
Little was known about disease and medicine, and so most children did not live to adulthood. Women simply kept getting pregnant—often eventually dying in childbirth—in the hopes of going full term with their latest pregnancy, and equally hoping that the child would survive. There were virtually no contraceptive devices available. And so people did not ask themselves: Do I want to have children—and if so, how many? What if my partner feels differently about children than I do? If I can’t have children, should I accept this, or seek out an alternative—and if so, which one?
But with the mass-production of contraceptive devices—which creates a market for new and better ones—people could assume more control over their reproductive capacities. And with the advent of important medical breakthroughs in industrialized countries, most babies—and mothers—survive childbirth. There are no longer the same conditions that would signal the "need" for constant pregnancy within the family. People must decide for themselves if and when to have or raise a child.

In sum, with industrialization came more choices. But with more choices came more uncertainty. Most of us would not actually want to go back in time and live in a way that gave us fewer choices. Yet on some level many of us might appreciate how simple life must be when so much is decided for us. (This is one of the reasons why books and movies set in "olden times" can seem so appealing— everyone seems to know exactly who they are and what is expected of them.) Most people enjoy being able to pick their own major in college, for example. Yet sometimes people are confused and depressed over not being able to decide upon a major. And so the freedom of the so-called modern society becomes a proverbial "double-edged sword." On the one hand, we are given more choices, but on the other hand, we must live with more uncertainty. The question, "Who am I?" is asked much more than it was a few hundred years ago.
Scholars began exploring this new social uncertainty brought on largely by industrialization. Eventually, this exploration led to the formation of a new kind of science: Social science. Disciplines such as sociology, psychology, anthropology and economics came of age at this time of dramatic social and cultural upheaval.

The Enlightenment and
Counter-Enlightenment
In the social upheaval set in motion by industrialization, some scholars began to ask a basic question:

What would hold society together?

For if people were abandoning centuries of tradition, if they were going to new places, doing new things, and exposing themselves to new ideas, would society collapse into chaos?
A second, closely-related question, was also posed:

What would give people's lives meaning?

For if there was no longer going to be an unshakable belief in one’s king and church, what would people put their faith in?
Given these concerns, there began a movement toward the creation of social sciences—the notion that human endeavor could be studied scientifically, just like forces of nature. Like other forms of science, social science was to be grounded in positivism—the systematic study of observable phenomenon. What was observed would be noted for its patterns and predictability. Based on these methodical, scientific observations, significant public policies and proscriptions could be recommended, just like a cure could be proposed for a disease.
Some of these scholars focused specifically on the social unit itself, and this scholarship became known as sociology. (Other scholars contributed more to such newly emerging disciplines as psychology,
This new science of sociology came of age at a time of dramatic philosophical strain between the so-called Enlightenment thinkers, and their adversaries, the Counter-Enlightenment school of thought.

The Enlightenment
The Enlightenment first began to flourish in the 18th Century. Enlightenment philosophers saw scientific and intellectual discourse as the key to creating a new world order that emphasized freedom, progress, and the emancipation of the human mind. From this perspective, new ideas and discourse should be welcomed, because they could contribute to making the world a better place. Only by getting beyond rigid ways of thinking could humankind progress toward its full potential.
Sociologically speaking, the Enlightenment perspective suggested that while rapid social change was inevitable, positivism could enable the changes to occur in ways that benefited the most people. The sociologist would serve an invaluable role in society, because he or she would have the intellectual skills needed to steer social change in a more humane direction.
Thus in answer to the two major questions stated above, this new positivistic open inquiry would provide people with new meanings, and would bring society together on a new level of understanding. In place of a monarch and religious dogma, humanistic change would be what held society together— and what people believed in.In many ways, the Enlightenment reflected what in today’s world we would call a liberal point of view: Change and innovate as needed to make society more responsive to the needs of as many people as possible.
Enlightenment thinkers, then, held a radical viewpoint for their time. They believed that rule by elite monarchs was a socially-constructed phenomenon—as opposed to the widely-held view that it was through divine providence. Enlightenment philosophers felt that the empowerment of each individual should be the proper goal of human society, and that through scientific study of society, this goal could be achieved.

The Counter-Enlightenment
The Counter-Enlightenment rose up in response to the Enlightenment. Both sides agreed that society should be scientifically studied. However, Counter-Enlightenment philosophers thought that the purpose for doing so should be to preserve as much of the existing social order as possible. While some change was seen as inevitable, the Counter-Enlightenment asserted that ideally the change would be minimal. These thinkers felt that it was extremely dangerous to be replacing centuries of tradition with new approaches to social life. Social chaos and a lack of meaning for the individual were likely to be the results, according to this school of thought.
The Counter-Enlightenment did not emphasize the freedom or happiness of the individual. Instead, they focused on the social unit itself. For without the social unit, they argued, there was no point in even discussing the individual. For in a state of social disorganization, no one would be able to accomplish much of anything. Counter-Enlightenment philosophers thought there was an underlying social order or reason to society. Thus, the existing segments and patterns thereof were all important, and deserved t be studied so that they could be preserved.
Counter-enlightenment scholars did not have the same kind of faith in positivism. They felt too many new ideas could only make for more confusion—and ultimately, fewer solutions. But they were not so naive as to think positivism would simply go away. Rather, they sought to re-channel positivism in ways that upheld the status quo.
Hence, the Counter-Enlightenment would assert that what would hold society together would be a preservation of as many traditional norms, values, beliefs and customs as possible. People should not be expected to find meaning in anything other than what they had always found meaning in.
To a large measure, the Counter-Enlightenment was in sympathy with what in today’s world would be called a conservative viewpoint: First and foremost, preserve the existing social order, and proceed slowly and cautiously with any social change—if at all. Otherwise, there might be chaos, which would serve the needs of no one.

To this day, the tension between the Enlightenment and Counter-Enlightenment is reflected in social theory. Some theories are more in keeping with the Enlightenment, and some are more similar to the Counter-Enlightenment. And this difference in theoretical approaches reflects a more basic debate we see in society—the competing liberal and conservative agendas. As a society, we continue to debate whether to change or leave a given situation alone. How much aid should we give the poor—or to other nations? How much regulation should there be over private industries? And so on. The discussion goes on—and social theories reflect the tensions thereof.
Now, to find out more about this strain between Enlightenment and the Counter-Enlightenment, and how it is reflected in some of the founding sociological scholarship, click on the light bulb.

Traditional Sociological Paradigms (some notes)

TRADITIONAL SOCIOLOGICAL PARADIGMS
(aka theories or perspectives)

Functionalism (also known as Structural Functionalism) – Macrosociological level theory

Focus on order and stability in society
Society is a system of interrelated, interdependent parts, which are social institutions or structures, e.g. a part may be family, education, economic, religion, etc…
The function of a part is its contribution to the system, and its effects on other parts
The needs of society are to be identified and determining how the parts satisfy the needs
Each part functions to maintain an orderly and predictable system, preserving social order
There is a normative consensus where members of society share a set of values and behaviours
An analogy is the human body
Key sociologists: Emile Durkheim, Talcott Parsons, Robert Merton
Criticisms

May justify and legitimize the existence of a part of society, e.g. poverty or unemployment
Helps to preserve status quo by overlooking or downplaying sources of tension and inequality
Efficiency of a part may not be questioned
Origins of social conflict and instability not accountable or are considered dysfunctional

2. Conflict Theory – macrosociological level theory

Focus on conflict as inevitable part of social life,
Societies are characterized by inequality and thus there is an emphasis on the role of competition in producing conflict
Conflict is not necessarily a negative aspect of society since it produces social change
Society comprised of dominant and subordinate groups which compete for resources – the have and the have nots
Who benefits at whose expense is the question
Key sociologists: Karl Marx, Max Weber
Marxism is essentially a sub-theory of conflict theory but it was the originator of conflict theory as well: focus was on class conflict, believing that the economic system was the primary determinant of a society, and within the economic system there existed two classes - the bourgeoisie(owning or ruling class) and the proletariat (working class); class membership was determined by relationship to means of production; belief that the proletariat would organize and precipitate a revolution because of this inequality and thus capitalism would be transformed into socialism and eventually communism.

Criticisms

overemphasize tensions and divisions
relationship between groups more complex
situations exist where subordinate groups control the interactions are ignored

3. Interpretivism (also known as symbolic interactionism or interactionism) – microsociological level theory

Focus is on how people themselves define reality, how they make sense of the world, how they experience and define what people are doing
Assumption is that social structures are created through interactions among people so that patterns and standards of behaviour emerge, i.e. social reality is a construction by people
Focus on meanings assigned to actions and symbols, how meanings are learned and modified
Inquires into factors that influence how we interpret what we say and do, and patterns that give rise to same interpretation for many
Actors in a play in an analogy – dramaturgy, a sub-theory of interactionism
Key sociologists: George Herbert Mead and Herbert Blumer

Criticisms

No systematic frameworks for prediction or persistence/evolving of meanings
Potential for subjectivity in analysis greater

SOURCES: various introductory sociology textbooks authored by the following: J. Ferrante, B. Hess, R. Schaefer, J. Mancionis; and other sociologists including N. Blaikie, G. Schutz, K. Marx, T. Parsons.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Berger and Luckman: Society as a Human Product

From Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann. The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise its the Sociology of Knowledge (Garden City, New York: Anchor Books, 1966), pp. 51-55, 59-61.
Society as a Human Product
Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann
It should be clear from the foregoing that the statement that man produces himself in no way implies some sort of Promethean vision of the solitary individual. Man's self-production is always, and of necessity, a social enterprise. Men together produce a human environment, with the totality of its socio-cultural and psychological formations. None of these formations may be understood as products of man's biological constitution, which, as indicated, provides only the outer limits for human productive activity. Just as it is impossible for man to develop as man in isolation, so it is impossible for man in isolation to produce a human environment. Solitary human being is being on the animal level (which, of course, man shares with other animals). As soon as one deserves phenomena that are specifically human, one enters the realm of the social. Man's specific humanity and his sociality are inextricably intertwined. Homo sapiens is always, and in the same measure, homo socius.
The human organism lacks the necessary biological means to provide stability for human conduct. Human existence, if it were thrown back on its organismic resources by themselves, would be existence in some sort of chaos. Such chaos is, however, empirically unavailable, even though one may theoretically conceive of it. Empirically, human existence takes place in a context of order, direction, stability. The question then arises: From what does the empirically existing stability of human order derive? An answer may be given on two levels. One may first point to the obvious fact that a given social order precedes any individual organismic development. That is, world-openness, while intrinsic to man's biological make-up, is always preempted by social order. One may say that the biologically intrinsic world-openness of human existence is always, and indeed must be, transformed by social order into a relative world-closedness. While this reclosure can never approximate the closedness of animal existence, if only because of its humanly produced and thus "artificial" character, it is nevertheless capable, most of the time, of providing direction and stability for the greater part of human conduct. The question may then be pushed to another level. One may ask in what manner social order itself arises.
The most general answer to this question is that social order is a human product. Or, more precisely, an ongoing human production. It is produced by man in the course of his ongoing externalization. Social order is not biologically given or derived from any biological data in its empirical manifestations. Social order, needless to add, is also not given in man's natural environment, though particular features of this may be factors in determining certain features of a social order (for example, its economic or technological arrangements). Social order is not part of the "nature of things," and it cannot be derived from the "laws of nature." Social order exists only as a product of human activity. No other ontological status may be ascribed to it without hopelessly obfuscating its empirical manifestations. Both in its genesis (social order is the result of past human activity) and its existence in any instant of time (social order exists only and insofar as human activity continues to produce it) it is a human product.
While the social products of human externalization have a character sui generis as against both their organismic and their environmental context, it is important to stress that externalization as such is an anthropological necessity. Human being is impossible in a closed sphere of quiescent interiority. Human being must ongoingly externalize itself in activity. This anthropological necessity is grounded in man's biological equipment. The inherent instability of the human organism makes it imperative that man himself provide a stable environment for his conduct. Man himself must specialize and direct his drives. These biological facts serve as a necessary presupposition for the production of social order. In other words, although no existing social order can be derived from biological data, the necessity for social order as such stems from man's biological equipment.
To understand the causes, other than those posited by the biological constants for the emergence, maintenance and transmission of a social order one must under take an analysis that eventuates in a theory of institutionalization.
Origins of Institutionalization
All human activity is subject to habitualization. Any action that is repeated frequently becomes cast into a pattern, which can then be reproduced with an economy of effort and which, ipso facto, is apprehended by its performer as that pattern. Habitualization further implies that the action in question may be performed again in the future in the same manner and with the same economical effort. This is true of non-social as well as of social activity. Even the solitary individual on the proverbial desert island habitualizes his activity. When he wakes up in the morning and resumes his attempts to construct a canoe out of matchsticks, he may mumble to himself, "There I go again," as he starts on step one of an operating procedure consisting of, say, ten steps. In other words, even solitary man has at least the company of his operating procedures.
Habitualized actions, of course, retain their meaningful character for the individual although the meanings involved become embedded as routines in his general stock of knowledge, taken for granted by him and at hand for his projects into the future. Habitualization carries with it the important psychological gain that choices are narrowed. While in theory there may be a hundred ways to go about the project of building a canoe out of matchsticks, habitualization narrows these down to one. This frees the individual from the burden of "all those decisions," providing a psychological relief that has its basis in man's undirected instinctual structure. Habitualization provides the direction and the specialization of activity that is lacking in man's biological equipment, thus relieving the accumulation of tensions that result from undirected drives. And by providing a stable background in which human activity may proceed with a minimum of decision-making most of the time, it frees energy for such decisions as may be necessary on certain occasions. In other words, the background of habitualized activity opens up a foreground for deliberation and innovation.
In terms of the meanings bestowed by man upon his activity, habitualization makes it unnecessary for each situation to be defined anew, step by step. A large variety of situations may be subsumed under its predefinitions. The activity to be undertaken in these situations can then be anticipated. Even alternatives of conduct can be assigned standard weights.
These processes of habitualization precede any institutionalization, indeed can he made to apply to a hypothetical solitary individual detached from any social interaction. The fact that even such a solitary individual, assuming that he has been formed as a self (as we would have to assume in the case of our matchstick-canoe builder), will habitualize his activity in accordance with biographical experience of a world of social institutions preceding his solitude need not concern us at the moment. Empirically, the more important part of the habitualization of human activity is coextensive with the latter's institutionalization. The question then becomes how do institutions arise.
Institutionalization occurs whenever there is a reciprocal typification of habitualized actions by types of actors. Put differently, any such typification is an institution. What must be stressed is the reciprocity of institutional typifications and the typicality of not only the actions but also the actors in institutions. The typifications of habitualized actions that constitute institutions are always shared ones. They are available to all the members of the particular social group in question, and the institution itself typifies individual actors as well as individual actions. The institution posits that actions of type X will be performed by actors of type X. For example, the institution of the law posits that heads shall be chopped off in specific ways under specific circumstances, and that specific types of individuals shall do the chopping (executioners, say, or members of an impure caste, or virgins under a certain age, or those who have been designated by an oracle).
Institutions further imply historicity and control. Reciprocal typifications of actions are built up in the course of a shared history. They cannot be created instantaneously. Institutions always have a history, of which they are the products. It is impossible to understand an institution adequately without an understanding of the historical process in which it was produced. Institutions also, by the very fact of their existence, control human conduct by setting up predefined patterns of conduct, which channel it in one direction as against the many other directions that would theoretically be possible. It is important to stress that this controlling character is inherent in institutionalization as such, prior to or apart from any mechanisms of sanctions specifically set up to support an institution. These mechanisms (the sum of which constitute what is generally called a system of social control) do, of course, exist in many institutions and in all the agglomerations of institutions that we call societies. Their controlling efficacy, however, is of a secondary or supplementary kind. As we shall see again later, the primary social control is given in the existence of an institution as such. To say that a segment of human activity has been institutionalized is already to say that this segment of human activity has been subsumed under social control. Additional control mechanisms are required only insofar as the processes of institutionalization are less than completely successful. Thus, for instance, the law may provide that anyone who breaks the incest taboo will have his head chopped off. This provision may be necessary because there have been cases when individuals offended against the taboo. It is unlikely that this sanction will have to be invoked continuously (unless the institution delineated by the incest taboo is itself in the course of disintegration, a special case that we need not elaborate here). It makes little sense, therefore, to say that human sexuality is socially controlled by beheading certain individuals. Rather, human sexuality is socially controlled by its institutionalization in the course of the particular history in question. One may add, of course, that the incest taboo itself is nothing but the negative side of an assemblage of typifications, which define in the first place which sexual conduct is incestuous and which is not.
In actual experience institutions generally manifest themselves in collectivities containing considerable numbers of people. It is theoretically important, however, to emphasize that the institutionalizing process of reciprocal typification would occur even if two individuals began to interact de novo. . . . A and B alone are responsible for having constructed this world. A and B remain capable of changing or abolishing it. What is more, since they themselves have shaped this world in the course of a shared biography which they can remember, the world thus shaped appears fully transparent to them. They understand the world that they themselves have made. All this changes in the process of transmission to the new generation. The objectivity of the institutional world "thickens" and "hardens," not only for the children, but (by a mirror effect) for the parents as well. The "There we go again" now becomes "This is how these things are done." A world so regarded attains a firmness in consciousness; it becomes real in an ever more massive way and it can no longer be changed so readily. For the children, especially in the early phase of their socialization into it, it becomes the world. For the parents, it loses its playful quality and becomes "serious." For the children, the parentally transmitted world is not fully transparent. Since they had no part in shaping it, it confronts them as a given reality that, like nature, is opaque in places at least.
Only at this point does it become possible to speak of a social world at all, in the sense of a comprehensive and given reality confronting the individual in a manner analogous to the reality of the natural world. Only in this way, as an objective world, can the social formations be transmitted to a new generation. In the early phases of socialization the child is quite incapable of distinguishing between the objectivity of natural phenomena and the objectivity of the social formations. To take the most important item of socialization, language appears to the child as inherent in the nature of things, and he cannot grasp the notion of its conventionality. A thing is what it is called, and it could not be called anything else. All institutions appear in the same way, as given, unalterable and self-evident. Even in our empirically unlikely example of parents having constructed an institutional world de novo, the objectivity of this world would be increased for them by the socialization of their children, because the objectivity experienced by the children would reflect back upon their own experience of this world. Empirically, of course, the institutional world transmitted by most parents already has the character of historical and objective reality. The process of transmission simply strengthens the parents' sense of reality, if only because, to put it crudely, if one says, "This is how these things are done," often enough one believes it oneself.
An institutional world, then, is experienced as an objective reality. It has a history that antedates the individual's birth and is not accessible to his biographical recollection. It was there before he was born, and it will be there after his death. This history itself, as the tradition of the existing institutions, has the character of objectivity. The individual's biography is apprehended as an episode located within the objective history of the society. The institutions, as historical and objective facticities, confront the individual as undeniable facts. The institutions are there, external to him, persistent in their reality, whether he likes it or not. He cannot wish them away. They resist his attempts to change or evade them. They have coercive power over him, both in themselves, by the sheer force of their facticity, and through the control mechanisms that are usually attached to the most important of them. The objective reality of institutions is not diminished if the individual does not understand their purpose or their mode of operation. He may experience large sectors of the social world as incomprehensible, perhaps oppressive in their opaqueness, but real nonetheless. Since institutions exist as external reality, the individual cannot understand them by introspections. He must "go out" and learn about them, just as he must to learn about nature. This remains true even though the social world, as a humanly produced reality, is potentially understandable in a way not possible in the case of the natural world.
It is important to keep in mind that the objectivity of the institutional world, however massive it may appear to the individual, is a humanly produced, constructed objectivity. The process by which the externalized products of human activity attain the character of objectivity is objectivation. The institutional world is objectivated human activity, and so is every single institution. In other words despite the objectivity that marks the social world in human experience, it does not thereby acquire an ontological status apart from the human activity that produced it. The paradox that man is capable of producing a world that he then experiences as something other than a human product will concern us later on. At the moment, it is important to emphasize that the relationship between man, the producer, and the social world, his product, is and remains a dialectical one. That is, man (not of course, in isolation but in his collectivities) and his social world interact with each other. The product acts back upon the producer. Externalization and objectivation are moments in a continuing dialectical process, which is internalization (by which the objectivated social world is retrojected into consciousness in the course of socialization), will occupy us in considerable detail later on. It is already possible, however, to see the fundamental relationship of these three dialectical moments in social reality. Each of them corresponds to an essential characterization of the social world. Society is a human product. Society is an objective reality. Man is a social product. It may also already be evident that an analysis of the social world that leaves out any one of these three moments will be distortive. One may further add that only with the transmission of the social world to a new generation (that is, internalization as effectuated in socialization) does the fundamental social dialectic appear in its totality. To repeat, only with the appearance of a new generation can one properly speak of a social world.

Robert Merton: Manifest and Latent Function

From Robert K. Merton, Social Theory and Social Structure. Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1957, pp. 60 - 69.
MANIFEST AND LATENT FUNCTIONS
As has been implied in earlier sections, the distinction between manifest and latent functions was devised to preclude the inadvertent confusion, often found in the sociological literature, between conscious motivations for social behavior and its objective consequences. Our scrutiny of current vocabularies of functional analysis has shown how easily, and how unfortunately, the sociologist may identify motives with functions. It was further indicated that the motive and the function vary independently and that the failure to register this fact in an established terminology has contributed to the unwitting tendency among sociologists to confuse the subjective categories of motivation with the objective categories of function. This, then, is the central purpose of our succumbing to the not-always-commendable practice of introducing new terms into the rapidly growing technical vocabulary of sociology, a practice regarded by many laymen as an affront to their intelligence and an offense against common intelligibility.
As will be readily recognized, I have adapted the terms "manifest" and "latent" from their use in another context by Freud (although Francis Bacon had long ago spoken of "latent process" and "latent configuration" in connection with processes which are below the threshold of superficial observation).
The distinction itself has been repeatedly drawn by observers of human behavior at irregular intervals over a span of many centuries. (64) Indeed, it would be disconcerting to find that a distinction which we have come to regard as central to functional analysis had not been made by any of that numerous company who have in effect adopted a functional orientation. We need mention only a few of those who have, in recent decades, found it necessary to distinguish in their specific interpretations of behavior between the end-in-view and the functional consequences of action.
George H. Mead (65): ". . . that attitude of hostility toward the law breaker has the unique advantage [read: latent function] of uniting all members of the community in the emotional solidarity of aggression. While the most admirable of humanitarian efforts are sure to run counter to the individual interests of very many in the community, or fail to touch the interest and imagination of the multitude and to leave the community divided or indifferent, the cry of thief or murderer is attuned to profound complexes, lying below the surface of competing individual efforts, and citizens who have [been] separated by divergent interests stand together against the common enemy.

Emile Durkheim's (66) similar analysis of the social functions of punishment is also focused on its latent functions (consequences for the community) rather than confined to manifest functions (consequences for the criminal).

W. G. Sumner (67): ". . . from the first acts by which men try to satisfy needs, each act stands by itself, and looks no further than the immediate satisfaction. From recurrent needs arise habits for the individual and customs for the group, but these results are consequences which were never conscious, and never foreseen or intended. They are not noticed until they have long existed, and it is still longer before they are appreciated." Although this fails to locate the latent functions of standardized social actions for a designated social structure, it plainly makes the basic distinction between ends-in-view and objective consequences.

R. M. MacIver (68): In addition to the direct effects of institutions, "there are further effects by way of control which lie outside the direct purposes of men . . . this type of reactive form of control . . . may, though unintended, be of profound service to society.

W. I. Thomas and F. Znaniecki (69): ''Although all the new [Polish peasant cooperative] institutions are thus formed with the definite purpose of satisfying certain specific needs, their social function is by no means limited to their explicit and conscious purpose . . . every one of these institutions--commune or agricultural circle, loan and savings bank, or theater--is not merely a mechanism for the management of certain values but also an association of people, each member of which is supposed to participate in the common activities as a living, concrete individual. Whatever is the predominant, official common interest upon which the institution is founded, the association as a concrete group of human personalities unofficially involves many other interests; the social contacts between its members are not limited to their common pursuit, though the latter, of course, constitutes both the main reason for which the association is formed and the most permanent bond which holds it together. Owing to this combination of an abstract political, economic, or rather rational mechanism for the satisfaction of specific needs with the concrete unity of a social group, the new institution is also the best intermediary link between the peasant primary-group and the secondary national system."
These and numerous other sociological observers have, then, from time to time distinguished between categories of subjective disposition ("needs, interests, purposes") and categories of generally unrecognized but objective functional consequences ("unique advantages," "never conscious" consequences, "unintended . . . service to society," "function not limited to conscious and explicit purpose").

Since the occasion for making the distinction arises with great frequency, and since the purpose of a conceptual scheme is to direct observations toward salient elements of a situation and to prevent the inadvertent oversight of these elements, it would seem justifiable to designate this distinction by an appropriate set of terms. This is the rationale for the distinction between manifest functions and latent functions; the first referring to those objective consequences for a specified unit (person, subgroup, social or cultural system) which contribute to its adjustment or adaptation and were so intended; the second referring to unintended and unrecognized consequences of the same order.
There are some indications that the christening of this distinction may serve a heuristic purpose by becoming incorporated into an explicit conceptual apparatus, thus aiding both systematic observation and later analysis. In recent years, for example, the distinction between manifest and latent functions has been utilized in analyses of racial intermarriage, (70) social stratification, (71) affective frustration, (72) Veblen's sociological theories, (73) prevailing American orientations toward Russia, (74) propaganda as a means of social control, (75) Malinowski's anthropological theory, (76) Navajo witchcraft, (77) problems in the sociology of knowledge, (78) fashion, (79) the dynamics of personality, (80) national security measures, (81) the internal social dynamics of bureaucracy, (82) and a great variety of other sociological problems.
The very diversity of these subject-matters suggests that the theoretic distinction between manifest and latent functions is not bound up with a limited and particular range of human behavior. But there still remains the large task of ferreting out the specific uses to which this distinction can be put, and it is to this large task that we devote the remaining pages of this chapter.
Heuristic Purposes of the Distinction
Clarifies the analysis of seemingly irrational social patterns. In the first place, the distinction aids the sociological interpretation of many social practices which persist even though their manifest purpose is clearly not achieved. The time-worn procedure in such instances has been for diverse, particularly lay, observers to refer to these practices as "superstitions," "irrationalities," "mere inertia of tradition," etc. In other words, when group behavior does not-- and, indeed, often cannot--attain its ostensible purpose there is an inclination to attribute its occurrence to lack of intelligence, sheer ignorance, survivals, or so-called inertia. Thus, the Hopi ceremonials designed to produce abundant rainfall may be labelled a superstitious practice of primitive folk and that is assumed to conclude the matter. It should be noted that this in no sense accounts for the group behavior. It is simply a case of name-calling; it substitutes the epithet "superstition" for an analysis of the actual role of this behavior in the life of the group. Given the concept of latent function, however, we are reminded that this behavior may perform a function for the group, although this function may be quite remote from the avowed purpose of the behavior.
The concept of latent function extends the observer's attention beyond the question of whether or not the behavior attains its avowed purpose. Temporarily ignoring these explicit purposes, it directs attention toward another range of consequences: those bearing, for example, upon the individual personalities of Hopi involved in the ceremony and upon the persistence and continuity of the larger group. Were one to confine himself to the problem of whether a manifest (purposed) function occurs, it becomes a problem, not for the sociologist, but for the meteorologist. And to be sure, our meteorologists agree that the rain ceremonial does not produce rain; but this is hardly to the point. It is merely to say that the ceremony does not have this technological use; that this purpose of the ceremony and its actual consequences do not coincide. But with the concept of latent function, we continue our inquiry, examining the consequences of the ceremony not for the rain gods or for meteorological phenomena, but for the groups which conduct the ceremony. And here it may be found, as many observers indicate, that the ceremonial does indeed have functions--but functions which are non-purposed or latent.

Ceremonials may fulfill the latent function of reinforcing the group identity by providing a periodic occasion on which the scattered members of a group assemble to engage in a common activity. As Durkheim among others long since indicated, such ceremonials are a means by which collective expression is afforded the sentiments which, in a further analysis, are found to be a basic source of group unity. Through the systematic application of the concept of latent function, therefore, apparently irrational behavior may at times be found to be positively functional for the group. Operating with the concept of latent function, we are not too quick to conclude that if an activity of a group does not achieve its nominal purpose, then its persistence can be described only as an instance of "inertia," "survival," or "manipulation by powerful subgroups in the society."
In point of fact, some conception like that of latent function has very often, almost invariably, been employed by social scientists observing a standardized practice designed to achieve an objective which one knows from accredited physical science cannot be thus achieved. This would plainly be the case, for example, with Pueblo rituals dealing with rain or fertility. But with behavior which is not directed toward a clearly unattainable objective, sociological observers are less likely to examine the collateral or latent functions of the behavior.
Directs attention to theoretically fruitful fields of inquiry. The distinction between manifest and latent functions serves further to direct the attention of the sociologist to precisely those realms of behavior, attitude and belief where he can most fruitfully apply his special skills. For what is his task if he confines himself to the study of manifest functions? He is then concerned very largely with determining whether a practice instituted for a particular purpose does, in fact, achieve this purpose. He will then inquire, for example, whether a new system of wage-payment achieves its avowed purpose of reducing labor turnover or of increasing output. He will ask whether a propaganda campaign has indeed gained its objective of increasing "willingness to fight" or "willingness to buy war bonds," or "tolerance toward other ethnic groups." Now, these are important, and complex, types of inquiry. But, so long as sociologists confine themselves to the study of manifest functions, their inquiry is set for them by practical men of affairs (whether a captain of industry, a trade union leader, or, conceivably, a Navaho chieftain, is for the moment immaterial), rather than by the theoretic problems which are at the core of the discipline. By dealing primarily with the realm of manifest functions, with the key problem of whether deliberately instituted practices or organizations succeed in achieving their objectives, the sociologist becomes converted into an industrious and skilled recorder of the altogether familiar pattern of behavior. The terms of appraisal are fixed and limited by the question put to him by the non-theoretic men of affairs, e.g., has the new wage-payment program achieved such-and-such purposes?
But armed with the concept of latent function, the sociologist extends his inquiry in those very directions which promise most for the theoretic development of the discipline. He examines the familiar (or planned) social practice to ascertain the latent, and hence generally unrecognized, functions (as well, of course, as the manifest functions). He considers for example, the consequences of the new wage plan for, say, the trade union in which the workers are organized or the consequences of a propaganda program, not only for increasing its avowed purpose of stirring up patriotic fervor, but also for making large numbers of people reluctant to speak their minds when they differ with official policies, etc. In short, it is suggested that the distinctive intellectual contributions of the sociologist are found primarily in the study of unintended consequences (among which are latent functions) of social practices, as well as in the study of anticipated consequences (among which are manifest functions). (83)
There is some evidence that it is precisely at the point where the research attention of sociologists has shifted from the plane of manifest to the plane of latent functions that they have made their distinctive and major contributions. This can be extensively documented but a few passing illustrations must suffice.
THE HAWTHORNE WESTERN ELECTRIC STUDIES: (84) As is well known, the early stages of this inquiry were concerned with the problem of the relations of "illumination to efficiency" of industrial workers. For some two and a half years, attention was focused on problems such as this: do variations in the intensity of lighting affect production? The initial results showed that within wide limits there was no uniform relation between illumination and output. Production output increased both in the experimental group where illumination was increased (or decreased) and in the control group where no changes in illumination were introduced. In short, the investigators confined themselves wholly to a search for the manifest functions. Lacking a concept of latent social function, no attention whatever was initially paid to the social consequences of the experiment for relations among members of the test and control groups or for relations between workers and the test room authorities. In other words, the investigators lacked a sociological frame of reference and operated merely as "engineers" (just as a group of meteorologists might have explored the "effects" upon rainfall of the Hopi ceremonial).
Only after continued investigation, did it occur to the research group to explore the consequences of the new "experimental situation" for the self-images and self-conceptions of the workers taking part in the experiment, for the interpersonal relations among members of the group, for the coherence and unity of the group. As Elton Mayo reports it, "the illumination fiasco had made them alert to the need that very careful records should be kept of everything that happened in the room in addition to the obvious engineering and industrial devices. Their observations therefore included not only records of industrial and engineering changes but also records of physiological or medical changes, and, in a sense, of social and anthropological. This last took the form of a 'log' that gave as full an account as possible of the actual events of every day. . . ." (85) In short, it was only after a long series of experiments which wholly neglected the latent social functions of the experiment (as a contrived social situation) that this distinctly sociological framework was introduced. "With this realization," the authors write, "the inquiry changed its character. No longer were the investigators interested in testing for the effects of single variables. In the place of a controlled experiment, they substituted the notion of a social situation which needed to be described and understood as a system of interdependent elements.'' Thereafter, as is now widely known, inquiry was directed very largely toward ferreting out the latent functions of standardized practices among the workers, of informal organization developing among workers, of workers' games instituted by "wise administrators," of large programs of worker counselling and interviewing, etc. The new conceptual scheme entirely altered the range and types of data gathered in the ensuing research.
One has only to return to the previously quoted excerpt from Thomas and Znaniecki in their classical work of some thirty years ago, to recognize the correctness of Shils' remark:
. . . indeed the history of the study of primary groups in American sociology is a supreme instance of the discontinuities of the development of this discipline: a problem is stressed by one who is an acknowledged founder of the discipline, the problem is left unstudied, then, some years later, it is taken up with enthusiasm as if no one had ever thought of it before. (86)
For Thomas and Znaniecki had repeatedly emphasized the sociological view that, whatever its major purpose, "the association as a concrete group of human personalities unofficially involves many other interests; the social contacts between its members are not limited to their common pursuit. . . ." In effect, then, it had taken years of experimentation to turn the attention of the Western Electric research team to the latent social functions of primary groups emerging in industrial organizations. It should be made clear that this case is not cited here as an instance of defective experimental design; that is not our immediate concern. It is considered only as an illustration of the pertinence for sociological inquiry of the concept of latent function, and the associated concepts of functional analysis. It illustrates how the inclusion of this concept (whether the term is used or not is inconsequential) can sensitize sociological investigators to a range of significant social variables which are otherwise easily overlooked. The explicit ticketing of the concept may perhaps lessen the frequency of such occasions of discontinuity in future sociological research.
The discovery of latent functions represents significant increments in sociological knowledge. There is another respect in which inquiry into latent functions represents a distinctive contribution of the social scientist. It is precisely the latent functions of a practice or belief which are not common knowledge, for these are unintended and generally unrecognized social and psychological consequences. As a result, findings concerning latent functions represent a greater increment in knowledge than findings concerning manifest functions. They represent, also, greater departures from "common-sense" knowledge about social life. Inasmuch as the latent functions depart, more or less, from the avowed manifest functions, the research which uncovers latent functions very often produces "paradoxical" results. The seeming paradox arises from the sharp modification of a familiar popular preconception which regards a standardized practice or belief only in terms of its manifest functions by indicating some of its subsidiary or collateral latent functions. The introduction of the concept of latent function in social research leads to conclusions which show that "social life is not as simple as it first seems." For as long as people confine themselves to certain consequences (e.g. manifest consequences), it is comparatively simple for them to pass moral judgments upon the practice or belief in question. Moral evaluations, generally based on these manifest consequences, tend to be polarized in terms of black or white. But the perception of further (latent) consequences often complicates the picture. Problems of moral evaluation (which are not our immediate concern) and problems of social engineering (which are our concern (87)) both take on the additional complexities usually involved in responsible social decisions.
An example of inquiry which implicitly uses the notion of latent function will illustrate the sense in which "paradox"--discrepancy between the apparent, merely manifest, function and the actual, which also includes latent functions tends to occur as a result of including this concept. Thus, to revert to Veblen's well-known analysis of conspicuous consumption, it is no accident that he has been recognized as a social analyst gifted with an eye for the paradoxical, the ironic, the satiric. For these are frequent, if not inevitable, outcomes of applying the concept of latent function (or its equivalent).
ENDNOTES:
64. References to some of the more significant among these earlier appearances of the distinction will be found in Merton, "Unanticipated consequences . . . ," op. cit.
65. George H. Mead, "The psychology of punitive justice," American Journal of Sociology, 1918, 23, 577-602, esp. 591.
66. As suggested earlier in this chapter, Durkheim adopted a functional orientation throughout his work, and he operates, albeit often without explicit notice, with concepts equivalent to that of latent function in all of his researches. The reference in the text at this point is to his "Deux lois de l'evolution penule," L'annee sociologique, 1899-1900, 4, 55-95, as well as to his Division of Labor in Society (Glencoe, Illinois: The Free Press, 1947 ) .
67. This one of his many such observations is of course from W.G. Sumner's Folkways, (Boston Ginn & Co., 1906), 3. His collaborator, Albert G. Keller retained the distinction in his own. writings; see, for example, his Social Evolution, ( New York: MacMillan, 1927), at 93-45.
68. This is advisedly drawn from one of MacIver's earlier works, Community, (London: MacMillan, 1915). The distinction takes on greater importance in his later writings, becoming a major element in his Social Causation, (Boston: Ginn & Co., 1942 ), esp. at .314-321, and informs the greater part of his The More Perfect Union, (New York: MacMillan, 1918).
69. The single excerpt quoted in the text is one of scores which have led to The Polish Peasant in Europe and America being deservedly described as a "sociological classic. See pages 1426-7 and 1523 ff. As will be noted later in this chapter, the insights and conceptual distinctions contained in this one passage, and there are many others like it in point of richness of content, were forgotten or never noticed by those industrial sociologists who recently came to develop the notion of ''informal organization" in industry.
70. Merton, "Intermarriage and the social structure." op. cit.
71. Kingsley Davis, "A conceptual analysis of stratification," American Sociological Review, 1942, 7, 309-321.
72. Thorner, op. cit., esp. at 16 t.
73. A.K. Davis, Thorstein Veblen's Social Theory, Harvard Ph.D. dissertation, 1941 and "Veblen on the decline of the Protestant Ethic," Social Forces, 1944, 22, 282-86; Louis Schneider, The Freudian Psychology and Veblen's Social Theory, (New York: King's Crown Press, 1948), esp. Chapter 2.
74. A.K. Davis, "Some sources of American hostility to Russia," American Journal of Sociology, 1947, 53, 174-183.
75. Talcott Parsons, "Propaganda and social control," in his Essays in Sociological Theory.
76. Clyde Kluckhohn, "Bronislaw Malinowski, 1884-1942," Journal of American Folklore, 1943, 56, 208-219.
77. Clyde Kluckhohn, Navaho Witchcraft, op. cit., esp. at 46-47 and ff.
78. Merton, Chapter XII of this volume.
79. Bernard Barber and L. S. Lobel, "'Fashion' in women's clothes and the American social system, Social Forces, 1952, 31, 121-131.
80. O. H. Mowrer and C. Kluckhohn, "Dynamic theory of personality," in J.M. Hunt, ed., Personality and the Behavior Disorders, ( Nev York: Ronald Press, 1944), 1, 69-135, esp. at 72.
81. Marie Jahoda and S. W. Cook, "Security measures and freedom of thought: an exploratory study of the impact of loyalty and security programs," Yale Law Journal, 1952, 61, 296-333.
82. Philip Selznick, TVA and the Grass Roots (University of California Press, 1949); A. W. Gouldner, Patterns of Industrial Bureaucracy (Glencoe, Illinois: The Free Press, 1954), P. M. Blau, The Dynamics of Bureaucracy (University of Chicago Press, 1955 ); A. K. Davis, "Bureaucratic patterns in Navy officer corps," Social Forces 1948, 27, 142-153.
83. For a brief illustration of this general proposition, see Robert K. Merton, Marjorie Fiske and Alberta Curtis, Mass Persuasion, ( New York: Harper, 1946) 185-189; Jahoda and Cook, op. cit.
84. This is cited as a case study of how an elaborate research was wholly changed in theoretic orientation and in the character of its research findings by the introduction of a concept approximating the concept of latent function. Selection of the case for this purpose does not, of course imply full acceptance of the interpretations which the authors give their findings. Among the several volumes reporting the Western Electric research, see particularly W. J. Roethlisberger and W. J. Dickson, Management and the Worker, (Harvard University Press, 1939).
85. Elton Mayo, The Social Problems of an Industrial Civilization, (Harvard University Press, 1945), 70.
86. Edward Shils, The Present State of American Sociology, (Glencoe, Illinois. The Free Press, 1948), 42 [italics supplied].
87. This is not to deny that social engineering has direct moral implications or that technique and morality are inescapably intertwined, but I do not intend to deal with this range of problems in the present chapter. For some discussion of these problems see chapters VI, XV and XVII; also Merton, Fiske and Curtis, Mass Persuasion, chapter 7.

Robert Merton: Bureaucratic Structure and Personality

From Robert K. Merton, Social Theory and Social Structure. Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1957, pp. 195-206.
VI BUREAUCRATIC STRUCTURE AND PERSONALITY
A formal, rationally organized social structure involves clearly defined patterns of activity in which, ideally, every series of actions is functionally related to the purposes of the organization. (l) In such an organization there is integrated a series of offices, of hierarchized statuses, in which inhere a number of obligations and privileges closely defined by limited and specific rules. Each of these offices contains an area of imputed competence and responsibility. Authority, the power of control which derives from an acknowledged status, inheres in the office and not in the particular person who performs the official role. Official action ordinarily occurs within the framework of preexisting rules of the organization. The system of prescribed relations between the various offices involves a considerable degree of formality and clearly defined social distance between the occupants of these positions. Formality is manifested by means of a more or less complicated social ritual which symbolizes and supports the pecking order of the various offices. Such formality, which is integrated with the distribution of authority within the system, serves to minimize friction by largely restricting (official) contact to modes which are previously defined by the rules of the organization. Ready calculability of others' behavior and a stable set of mutual expectations is thus built up. Moreover, formality facilitates the interaction of the occupants of offices despite their (possibly hostile) private attitudes toward one another. In this way, the subordinate is protected from the arbitrary action of his superior, since the actions of both are constrained by a mutually recognized set of rules. Specific procedural devices foster objectivity and restrain the "quick passage of impulse into action." (2)
THE STRUCTURE OF BUREAUCRACY
The ideal type of such formal organization is bureaucracy and, in many respects, the classical analysis of bureaucracy is that by Max Weber. (3) As Weber indicates, bureaucracy involves a clear-cut division of integrated activities which are regarded as duties inherent in the office. A system of differentiated controls and sanctions is stated in the regulations. The assignment of roles occurs on the basis of technical qualifications which are ascertained through formalized, impersonal procedures (e.g., examinations). Within the structure of hierarchically arranged authority, the activities of "trained and salaried experts" are governed by general, abstract, and clearly defined rules which preclude the necessity for the issuance of specific instructions for each specific case. The generality of the rules requires the constant use of categorization, whereby individual problems and cases are classified on the basis of designated criteria and are treated accordingly. The pure type of bureaucratic official is appointed, either by a superior or through the exercise of impersonal competition; he is not elected. A measure of flexibility in the bureaucracy is attained by electing higher functionaries who presumably express the will of the electorate (e.g., a body of citizens or a board of directors). The election of higher officials is designed to affect the purposes of the organization, but the technical procedures for attaining these ends are carried out by continuing bureaucratic personnel. (4)
Most bureaucratic offices involve the expectation of life-long tenure, in the absence of disturbing factors which may decrease the size of the organization. Bureaucracy maximizes vocational security. (5) The function of security of tenure, pensions, incremental salaries and regularized procedures for promotion is to ensure the devoted performance of official duties, without regard for extraneous pressures.(6) The chief merit of bureaucracy is its technical efficiency, with a premium placed on precision, speed, expert control, continuity, discretion, and optimal returns on input. The structure is one which approaches the complete elimination of personalized relationships and nonrational considerations (hostility, anxiety, affectual involvements, etc.).
With increasing bureaucratization, it becomes plain to all who would see that man is to a very important degree controlled by his social relations to the instruments of production. This can no longer seem only a tenet of Marxism, but a stubborn fact to be acknowledged by all, quite apart from their ideological persuasion. Bureaucratization makes readily visible what was previously dim and obscure. More and more people discover that to work, they must be employed. For to work, one must have tools and equipment. And the tools and equipment are increasingly available only in bureaucracies, private or public. Consequently, one must be employed by the bureaucracies in order to have access to tools in order to work in order to live. It is in this sense that bureaucratization entails separation of individuals from the instruments of production, as in modern capitalistic enterprise or in state communistic enterprise (of the midcentury variety), just as in the post-feudal army, bureaucratization entailed complete separation from the instruments of distinction. Typically, the worker no longer owns his tools nor the soldier, his weapons. And in this special sense, more and more people become workers, either blue collar or white collar or stiff shirt. So develops, for example, the new type of scientific worker, as the scientist is "separated" from his technical equipment--after all, the physicist does not ordinarily own his cyclotron. To work at his research, he must be employed by a bureaucracy with laboratory resources.
Bureaucracy is administration which almost completely avoids public discussion of its techniques, although there may occur public discussion of its policies. (7) This secrecy is confined neither to public nor to private bureaucracies. It is held to be necessary to keep valuable information from private economic competitors or from foreign and potentially hostile political groups. And though it is not often so called, espionage among competitors is perhaps as common, if not as intricately organized, in systems of private economic enterprise as in systems of national states. Cost figures, lists of clients, new technical processes, plans for production--all these are typically regarded as essential secrets of private economic bureaucracies which might be revealed if the bases of all decisions and policies had to be publicly defended.
THE DYSFUNCTIONS OF BUREAUCRACY
In these bold outlines, the positive attainments and functions of bureaucratic organization are emphasized and the internal stresses and strains of such structures are almost wholly neglected. The community at large, however, evidently emphasizes the imperfections of bureaucracy, as is suggested by the fact that the "horrid hybrid," bureaucrat, has become an epithet, a Schimpfwort.
The transition to a study of the negative aspects of bureaucracy is afforded by the application of Veblen's concept of "trained incapacity," Dewey's notion of "occupational psychosis" or Warnotte's view of "professional deformation." Trained incapacity refers to that state of affairs in which one's abilities function as inadequacies or blind spots. Actions based upon training and skills which have been successfully applied in the past may result in inappropriate responses under changed conditions. An inadequate flexibility in the application of skills will, in a changing milieu, result in more or less serious maladjustments. (8) Thus, to adopt a barnyard illustration used in this connection by Burke, chickens may be readily conditioned to interpret the sound of a bell as a signal for food. The same bell may now be used to summon the trained chickens to their doom as they are assembled to suffer decapitation. In general, one adopts measures in keeping with one's past training and, under new conditions which are not recognized as significantly different, the very soundness of this training may lead to the adoption of the wrong procedures. Again in Burke's almost echolalic phrase, "people may be unfitted by being fit in an unfit fitness"; their training may become an incapacity.
Dewey's concept of occupational psychosis rests upon much the same observations. As a result of their day to day routines, people develop special preferences, antipathies, discriminations and emphases. (9) (The term psychosis is used by Dewey to denote a "pronounced character of the mind.") These psychoses develop through demands put upon the individual by the particular organization of his occupational role.
The concepts of both Veblen and Dewey refer to a fundamental ambivalence. Any action can be considered in terms of what it attains or what it fails to attain. "A way of seeing is also a way of not seeing--a focus upon object A involves a neglect of object B." (10) In his discussion, Weber is almost exclusively concerned with what the bureaucratic structure attains: precision, reliability, efficiency. This same structure may be examined from another perspective provided by the ambivalence. What are the limitations of the organizations designed to attain these goals?
For reasons which we have already noted, the bureaucratic structure exerts a constant pressure upon the official to be "methodical, prudent disciplined." If the bureaucracy is to operate successfully, it must attain a high degree of reliability of behavior, an unusual degree of conformity with prescribed patterns of action. Hence, the fundamental importance of discipline which may be as highly developed in a religious or economic bureaucracy as in the army. Discipline can be effective only if the ideal patterns are buttressed by strong sentiments which entail devotion to one's duties, a keen sense of the limitation of one's authority and competence, and methodical performance of routine activities. The efficacy of social structure depends ultimately upon infusing group participants with appropriate attitudes and sentiments. As we shall see, there are definite arrangements in the bureaucracy for inculcating and reinforcing these sentiments.
At the moment, it suffices to observe that in order to ensure discipline (the necessary reliability of response), these sentiments are often more intense than is technically necessary. There is a margin of safety, so to speak, in the pressure exerted by these sentiments upon the bureaucrat to conform to his patterned obligations, in much the same sense that added allowances (precautionary overestimations) are made by the engineer in designing the supports for a bridge. But this very emphasis leads to a transference of the sentiments from the aims of the organization onto the particular details of behavior required by the rules. Adherence to the rules, originally conceived as a means, becomes transformed into an end-in-itself; there occurs the familiar process of displacement of goals whereby "an instrumental value becomes a terminal value." (11) Discipline, readily interpreted as conformance with regulations, whatever the situation, is seen not as a measure designed for specific purposes but becomes an immediate value in the life-organization of the bureaucrat. This emphasis, resulting from the displacement of the original goals, develops into rigidities and an inability to adjust readily. Formalism, even ritualism, ensues with an unchallenged insistence upon punctilious adherence to formalized procedures. (12) This may be exaggerated to the point where primary concern with conformity to the rules interferes with the achievement of the purposes of the organization, in which case we have the familiar phenomenon of the technicism or red tape of the official. An extreme product of this process of displacement of goals is the bureaucratic virtuoso, who never forgets a single rule binding his action and hence is unable to assist many of his clients. (13) A case in point, where strict recognition of the limits of authority and literal adherence to rules produced this result, is the pathetic plight of Bernt Balchen, Admiral Byrd's pilot in the flight over the South Pole.
According to a ruling of the department of labor Bernt Balchen . . . cannot receive his citizenship papers. Balchen a native of Norway, declared his intention in 1927. It is held that he has failed to meet the condition of five years continuous residence in the United States. The Byrd antarctic voyage took him out of the country, although he was on a ship carrying the American flag, was an invaluable member of the American expedition, and in a region to which there is an American claim because of the exploration and occupation of it by Americans, this region being Little America.

The bureau of naturalization explains that it cannot proceed on the assumption that Little America is American soil. That would be trespass on international questions where it has no sanction. So far as the bureau is concerned, Balchen was out of the country and technically has not complied with the law of naturalization. (14)
STRUCTURAL SOURCES OF OVERCONFORMITY
Such inadequacies in orientation which involve trained incapacity clearly derive from structural sources. The process may he briefly recapitulated. ( 1 ) An effective bureaucracy demands reliability of response and strict devotion to regulations. (2) Such devotion to the rules leads to their transformation into absolutes; they are no longer conceived as relative to a set of purposes. (3) This interferes with ready adaptation under special conditions not clearly envisaged by those who drew up the general rules. (4 ) Thus, the very elements which conduce toward efficiency in general produce inefficiency in specific instances. Full realization of the inadequacy is seldom attained by members of the group who have not divorced themselves from the meanings which the rules have for them. These rules in time become symbolic in cast, rather than strictly utilitarian.
Thus far, we have treated the ingrained sentiments making for rigorous discipline simply as data, as given. However, definite features of the bureaucratic structure may be seen to conduce to these sentiments. The bureaucrat's official life is planned for him in terms of a graded career through the organizational devices of promotion by seniority, pensions incremental salaries, etc., all of which are designed to provide incentives for disciplined action and conformity to the official regulations. (15) The official is tacitly expected to and largely does adapt his thoughts, feelings and actions to the prospect of this career. But these very devices which increase the probability of conformance also lead to an over-concern with strict adherence to regulations which induces timidity, conservatism, and technicism. Displacement of sentiments from goals onto means is fostered by the tremendous symbolic significance of the means (rules).
Another feature of the bureaucratic structure tends to produce much the same result. Functionaries have the sense of a common destiny for all those who work together. They share the same interests, especially since there is relatively little competition in so far as promotion is in terms of seniority. In-group aggression is thus minimized and this arrangement is therefore conceived to be positively functional for the bureaucracy. However, the esprit de corps and informal social organization which typically develops in such situations often leads the personnel to defend their entrenched interests rather than to assist their clientele and elected higher officials. As President Lowell reports, if the bureaucrats believe that their status is not adequately recognized by an incoming elected official, detailed information will be withheld from him, leading him to errors for which he is held responsible. Or, if he seeks to dominate fully, and thus violates the sentiment of self-integrity of the bureaucrats, he may have documents brought to him in such numbers that he cannot manage to sign them all, let alone read them. (16) This illustrates the defensive informal organization which tends to arise whenever there is an apparent threat to the integrity of the group. (17)
It would be much too facile and partly erroneous to attribute such resistance by bureaucrats simply to vested interests. Vested interests oppose any new order which either eliminates or at least makes uncertain their differential advantage deriving from the current arrangements. This is undoubtedly involved in part in bureaucratic resistance to change but another process is perhaps more significant. As we have seen, bureaucratic officials affectively identify themselves with their way of life. They have a pride of craft which leads them to resist change in established routines, at least, those changes which are felt to be imposed by others. This nonlogical pride of craft is a familiar pattern found even, to judge from Sutherland's Professional Thief, among pickpockets who, despite the risk, delight in mastering the prestige-bearing feat of "beating a left breech" (picking the left front trousers pocket).
In a stimulating paper, Hughes has applied the concepts of "secular" and"sacred" to various types of division of labor; "the sacredness" of caste and Stande prerogatives contrasts sharply with the increasing secularism of occupational differentiation in our society. (18) However, as our discussion suggests, there may ensue, in particular vocations and in particular types of organization, the process of sanctification (viewed as the counterpart of the process of secularization). This is to say that through sentiment-formation, emotional dependence upon bureaucratic symbols and status, and affective involvement in spheres of competence and authority, there develop prerogatives involving attitudes of moral legitimacy which are established as values in their own right, and are no longer viewed as merely technical means for expediting administration. One may note a tendency for certain bureaucratic norms, originally introduced for technical reasons, to become rigidified and sacred, although, as Durkheim would say, they are laique en apparence. (19) Durkheim has touched on this general process in his description of the attitudes and values which persist in the organic solidarity of a highly differentiated society.
PRIMARY VS. SECONDARY RELATIONS
Another feature of the bureaucratic structure, the stress on depersonalization of relationships, also plays its part in the bureaucrat's trained incapacity. The personality pattern of the bureaucrat is nucleated about this norm of impersonality. Both this and the categorizing tendency, which develops from the dominant role of general, abstract rules, tend to produce conflict in the bureaucrat's contacts with the public or clientele. Since functionaries minimize personal relations and resort to categorization, the peculiarities of individual cases are often ignored. But the client who, quite understandably, is convinced of the special features of his own problem often objects to such categorical treatment. Stereotyped behavior is not adapted to the exigencies of individual problems. The impersonal treatment of affairs which are at times of great personal significance to the client gives rise to the charge of "arrogance" and "haughtiness" of the bureaucrat. Thus, at the Greenwich Employment Exchange, the unemployed worker who is securing his insurance payment resents what he deems to be "the impersonality and, at times, the apparent abruptness and even harshness of his treatment by the clerks. . . . Some men complain of the superior attitude which the clerks have." (20)
Still another source of conflict with the public derives from the bureaucratic structure. The bureaucrat, in part irrespective of his position within the hierarchy, acts as a representative of the power and prestige of the entire structure. In his official role he is vested with definite authority. This often leads to an actually or apparently domineering attitude, which may only be exaggerated by a discrepancy between his position within the hierarchy and his position with reference to the public. (21) Protest and recourse to other officials on the part of the client are often ineffective or largely precluded by the previously mentioned esprit de corps which joins the officials into a more or less solidary ingroup. This source of conflict may be minimized in private enterprise since the client can register an effective protest by transferring his trade to another organization within the competitive system. But with the monopolistic nature of the public organization, no such alternative is possible. Moreover, in this case, tension is increased because of a discrepancy between ideology and fact: the governmental personnel are held to be "servants of the people," but in fact they are often superordinate, and release of tension can seldom be afforded by turning to other agencies for the necessary service. (22) This tension is in part attributable to the confusion of the status of bureaucrat and client; the client may consider himself socially superior to the official who is at the moment dominant. (23)
Thus, with respect to the relations between officials and clientele, one structural source of conflict is the pressure for formal and impersonal treatment when individual, personalized consideration is desired by the client. The conflict may be viewed, then, as deriving from the introduction of inappropriate attitudes and relationships. Conflict within the. bureaucratic structure arises from the converse situation, namely, when personalized relationships are substituted for the structurally required impersonal relationships. This type of conflict may be characterized as follows.
The bureaucracy, as we have seen is organized as a secondary, formal group. The normal responses involved in this organized network of social expectations are supported by affective attitudes of members of the group. Since the group is oriented toward secondary norms of impersonality, any failure to conform to these norms will arouse antagonism from those who have identified themselves with the legitimacy of these rules. Hence, the substitution of personal for impersonal treatment within the structure is met with widespread disapproval and is characterized by such epithets as graft, favoritism, nepotism, apple-polishing, etc. These epithets are clearly manifestations of injured sentiments. (24) The function of such virtually automatic resentment can be clearly seen in terms of the requirements of bureaucratic structure.
Bureaucracy is a secondary group structure designed to carry on certain activities which cannot be satisfactorily performed on the basis of primary group criteria. (25) Hence behavior which runs counter to these formalized norms becomes the object of emotionalized disapproval. This constitutes a functionally significant defence set up against tendencies which jeopardize the performance of socially necessary activities. To be sure, these reactions are not rationally determined practices explicitly designed for the fulfillment of this function. Rather, viewed in terms of the individual's interpretation of the situation, such resentment is simply an immediate response opposing the "dishonesty" of those who violate the rules of the game. However, this subjective frame of reference notwithstanding, these reactions serve the latent function of maintaining the essential structural elements of bureaucracy by reaffirming the necessity for formalized, secondary relations and by helping to prevent the disintegration of the bureaucratic structure which would occur should these be supplanted by personalized relations. This type of conflict may be generically described as the intrusion of primary group attitudes when secondary group attitudes are institutionally demanded, just as the bureaucrat-client conflict often derives from interaction on impersonal terms when personal treatment is individually demanded.
PROBLEMS FOR RESEARCH
The trend towards increasing bureaucratization in Western Society, which Weber had long since foreseen, is not the sole reason for sociologists to turn their attention to this field. Empirical studies of the interaction of bureaucracy and personality should especially increase our understanding of social structure. A large number of specific questions invite our attention. To what extent are particular personality types selected and modified by the various bureaucracies (private enterprise, public service, the quasi-legal political machine, religious orders)? Inasmuch as ascendancy and submission are held to be traits of personality, despite their variability in different stimulus-situations, do bureaucracies select personalities of particularly submissive or ascendant tendencies? And since various studies have shown that these traits can be modified, does participation in bureaucratic office tend to increase ascendant tendencies? Do various systems of recruitment (e.g., patronage, open competition involving specialized knowledge or general mental capacity, practical experience) select different personality types? (27) Does promotion through seniority lessen competitive anxieties and enhance administrative efficiency? A detailed examination of mechanisms for imbuing the bureaucratic codes with affect would be instructive both sociologically and psychologically. Does the general anonymity of civil service decisions tend to restrict the area of prestige-symbols to a narrowly defined inner circle? Is there a tendency for differential association to be especially marked among bureaucrats?

The range of theoretically significant and practically important questions would seem to be limited only by the accessibility of the concrete data. Studies of religious, educational, military, economic, and political bureaucracies dealing with the interdependence of social organization and personality formation should constitute an avenue for fruitful research. On that avenue, the functional analysis of concrete structures may yet build a Solomon's House for sociologists.
ENDNOTES:
1. For a development of the concept of "rational organization," see Karl Mannheim, Mensch und Gesellschaft im Zeitalter des Umbaus (Leiden: A. W. Sijthoff, 1935), esp. 28 ff.
2. H. D. Lasswell, Politics (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1933), 120-21.
3. Max Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft (Tubingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1922), Pt. III, chap. 6; 650-678. For a brief summary of Weber's discussion, see Talcott Parsons, The Structure of Social Action, esp. 506 ff. For a description, which is not a caricature, of the bureaucrat as a personality type, see C. Rabany, "Les types sociaux: le fonctionnaire,' Revue generale d'admistration, l907, 88, 5-28.
4. Karl Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1936), 18n., 105 ff. See also Ramsay Muir, Peers and Bureaucrats (London: Constable, 1910), 12-13.
5. E. G. Cahen-Salvador suggests that the personnel of bureaucracies is largely constituted by those who value security above all else. See his "La situation materielle et morale des fonctionnaires, ' Revue politique et parlementaire (1926), 319.
6. J. Laski, "Bureaucracy," Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences. This article is written primarily from the standpoint of the political scientist rather than that of the sociologist.
7. Weber, op. cit., 671.
8. For a stimulating discussion and application of these concepts, see Kenneth Burke, Permanence and Change (New York: New Republic, 1935), pp. 50 ff., Daniel Warnotte, "Bureaucratie et Fonctionnarisme, Revue de l'Institut de Sociologie, 1937, 17, 245.
9. Ibid., 58-59.
10. Ibid., 70.
11. This process has often been observed in various connections. Wundt's heterogony of ends is a case in point; Max Weber's Paradoxie der Folgen is another. See also MacIver's observations on the transformation of civilization into culture and Lasswell's remark that the human animal distinguishes himself by his infinite capacity for making ends of his means. See Merton, The unanticipated consequences of purposive social action," American Sociological Review, 1936, 1, 894-904. In terms of the psychological mechanisms involved, this process has been analyzed most fully by Gordon W. Allport, in his discussion of what he calls the functional autonomy of motives. Allport emends the earlier formulations of Woodworth, Tolman, and William Stern, and arrives at a statement of the process from the standpoint of individual motivation. He does not consider those phases of the social structure which conduce toward the transformation of motives. The formulation adopted in this paper is thus complementary to Allport's analysis; the one stressing the psychological mechanisms involved, the other considering the constraints of the social structure. The convergence of psychology and sociology toward this central concept suggests that it may well constitute one of the conceptual bridges between the two disciplines. See Gordon W. Allport, Personality (New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1937), chap. 7.
12. See E. C. Hughes, Institutional office and the person, American Journal of Sociology, 1937, 43, 404-413; E. T. Hiller, Social structure in relation to the person," Social Forces, 1937, 16, 34-4.
13. Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia, 106.
14. Quoted from the Chicago Tribune (June 21, 1931, p. 10) by Thurman Arnold, The Symbols of Government (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1935), 201-2. (My italics.)
15. Mannheim, Mensch und Gesellschaft, 32-33. Mannheim stresses the importance of the "Lebensplan" and the "Amtskarriere." See the comments by Hughes, op. Cit., 413.
16. A. L. Lowell, The Government of England (New York, 1908), I, 189 ff.
17. For an instructive description of the development of such a defensive organization in a group of workers, see F. J. Roethlisberger and W. J. Dickson, Management and the Worker (Boston: Harvard School of Business Administration, 1934).
18. E. C. Hughes, Personality types and the division of labor, American Journal of Sociology, 1928, 33, 754-768. Much the same distinction is drawn by Leopold von Wiese and Howard Becker, Systematic Sociology (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1932), 222-25 et passim.
19. Hughes recognizes one phase of this process of sanctification when he writes that professional training carries with it as a by-product assimilation of the candidate to a set of professional attitudes and controls, a professional conscience and solidarity. The profession claims and aims to become a moral unit." Hughes, op. cit. 762, (italics inserted). In this same connection, Sumner's concept of pathos, as the halo of sentiment which protects a social value from criticism, is particularly relevant, inasmuch us it affords a clue to the mechanism involved in the process of sanctification. See his Folkways, 180-181.
20. " 'They treat you like a lump of dirt they do. I see a navvy reach across the counter and shake one of them by the collar the other day. The rest of us felt like cheering. Of course he lost his benefit over it. . . . But the clerk deserved it for his sassy way.' " (E. W. Bakke, The Unemployed Man, 79-80). Note that the domineering attitude was imputed by the unemployed client who is in a state of tension due to his loss of status and self-esteem in a society where the ideology is still current that an "able man" can always find a job. That the imputation of arrogance stems largely from the client's state of mind is seen from Bakke's own observation that "the clerks were rushed, and had no time for pleasantries, but there was little sign of harshness or a superiority feeling in their treatment of the men." In so far as there is an objective basis for the imputation of arrogant behavior to bureaucrats, it may possibly be explained by the following juxtaposed statements. "Auch der moderne, sei es offentliche, sei es private, Beamte erstrebt immer und geniesst meist den Beherrschten gegenuber eine spezifisch gehobene, 'standische' soziale Schatzung." (Weber, op. cit., 652.) "In persons in whom the craving for prestige is uppermost, hostility usually takes the form of a desire to humiliate others." K. Horney, The Neurotic Personality of Our Time, 178-79.
21. In this connection, note the relevance of Koffka's comments on certain features of the pecking-order of birds. "If one compares the behavior of the bird at the top of the pecking list, the despot, with that of one very far down, the second or third from the last, then one finds the latter much more cruel to the few others over whom he lords it than the former in his treatment of all members. As soon as one removes from the group all members above the penultimate, his behavior becomes milder and may even become very friendly. . . . It is not difficult to find analogies to this in human societies, and therefore one side of such behavior must be primarily the effects of the social groupings, and not of individual characteristics." K. Koffka, Principles of Gestalt Psychology (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1935), 668-9.
22. At this point the political machine often becomes functionally significant. As Steffens and others have shown, highly personalized relations and the abrogation of formal rules (red tape) by the machine often satisfy the needs of individual clients more fully than the formalized mechanism of governmental bureaucracy. See the slight elaboration of this as set forth in Chapter I.
23. As one of the unemployed men remarked about the clerks at the Greenwich Employment Exchange: " 'And the bloody blokes wouldn't have their jobs if it wasn't for us men out of a job either. That's what gets me about their holding their noses up.' " Bakke, op. cit., 80. See also H. D. Lasswell and G. Almond, "Aggressive behavior by clients towards public relief administrators," American Political Science Review, 1934, 28, 643-55.
24. The diagnostic significance of such linguistic indices as epithets has scarcely been explored by the sociologist. Sumner properly observes that epithets produce "summary criticisms" and definitions of social situations. Dollard also notes that "epithets frequently define the central issues in a society," and Sapir has rightly emphasized the importance of context of situations in appraising the significance of epithets. Of equal relevance is Linton's observation that "in case histories the way in which the community felt about a particular episode is, if anything, more important to our study than the actual behavior. . . . A sociological study of "vocabularies of encomium and opprobrium" should lead to valuable findings.
25. Cf. Ellsworth Faris, The Nature of Human Nature (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1937), 41 ff.
26. Community disapproval of many forms of behavior may be analyzed in terms of one or the other of these patterns of substitution of culturally inappropriate types of relationship. Thus, prostitution constitutes a type-case where coitus, a form of intimacy which is institutionally defined as symbolic of the most "sacred" primary group relationship, is placed within a contractual context, symbolized by the exchange of that most impersonal of all symbols, money. See Kingsley Davis, "The sociology of prostitution," American Sociological Review, 1937, 2, 744-55.
27. Among recent studies of recruitment to bureaucracy are: Reinhard Bendix, Higher Civil Servants ln American Society (Boulder: University of Colorado Press, 1949); Dwaine Marwick, Career Perspectives in a Bureaucratic Setting (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1954); R. K. Lelsall, Higher Civil Servants in Britain (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1955); W. L. Warner and J. C. Abegglen, Occupational Mobility in American Business and Industry (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1955 ) .