sociologists

by Doug Hartmann, 3 days ago at 11:03 am

– See more at: https://thesocietypages.org/editors/2014/01/07/butes-big-ten/#sthash.1jqvgrw9.dpuf

In a column from “The Editors’ Desk” at The Society Pages, Doug Hartmann offers a fascinating initial reading list for a new graduate course he’s proposed: “Great Books in Sociology.” He asked for comments, reactions, and suggestions. His post is below. I replied with a supplemental list of somewhat neglected classics.

Great Books in Sociology

by Doug Hartmann, 18 hours ago at 08:43 am

“Great Books in Sociology” is a new course I’ve proposed for our graduate curriculum here at Minnesota. I’m not sure I’ll get to teach it or not, but I’m having lots of fun thinking of the books I might include. Here’s my initial list.

1. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (Max Weber)

2. Black Reconstruction (W.E.B. DuBois)

3. Stigma (Erving Goffman)

4. The Managed Heart (Arlie Hochschild)

5. The Culture of Public Problems (Joe Gusfield)

6. Weight of the World (Pierre Bourdieu)

7. Sidewalk (Mitch Duneier)

8. Ghostly Matters (Avery Gordon)

9. Religion in Human Evolution (Robert Bellah)

Reactions? Thoughts? Anything obvious I’ve missed?  The main criteria or principles I’ve been using so far are: it has to be a real book not a collection; the author has to be a sociologist; and it has to be a work that is actually worth reading, not just something that you should read or that represents some larger point or principle.

Also, if it is not obvious: I’m trying to think of the list as a whole set as well. My larger idea and goal is that this kind of list/course should help us not only think more about book-length writing and research projects, but also about what sociology itself is as an intellectual tradition and scholarly pursuit. Anyway, comments and suggestions–for books, authors, or topics–appreciated. This should be fun.

Monte Bute 2:58 am on January 1, 2014 | # | Reply

Here are a few thoughts on your list. My recommendations below are NOT my top 20, just some neglected sociological classics that deserve consideration for your course (and for the edification of young sociologists).

Kudos on your selection of “Black Reconstruction in America.” Far and away Du Bois’ best and most influential academic work (note I said “academic”).

I concur that Goffman should be included. While “Stigma” is a very good,” “The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life” will still be read in a 100 years.

I agree that Bourdieu should also be included. However, “Weight of the World” is a questionable choice. It has 22 co-authors and seems more like Studs Turkel than an example of Bourdieu’s best work like “Outline of a Theory of Practice” or “Distinction.”

Simmel is the most obvious oversight. Unfortunately, the suggestion of “The Web of Group-Affiliation” overlooks that it is just a chapter in “Soziologie,” as is “Conflict.” The respective translations by Bendix and Wolff are conveniently available in a single volume. “The Philosophy of Money” may end up his most canonical work.

For Joe Gusfield, I would substitute “Symbolic Crusade: Status Politics and the American Temperance Movement” for “The Culture of Public Problems.”

Here are 20 volumes for your consideration. I make no mention of books already cited in this thread of replies:

• “Democracy in America” Vol. 2 (Tocqueville)
• “Twenty Years at Hull-House” or “Democracy and Social Ethics” (Jane Addams)
• “The Civilizing Process” (Norbert Elias)
• “The Reproduction of Mothering” (Nancy Chodorow)
• “The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte” (Karl Marx)
• “Middletown” (Robert Lynd and Helen Merrell Lynd)
• “Ideology and Utopia” (Karl Mannheim)
• “Human Nature and the Social Order” (Charles Cooley)
• “Society in America” abridged ed. (Harriet Martineau)
• “The Lonely Crowd” “(David Riesman)
• “The Culture Industry” (Theodor Adorno)
• “A Voice from the South” (Anna Julia Cooper)
• “The Opium of the Intellectuals” (Raymond Aron)
• “The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere” (Jurgen Habermas)
• “The Power Elite” (C.W. Mills)
• “Class and Class Conflict in Industrial Society” (Ralf Dahrendorf)
• “Abortion and the Politics of Motherhood” (Kristin Luker)
• “Political Parties” (Robert Michels)
• “The Hidden Injuries of Class” or “Corrosion of Character” (Richard Sennett)
• “Paths in Utopia” (Martin Buber)

I just returned from four days at the American Sociological Association’s (ASA) annual meeting. While on the flight home, I tried to recall some events that might be timely to blog about. Unfortunately, the two items that immediately came to mind were perennial issues—or in the immortal words of Yogi Berra,“this is like déjà vu all over again.”

First, there remains no market in today’s publishing world for volumes of sociological essays by little known authors, no matter how edifying or well written those occasional compositions might be. There seem to be three genres alone that interest sociological publishers: textbooks (the 800-pound gorilla), empirical monographs, and theoretical encyclicals from superstars. I acknowledge that the lack of interest shown by acquisitions editors for my work might just be due to a lack of merit. But then how would I know? Nearly all the editors I approached refused to review my manuscript solely because it was an anthology of essays. In retrospect, it seems deliciously ironic that my paper submission for the conference landed in a low-status roundtable session—its title, “The Public Sociologist as Essayist.”

Regardless, I will burden you no longer with what Mills called “private troubles.” However, I suspect a linkage exists between my private trouble and the second topic I want to discuss—the public issue of status distinctions within sociology. An irreverent unveiling of our profession exposes this dirty little secret, a duplicity long shrouded in a complicity of silence.

I have been attending these meetings for 16 years. At my first meeting in 1994, I lacked the veil of socialization conferred by a sociology graduate program. My participant-observations of this alien culture were those of an uninitiated but street-savvy stranger; in other words, I wasn’t yet house-broken. With each annual pilgrimage, I re-affirm the reliability of my initial findings. If I had to provide an abstract for this work in progress, it would read as follows:

There is no discipline so morally sensitive to social inequality, or as analytically rigorous at unmasking the social machinations that create and perpetuate these inequities. Conversely, there is no profession so hypocritically insensitive to a specific form of social inequality within its own ranks, or as intellectually inept at recognizing how its taken-for-granted presuppositions and practices create and perpetuate this particular caste system.

I published an early synopsis of this “research” project in 2004 as a column in “Footnotes,” the official newsletter of the American Sociological Association. By the time I landed in Minneapolis on August 11, 2009, I had concluded that little has changed in ASA since that original essay appeared. The oligarchy is still alive and flourishing, and the business of enforcing latent status distinctions continues unabated.

LET 50 FLOWERS BLOOM

I attended my first meeting of the American Sociological Association (ASA) in 1994. I went to Los Angeles as a middle-aged outsider, hoping to gain a little disciplinary knowledge from the natives. For five days, I was mesmerized by phenomena that were not listed in the official program—a perpetual display of Goffmanesque rituals of deference and demeanor.

These customs are by no means limited to this tribe of sociologists. All academic disciplines are defined by what Robert K. Merton called their manifest functions. The obvious and intended function of scholarship is the production and dissemination of knowledge. These professional practices also have what Merton identified as latent functions, consequences that are unintended and frequently unrecognized. The scholarly enterprise has one latent function that dares not speak its name—status stratification.

The professional culture and reward structure of our discipline have evolved gradually over the past half century and are now so much the taken-for-granted-reality that most sociologists are oblivious to their functions. Ralph Linton once observed that the last thing a fish in the depths of the sea would discover is water. The late Stanley L. Saxton was a particularly perceptive denizen of the deep. In A Critique of Contemporary American Sociology (1993), he noted, “The conditions of work for a small but powerful minority of sociologists at research universities need not and should not imprint the whole discipline” (p. 247). Unfortunately, they do. The practices of this disciplinary elite have produced a stratification system for both individuals and institutions within the profession of sociology.

Those who believe that the existing academic labor market is a meritocracy might well challenge my central assertion. Defenders of the status quo do not lament this latent function of status stratification. In fact, they claim that whatever prestige is bestowed upon these luminaries is richly deserved. What fairer system could be devised for the manifest function of knowledge creation than one that rewards “the best and the brightest?” In addition, I might well be accused of sour grapes. What am I but a provincial from the periphery who has failed to measure up?

It is not so much the reward structure that I question, but rather how this social order manages to perpetuate itself. I question that an oligarchy of sociology departments at research universities holds sovereignty over the entire discipline. How does this occur? Let me give you just one example.

ASA is the premier professional association for the discipline. All ASA officers for 2002-2003 and 2003-2004 come from schools belonging to the Carnegie Foundation’s most selective category of research universities. Only 150 of nearly 4,000 colleges and universities in the United States are included in this exclusive club. With just a couple of exceptions, the members-at-large on ASA’s Council for those two years also possess this rare pedigree.

Defenders of the status quo will argue that these leaders won competitive elections. True, but if we examine the Committee on Nominations for those two elections we would find that those doing the nominating are disproportionately affiliated with the same elite institutions as those whom they nominate. A similar analysis of the Publications Committee speaks volumes as to why all the current editors of ASA journals are also from Carnegie’s most restrictive list of research universities.

The manner in which this disciplinary elite defines and privileges a certain type of scholarship—and the “conditions of work” that it entails—is the linchpin of supremacy. The old bromide about how one gets tenure now holds true for promotion, external professional recognition, and even superstar status: publish, publish, publish. The highest rank accrues to those doing esoteric research, with subsequent authorship in prestigious journals and academic publishing houses. This “gold standard” diminishes other types of scholarship, reduces teaching and service to second-rate activities, and reproduces a regime of status stratification within the discipline. If most rank-and-file sociologists continue without question to concede this criterion, it only serves to legitimize the oligarchy’s dynastic succession.

An outsider to the disciplinary canon, Alfred Schutz, developed a sociology of knowledge that poses an alternative to this elitist paradigm of practice. He distinguished between scholarship aimed at the “expert” and scholarship directed to the “well-informed citizen.” American sociologists once saw the well-informed citizen as their primary audience. Conversely, the disciplinary elite today sees fellow experts as their only audience.

How do we restore sovereignty to that large majority of sociologists who toil under a more populist paradigm of practice but remain second-class citizens within the profession? The state professional association is one important venue. As an apprentice to the craft, I found congenial homes, first in Sociologists of Minnesota (SOM), and later in the National Council of State Sociological Associations (NCSSA).

I was welcomed by colleagues who refused to be constrained by the “expert” model but were engaged in scholarships of integration, application, and teaching. I was mentored by master teachers who prided themselves in conducting three to five sections of undergraduate classes each semester, devoted to developing a sociological perspective in students who may never take another course in the discipline. These folks practiced service the old-fashioned way; a “good citizen” took on those often-thankless tasks on campus and in the community that needed doing.

I am only saying aloud what has long been whispered. The intent of this essay is to initiate a conversation, a dialogue of equals. Sociology’s latent function not only divides us but also hinders our ability to engage wider audiences—we need to practice what we preach. We invite more of our research university colleagues to join us in state organizations, just as we have joined you in the ASA. Our local associations and practices might make, once again, our discipline relevant to the well-informed citizen. Let 50 flowers bloom.

I teach at a public university where legendary tales still circulate about the school’s early years as an experimental college. I once did an inquiry into that epoch. The puzzle, I discovered, centered on the institution’s origins: Did the Minnesota Legislature actually authorize such a radical experiment? According to Andrew Abbott, “We learn that switching questions is a powerful heuristic move.” Instead of asking why this occurred, I asked how it came to be. As a sociologist, that move seems be have been a fatal faux pas.

I wrote that case study as a historical narrative. Readers who were generalists found the tale compelling and self-explanatory. Sociologists? Not so much. While most disciplinary colleagues praised the storytelling, nearly all found the study lacking in explanatory power. Even though I was examining an anomaly, they faulted the inquiry for a lack of theoretical “payoff.” They at least wanted the story to be a “deviant” case of something, anything.

I acknowledge that this tepid response from professional sociologists may have been due to the paper’s lack of merit. Nevertheless, this experience has generated some methodological observations that may have value, regardless the article’s worth. To give the reader a quick and dirty synopsis of the narrative’s plot, here is the abstract for “Genesis of a Utopian College.”

Before its doors even opened in 1971, a renowned educational leader had proclaimed an obscure state college in Minnesota to be “perhaps the most innovative institution of higher education in the United States.” This historical case study seeks to explain how possibly this could have happened? Paradoxically, the genesis of this utopian college was, in fact, only the consequence of a long process of politics as usual. The narrative traces a series of actions that established this utopian college, particularly highlighting a successful process of acquiring and exercising power in turf wars at the state legislature and in the Byzantine politics of higher education’s bureaucracy. The plot’s denouement features one past and one future vice president of the United States intervening as midwives for the new college. The eventual establishment of the school led to an outcome that the state’s legislature and higher education bureaucracy had neither intended nor anticipated.

When seeking to explain events like this, most sociologists abhor anomalies and aberrations. My colleagues typically ask, “Why did this thing happen?” They then proceed to seek a categorical generalization that applies to all similar cases. Anomalies and aberrations need not apply. Andrew Abbott uses a hypothetical vignette to capture this “Standard Model.” Sometime in the future, writes Abbott in Time Matters, a scholar is struggling to reconstruct how sociologists thought in the last half of the twentieth century:

The people who called themselves sociologists believed that society looked the way it did because social forces and properties did things to other social forces and properties. . . . Sociologists called these forces and properties “variables.” Hypothesizing which of these variables affected which others was called “variable analysis.” . . . In this view, narratives of human actions might provide “mechanisms” that justified proposing a model, but what made social science science was the discovering of these “causal relationships.” (2001:97)

I sent an early draft of this article to a prominent sociologist of higher education. She graciously read and commented on the work. Not surprisingly, she wrote that while the paper was “an interesting start in writing an analytical history of Metro State. . . . I would suggest more analytical attention to the social, economic and political environment for the founding and continuing development of the college.” She also sent along a monograph that she had written about another educational organization, “which delineates some of the social conditions that might have been relevant to the founding and development of MMSC” (Personal correspondence).

What was her point? My paper lacked theoretical generalization. For her, “analytical” and “social conditions’ were code words for causal explanation. She was expecting me to “explain” the genesis of Metropolitan State by showing that “because a certain enabling condition was in fact in place, what happened was quite within the realm of possibility and need not have occasioned surprise.” (Dray, Philosophy and History 2nd ed., 1993:27).

What might be some of the social conditions that would give my Metropolitan State narrative a more analytical flavor? The list would include the demographics of the baby boom generation, the evolution of a credential society, the student revolt of the 1960s, the progressive nature of Minnesota politics, the post-World War II affluent society, the rise of mass education, and the development of the multiversity. The conditions I list above certainly had contextual relevance for my case study, but a dubious search for a casual condition or independent variable among them provides little explanatory power for this surprising occurrence. As the historian John Lewis Gaddis once quipped, “Aren’t all variables dependent on other variables?”

Her comments led me to set aside the manuscript for several years. In “Genesis of a Utopian College,” I had written a narrative history of an unanticipated outcome. The philosopher M.C. Lemon captures the essence of her critique: “The accusation—for such it is—against narrative history is that it is naïve.” Most social scientists, philosophers, and even some historians argue that the narrative is non-explanatory of its subject matter:

Consequently, we do not even envisage the possibility of a form of explanation other than causal. In fact, a non-causal form of explanation appears to us to be anomalous, even a contradiction. . . . The narrative, on the other hand, refers to the dialectic of structure and agency and asks: ‘What situation and series of actions resulted in the occurrence of E?’ (Mahajan, Explanation and Understanding in the Human Sciences,1992:95

I was seeking just such an explanation for this aberration. That this new college became a radical experiment was indeed unexpected. The question I sought to answer is, “How could this outcome have happened?” The historian Richard Evans concisely states my rationale: “Consequences are often more important that causes.”

Howard S. Becker provides a roadmap of my research strategy:

Assume that whatever you want to study has, not causes, but a history, a story, a narrative . . . On this view, we understand the occurrence of events by learning the steps in the process by which they came to happen, rather than by learning the conditions that made their existence necessary. . . . This is not just a matter of saying the right words, “process” instead of “cause.” It implies a different way of working. (Tricks of the Trade,1998:61)

Politics is the processes of acquiring and exercising power in order to attain public goods. Legislative and bureaucratic politics are embedded in structural and temporal contexts that constraint the actions of actors. This case study examines how a masterful bureaucratic politician acquires and exercises power in this contentious world of state politics. A three-year campaign for a new state college was just one acquisition in his larger quest for power. What needs explanation is how this particular college metamorphosed into a unique utopian experiment.

No one in 1968 could have imagined that Metropolitan State would become a utopian college. “What situation and series of actions” produced this result? How can the plotting of such a succession of events satisfy the demand that a narrative provide an explanation of its subject matter? The maverick economist, Albert O. Hirschman, offers a powerful warrant for narrative explanations.

In “The Search for Paradigms as a Hindrance to Understanding,” Hirschman targets “the tendency toward compulsive and mindless theorizing.” He argues that “an impatience for theoretical formulation leads to serious pitfalls.” To make his point, he contrasts two books about Latin America, both written by young North American scholars. The most important difference he finds is in the cognitive styles of the two authors.

Within the first few pages of his book Payne presents us triumphantly with the key to the full and complete understanding of the Colombian political system. The rest of the book is a demonstration that the key indeed unlocks all conceivable doors of Colombian political life, past, present, and future. Womack, on the other hand, abjures any pretense at full understanding right in the preface, where he says that his book “is not analysis but a story because the truth of the revolution in Morelos is in the feeling of it which I could not convey through defining its factors but only through telling of it.” “The analysis that I could do,” he continues, “and that I thought pertinent I have tried to weave into the narrative, so that it would issue at the moment right for understanding it.” (Interpretative Social Science: A Second Look, 1987:179)

The Metropolitan State narrative is neither naïve nor is it non-explanatory; it is simply incommensurate with the “Standard Model” of sociology. Narrative and causal explanatory models reflect two divergent cognitive styles. Variable analysis, no matter how nuanced, is incapable of adequately explaining the contingent nature of improbable and non-repeatable outcomes. It was only in the telling of the tale that I could make intelligible the process of how a unique constellation of events made this genesis possible. A thick description of each specific situation and the ensuing series of actions provides the analytic rigor required to explain how possibly this anomaly occurred.