What Is the Point of Sociological Theory?

This morning, I will be embarking on graduate contemporary theory for the eighth time in my career. Every year, it has evolved – sometimes quite significantly – making me the guy who won’t commit to a recurring syllabus and, thereby, taking advantage of the amazing teaching load UBC offers research-oriented faculty. This year, it has taken one final step forward, but that is not the specific point of this specific entry (though, I do want to revisit what happened last term with my undergrad theory course and discuss the way I’ve designed this current course in future entries…entries which I hope come at a more consistent and quicker pace). For now, I want to build a little on a abbreviated twitter thread I left yesterday. In short, the title of this essay is the subject of the post.

What is The Point of Theory?
In re-reading Abend’s (2008) piece on the meanings of theory and Turner’s (1985) piece defending positivism, alongside the first couple of chapters of Reynold’s *Primer on Theory Construction*/Homans’ *The Nature of Social Science* – all assigned for day one, the question once again was as salient as it can be. I was once again excited to read Abend’s arguments, which, in essence, put the burden, first, on the discipline to work out, politically, what exactly we mean by theory; and, second, on individual sociologists – in their reviews of papers, for instance – to not just say something like: “it does not sufficiently advance theory,” but rather be self-reflexive and specify which of his seven commonly attributed meanings of theory the reviewer implies. Both of these points seem wise, and in fact useful. That I have never seen a paper of mine reviewed this way or reviewed a paper this way, a decade plus later, I would say Abend’s practices have not been adopted.

What I didn’t like about Abend’s argument, however, kept haunting me. Especially as I read Turner’s argument for science and positivism (which, is a loaded word with myriad meanings and really not the point of this essay, so will be left alone for now). On the one hand, Abend’s first, second, and third types of theory share several key features the others do not; mainly, a commitment to engagement between theory and empirical reality. The others are exercises belonging to the humanities. To be sure, my argument ultimately is not that these do not belong in the discipline – surely they do, and some of my most favorite work comes from scholars mining the depths of a specific theorist – but that Abend does not go far enough in distinguishing what is theory – by the actual definition of the term – from that which is something else. Of course, that is not his intention or rhetorical strategy. Yet, I was left unfulfilled as I have always been in reading his otherwise excellent paper.

If the point of sociological theory is not to engage with the empirical world through some type of methodological strategy, then it is probably best not to call it theory. Why? Well, for one reason, there is a scientific community that is significantly larger than sociology that has adopted this meaning; and as we know, what is believed to be real becomes real in its consequences. Intersubjectivity is a foundational element of any community, and if the scientific community, writ large, defines theory in terms of its application to empirical facts and regularities, then who are we to take a term and use it however we want. If it was subversive, then I might understand. But, I think Abend is right: people have usurped the term in order to fight other political battles in the discipline, and this fact does not make it right or better or appropriate.

So, in a few hours, my students will be hearing that they have four tasks this term: learning substantive theoretical frameworks/theories (something I am simply no longer able to focus my primary energies on in course); how to read theory and/or theoretical-elements of research articles; how to extract, write, and draw formal social scientific theory; and how to publish the types of theory offered by Abend, Turner, and Alexander. My first thoughts about this compromise is that it is a lot. But, it really isn’t as much as one might surmise. I have taught theory in several ways for over a decade plus, and I have realized students will glean what they glean, regardless of your efforts. It is, like stats and many other classes at the grad level, there for the student’s taking and up to the student. So, substantively, I give them as much range and depth as I can and they choose their level of weekly engagement. In terms of the reading of theory, every week is split into the first/second half of the course, with the latter reserved for posting PDFs of articles with detailed notes about how people present theory in different ways when writing papers. This also contributes to the substantive goal and to the writing/publishing goals. Its the latter two that are potentially in conflict.

Scientific Theory
Abend cautions us against pushing a scientistic epistemological and ontological solution to the so-called semantic problem. He worries practically and politically about the outcome, for good reason. But, I am less worried about these problems. After all, as Turner has said: if we aren’t doing science, then what are we doing that is unique? Critical literary analysis? Covered in another department whose training is primarily focused on this? Philosophy of science. Covered. Ideographic historical case-studies? Covered. We study societies, social organization, social behavior and attitudes and feelings, and the like. And, our contribution to social problems comes most cogently from our best methodological practices. Turner’s extremism, unfortunately, obscures the better parts of his argument. Arguments I know well having been his student and also having countless conversations with him. He is much less ideologically-rigid than his polemics presume.

First, Turner is agnostic methodologically. For many reasons the word positivism has become synonymous with quantitative orthodoxy, but neither Comte nor Turner think this way. Positivism for both simply states: we should be working towards identify the key properties of the social world, the law-like relationships regardless of time and space, and proximate rather than ultimate causality. These are lofty goals, and we can debate if there are laws or not (there are, incidentally). But, neither staked out a side as to how we achieved these goals. Turner is somewhat un-empirical, but he prefers historical and ethnographic data to stats (he is quite critical of complex modeling strategies that pretend to be theory). Comte argued that naturalistic observation was as important as anything else.

Second, while Turner says there are better strategies for building cumulative theory, he recognizes that any theory committed to empirical analysis is, by definition, scientific. It just falls short in the ultimate goal of cumulative knowledge. That said, like many general theorists of his generation, middle range theories, historical explanations, analytic schema, etc. all serve as inspirations for the the sociological imagination in building systems of causal laws. [Side note: I am not even sure Turner is committed to laws, as laws are empirical regularities and less abstract than the systems of interrelated propositional statements he prefers (see 2010, 2010, 2011). His broader argument is we know a lot more than we act like we do, and we could teach our students a common theoretical language before they move on to their own specific interests and without robbing them of the sociological imagination].

Third, Turner accepts that there are other goals of science that can serve as criteria for evaluating the value of theory. In Reynolds’ (1971) archetypal text on the construction of sociological theories, several goals are listed besides cumulative knowledge, and overlap/extend Abend’s types 1, 2, and 3 theories. The first is description/classification. Theories can be descriptive! This is actually nice. Note description for description sake is the weakest criteria of theory-building, because, presumably, one’s taxonomic efforts should also contribute to explanation and, potentially, prediction; the next two goals.

In terms of explanation, Reynolds, like Turner, is agnostic. He clearly prefers those explanations that are independent of time/space, but also realizes historical explanations of specific cases are useful. This heterodoxic stance also pries open space for qualitative research committed to scientific rigor. In my own experiences, qual is essential to revealing mechanisms, processes, and, of course, meanings that should – in a perfect world – inform future deductive research in terms of the questions asked and the instruments developed to answer them. This is not always the case, but I would argue this is more a function of a false divide between quant and qual and, worse, the idea that theory shouldn’t be rooted in scientisim. Again, other types of activities not scientistic are not less than, subordinate to, or non-sociological; they just aren’t theory. If we push back and see explanation as a central goal to theory, then description strives to reach explanation. Quant folks maybe read qual folks more, or collaborate, to improve surveys and analytic strategies; and new qual folks emerge to deal with the ever-present gaps science, as an epistemology, purposefully creates.

The bogeyman, here, is prediction. I won’t dive too deeply here. But, I do think sociologists can predict some things. And, by prediction, I am going by other science’s standards – e.g., biologists can predict the general time a leaf will fall and specify why their prediction is as such, but they cannot give you a day or time. We know the conditions under which ethnic or class conflict should arise. Like the leaf falling on Tuesday, conflict may not happen next week or month; it may simmer. And like a chance fire burning the tree to the ground before the leaf falls, other intervening variables may change the trajectory of the conflict. This is not precise, to be sure, and thus sociology does not necessarily lend itself to an applied physics, but we know a lot about issues like mental health stigma, poverty, formal organizations, and so on. We can actually predict, within reason, more than we presume. More broadly, this is but one of four goals I’ve delineated, and as such, not a make-or-break criteria for sociology’s status as a science.

The final two goals Reynolds discusses are “understanding” and control. He dismisses the latter, arguing that scientists have a tough time controlling lots and lots of things (e.g., earthquakes), so most of what we study is also probably quite difficult to control. But, understanding, for Reynolds, is related to the construction of paradigmatic (for lack of a better word) systems of causal relationships. It is more a framework that a set of scholars work within that informs their decision-making. Evolution in biology, for instance, is a perfect example: it guides most of the assumptions, questions, and explanations biologists deal with. Again, one criteria among others.

To these six goals (cumulative knowledge; description; explanation; prediction; paradigmatic; control), I would add understanding as a part of the theory-building process, though perhaps not really a criteria for evaluating theory (I continue to think and evolve on this). I think interpretivist sociology, when done well and with serious rigor, can become explanatory over time. Scholars committed to a particular milieu, process, set of actors, etc. can build, over several projects, clearer explanations. With abductive strategies, this logic is already built in to the approach (Tavory and Timmermans 2012). However, I see a place for understanding as a goal of science too. Especially when the scholar abandons the outdated pretense of the naive observer. In a highly diverse world, where little pockets of the world are distant cognitively and geographically, illuminating the discrete attributes and meanings may, in fact, lead to powerful social science. I know our work on suicide has benefited from trying to understand a community’s meanings surrounding suicide, and we believe with more research, much of what we found can be made more abstract and generalized. Not so much the details on the ground, unique to Poplar Grove, but the processes and what not. In this sense, understanding can begin the process of developing practical tools for dealing with social problems.

Who Cares?
One could argue these points are implicit, baked into the sociological enterprise. As with everything I muse about re theory, it all returns to how we teach it; and, by way of, how we train students to use and be theoretically-minded. The way we teach it is a mess. It lacks coherence and consistency. If we all began with the guiding principle of scientific criteria, we would no longer be able to teach the canon without re-engaging with what it is we are even teaching. If we began with science, then contemp theory courses would cease to be eclectic, arbitrary exercises in pet theorists, ideological axes, and the like.

This underlying epistemological stance will, hopefully, guide the course I am teaching this term. The goal is to provide practical tools for those who gravitate towards writing more theoretically pieces, but really for all students to be able to more clearly articulate what their theories are, how they inform their research, and what their contribution is. I have always made clear that my position is not the only position, and that they need to decide for themselves what kind of sociologist they want to be. Moreover, I do not discriminate against those pursuing Abend’s other types of theory. But, to accomplish the four goals of the class, and make well-rounded, competent, prepared sociologists, it seems scientism is the best thread to tie it all together.



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The Pedagogical Dead-End Known as “Classical” Sociological Theory

This is the first in a series of (increasingly more practical) posts about teaching classical theory; or, perhaps, not teaching it. I have written about  this elsewhere, recently tweeted a thread, and recently recorded two different podcasts (here and here) about this issue in two different ways. It seems intractable, to be honest, as one side seems entrenched and unable to imagine a discipline that does not constantly reiterate and socialize its neophytes in the lore and theoretical morass of the classics. Hell bent on resurrecting long-lost theorists, returning to old philosophical questions of Kant or Plato, or simply raising (legitimate) critique of the who, what, why of the canon. On the other side, is merely a bunch of unrelated scholars who “know” something is wrong, but who do not know how to reconfigure something so ingrained in sociology: the dichotomy between classical and contemporary sociology. I want to do a couple of things here, beginning with briefly pointing our why this is a problem, both in practico-pedagogical terms and in theoretico-scientific terms. From there, I use another brief example (one which my colleague Anna Mueller and I have written about many, many times in many, many places). Finally, I present the (on-going) solution I have settled on for the time being. I will return in future posts, some soon to come as reflections on what has and hasn’t worked thus far, and a sort of final take after this term is over.

Crystallized, Sedimented Navel Gazing
At the core of my argument is what I have termed the twin issues of the time crunch and the arms race. The former refers to the fact that undergraduate and graduate departments in North America are faced with cramming almost 200 years (or more if, say, you begin with Adam Smith) sociological theory and social philosophy into two 13 to 15 week courses (or, worse, sometimes in one “blended course” – something I am familiar with from my tenure at U Memphis). It’s frankly impossible, and invites arbitrary decision-making and, for non-specialists, reliance on (pretty crappy) textbooks. The latter is the current trend, driven partly by textbook revision demands, but also by many social theorists’ proclivity to search for the etiological meaning of a concept or term, look for a philosophical precursor, or simply revive old dead people because god knows we need more papers on more super obscure sociologists (for a fun read, check out what was “contemporary” theory in 1928). Both of these issues are creating a wide-range of problems for both pedagogical practices and for training future social scientists such that theory is something they can use and not something they find dry, obscurantist, esoteric, dense, vague, or something that weird old guy in our department does in his free time instead of collecting data. Here are some of the consequences…

Thought or Theory? Social or Sociological? The biggest issue I see, is what we are teaching. I am 100% for a course on the history of social thought and/or sociology, but Classical THEORY is theory, not thought, history, or philosophy. For the latter, there are both great tomes written on the subject (for the best, in my opinion, see Becker and Barnes [1961] from Lore to Social Science), and, I presume, entire departments like philosophy already devoted to this area of study. Theories are, by definition, sets of concepts and statements about their relationship. That’s it. Just because we get to invent neologisms like institutionalization or habitus, and debate conceptual definitions about power or class, does not entitle us to redefine an entire practice (science) that already has widespread consensus. A course on classical theory, then, should not be interested in Weber’s mental breakdown, or Comte’s goofy invention of a religion; nor should it care what Nietzsche speculated about. It’s chief concern is distilling what theoretical principles the classics provided us with, the methodological approaches built on or from these principles, and the lasting legacy today. For instance, it is ok to teach Marx’s stage-model, but if one does, we shouldn’t teach it as taken for granted fact, but actually interrogate its crappiness in theoretical and empirical reality. He not only knew nothing about preliterate societies, he substitutes his own philosophical commitments on human nature for good social scientific theory building. That’s the lesson there. I’ll say more on this with another example, soon, but let’s consider the fall out here (also, feel free to skip the rant here and move to the suicide stuff below).

  1. Who teaches theory? Whether or not there are  theorists anymore, or whether the discipline needs a specialization in theory is besides the point here. The simple fact is that the push back I receive about how we teach theory and why classical is necessary is always from established scholars. I am sure they have the time and leisure, like myself, to think a lot about theory and craft intensive courses that actually mitigate many issues I see as plaguing the false dichotomization of theory. But, let’s be honest: not only is theory not a specialization, but most jobs hire people for other things and ask if they can teach theory. Moreover, more departments than not “farm” theory (along with intro, methods, etc) to vulnerable, underemployed adjuncts, lecturers, and so forth. Overworked, these folks smartly rely on the resources available to teach sociology, and thus they use textbooks and these textbooks reinforce and reproduce all of the problems. It is not their fault, it’s the discipline’s weird infatuation with theory (we hang our hat on the belief that we are the best social science because everything we do is oriented towards theory), yet its near total ambivalence towards theorists, theory training, theory construction classes, and scientific theorizing.
  2. They Did This, Don’t Do That. Relatedly, one argument for keeping the course as conventionally taught is the sociological imagination. To be sure, Durkheim’s Elementary Forms or Marx’s German Ideology are inspired, creative pieces. Indeed, we revere the classics for the scope, scale, and imaginativeness. But we achieve the opposite by teaching them the way we do. We ignore the sociological lessons gleaned about written work and its powerful taken for granted authority. The beatification of Marx or Durkheim in textbooks, courses, and implicitly in the oft-repeated dictum that we must teach the saints lest the discipline lose its integrative capacity, makes their work seem dead; finished; crystallized. It transforms the reader’s relationship to the texts, making them artifacts from which we might conduct archaeological digs or biblical exegesis. It defames and disfigures and obscures the very freedom to create with which those authors took liberties. I cannot tell you how many times Anna and I have had a reviewer respond to a paper on suicide that is trying to push beyond Durkheim by asking: “but which type would this be in Durkheim’s model”? This is not creativity. It ignores that Durkheim’s work is excellent for the very reason that he was not saddled with the baggage of some sedimented tradition that everyone must know, recite by heart, and worship in orthodoxy.
  3. Learning by not learning. 1 and 2 often lead to many students learning “facts,” that simply aren’t facts. It is irresponsible to teach Marx’s “primitive” communism without setting the empirical record straight; or crystallizing Durkheim’s four-fold model without noting that only one of the four types has received consistent, enduring empirical support; or that the classical theorist’s ingrained fear of urbanization and its discontents was not based on empirical science, but on speculation about human nature (cf. Maryanski and Turner 1992). We have a responsibility not only to impart meaning to anomie and alienation, but also the fact that there is not a consistent definition of these concepts, nor has there been any effort to create operationalized consistency such that we can actually evaluate what these concepts are and whether they actually do things to people.
  4. Institutionalizing (Not) Theorizing. In sociology, as Abend’s (2008) article notes, there are myriad definitions of theory – and, don’t get me wrong, all of them are legitimate scholarly practices. Many of these are borne of the classical convention, and most aren’t theory by any scientific standard. There are, for instance, the exegetical deep-dives. I love reading, by the way, new letters Durkheim sent to Mauss or marginalia by Weber when he was in a particular manic phase. But, revealing them is not theory, it is exegesis and should be called as such. We’ve all engaged in it, but the question is always end result. I recently dug through Durkheim’s myriad thoughts on anomie, as well as many others (Abrutyn 2019). The end result, however, was not a descriptive piece on what we missed, but a theory building exercise that offered propositional statements designed to operationalize anomie more efficaciously and consistently. One is free to add or subtract propositions, but they stand as effort to do theory instead of look for ways other theorists did it.A second, and more nefarious, tendency is the creeping nature of philosophic deep-dives. These are, in essence, well-intentioned, but ultimately gatekeeping activities. Consider the following: having taught undergrad theory for almost 13 years every year, and grad theory in one capacity or another for 9, I can tell you that most sociologists are not and never will be theorists; nor do they want to; nor does the discipline need them to be. I bet, however, if you took a poll, most would say they hated their theory course because it seemed so detached from the rest of their training. Why? Because the philosophization of theory is not theorizing or scientific. There is a reason Comte placed positivist science as the next evolved stage after the metaphysical; there is a reason some classical theorists have been elevated over the very extensive range of possibilities:those committed (besides Marx) to the rigorous empirical verification of what would have once been called moral philosophy make more sense to a science than those speculating endlessly about human nature. Most students want to study “X”, not spend years reading further and further into a Kantian rabbit hole. They don’t have the time, desire, or perhaps training. Nor should they, because it doesn’t really matter. I am not saying theory shouldn’t be hard, it should. It should be abstract. But, by keeping the deep-dives we make it unnecessarily esoteric and strip it of its parsimony and potential power to guide research. Particularly classical theory, which is cited in introductions and lit reviews and discussions, but the mystery behind the direct relationship between a classical theorist/theory and empirical work is often disjointed as conscious and unconscious gatekeeping of theorists and their spheres of (decreasing) influence.
  5. But, We Must Contextualize Theorists! Knowledge is a Social Construct. My biggest pet peeve: “we must contextualize the theorists, otherwise we miss why they did what they did!” Nonsense. Either a concept or set of concepts is generalizable over time and space, or its not. If it’s not, then it is a more serious indictment that a social science spends an entire semester studying theory that is constrained to its time (mostly 19th century) and place (mostly continental Europe). Yet, we draw from it today, so it has applicability, presumably, with advanced or post-industrial societies, and thus implies generalizability. Why should anomie be restricted to urban societies? Or rationalization a process only found in contemporary formal organizations? By pushing contextualization we continue to reproduce the myth that premodern and modern times were drastically different in every way. They weren’t. We want to them to be, because radical change easily accounts for why society is so bad today, or why human societies are so unnatural. But, that isn’t rooted in empirical analysis, but rather ideology and golden ageism.
  6. The Double Problem: Lost Generations and Old Wine, New Bottles. Finally, we have the double problem of the classics. Mostly, this is rooted in the arbitrary decisions teachers must make in the face of the time crunch. The first problem stems from the question of what is classical? Is it pre-20th century? If so, then Mead/Blumer/Park and many others are out. So, is it pre-Parsons or is The Structure of Social Action the break point? So, what about “lost generations” of theorists like Sorokin, Elias, Eisenstadt, Shils, and so on, and on, and on. Or can we say dead theorists are classical as they aren’t writing any more? They aren’t actively contributing to the discourse. Goffman is dead, is he classical? Berger, Blau, and many others. If not, what is contemporary? The last 20 years? The 1960s, forward? It makes no sense.A second problem stems from the arbitrary choices we make: we are habitually engaged in pouring old wine into new bottles. In part, we are trained to forget key concepts and ideas, so we “rediscover” them constantly, only to find out sooner or later than someone else already posited it. Then, once we’ve reinvented the wheel we spend a ton of time using logic to argue why our concept is different and, presumably, superior to the old ones. Rather than just engage in cumulative knowledge construction, we spend inordinate amounts of time searching for distinction and uniqueness. So much has been lost, only to be found again. It may seem boring to suggest every sociologist should learn a basic set of principles (after all, it is not as exciting as reading Marx’s anger in the manifesto or Durkheim’s gorgeous creativity in the elementary forms), but why not build a discipline from some basic, mundane, boring principles, and then add layers of excitement to it.

Suicide and its Discontents
I am not going to spill a lot of computer ink here, but the status quo teaching of classics has real life consequences for doing innovative, good research that has real-world impacts. We all know peer-review is the necessary evil, and we all know publishing work in the most visible journals is key to both a strong career and perhaps pushing your work beyond the boundaries of the profession. Yet, sociology remains unconsciously wedded to the idea that we have to cite all of the relevant masters in most of our research (fine), and, especially, in ANY research related to one of the saints. So, every time I write a paper about suicide, I HAVE to cite Durkheim, otherwise, predictably, a reviewer or two will call me out. Call me out with nonsensical points like: what would Durkheim have said? Or, which of the “boxes” in his four-fold model would this fit? Worse, is the assumption what we are saying was said, in some way, shape, or form, by D himself. Look, I am not bragging, because it is exhausting to think this: I have read Suicide about 50 times in the last four years (front to back) and specific individual chapters another 50 times. I think I comfortably know what he said, not what my grad class from 15 years ago taught me or what Ritzer said or what anyone thinks they’re sure of. Some basic facts that are never taught with Suicide in theory:

  1. His own student, Maurice Halbwachs (1978) wrote a book, The Causes of Suicide, several decades after Durkheim’s death, demonstrating two key things. Explicitly, he demonstrated that a lot of D’s analyses suffered from data limitations (Halbwachs used similar data, but over a long period of time) and overly simplistic notions of multivariate logic (e.g., it wasn’t Protestants, per se, but urban Protestants). Implicitly, Halbwachs cast significant doubt on the integration/regulation dimensions, appearing to place the former front and center and making the second disappear.
  2. To that effect, in the mid-century, Barclay Johnson (1965) published an important paper that cogently argued Durkheim only had one dimension, integration. Since then, sociologists have struggled to reconcile Durkheim’s own ambiguities about regulation, as he himself sometimes treated them independently, and other times as caused by the other (particularly regulation caused by integration).
  3. Never mind the fact that his chapter on anomie is filled with vagaries and inconsistencies. For instance, how can economic recessions and booms both cause lack of regulation? The former seems to narrow one’s life choices, and thus is really the cause of greater regulation! Or, what he would have termed fatalism. Unsurprisingly, anomie means nothing and everything (but mostly the Mertonian-Parsonian interpretation of normlessness) (Abrutyn 2019), and its relationship to suicide rates is extremely inconsistent in empirical verification (Breault 1994).
  4. And, what of D’s theory’s generalizability? Well, how about the fact that only one of the four types has empirical consistency (egoism)? And, worse, how about the fact that virtually zero studies on altruism and fatalism exist ()Stack 2010; Abrutyn and Mueller 2018). These two types, in Durkheim’s description, leave traces of his own implicit, Eurocentric biases and, whenever we try to fix them, we always get pushback from someone who thinks reconceptualizing Durkheim’s great work is blasphemous.
  5. Finally, for five decades, the best suicide scholarship has focused on diffusion between personal role models (e.g., how/why having a friend or family member attempt/compete suicide puts the exposed at risk; Bearman and Moody 2004; Baller and Richardson 2009; Abrutyn and Mueller 2014) and why some places are more vulnerable to diffusion processes than others (Haw et al. 2014; Mueller and Abrutyn 2016). Yet, based on requests for manuscript reviews, you would never know this. 95% (if not more) of everything I am asked to review is testing/retesting Durkheim’s nineteenth century hypotheses. Zero consideration of theoretical advances (and not just my own, but Pescosolido; Bearman; Baller/Richardson; so on), and with the only real hook being new data and/or new statistical technique. No contribution, but an easy publication because journals love the appearance of revisiting the classical theorists! But, they too are complicit in the reproduction not of knowledge, but cultural capital and poor pedagogy.

Moving Forward
The most serious solution would be the recreation of a theory specialization that combined learning the wide expanse of theory/theorists with courses in theory construction, but, to be sure, this is not only unlikely but probably unrealistic. In my younger days, my thought was a shift from classical/contemporary to, perhaps, two courses on macro and then microsociology. But, without a theory specialization, it is difficult to ask a typical sociologist to be well-versed in both realms, let alone the fact that true macrosociology has become the provenance of historical sociologists, pseudo-functionalists, and world-systems-like social scientists. Generally, meso-level (e.g., orgs, fields, communities) are blended with some type of micro-level stuff. Moreover, this approach might simply recreate the same problems related to the arms race and time crunch.

At this point, I made a decision two weeks ago to overhaul my classical theory course. It is hybridized because the syllabus and textbook (Jonathan Turner’s Emergence of Sociological Theory) had already been designed and a total-overhaul the day before the first day seemed overwhelming. The course itself returns to a basic organizing principle I borrowed from a little read book by Eisenstadt (1985) that I had used before but with the original texts and focus on theorists. In short, he distinguishes three overarching “problems” or concerns in the central classics: integration, regulation, and legitimation. He unfortunately assigns one to each saint (Durkheim, Marx, and Weber), but that is easy to disentangle. To this, I add a fourth problem: the social self in which the underlying concerns of past and present (how is “society” at once external and internal) are fused together in a micro-level sociology. The strategy makes a lot of sense to me, as all of the theorists (both canonized and not) speak at length about one or more of these, even if they did not use the terms themselves. It also sets up a principles and concepts of sociology more readily. I will talk about these in greater detail in a follow up post, but for now, here is sort a of a sketch of what I am thinking.

  1. Integration: at the root of all sociology is the social relationship, broadly defined, and the connection between individual to individual, individual to collective, individual to social category, and collective to collective. For Durkheim, this was a moral bond built from mutual interdependence and recurring ritualized interaction. Easily, this allows me to abandon teaching the great works and instead focusing on bigger issues with this approach (e.g., are integrative ties always good? Modern soc would say no!), as well as slipping “contemp” theory into classical (Goffman’s mundane ritual order + Collins’ group/ceremonial order + Lawler’s formal, joint-task affectual order). Yet, one could carry the social relationship thread throughout the unit on integration (Marx’s sense of the economic foundations of social relationships, Simmel’s forms of relationships, Weber’s communal/associational + legitimate orders, and so forth).
  2. Regulation: at the root of all sociology is the twin problems of      control and coordination, or what Michael Mann distinguished as distributive and collective power. For Spencer and Durkheim, it was more about coordinating social units  that were different, while for Marx it was purely about (external) control, while Weber put limitations on power vis-a-vis rationalized organizations. To be sure, Durkheim’s voluntaristic model is explicitly about control too, as is Simmel’s formal sociology, Du Bois reconsideration of Marx’s simplistic division of workers-owners into a racialized division of labor, and so on. Like integration, this type of sociological theory invites principles like Lenski’s (1966) principles of power or Blumberg’s (1984) or its later modified version with various colleagues (1993), while also leaving room for the cultural Marxism of the Frankfort school, Bourdieusian fields, Foucauldian power, Blau/Emerson’s power-dependence exchange stuff, and on and on.
  3. Legitimation: at the root of all sociology is the question of how reality comes to be shared (or believed to be shared) and, conversely, how it shapes/constrains emotions and behavior. Thus, besides normative and external forces of power, symbolic reality is central to the work of Mead and his generalized other; Weber and his thoughts on social orders, action, and authority; Marx and alienation; Durkheim and the bottom-up construction of social knowledge; Simmel and his oft-ignored but excellent thoughts on money and media of exchange; Du Bois’ double-consciousness; and so on. To be sure, from Weber, Simmel, Husserl, and Schutz, we can easily bring in ethnomethodology, Berger/Luckmann, Bourdieu, Geertz, much cultural sociology, socialization and enculturation, and a lot of other related topics.
  4. Selfing: at the root of some sociology is the question of how the self is constructed, maintained, and changed (though, the latter issue is much less developed). Here we have the American tradition in full-force, though it would be silly to suggest Durkheim, Simmel, and Weber were totally naive to the self. But, we also get threads central to sociology today: structural microsociology (Goffman; Stryker; Burke; Heise) v. agentic (Blumer); meaning/role-taking and meaning/role-making; again, socialization, enculturation, practice, and so forth; marginalization, phenomenology, lived experience, and a whole host of methodological, ontological, and other philo of sci issues. Roles, status, identities, encounters, exchanges, small groups…the gamut of stuff this final unit can cover is immense, which is partly why my previous thought was to go macro and micro over two terms. But, this thread brings to a close many of the loose ends found in integration, regulation, and legitimation.

More to come…








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On Institutional Entrepreneurship

For the most part, social scientists either intentionally/unintentionally make vague the unit of selection, or what is being selected on (Runciman 2009; also, a previous post), or turn to the meme or something analogous (Blute 2010; Lenski 2005). But, much cultural evolution is not equivalent in reality or metaphor to its biogenetic cousin (also, Atran 2001; Boyd and Richerson 1992). We are left, then, imagining what exactly social forms of selection might work on. To this, I would argue institutional entrepreneurs (Eisenstadt 1980; Colomy 1998; Abrutyn 2009, 2014; Abrutyn and Van Ness 2015), or special collective actors who monopolize the production/distribution of “solutions” to key universal human concerns, parlay this monopoly into structural and symbolic independence, and, ultimately, carve out autonomous physical, temporal, social, and symbolic space that qualitatively transforms social reality for a significant portion of the population. Entrepreneurs are late sociologist, S.N. Eisenstadt’s, updated and modified version of Weber’s (1946) charismatic carrier groups who, in his estimation, carried various types of ethics capable of being the switchmen of history by changing the material and ideal interests adopters of these ethics pursued and, therefore, their practices and beliefs.

My argument, in essence, is that sociocultural evolution works on two inextricably linked things: the material, corporeal aspects of institutional entrepreneurs and the content of what Colomy (1998) has called their institutional projects – the construction of new “ethics” in Weberian terms or, in my terms, cultural assemblages (2016). The two are tough to decouple because they shape each other reciprocally. Well organized and structured groups are better able to activate and mobilize collective power in consequential ways, but organization and structure depend tremendously on the assemblage of cultural elements that justify and motivate (or legitimate) this collective action, while also fostering integration (and thereby some semblance of self-sacrifice) and regulation (in the form of internalization of normative emotions, attitudes, and actions). Moreover, the two work hand-in-hand in the two key measures of success or fitness: they facilitate or constrain the group’s desire and ability to reproduce and expand its human and material resource base, and they play an outsize role in the crystallization of autonomous institutional space that concomitantly elevates/protects the entrepreneur’s power and privilege as well as authority to impose their vision of social reality on a wide swath of people.

Before detailing their usefulness more clearly and also sketching greater descriptive and explanatory theoretical elements, it is worth address a key criticism my own work has received: the economic nature of the term entrepreneur. Admittedly, there are some assumptions that go along with this, and a rich literature on entrepreneurs as special economic actors (DiMaggio 1988; Aldrich and Ruef 2006). Yet, the term is quite fitting for several analogous reasons. First, entrepreneurship implies innovation. All evolution works on variation and diversity, and entrepreneurship is an apt term for denoting the creation of variation. Second, they are associated with high-risk, high-reward projects. The difference in evolutionary terms, particularly beyond the economic sphere, is that risks (particularly in many pre-liberal democractic times) scale all the way up to exile and death. Many a prophet and her closest charismatic confidants have been unceremoniously killed, squashing their institutional projects. However, the rewards are also far more than the money and prestige that comes with being an Bill Gates or Elon Musk. The elevation of an institutional entrepreneur implies some degree of ability to steer society (Luhmann 1995). That is, they not only reshape the realities of large portions of the population, and gain power, prestige, and wealth, but they also contribute to the broader trajectory of the society. Thus, like Bourdieu’s capital which reeks of economic determinism, sometimes co-opting words from currently-dominant institutional spheres serves a greater purpose than inventing a new term altogether.

What are Entrepreneurs?
Entrepreneurs are not just any group, but they work to monopolize the resources associated with one or more universal human concerns, and thus become agents of qualitative transformation. They often are built by a charismatic founder and/or charismatic group surrounding that founder, but become a force of evolution as they attract an “army” of members who carry their assemblage throughout a population. The Buddha and his disciples were charismatic carriers, but the rank and file monks become the entrepreneur (even though there remain leaders/elites). During the Gregorian Reformation (c. 1075-1200 CE), Gratian and a group of legal professors/scholars in Bolonga, Salerno, and Paris were the charismatic carriers, but the emergence of a legal profession whose practices and beliefs were relatively standardized through training became the entrepreneur. Some other notable elements are listed below:

  1. Entrepreneurs pursue institutional projects in which they (a) assemble cultural elements around real, perceived, or manufactured exigency(ies), (b) mobilize human and material resources, (c) articulate a frame about existing elites/structures/cultures as morally bankrupt or suspect while promoting their own, and (d) attempt to pry open structural holes to secure some independence in their activities, including producing, transmitting, and applying knowledge.
  2. Their innovations come in four independent, yet interrelated forms. Technological, both in the form of material objects (e.g., the plow) and knowledge of their use (e.g., metallurgy). Organizational, or the reconfiguration of divisions of labor, role-sets, and status positions. Normative, or the invention of new moral criteria for evaluating emotions, attitudes, and behaviors. And, symbolic, or the creation of new interpretations of social reality and/or bases of legitimacy.
  3. Their success is predicated on their assemblages ability to tip the balance of the ratio between integrative and disintegrative forces. On the one hand, this means the greater is their assemblages ability to generate internal solidarity, the greater the degree to which they are likely to reproduce themselves and their assemblage over, including drawing new members (if all things remain equal). On the other hand, once institutionalized, their assemblage must be able to sustain commitment from a broader, more diverse population and thus, again, its integrative capacities are paramount. To be sure, integration in the case of structural evolution may mean that the elite are unified in their activities and the closest ring of entrepreneurs are committed to the project, even though they often bear the brunt of inequities perpetrated by the elite. If these two rings are in lockstep, then even brutal social control and stark uneven distribution of resources can be sustained over several generations, even if the balance between integrative and disintegrative forces is nearly zero. Thus, the greater is the degree to which an institutionalized cultural assemblage generates external solidarity and/or the greater the degree to which this assemblage reduces sources of disintegration, the greater is the degree to which entrepreneurs and their assemblages will outlive the founders’ natural lives and their cultural blueprint will be reproduced intergenerationally.  

There are other notable characteristics (see Abrutyn and Van Ness 2015). But, for brevity’s sake, we turn to the utility these entrepreneurs have for evolutionary sociology.

The Theoretical Utility for a New Evolutionary Sociology
Institutional entrepreneurs offer social scientists a significant advantage over the vague cultural alternatives and the poor analogies between genetic replication for several reasons. For one thing, I have argued previously that sociocultural evolution has to take seriously the very real likelihood that evolution is not linear, progressive, towards greater [insert your favorite outcome such as complexity], or complete. Entrepreneurs, being human actors, are prone to mistakes, lack of information, overestimation, blind spots, the limits of existing technologies, and existing economic/political/cultural/historical contexts and contingencies. But there are other reasons for their utility.

  1. Entrepreneurs are meso-level – that is, they are located above individuals, but below macro-level abstractions. As such, their efforts may operate on multiple levels highlighting the incompleteness of sociocultural evolution. They may begin by carving out autonomous institutional space or they may focus on reconstructing the stratification system. Their efforts may alter an organization, a field of organizations, or they may begin by altering how people interact within these various units of analysis.
  2. Entrepreneurs also point the way to two different, if interrelated, evolutionary processes in sociology (Runciman 2009). The first is at the “cultural” level, in which “fitness” or success is measured in terms of the degree to which a cultural assemblage diffuses horizontally or across a population. Some of this diffusion is purposive, as entrepreneurs recruit non-members into their movement, while some is unintentional as people conform or learn through weaker ties about the group and its project. The second process is “structural” and involves (a) the crystallization of an assemblage into the invisible frameworks of an organization or institution (e.g., the division of labor) and (b) the vertical transmission of the assemblage. This last point underscores a key difference between biological and sociological evolution: existing or new systems of domination can impose their assemblage on others in ways that increase the entrepreneur and its assemblage’s fitness (even if the assemblage is not beneficial to many who are forced into adopting it).
  3. This last point highlights another key difference that neo-Darwinians tend to ignore. Selection is much more varied at the sociocultural level than the biogenetic. Elevation, for instance, is one path (Verkamp 1991). The Mauryan emperor, Ashoka, and the Roman emperor Constantine, selected Buddhism and Christianity, respectively, by elevating them to official state religions. They imposed these assemblages on the people, and worked to eradicate competitors. (Of course, as Jan Assmann [2011] demonstrates, eradication is rarely as simple or effective in the cultural world as cultural can be stored externally and thus endure). Moreover, evolution is sometimes surprising in that elites may not elevate an entrepreneur, but instead absorb, co-opt, accommodate, or share power with them. In addition to the variety of non-survival of the fittest qualities, entrepreneurs are motivated by a dizzying array of factors. Variation is not always accidental, but sometimes the product of manipulation or nefarious interests being realized. It may, in fact, be innovation in the search for traditional authority. The various waves of Israelite entrepreneurs beginning in the late 8th century BCE shows innovation kept occurring when new entrepreneurs yoked their new projects to old traditions, reworking them and redacting them to suit the changed conditions and interests of the new entrepreneurs.
  4. Though I am wary of the mismatch between biological & cultural analogies, entrepreneurs do open the door to introducing the other evolutionary mechanisms to sociology. The likeness to mutations is obvious, as entrepreneurship is neither guaranteed to do anything, nor is evolution guaranteed to be adaptive for a society, a segment of a society, or for a significant portion of a society. But, we can also think about gene flow, as entrepreneurs are not only capable of leaving their politically/culturally/socially bounded space and traveling to new places, but like Christianity, Buddhism, or Islam, assemblages can be made portable and can travel across boundaries through myriad paths. Sometimes adopted wholesale, other times piecemeal.
  5. Finally, we can return once more to the role of memory and cultural storage. Entrepreneurs can reassemble their assemblages by drawing from seemingly-dead cultural artifacts or mining forgotten or peripheral elements of existing assemblage. Culture is never really dead, unless it is forgotten. And, while many preliterate societies and their assemblages are long gone, museums, textual artifacts, and physical artifacts (e.g., walls/buildings) present potential and nascent entrepreneurs with an extensive palette to draw from. It is what makes entrepreneurship so fascinating that they are not only assembling variation that works for their members, but also because they have to react to the reactions of other strata. Powerful people create resistance and change what is most important to the assemblage; a tepid response by an important strata may cause the reconfiguration or change in emphasis of the existing assemblage.

Last Thoughts
A thought beyond the scope of the discussion is worth pointing to, as I want to write more about this moving forward. In short, Weber’s greatest insight into social change – one that is often overlooked in order to emphasize the opposition between charisma and order (traditional or legal-rational) – was his belief that an continuous tension between charisma and routine was always ready to boil over. This tension and its boil point produce crises that demand some sort of attention. Often, these crises are rooted in the over flow of disintegrative forces vis-a-vis integrative ones, but take on many specific forms throughout history. Moreover, this tension and the ensuing crisis explains both punctuated and gradual sociocultural evolution (Abrutyn and Lawrence 2010). That is, quick change may generate revitalization movements capable of reconstructing the world swiftly (Wallace 1956) or they may result from the gradual push towards entropy that is common to all societies. A sociology of crisis is something worth pursuing, even though it has seen some development from a range of scholars including Kai Erikson’s work on natural disasters, Vaughan’s work on organizational failures, functionalisms concerned with the center, such as Edward Shils, and more recently Jeffrey Alexander’s recurring theme of cultural trauma, pollution, and crisis. Fodder for another post and another day.






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Sociocultural Evolution: Institutions as Survivor Machines

Like the concept culture, institution has so many definitions that it is may be a useless term in the long-run (for a much more in-depth take, see Abrutyn 2014). Nonetheless, sociology, according to Durkheim (1895), is the science of institutions. Institutions were, for him, the “collective ways of thinking and acting” that patterned life across a population, and intergenerationally. For my purposes, institutions are defined as macro-structural and cultural spheres of social reality that (1) carve out physical, temporal, social, and symbolic space that (2) contains horizontal and vertical divisions of labor and, (3) which shapes the cognitive, affectual, and moral experience of a significant proportion of the population. Thus, institutions cross cut all three levels of social reality (macro, meso, micro), and impact the way people feel, think, and do.

Universal Institutions
In a previous essay, I argued that there were universal human concerns, or basic exigencies that could become salient under the right conditions. There are correspondingly, universal institutions – or institutions we see in every society. Kinship, polity, economy, religion, law, and, many argue, education are the six most obvious suspects. One might add military, but I stick with Weber here and suggest that though the military is often a distinct collective vis-a-vis the polity in many times and places, its principle functions, goals, and so forth are not that distinct from the polity (cf Mann 1986).

To this list, it is plausible to add more recently autonomous institutional spheres like medicine (Starr 1982), science (Merton 1979), art (Becker 1982), and some sort of conglomeration of media (Luhmann 2000), entertainment (Abrutyn and Turner 2011), and sport (Abrutyn 2018). These institutions are secondary to the list above, as they usually are deeply embedded in the structure and culture of one or more of the six universal institutions until only recently. Art, for instance, was first a component of the political sphere, as political elite built a luxury good meta-market (Richards and Van Buren 2001), followed by it being embedded in the religious sphere and then the economic sphere.

Survivor Machines?
Jon Turner (2010) refers to institutions as the fundamental unit of cultural evolution, though he does not deny multi-level processes. Institutions are one of the only units of sociological inquiry capable of (a) lasting multiple generations, (b) patterned feeling, thinking, and doing for enough of a given population such that the societal structure and culture endures – even in the face of selection pressures, and (c) spreading to other populations either through conquest/colonization, human capital (e.g., developing country A sends elite to universities in developed country B who then bring institutional ideas from B back to A [Meyer et al. 1992]), cultural transmission/diffusion/imitation, and so forth. This is not to say a given innovation cannot be adopted, like the plow, but evolutionary transformation is likely to occur not only with the borrowing of the material culture, but also the cognitive, affectual, and moral dimensions of using it, making sense of how it changes the divisions of labor, and so on.

Institutional Autonomy
When we say, then, that institutions evolve, what exactly are we talking about? There are, of course, myriad ways to think about this, but I have argued that the evolution of their autonomy is essential to understanding the general evolution of human societies, and to understanding the specific evolution of various cases. By autonomy, I mean that (1) the structure and culture of an institutions grows increasing discrete vis-a-vis other institutions; (2) it develops a “core” in which the universal concerns it deals in are tangibly and intangibly produced and distributed; (3) a unique status hierarchy predicated on the distinctive culture emerges that fuses with other types of intra-institutional rewards to foster commitment to the institutional culture and attachment to the institutional identity people internalize; (4) physical, temporal, social, and symbolic space are carved out that externally and internally (cognitively) cue actors as to “what is happening”; and, (5) a significant portion of the population comes to recognize the institutional sphere and its core as real, and, simultaneously, the (primary or only) source for meeting certain concern and a center of authority (and, therefore, domination/power).

Institutions do not just have or lack autonomy, but rather it grows or shrinks. The more autonomy an institution has, the more distinctive the sphere becomes, and the more identifiably unique the goals, actions, attitudes, sources of status and power, and so on become vis-a-vis other institutions. 5000 years ago, as the polity grew autonomous, political goals and actions became differentiated from their kinship counterparts. That does not mean lines are not blurred, or political actions can be intended or motivated by other institutional spheres, rather they are distinct analytically in the minds of most people and judged corrupt when believed to be about something other than political criteria. Of course, religious motivations, as one example, could shape political actions and goals, but because the two institutions tend to deal in very different logics, the outcomes may not be necessarily successful. A drought can be dealt with through political expediency and the use of rational means to resolving it (Scott 1998) or by appealing to the gods to intervene, and leaving it up to chance. Both may, in the short run, be successful, but the odds favor the former over the long run and, hence, polities that differentiate political goals from other types are more likely to survive (and, thus, more likely to reproduce themselves intergenerationally and cross-culturally, as other group’s adopt what seems to work or have it imposed upon them through conquest).

There is much more to be said about institutions that I have said in various other outlets (Abrutyn 2009, 2013, 2014a, 2014b, 2016), so I will save an exhaustive discussion of autonomy for a later date. For now, this is the master process, I think, for understanding how institutional domains become survivor machines and the primary unit of social evolution. I do, however, want to talk a little more about the ontological nature of autonomous institutions.

Are They Real?
One of the criticisms my own work has received, and indeed macrosociology has suffered since at the least Homans’ (1958) masterpiece, are questions about whether institutions are real in the same sense as a dyad or an interaction – both of which can be directly observed and measured. Yes! They are real. Malinowski (1958) cogently demonstrated that law, even where full-time legal actors and systematic codes were lacking, was understood as different from other types of institutional rules like kinship custom or religious norms. But, with autonomy, institutions become increasingly tangible phenomena. And, they become the most important unit of sociocultural evolution precisely because their realness stretches across every level of social reality.

Macro: 5,000 years ago, or so, the political institution grew autonomous vis-a-vis the kinship sphere (Abrutyn 2013). That is, archaeology and textual evidence show that the four dimensions of structural and cultural space (physical/temporal/social/symbolic) were carved up in ways that affected most of the population consciously (monumental architecture was designed to make people feel small in the presence of the political) and unconsciously (public space affected the daily rounds of life – walking, economic exchange, etc.). In Mesopotamia, the Palace, for instance, was usually located on a hill and surrounded by a miniature city whose denizens served the Palace; around this mini-city was a wall, and then the city itself, and then a defensive wall (Yoffee 2005). Additionally, a pattern that carried on from these early agrarian states was the placement of the most important temple in the capital, often near the Palace as it had important economic functions (e.g., grain storage) besides its religious function (Richards and Van Buren 2001).

Today, in every city of a certain size, we see the physical demarcation of space. Many cities have areas that are comprised of courthouses, law offices, bail bondsmen, police headquarters, jails, and some sort of governmental office. Economic spaces – industrial parks; malls – are differentiated from kinship spaces (neighborhoods); the list goes on.

But, these institutions also carve out temporal space. Working/business hours v. family hours; political and religious holidays; school days v. family vacation. Further, they carve out social space (which will be discussed more below), and symbolic space. Palaces, as noted above, like temples were designed to be big, imposing, representative of power beyond the average person’s purview. Ornate style further supported this. But, even functional architecture serves as symbolic distinction: in a major city, a hospital is legible to most people vis-a-vis a Catholic church, a federal building, a university/school, and a block of row houses. The actors we see walking around reinforce these distinctions. I’ll never forget when I moved to Los Feliz in LA, and drove down Sunset off of Vermont and saw the Scientology headquarters fully surrounded by a massive medical complex. The irony was palpable. Doctors and nurses walking to and fro, while this very different building with extraordinarily different function and culture sat quietly in the background.

Meso: Institutions are also comprised of congeries of organizational actors. If we imagine a given institution as having a “core” or a center in which the institution is made and remade daily – physically, temporally, socially, and symbolically – than we can imagine that there are real actors, usually organized into organizational units, responsible for this reproduction. The US polity, for instance, has three obvious physical sites of daily reproduction: the White House, Congress, and the Supreme Court. We are not always privy to the processes themselves, but we believe that they are active. Surrounding these “core” sites are myriad support actors whose activities are rather mundane and even less visible – e.g., the IRS, FBI, civil bureaucracies across various Cabinet-level Departments. There are also “liaisons” actors, whose primary function is the translation of other institutional actors’ concerns into the appropriate language of another institution, and then re-translating the institution’s decisions. For example, lobbyists act in the interests of economic, religious, educational, medical, and scientific actors by transforming them into political language and then translating them back again. Finally, every institutional sphere has an environment that stretches from the core into overlapping interstices between institutional spheres. Here various actors go about their business, sometimes orienting themselves to the core (e.g., voting, watching/reading political news), sometimes completely unaware of the polity’s activities or existence.

In theory, every institution can have this diverse array of collective units producing, reproducing, supporting, translating, and so forth. The greater the size and density of an institution’s meso-level, the more distinct its structure and, very likely, its culture. That is, the more collectives there are, the harder it is to manage them by way of a distant institutional core (Rueschemeyer 1986). A second corollary here, is that the greater the number of collectives and the greater the difficulty of managing, externally, the greater is the integrity of the institution’s ability to meet human concerns.

Micro: And, thus, at the micro-level, we see actors going about their daily lives. Perhaps not consciously noticing the Catholic Church or courthouse they walk by everyday to their job. But, on a Sunday, before or after mass, or on the day of a high profile case, they will become aware of the institutional sphere. More importantly, as institutional spheres become autonomous, they are socialized into a world in which compartmentalized generic roles like doctor, judge, athlete, president, parent, artist, scientist, priest/rabbi/imam/etc are simply taken for granted. And, along with these roles, their statuses are taken for granted, as are the divisions of labor that these roles operate within, as are the differences – great or small – between political and kinship goals; religious and economic actions; artistic v. scientific v. religious ways of knowing.

In many ways, then, this is why the divide between urban and rural organization and people is so pronounced. In a big city, physical, temporal, social, and symbolic space are actually and intersubjectively carved into institutional spheres. In a small town, “main street” may house the most powerful economic actors (and the Chamber of Commerce), the main church dignified folk belong to, City Hall, and, not far from it – especially before cars – the neighborhood everyone wants to live in. The boundaries between spheres are blurred, and so are the roles and divisions of labor. The world looks very differently.

Yet, even in these small towns, the wider world is imposed upon them as politics at the local may indistinguishable from economics or religion, yet politics at the state or federal level care little about the local religious or economic concerns. Federal buildings – not just post offices, but prisons, social security offices, and so forth – ensure the physical, social, and symbolic presence of the larger political sphere, while national holidays – even idiosyncratically celebrated – are the temporal reminder of power above and beyond. Indeed, while Marx conceptualized town and country as the great growing chasm of human evolution, I would reframe it and argue that it is the local and the global (or, perhaps, a better fitting term for the latter).

In future essays, this divide will be a central topic as will the agentic side of evolution. For now, it is enough to posit that institutions are indeed the survivor machines of cultural evolution, as they alone are capable of crystallizing or sedimentizing cultural innovations into routinized patterns of activity, physical space, time, architecture, social relationships, generalized role positions, and so forth.




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The Nuts and Bolts of Evolution, IV: General Evolution

Having laid out some key aspects of evolution in previous posts (here, here, and here), I want to turn to the two strategies sociologists may follow that biological evolution takes: general and specific evolution. Specific evolution is phylogenetic, or the comparative study of the evolutionary history between species. That is, the history of when one species grows out of another, usually by way of Darwinian “descent with modification.” In less jargon-y terms, specific evolution focuses on how some structures of an organism become different in structure, function, and specialization in ways that make the species different from its last common ancestor. This process should be familiar to sociologists from Durkheim’s theory of the division of labor. General evolution is the study of “progressive” transformations. Progress is measured less in value-laden terms like “better” or more evolved, and instead in the temporal change in size, scale, and degree of a trait or set of traits like intelligence.

So, for instance, the specific evolution of primates examines how, when, and why monkeys speciated from prosimians, and hominids (the lesser and great apes) differentiated from monkeys. The general evolutionary story would, instead, arrange all of these primates in some terms of progressive development, be it brain size, social life, cultural complexity, and/or linguistic abilities. Thus, the study of specific evolution focuses on population-level gene frequencies, while general evolution shifts to classes of organisms and their characteristics vis-a-vis other organisms. Perhaps the parallels between biological and sociocultural evolution are obvious? But first, a key caveat:

It is possible to speak of evolution without using value-laden terms. It is also possible to take off one’s social science hat and critique the outcome of social evolution as it is not accidental in many cases, but brutally purposive. Conquest and colonization, for instance, can select against a group in ways we can call unjust and inhumane. Yet, this doesn’t take away from the process itself. Furthermore, we can build taxonomies like Lenski’s model of subsistence technologies without passing judgment as to whether society A is better than B or innovation X is superior to Y. Indeed, these judgments are always flawed. For instance, hunter-gatherer societies, on average, worked about 15 hours a week to subsist, having plenty of leisure time (but, of course, few of the leisure devices we have today) (Sahlins 1974). Agriculture tied people to the land, bolstered patriarchy in ways unimaginable, and created the first forms of slavery. More food meant more people, to be sure, but also meant more time and energy consumed, more inequality, and more conflict. Is the former “better” than the latter? This seems a moral question beyond the empirical world, and depends greatly on one’s own ideology and/or their own preferences. The same can be said about innovations: iron ore can be transformed into a more efficient and productive plow, or it can be turned into a more efficient and productive killing machine. Many innovations have these, pun intended, double-edged qualities. And, the tension between material comforts, aesthetics, intellectual pursuits, and “transcendental” experiences ensure that innovations will be judged by myriad criteria as to their betterment or degradation of society. So, we leave these questions aside for philosophers and humanists to debate, and ask what does evolve generally and specifically worth noting.

General Evolution
So, the question is how can we classify societies in such a way as to constrain nineteenth century evolutionism’s tendency towards supremacist progressivism? Sahlins and Service (1970) offer two possibilities: (1) the amount of energy a society captures/harnesses/consumes (see also Leslie White (1959) and (2) the amount of integration. The former makes sense in two ways that offer more substantive, concrete types of classification. The first was made most famous by Gerhard Lenski, whose typology combined economic materialism with anthropological data – something Marx failed miserably at doing. Lenski’s taxonomy is as such: hunter/gatherer/fishing societies; pastoral or horticultural; agrarian; intensive agrarian; industrial; post-industrial. At each step, it is not presumed one society is better or more advanced in some value-laden way, but rather they harness energy for production, distribution, and consumption in radically different ways. What this strategy does, however, is point towards another potential “classification” system – and I use that word loosely.

General Evolution and Institutional Autonomy
What Lenski had in mind was a comparative analysis of what was and was not common across each type. One unit of social organization that is common are institutional spheres or domains. Institutions are the basic building blocks around which social action occurs (Abrutyn 2016). By this I mean all human societies organize the four dimensions of social reality – physical, temporal, social, and symbolic space – around kinship, political, economic, religious, legal, and educational behavior. [Not surprisingly, these are also some of the most important substantive areas in every intro Sociology text and major sections in the American Sociological Association cross-cutting other concerns like stratification/inequality]. What makes these institutional spheres discernible from each other are the things they do: e.g., all polities are concerned with (1) collective binding decision-making about (2) the production and distribution of resources and (3) the use of these resources to achieve one or more goals. They vary, of course, in how effective they are in doing so, as well as how well they do in balancing the ruling elite’s goals with the needs of both the masses as a homogeneous whole and the various strata the masses are lumped into. But, by definition, a polity is a system that organizes who is authorized to make these decisions, how binding they are and how they are enforced, and so on. Even when we see politics occur in small groups like a fraternity or a sports team that are not polities in the macro-sense, we see the same processes.

So, what can we learn about general evolution? Well, one thing that differs across time and space in any given society is which institutional sphere or spheres has/have attained some degree of autonomy vis-a-vis the others. Any student of preliterate societies, for instance, knows kinship is the principle source of social organization (Fox 1984). Political or economic actions are inextricably linked to the basic logic of kinship (loyalty/love). And, a careful examination of the history of humanity will also see that autonomy is not random, but actually follows a general pattern. 5000 years ago, in what is now southern Iraq, northeastern Egypt, northern China, and the Indus Valley, political evolution towards autonomous polities occurred in a rare moment of parallel evolution (Abrutyn 2013). Similar selection pressures + similar environment (alluvial plains) = pressure for political organization. (The reasons for this are beyond our discussion, but you can see my work with Kirk Lawrence (2010) for a primer).

To be sure, autonomy is never total, and anyone familiar with Game of Thrones knows two things: local villages remained deeply tied to kinship logic of loyalty and love, while even the Palace itself was simply elite households, and that kinship mattered (particularly loyalty). But, the Palace was no longer just a household of conspecifics and, perhaps, a servant or slave or two; they were cities within cities, containing complex divisions of labor both horizontally and vertically. And, the political entrepreneurs in the polity were no longer interested only in, or even primarily in, kinship matters. They were suddenly pursuing distinct political goals such that political entrepreneurs and those observing them perceived these goals “as different from other types of goals or from goals of other spheres or other groups in society” in so far as their “formation, pursuit, and implementation became largely independent of other groups, and were governed mostly by political criteria and by consideration of political exigency” (Eisenstadt 1963:19). That is, all polities deal with some very basic generic (practical) problems: defense against (real or imagined) external threats; the production and distribution of resources; the reduction and suppression of conflicts between heterogeneous classes within a population; managing/centralizing risk (e.g., grain storage as a hedge against famines or floods) [Johnson and Earle 2000; Abrutyn 2013]. And, symbolically, the primary currency of political exchange, the force shaping political interaction (and calculation), and the discourse dominating political communication was power and less so loyalty and even less love (Luhmann 1982; Abrutyn 2015). Again, Game of Thrones is instructive: royal problems, though often rooted in romantic or fraternal/paternal/maternal love, are far more rooted in power relations and access to power.

In any case, the student of history can follow along and see that these epochal moments in which a different institutional sphere evolved autonomously for the first time somewhere or in several places are rare, but important. In the first millennia BCE, religious evolution took hold in China, Israel, Greece, and India (Abrutyn 2014, 2015). In the “long” twelfth century CE (c. 1075-1200), legal autonomy emerged out of the Gregorian reformation of the Catholic church and the explosion of legal entrepreneurs, law schools, and standardized western legal codes (Berman 1983; Abrutyn 2009). The Protestant Reformation Weber was so interested in was really the middle of an economic revolution that frightened Polanyi as he warned against too much economic autonomy. Finally, the enlightenment was an epoch in which first educational and then scientific autonomy emerged, followed not long after be medical autonomy.

Each epoch highlights, not necessarily an irreversible moment, but a qualitative transformation in macro structure and culture, meso-level social relationships, and the micro-level experience of social reality. It is not reversible because of continuous improvements to cultural storage. Once a polity, for instance, is autonomous, other political entrepreneurs in the same time period or in later centuries and even millennia can take ideas and practices from the initial founders of autonomy and use them wholesale or integrate new ideas and practices. That is, once autonomous an institution in any time or place can theoretically be made autonomous again. Autonomy also points to a second major advantage to thinking about general evolution as such. It throws into sharp relief the double-edged nature of evolution. On the one hand, more spheres of autonomy mean more routes to social mobility. Students of Game of Thrones knows that prestige, power, and wealth are only secured through kinship and political ties (besides the Iron Bank). In the modern US or Canada, one can pursue a legal or medical degree, as well as a career in sports or academics and make a living, secure prestige, and in terms of the former, even power. On the other hand, as Weber feared, where more autonomous systems of action emerge, the total amount of domination grows. We are increasingly subjected to new forms of power-dependence, as our daily lives are differentiated in terms of physical, temporal, social, and symbolic spaces devoted to economy, religion, law, and so forth. But, knowing that there are epochal moments of institutional evolution is not enough; we can turn towards specific evolution to examine how political or religious evolution, though the same in terms of its growth in autonomy and the consequences that often ensue, takes varied forms based on “local” historical, cultural, political, and economic contexts and unpredictable contingency.

Evolutionary Sociology’s Future
To date, social scientists rarely discuss general v. specific evolution. My guess is the reader is far more aware of the former and less so of the latter. The former, of course, has a rich history in various failed stage model theories, and in the most compelling, sweeping, imaginative, and (sometimes) insightful theories of human history and social evolution (e.g., Quigley 1979; Sanderson 1997; Turner and Maryanski 2009; Nolan and Lenski 2014). But, there is something about specific evolution that seems worth considering.

Herbert Spencer, for instance, offered one theory of specific evolution – or, a set of generic processes that shaped the trajectory of a given social unit as it differentiated, dedifferentiated, specialized, or split into smaller segmented social units (see Turner 1985). The theory, simply stated, posits that there are two countervailing forces in any social organization: centralization/consolidation of regulative functions (control/coordination of social units) and decentralization. Thus, following his general theory, exigencies in the environment (or within the collective) put pressure on the group for solutions, many of which require increased centralization of, say, decision-making and resource mobilization. Once centralized, new problems emerge either because of the initial solution; or because those with less independence and autonomy have more grievances; or in the most cynical moments, those with more power seek to protect, entrench, and expand it. In any case, centralization  has its benefits – large populations can be mobilized quickly to harness their social power – and drawbacks -e.g.,inequality can be easily heightened and domination lead to exploitation – with the latter creating new pressures for decentralization. This tension is obvious across so many cases, it may not even seem insightful, but it is an example of the potential of a more serious sociology of specific evolution.

To return to the example of institutional autonomy above, we see several paths of theoretical and empirical development. If political autonomy was the key process of general evolution 5,000 years ago, a specific evolutionary study would be interested in how each case diverged from the ideal type. Likewise, the evolution of sects, “speciating” from a given religion fits a specific evolutionary model. Of course, what differs from current narratives of sectarian movements is the consideration of selection, variation, and other evolutionary concepts and processes.  For the sake of brevity, I’ll leave a deeper dive into specific evolution for another post.

In the meantime, I will be returning to the theme of institutional evolution, as I see it as a fruitful path forward for evolutionary sociology, as it includes consideration of multiple levels of social reality, including our biological, neurological, and genetic makeup.


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Sociocultural Evolution: Universal Human Concerns

When I first began writing about institutional evolution (Abrutyn 2009), I was continually confronted with the same problem functionalists had – e.g., why does every society have a “polity” or a “kinship” system? That is, there is something seemingly biological to the fact that a certain set of institutional spheres are mandatory for social organization. Institutional spheres are, in essence, macro-structural and cultural units that organize feeling, thinking, and doing for a significant portion of the population, in part, be carving up physical, temporal, social, and symbolic space in ways that impose and reinforce a particular set of values, beliefs, and norms. They are, in many ways, survivor machines as they are one of the primary replicators of a collective’s ethos across generations. To be sure, culture is not genetic material, and thus replication is not one-to-one in any sense of the word. But, institutions are the rare social unit capable of transmitting and transposing as coherent a culture as possible to the largest number of people. The question, then, is why are people’s everywhere and at every time carving out the same types of institutional spheres? We find, for instance, in preliterate and literate societies alike, kinship, polity, economy, religion, law, and, generally speaking, education. How discrete or autonomous these spheres are is a matter of empirical question, and really a conversation best left for another essay. Nonetheless, every society we have data on has moments in which action you or I would recognize as “legal” occurs, even if these moments are far rarer in those societies than in ours and the lines between law and, say, kinship blurrier (Hoebel 2006; Pospisil 1978). Likewise, despite the fact that full-time practitioners, preisthoods, and a recurring cult are absent in most cases, all societies have emotions, attitudes, and actions contemporary humans would deem “religious” (Radin 1937; Lowie 1970).

Thus, the question is why do these institutions seem necessary for the existence of human societies? The old answers were insufficient evolutionary explanations, as they were teleological and, often, tautological sets of needs or requisites. These lists plagued the early functionalists because they were arbitrary lists and dead-ends for linking the biological/neurological foundations of Homo sapien to her social organization. Herbert Spencer, for instance, explained all institutional spheres in terms of three needs: operative (in more familiar terms, productive), distributive, and regulative. Society’s, presumably, needed to solve these three problems to create some semblance of equilibria. I am oversimplifying, of course, but this logic soon found its way in Parsons’ (1951) [in]famous AGIL scheme, which saw institutions as serving one of the four needs (adaptation, goal attainment, integration, and latent pattern maintenance) and then sub-systems differentiating inside of the institutional sphere to meet one of these four needs at the internal level.

There were two obvious problems. First, these needs were thought of as imperatives instead of, as Jonathan Turner (1995) calls them, selection pressures. Obviously human societies or whatever social unit one cares to study needs to produce and distribute resources in some patterned manner if it is to ensure its own cultural reproduction and its member’s biological reproduction. But,  there are no guarantees that solutions will be adaptive for some or every member, nor is there any guarantee of the short- or long-term viability of a solution. Second, I would argue that they mistook selection pressures (like integration or regulation) for the types of meanings that seem universal to all human societies, and which institutional spheres – as they evolve more autonomously – come to be organized by and around (Abrutyn 2014; 2016).

Universal Concerns
When I say universal, there requires some caveats to prevent falling into the classic functionalist traps. First, they are universal in so far as the average, normal human is capable of experiencing the concern as salient. This first caveat expresses the fact that in, say, a foraging society the concerns related to law are not often felt by most members. Kinship dominates the structure, culture, and phenomenology of society’s members, and thus the need for third-party conflict resolution or justice is simply rarer  than in a larger society. Moreover, in the US or Canada, while any given member may not feel legal concerns as pressing, the size, scale, and depersonalized nature of the society – and its various smaller social units – means there are these concerns are always salient for one or more members (hence the need for full-time legal actors).

Second, these concerns are not at the societal-level, though they may become salient become of social forces related to population pressures (size and/or density), production, reproduction, distribution, and power. They exist at the individual level, but become forces of evolution when some segment of the population believes most or all people feel they are salient; even if, objectively, they aren’t salient. Once some people feel the concern salient, efforts to resolve the concern – aimed at those feeling it or, more ambitiously, to all members – can begin in earnest [more on this in another blog entry].

Third, concerns are not always naturally made salient. All humans are subject to manipulation, both purposive and unintentional. Concerns can be made salient when, in fact, they aren’t.

Fourth, just because I say a concern is universal does not mean (a) a “good” solution to it will be found, (b) people will perceive it as concerning and, therefore, work to resolve it, or (c) “good” solutions will be available or accessible.

In short, all that matters is there are concerns that are ubiquitous to the human experience. In a sense, then, they are a bit in the spirit of Maslow’s hierarchy of (intrapersonal) needs, but not necessarily ranked and are interpersonal – that is, they are purely concerns stemming from social relationships. Of course, they also have deep biological roots, as many are shared with our closest primate relatives and even many other mammals. Below, I have provided a table of concerns that I believe are the most common and matched them with the institutional sphere or spheres most commonly involved in dealing with them (it is neither authoritative nor definitive and I welcome additions!).

Universal Concerns Institutional Sphere Associated w/ Solutions
Biological Reproduction Kinship, Polity, Economy
Cultural Reproduction Kinship, Polity, Religion, Education
Love/Loyalty Kinship, Polity
External Security Polity, Kinship
Ontological Security Religion, Kinship
Cognitive Knowledge Kinship, Economy, Education
Aesthetic Knowledge Religion, Art, Economy
Suffering/Evil Religion, Science
Morality – Piety Religion, Kinship
Morality – Justice Polity, Law, Kinship
Conflict Resolution Polity, Law, Economy, Kinship
Comm w/ Supernatural Religion, Polity
Health/Morality Kinship, Religion, Science, Medicine
Distinction/Status Polity, Economy, Education, Sport
Power Polity, Religion, Economy, Law
Reputation All

Some Initial Thoughts

First, note that kinship cross-cuts many of these. This reflects both the obvious fact that most humans know their kin/family reality better than most. Their objective power and status are likely derived from kin relations more than political or economic. But, this also reflects the fact that for the first 200,000+ years of human life, kinship dominated the structural, cultural, and phenomenological landscape.

Second, most human concerns are dealt with in more than one institution. I intentionally tried to order the list either by chronological order (which institutional sphere emerged autonomously first to deal with a given concern) and/or which institution it is primarily dealt with. Of course, this is not always possible. In a complex society, like the US or Canada, where we spend compartmentalized moments in one sphere or another, concerns like distinction or ontological security can be foreground or background in more than one.

Third, that concerns are cross-cutting also underscores tensions between institutional spheres. At the elite level, these tensions are struggles over who has the legitimate right to produce, distribute, exchange, and consume the solutions to a concern. At the “mass” level, these tensions emerge in where actors feel their concerns are resolved most satisfactorily or efficaciously vis-a-vis institutional spheres they feel they have little access. For example, the US (and, in fact, all throughout the world), the vast majority of people are alienated from economic and political spheres beyond their coercive appropriation of human and material resources, but find strength, purpose, status, and  power in the two most local institutional spheres: kinship and religion. The marriage between religious and kinship values is not inherent or mandatory. It is a particular configuration of industrial/post-industrial societies where economic and political resources are further ensconced in physically and cognitively distant spaces, while the everyday experience is buttressed by the belief in the family as the defense against these “distant” maladaptive forces and religion as its natural extension (e.g., the megachurch becomes the extended family of horticultural times, with common religious worship substituting for fictive and real ties built on marriage alliances).

Fourth, as I noted above, many of these have biological roots, hence their universality. What makes humans different from our animal friends are the institutionalization of solutions into the structural and cultural fabric of society. The solutions, of course, vary based on historical, ecological, political, economic, and cultural context, but the general solutions are always these institutions. Importantly, any society can come to resolve any solution or set of solutions in a atypical institution, but there is likely consequences. Case in point: the former Soviet Union was a good example of what happens when every concern is secondary to power and loyalty. The polity came to dominate every other sphere and every other concern. Justice or piety, for instance, were both subjected to power and loyalty (to party), and subverted by them as well. I know many readers likely believe that courts in the US are political, and justice is either a product of money and/or power, and they wouldn’t be totally wrong. But, law is relatively autonomous in the US and the vast majority of cases, on a day-to-day basis, are decided based on legal principles, norms, criteria. We may not like lawyers or the general lack of substantive justice, but the courts in the US operate far differently from those in the former USSR.

In the next set of essays on evolution and institutions, I intend on tackling some of the questions – both implicit and explicit – left unanswered in this essay. For instance, (1) Why does institutional evolution, as conceptualized herein, provide a more dynamic foundation for a theory of sociocultural evolution? (2) How does general and specific evolution work in terms of institutions? (3) What is institutional autonomy and what are its consequences? (4) How do real actors factor into this equation, and what is being “selected” upon (hint: it’s not the meme)? More to come…





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Does Sociology Have Laws? (Spoiler Alert, Yes it Does!)

Yesterday, I was sitting in a faculty retreat and we were discussing whether we needed to restructure the department given the continuous growth of faculty and the increasing number and complexity of exigencies the Head must deal with; exigencies which delimit his ability to do other things necessary for the department to not just grow in quantity, but also quality. The conversation was great, collegiate, and…completely predictable. It is rare that I would argue sociology can make predictions, but here I could have predicted this would happen. Why?

First Laws
It is definitely risque and unpopular to say sociology has laws. The idea that human behavior and social organization has any regularities at the level of a law runs against the grain of several corners of sociology and humanism. But, and I say this cautiously, there are several laws that work across levels of social reality (that is, we have laws that work as well at the dyadic level as the inter-societal level). To be sure, most of our theoretical knowledge is not law-like, and probably never will be. Furthermore, axiomatic theory does not preclude other types of theorizing, such as interpretivism or descriptive/classificatory. But, the existence of these do not preclude sociology from being able to clearly explain and, in some cases, predict with the same certitude as a biologist predicting when a leaf will fall off of a tree or better than a seismologist predicting an earthquake. Below, I will talk through one of the laws – what I would call the first law of sociology, and leave other laws for future discussions. But, first, a brief aside on formal sociological theory.

Scientific Law (What it is, and is not)
Scientific laws are built on repeated observation of two or more phenomena and their apparent relationship. They rest on higher levels of abstraction than other lower order components of formal theory. Facts and hypotheses, for instance, refer to specific relationships between objects (the sky is blue because of molecular refraction), while laws, presumably, capture a wider range of phenomena subsumed within each concept. To be sure, every law is delimited by explicit sets of conditions: Newton’s law of gravitation, for example, only applies to relatively weak gravitational fields. Finally, laws predict outcomes or new observations. As such, laws are not iron-clad as the connotation of the term itself indicates; they are falsifiable—or, more often, failed predictions provide new scope conditions—and, therefore, mutable.

It follows, then, that laws do not explain social behavior. Hence, the positing of a law is not the end of theory or social science, but rather the statement of a social fact that reflects the accumulation of knowledge, the maturity of the social science, a collective effort by disparate scholars devoted to understanding and explaining the social world, and a foundational block for how we teach, present, and apply our ideas to sociologists and non-sociologists alike. Positing laws does not strip theorists or empirically-minded sociologists of the creativity that C. Wright Mills termed the “sociological imagination.” It heightens it; it demands it; it guides it. The most creative aspect of theory-building is the why and how questions surrounding a law, not the law itself; and, thus, it is correct to say that finding laws, as sociology’s eponymous founder Auguste Comte proposed, is not the primary reason for research, but an outcome of the collective project and, once discovered, the impetus for creative, novel, and replicating forms of research. It is also not incorrect to say, then, that laws are a necessary fixture for creating common ground for all sociologists, regardless of their research interests; it provides a place in which debates and arguments and empirical testing can productively advance social science rather than spin its wheels in debating whether there is anything foundational; and, it celebrates just how far we’ve come as a discipline.

Differentiation as Law
Herbert Spencer famously wrote extensively about society as an organism, or supra-organism as he was fond of referring to it (see this post for a bit more on this). He posited that growth in size generated pressure for the differentiation of structure and function to deal with exigencies arising from this growth. So, put in more common language: as the size of a group increases, so does the level of differentiation. Unlike some laws, this first law works at every level of social reality. When two parents have or adopt a child, the new roles and status positions differentiate (parent-child); when an informal group of friends grows beyond 20-25 members, pressure to differentiate leadership roles and authority give way to formal rules, practices, standards, etc. As groups grow in size, divisions of labor differentiate as new tasks and responsibilities arise to both handle the complexity and because of the complexity. As villages grow in size, and personal relationships become increasingly difficult, occupational, socioeconomic, demographic, and cultural differentiation inevitably occur (particularly because of the incest prohibition and rules of endogamy leading to the circulation of “new” people w/ new traditions, practices, and so forth). Indeed, at every turn, collectives that grow in size face a fork in the road: either fission into smaller groups or differentiate new structural and cultural formations that can address the myriad problems that stem from bigger populations and denser arrangements.

There are three fundamental problems facing a group that grows in size arithmetically or geometrically. (1) Resource scarcity becomes increasingly salient, even when adding a third person to a dyad. Scarcity =/= total collapse! It just means there are fewer resources necessary for biological and social reproduction and either new resource bases must be created or existing ones expanded, otherwise the group must devise new strategies of distribution (which, as we shall see in a future post on the Second Law of Sociology, may create new exigencies based on real or perceived inequities). The simplest example: two parents add a child. Not only are there practical questions revolving around food, clothing, childcare, and so forth, but the love – which is obviously not quantifiable and not really zero-sum like, say, a pizza – also becomes more “scarce,” so to speak.

As an aside, nowhere does it say we need to intensify or improve production; nor are there any ironclad guarantees that (a) differentiation will resolve scarcity or that (b) scarcity will be perceived as problematic and, therefore, motivating. It is just a fact that there are always X number of resources for Y number of people, and even in resource rich spaces, there are subjective quantities people feel they deserve or earn. The point here is that for a significant proportion of human history, fission or the segmentation into smaller units was the norm in the face of scarcity, because the usual solution involved some sort of vertical differentiation – that is, the emergence of more clearly defined governance roles that can resolve the second exigency

(2) The second problem is related to control and coordination. More members of a group means more conscious beings whose opinions, goals, decisions, and attitudes may not be aligned at all times. A child transforms the parent’s simple horizontal partner roles by adding a superordinate-subrodinate role. Parents, regardless of how much they want to or how good they are at it, must coordinate their new behaviors, their child’s behaviors, and, often times, their partner’s. Consider the problems that arise when you add a second, or a third, or fourth, or even more kids to the mix. Resources become increasingly scarce (ask any second or third-born whether they feel love was unfairly distributed in their family, and I am sure you will get as many, if not more, “yeses” than nos). But, just as importantly, control and coordination become even more problematic as more people have to be mobilized to do things that were much more easily to achieve when it was two or three people’s consensus necessary to make events or affairs or outings run smoothly. 

So, consider a group of five best friends. Choosing their Friday night activities is likely a deomcratic process with one or two of the informal leaders or outspoken people mobilizing preference. But, what happens when they add five spouses to the mix? Coordinating the lives of five relatively independent family units is extraordinarily complex. Indeed, there are reasons sororities/fraternities and other organizations that are relatively large and impossible to coordinate through informal means differentiate formal systems of authority: coordination, and of course, control. Someone must be authorized to sanction violations of the group’s standards and practices.

The final exigency is competition/conflict; a problem Durkheim was keen on. As groups get larger, it becomes untenable for all members to do the same thing. Hunter-gatherer societies are composed of several nuclear families that comprise a band that has upward limits of about 50 members. Beyond that, a supra-band level (tribe/moiety/clan) system of organization must be differentiated. Bigger groups need bigger pieces of land which means bigger and more fixed settlements, property that ties them to those settlements (and must also be protected against threats), and demands for other types of productivity besides hunting-gatherering. It also increases the likelihood that some members will either not be suited to hunting/gatherering or not be oriented towards that line of work. Competition over who does what can result in a natural or forced division of labor that differentiates a population into classes of people distinct in occupation, lifestyle, status, and so forth. Not surprisingly, and which will be a central element to a follow up post of the Secoond Law, differentiation in the form of heterogeneity has serious consequences driving more evolution. These are, in essence, the exigencies that arise because of initial solutions to the initial exigencies.

So What?
To circle back, when the idea of an assistant Head was raised, any sociologist could have predicted this was the case. We’ve been growing as a department and intend to for the foreseeable future. Of course, the conversation soon veered into issues better predicted by the Second Law (again, coming soon). But, we do not teach or talk about the laws of sociology for two reasons, in my estimation.

First, sociology’s resistance to and understanding of science (like most people’s) is rather limited or distorted. Laws are not immutable, but rather highly generalized relationships/patterns between two things. I would argue that finding exceptions are harder than finding events that fit with this law. Any time you add more people or more groups to a larger social unit, differentiation is inevitable; even against the best efforts to resist this process. Communes, for instance, typically come and go because they try hard to mobilize an ethos that simply runs counter to what is possible. In the short run, differentiation can be stymied, but in the long run? Not so much.

Second, there are significantly larger issues surrounding the question of what is sociological “theory,” how should we teach it, and how does it inform research. I am by no means orthodox in my theoretical orientation, but I believe there is a place for positing the laws we have, for positing the clear theoretical explanations we have, and for continuing to allow for creativity, interpretivist sociology, critical social philosophy, philosophy of science, and so forth. But, in the end, the question is which amplifies the contributions the discipline may lend to the wider world? To this question, I will leave an answer to another day. But, for now I will say one thing: having students trained in what we actually do know seems a powerful way to have them go off in the private and public sector, applying ideas without running up against social facts that are costly and, perhaps even, impossible to alter.








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