Introduction
Let me begin with a trick question: Do you know what a “norm” is? Anyone with even
the most rudimentary familiarity with sociology has run across this term numerous times. Yet
what you may not realize is that different social theorists define the term in distinct ways.
Accordingly, the correct answer to my trick question is, “It depends.” That is, it depends on
whose definition of norm is being referred to. Put differently, knowing a theorist’s vocabulary
does not imply that you know what this vocabulary means. Ignorance of this fact leaves one
susceptible to wrongly believing that by uttering a theorist’s words, one is conveying some
understanding of that theorist.
For example, imagine that someone points to a bird and exclaims, “That is a finch.” Now
imagine that you convey this “knowledge” to someone else by saying the same thing to her or
him when a same-looking bird flies by. Heaven help you if that person asks, “What is it about
that bird that makes it a finch?” or “Is that other-looking bird a finch? ... How can you tell?”
Sadly, your only reply must be something like, “I have it on good authority that that bird is a
finch. As to any other one, I’ll have to ask my source (whom you may soon discover is not as
good an authority as you thought, because she responds to your questions in the same way that
you just responded).” And so we get an infinite regress of deferred authorities (the last of whom
is probably long dead), plus a whole lot of “convinced classifiers” who have no knowledge of
why a particular bird falls into the class, but who nonetheless retain their strong convictions that
it does.
The point here is that many social theorists (e.g., Talcott Parsons and James Coleman)
might well agree with the statement, “Human behavior is normative,” but differ fundamentally
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on what this sentence means. 1 Theoretical statements are thus inextricably linked to the theorist
being associated with them. Now note the almost comical dilemma to which this conclusion
leads us: What about statements that compare theorists? If it is only legitimate to speak of a
theorist in terms of her or his own technical vocabulary, does this imply that there is no
vocabulary for distinguishing among theorists’ ideas?
The usual response to these questions is to create a list. Since each theorist’s perspective
is simply different from every other theorist’s perspective, our list is one of theorists’ names,
followed by –ism or –ian (Marxism, Weberian thought, etc.). However, little is gained from
such a radical relativism in which theoretical perspectives are as numerous as the surnames of
social theorists at any point in history. So let us temper our relativism by collapsing under
broader headings, those theorists who choose to identify themselves with a common label
(constructionism, dramaturgy, etc.).
Yet even now our original dilemma remains despite our having shortened the list of
theoretical perspectives in this way. Although either list of labels provides us with a vocabulary
for referencing theories, we still lack a grammar for distinguishing among them in a consistent
way. Consequently, we still lack a language for discussing theories.
I submit that a grammar for distinguishing among the entities in our list (namely, social
theories) must be based on a definition of “social theory.” So what is a theory? A theory (my
1
Although one may be hard-pressed to find commonality in theorists’ usages of a concept like
“norm,” such terms have considerable value in comparative theoretical work as “pivotal
concepts” for contrasting perspectives. For example, Parsons (1951, pp. 11-13) argued that
norms place self-imposed limits on how far actors’ goal pursuits may go before they threaten the
survival of the institution within which they are enacted. In contrast, Coleman’s (1990, p. 243)
position is that normative behaviors result only because others believe themselves to have a right
to enforce conformity. Thus although norms are “socially acceptable behaviors” for both, there
are fundamental differences—indeed inter-theoretical inconsistencies—in their explanations of
“who” accepts “whose” behaviors.
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definition) is a language for explaining sensory experiences; a social theory is a language for
explaining human behavior. So what is a language? A language consists of a vocabulary plus a
grammar of rules for the correct usage of this vocabulary. Mastering theorists thus involves not
only memorizing their respective vocabularies, but also gaining fluency in each of these
vocabularies’ correct usage.
In many respects, studying a set of social theories is like studying the same number of
foreign languages. Yet the former is much more difficult, given that social theorists are
notorious for not setting out their grammars in straight-forward, axiomatic ways. Instead, they
tend in their writing simply to apply their grammars and to leave their readers the task of
inferring underlying grammars from their usage. The student’s skill is more sophisticated than
that of the child who learns to mimic its parents’ use of, say, Norwegian, however. Reading
social theory calls for making explicit (or deconstructing) the grammar underlying each
theoretical perspective at hand. Of course, familiarity with a spectrum of theories is a laudable
objective for readers. But the more important outcome—the one that allows this spectrum to
expand—is the development of the deconstruction skill itself. It is my hope that this objective is
not only your motivation in studying social theories, but also the outcome this course of study
affords you.
Returning to my above definition of theory, one notes that a link is presumed between
theoretical languages and sensory experiences. Ferdinand de Saussure ([1915] 1983) is credited
for having first emphasized the distinction between language (langue) and articulation (parole),
where the former establishes a static set of expectations regarding the latter. Yet for de Saussure
the experiential world consists of static units to which linguistic signs simply correspond. This
assumption of an intact world of referents has perhaps been most sharply criticized by Jacques
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Derrida (e.g., [1967] 1976), who argued that concepts’ links to sensory experiences (or ‘traces’)
are just as tentative as their links to language. Derrida proposed “the hinge” as a metaphor for a
concept’s simultaneous relation to both language (through articulation) and sensation (through
différance). Whereas articulations vary in the degree to which they accord with expected
language usage, immediate différance varies in the degree to which traces accord with expected
(i.e., a history of past) sensory experiences. Thus there is a “dual life” in people’s expectations
regarding the concepts they apply to their existence—grammatical expectations potentially at
odds with a present articulation and sensory expectations potentially at odds with immediate
différance.
Figure 1 provides a graphic depiction of the concept’s dual life as a hinge. At one end of
the hinge is a theory’s static grammar—its rules for the proper articulation of this among other
concepts in its vocabulary (i.e., for its proper conceptualization). At the other end of the hinge
are immediate experiences that may or may not jibe with one’s expected sensations regarding
these concepts (i.e., one’s conceptions). Although not acknowledged in Derrida’s writings, this
metaphor has long been grasped by the scientific community in the sense that scientific theories
are simultaneously logically consistent and open to empirical verification. Each theory’s
grammar affords logically consistent rules for articulating the concepts in its vocabulary. Yet
these concepts must each have an operational definition (i.e., measurement criteria) before
verification can proceed. That is, not only must scientists’ hypotheses be expected (i.e., logically
derived) in accordance with a theory, sensory expectations regarding the concepts in these
hypotheses must also be agreed upon beforehand.
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Grammar
Conceptualization/
Conception
Sensory Experience,
or “trace”
Figure 1. Derrida’s “hinge” depicts concepts’ dual nature as conceptualizations articulated
according to a grammar and conceptions having différance with sensory experiences (from
Roberts [2008, p. 7]).
Complexity is added to scientific endeavor when the subject matter of inquiry shifts to
creatures—namely, humans—with conceptions of each other that likewise hinge between
language and experience (i.e., when we restrict our attention to social theories). In such cases,
scientists must specify the language that their subjects use when referring to each other’s
motivations. Accordingly, social theories are languages about people’s languages regarding each
other. (And, yes, my efforts here are to develop a language regarding these languages about
languages.) So how many of these languages-of-motivation are there?
My answer to this question is based partly on the nature of the hinge itself, and partly on
the fact that every language-of-motivation must incorporate a concept of “person.” First,
although concepts’ dual life can be depicted graphically as a hinge, these lives can only be
discursively addressed one at a time.
Consider the challenge one faces in discarding an old trashcan. Despite one’s
tenacity, it is repeatedly left at the curb. Trash handlers’ expectations for a
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trashcan are that it indicates (or signifies) trash. As such, its existential status is
“Is Not”, making it transparent to the handler. Likewise, linguistic competence is
defined precisely in terms of the transparency of one’s speech and writing.
Speakers who are unable to overcome a strong accent or severe lisp may never
achieve linguistic competence in the “eyes” of their audience. The lisper’s words
go unnoticed (i.e., they are “not”) until they fail to direct others’ attention
elsewhere but call attention to themselves. Similarly, for the trash handlers the
old trashcan’s status as a sign for trash remains “Is Not” until it fails as a signifier
of trash, presumably because it is itself so trashy that it can no longer signify trash
as they expect. (Roberts 2008, p. 29)
In brief, articulation (e.g., within a language of trash removal) is other-referential, whereas
différance is self-referential. During discourse the hinge’s concept is either a conceptualization
that directs one’s audience’s attention elsewhere (e.g., from a trashcan to its contents), or a
conception that calls attention to itself (e.g., as sufficiently trashy to “be” rather than to signify
trash). Communication is impossible unless a consensus exists on whether one’s utterances are
conceptualizations or conceptions. One cannot communicate both simultaneously.
Conceptions and conceptualizations elicit distinct types of knowledge. Operational
knowledge is required for a conception to become noticeable, whereas relational knowledge is
made manifest in conceptualizations. 2 Most people whose native language is not English have
distinct words associated with operational versus relational knowledge. Operational knowledge
is referred to by the French as savoir, by Germans as Wissen, by Arabs as Al-Elm, and by
2
Merton (1972, p. 41), James ([1909] 1955, p. 209f), Grote (1865, p. 60), and numerous
epistemologists (e.g., Hamlyn 1970, p. 104f; Woozley 1969, p. 24) have written on these two
types of knowledge. The novelty here is in how the distinction is tied to the just-discussed dual
nature of the concept. (Also see Roberts [2008, pp. 8-12].)
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Chinese as Zhi-Dao. Their corresponding words for relational knowledge are connaissance,
Kenntnis, Al-Ma’rifa, and Ren-Shi. For example, let’s assume that “I know a woman whose
name I know no longer.” Not knowing the name leaves me without a spontaneous recollection
(savoir, Wissen, Al-Elm, Zhi-Dao) of a word that corresponds to her physical image, whereas in
knowing the woman I have insight (connaissance, Kenntnis, Al-Ma’rifa, Ren-Shi) into her
character.
Ambiguous references to knowledge are not resolved in English simply by noting that we
are “acquainted” with the person but “unaware” of her name, because the knowledge-distinction
being drawn here also refers to objects (i.e., entities without proper names and with which one
cannot make acquaintance). Besides sounding somewhat peculiar, asking native English
speakers if they are “aware of” versus “acquainted with” how a car works will likely be greeted
with a knowing, “Oh, you are asking whether I know how a car works,” but with total naiveté as
to whether the knowledge being referred to is one of savoir or connaissance. The newly licensed
driver will happily inform the questioner about nuances in turning keys and steering wheels,
opening and closing doors, negotiating traffic, and stepping on pedals (i.e., about operational
knowledge regarding how to “work” cars). However, the car mechanic will answer the same
question in terms of combustion, suspension, and the like (i.e., regarding relational knowledge on
how [that is, “the grammar according to which”] cars work). Thus it is insufficient merely to ask
how a car works; one must specify whether one’s motivation in asking the question is
(exclusively) operational or relational.
The second distinguishing characteristic among languages-of-motivation (or modalities)
is that each requires a concept of “person” (i.e., of the one who is motivated). As per the above
discussion, every modality must stipulate whether utterances regarding people are to be
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understood as conceptualizations or conceptions. Yet within these utterances, “person” might
itself refer to a conceptualization or a conception, or even to the grammar or the immediate
sensory experience with which each is respectively associated.
•
If a conceptualization, is the person …
o an objective sequence of immediate conceptualizations potentially at variance with a
single expected grammar, or …
o the subjective origin of one of many grammars potentially expected as the basis for
specific conceptualizations?
•
If a conception, is the person …
o an objective sequence of immediate sensory experiences potentially at variance with a
single conception, or …
o the subjective origin of one of many conceptions potentially expected as a sensory
experience?
Note in these questions how the inherently public character of conceptualizations and sensory
experiences is contrasted with the inherently private (or subjective) character of grammars and
conceptions. That is, private grammars can only be inferred from public conceptualizations, as
can private conceptions be inferred from public sensory experiences. With these distinctions in
mind, we now have the makings of a language for distinguishing among social theories.
Table 1 provides an overview of four types of personhood that have emerged from the
preceding discussion. On the one hand, theorists may define “person” as a subjectivity within
which private conceptions or a private grammar is maintained. Or they may define “person”
objectively as conceptualizations or as sensations immediately accessible to others. On the other
hand, theorists’ definitions may regard personhood in terms of its nonexpected différance or its
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Table 1. Four conceptualizations of personhood
“Person” is defined as the . . .
subjective origin of
objective manifestation of
agent
persona
collaborator
follower
différance
articulation
expected articulation. The resulting four definitions of personhood are (as per our above
discussion) mutually exclusive, and thus afford us a language for drawing clear distinctions
among social theories. Let us label these (now grammatically interrelated) types of person as…
•
agent—a person whose subjectively-maintained conceptions (or goals) may or may not be
objectively achieved at any given moment
•
collaborator—a person whose subjectively-maintained grammar (or culture) may or may not
be objectively articulated at any given moment
•
persona—a person whose objective performance may or may not correspond to others’
sensory (or role-) expectations
•
follower—a person whose objective articulations may or may not cohere with others’
grammatical (or normative-) expectations
These four types of personhood are most commonly associated with social theorists who
respectively refer to themselves as rational choice theorists, functionalists, dramaturgists, and
conflict theorists. Each of these four theoretical traditions is universalistic in that it treats all
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human behavior as manifestations of a single personhood type. 3 Accordingly, many of our
readings are grouped under these four headings.
Yet not all social theories are universalistic. Instead, four “subversive theories” have
emerged during the last half-century—theories that call into question the universalistic
assumptions of each respective tradition among the previous four. Critical theorists argue that
agents’ goals are themselves the product of their subjection to an ongoing barrage of
advertisements. Risk theorists note that even the most devoted collaborators will bring their
society to disaster if they fail to consider broader, environmental dangers. Queer theorists
suggest ways that audience-expectations can be subverted and changed. Social constructionists
point out that even the most appealing universalistic grammar is open to question and doubt.
And so four more sections are added to our collection to accommodate these subversive
perspectives.
The last section of readings is by theorists who accommodate more than one motivational
dynamic in their writings. Georg Simmel spent his career writing about forms of sociation
(Vergesellschaftungsformen) within which persons with distinct motivations stimulate each other
in ways that strengthen these motivations in the self-sustaining ways. Michel Foucault provides
numerous illustrations of how people’s motivations vary fundamentally from one historical
setting to another. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. These theorists’ insights are a long
way from our initial thoughts on language and sensory experience—a long way from the
theoretical writings of people like Benjamin Whorf, Mary Douglas, and Jacques Derrida.
3
Randall Collins (1994) should be acknowledged here for suggesting this relatively concise list
of sociological traditions. My hope is this that the above discussion affords useful insights into
relations among the theories in his list.
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References
Coleman, James. 1990. Foundations of Social Theory. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press.
Collins, Randall. 1994. Four Sociological Traditions. New York, NY: Oxford U. Press.
Derrida, Jacques. (1967) 1976. Of Grammatology. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins U. Press.
Grote, John. 1865. Exploratio Philosophica. Cambridge, UK: Deighton, Bell, & Co.
Hamlyn, D. W. 1970. The Theory of Knowledge. Garden City, NJ: Anchor.
James, William. (1909) 1955. Pragmatism and Four Essays from The Meaning of Truth.
Cleveland, OH: Meridian.
Merton, Robert K. 1972. “Insiders and Outsiders: A chapter in the sociology of knowledge.”
American Journal of Sociology 78:9-47.
Parsons, Talcott. 1951. The Social System. Glencoe, IL: Free Press.
Roberts, Carl W. 2008. ‘The’ Fifth Modality: On Languages that Shape our Motivations and
Cultures. Leiden, NL: Brill.
Sassure, Ferdinand de. (1915) 1983. Course in General Linguistics. La Salle, IL: Open Court.
Woozley, A. D. 1969. Theory of Knowledge: An Introduction. London: Hutchinson.
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