Sociology and Scientism: The case of William F. Ogburn Robert C.

Bannister
Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Sociological Society, 1988. From: http://www.swarthmore.edu/SocSci/r annis1/Sociology/!g urn/og urn.ASS.html, accessed "1 Fe . #8. $n his presidential address to the American Sociological Society in %ecem er 19"9, &illiam Fielding !g urn told colleagues that sociology was 'not interested' in impro(ing the world. 'Science is interested directly in one thing only, to wit, disco(ering new )nowledge.' *his goal re+uired a 'wholly colorless literary style' and a rigorous method, prefera ly statistical. *he truly scientific sociologist, a ser(ice intellectual rather than a policy ma)er, would not pretend to 'guide the course of e(olution,' ut rather would generate the 'information necessary for such supreme direction to some sterling e,ecuti(e who will appear to do the actual guiding'. Statistical and ad(isory, a truly scientific sociology would also e nominalist in its asic assumptions. Since society was simply a term for the collecti(e responses of the indi(iduals who comprised it, sociology should confine itself to the measurement and ta ulation of en(ironmental change and responses to it. -1. !g urn y this time was a leading proponent of a mo(ement within American social science that had een uilding for more than a decade, alternately termed 'neo/ positi(ism,' 'o 0ecti(ism,' or, more pe0orati(ely, 'scientism.' At its core, the o 0ecti(ists held, not only that science can pro(ide man)ind with an all/em racing philosophy of life and the solution to all pro lems, ut that the techni+ues used in the physical sciences can e used to sol(e any pro lem. Accordingly, those disciplines that do not use the same research techni+ues as the physical sciences are not really scientific. *he sociologists1 definition of 'science' was not, of course, necessarily that which scientists themsel(es followed in their wor), ut rather that which !g urn and others elie(ed that they employed.-". 2ut in the enthusiasm of the moment, the finer points tended to get lost. A scientific sociology , as thus defined, was to e 'o 0ecti(e' in three +uite special senses. First, it must confine itself to the o ser(a le e,ternals of human eha(ior. *his goal meant an end to the cataloguing of 'feelings,' 'interests,' or 'wishes,' a principal acti(ity of pre/war sociologists.-3. Secondly, sociologists must apply rigorous methods in the production of social scientific )nowledge. -4. Finally, sociologists should o ser(e strict neutrality in matters of ethics and pu lic policy. From these premises certain predilections followed naturally, if not ine(ita ly, specifically, a focus on indi(idual eha(ior rather than on the formation and transformation of social structures5 an emphasis on an inducti(e and incremental model of science5 and, in the long run, a ureaucratic (ision of team research and

social science institutes.-6. $n practice, o 0ecti(ism translated into programs that ranged from educational testing to marriage counselling. Politically, it fueled demands for increasing 'social control.' Since o 0ecti(ity in one form or other had een a professional norm since the earliest days of sociology, these ma,ims and the assumptions ehind them were not entirely new. &hat distinguished !g urn and his disciples was the e,treme to which they too) them, and, in particular, the e,treme to which they too) the premise that human (olition and the su 0ecti(e consciousness ha(e no place in social science. 7nderlying earlier studies of 'interests' 8Small9, 'li)emindedness' 8:iddings9, and e(en 'instincts' lay the assumption that a connection e,isted etween human feelings and (alues and the e,isting social order. For the earlier functionalists, social institutions arose to satisfy needs in ways compati le with the well eing of indi(iduals and group sur(i(al. Scientism, in contrast, repudiated not only the inner self, ut all customary ways of doing and feeling. ! 0ecti(ity lay, not simply in the lac) of ias, ut in the elimination of the psychological dimensions of e,perience, and finally of the willing, feeling self.-;. !g urn1s prominence within the profession ga(e his pronouncements special weight. -<. 2orn and educated in the South, he had done his graduate wor) under Fran)lin :iddings at =olum ia, and in 1911 earned his Ph.%. for a statistical study of child la or legislation. $n Social Change 819""9, he introduced the phrase 'cultural lag. ' %uring the 19"#s, he represented sociology at the Social Science >esearch =ouncil. $n 19"< he 0oined the faculty at the 7ni(ersity of =hicago, later chairing the sociology department during a period it which it produced more than a hundred Ph.%.s, including some of the leading +uantifiers of the ne,t generation. !g urn1s pioneering study of the 19"8 election earned him a minor footnote in histories of +uantitati(e social science.-8. From 19"# to 19"; he ser(ed as editor of the Journal of the American Statistical Association, and in 1931 was elected president of the Association. As research director of President ?er ert ?oo(er1s =ommittee on Social *rends, he played a pi(otal role in producing the path rea)ing Recent Social Trends 819319. %uring the depression years, he ser(ed on se(eral @ew %eal agencies. After &orld &ar $$, he ecame one of the nation1s est )nown analysts of the impact of technology on society. Although he shunned contro(ersy, !g urn was and remains a contro(ersial figure. %uring the thirties, humanists, pictured him as an uncritical apologist for technology, -9. while fellow sociologists, usually to the left, +uestioned the analytic utility and (alue neutrality of the 'cultural lag' concept. -1#. %uring the 19;#s, @ew Aeft critics pictured him him as the archetypal 'corporate li eral' and a chief architect, in one (ersion, of the stripped/down, companionate family that promised, ut did not finally pro(ide, a ha(en from a heartless capitalism . -11. At est, !g urn seemed to one latter/day +uantifier to ha(e een a 'transitional' figure in the discipline1s mo(e from a ' iological' to a more genuinely cultural analysis5 from general theory to +uantitati(e research5 and from 'social e(olutionism' to a non/teleological positi(ism. -1". %ifferences o(er !g urn1s reputation, in turn, reflect more general +uestions concerning the rise of sociological o 0ecti(ism. *he o 0ecti(ists themsel(es, in the tradition of positi(ism since =omte, argued that the 'logic' of science led ine,ora ly

from metaphysics to +uantification, the image of a 'transitional' !g urn eing an attenuated (ersion of this position. Bore recently, historians of sociology ha(e stressed the impersonal processes of the professionaliCation and ureaucratiCation of )nowledge, or the rise of 'corporatism' as chief factors. Although not re0ecting these later e,planations, this study of !g urn1s career attempts to place them against a roader ac)ground of social/psychological, religious , and intellectual factors that shaped the (ision of )ey representati(es of sociology1s 'second' generation who earned their doctorates on the e(e of &orld &ar $. ". Socially, o 0ecti(ism was nourished y the fluidity and resulting a sence of tradition and custom that characteriCed late 19th century American life, as the rise of a national economy and transportation networ) shattered what remained of pro(incial culture, social deference, and traditional (alues. Analysis of this situation in terms of 'nostalgia' or loss of status 8as >ichard ?ofstadter suggested a generation ago-13.9 ignores the more asic lac) of institutional density that in sta le societies defines roles, mediates meanings, and induces the comforta le feeling that shared (alues are a natural and enduring aspect of the human condition. For founders li)e Small and :iddings, as for most of their middleclass contemporaries, socially secure and relati(ely comforta le up ringings muted the star) opposition of self and society, indi(idual and nature. Significantly, the prewar sociologists who anticipated o 0ecti(ism were also the most rootless: from Sumner, >oss, and De len in sociology to E.2. &atson in psychology. !g urn nicely fits the ill. 2orn and raised in a small :eorgia town, he re(ered a past he ne(er +uite understood. ?is family on oth sides traced its American ancestry to 1<th century Dirginia, a point of special pride to his mother. 2oth his parents remained close to rothers and sisters throughout their li(es. Fet to !g urn theirs seemed another world. '*hey li(ed in a face to face community,' he wrote, using the phrase =harles ?. =ooley had coined. '$ ha(e )nown the point intellectually, ut $ ne(er +uite got the feel of it. $t is still something of a mystery.'-14. !g urn1s lineage alternately fascinated and em arrassed him. &hen at the faculty ta le at the 7ni(ersity of =hicago someone casually as)ed him if a Biss Eane !g urn were his sister, he answered, somewhat to his own surprise: '@o, my original ancestor came o(er in 1;68 -sic. and her original ancestor did not get here until 1;84.' >epeating the incident to >ead 2ain, he confided: '*here were two or three men around the ta le whose fathers were orn in Gurope, and it did not ta)e long for someone to crac) down upon me with a remar) a out my lue lood, which increased my confusion.' !ne day toward the end of his life, he spent an afternoon tracing the genealogy of one of his fore ears, only to recogniCe the a surdity of the enterprise. ?ad not 'modern studies' shown that one1s personality was the product of the 'social en(ironment,' he wonderedH ?ad not the same studies 'ta)en all//or nearly all meaning//from a study of ancestryH' -16. !g urn1s own youth mar)ed a sharp rea) from this family past. After his father died while he was +uite young, his mother too) in orders to ma)e ends meet. 'As a oy $ carried a good deal of responsi ility -and had. little money which $ had to stretch for the family,' he recalled. 7nder these circumstances, family pride ecame e,treme

sensiti(ity to reputation, and a compulsion to conform. !n the streets of small/town :eorgia, gossip was a deadly weapon, and a good name 'the most (alued of possessions.'-1;. $n later years, !g urn1s concern for normality and his distrust of eccentricity amounted to an o session. '*he truth is $ lo(e 8$ thin)9 to e ordinary, to e li)e my fellow man, not to e an e,treme de(iate,' he once wrote in his pri(ate 0ournal. *his (iew shaped his attitudes toward matters great and small. !f success in one1s career, he commented: ...all 1 ig shots1 do things appropriately. 2ut a sense of appropriateness is a distinct asset....$ ha(e )nown a few people who might ha(e een 1 ig shots1 if they had not een aw)ward, inept, and gi(en to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. After an e(ening in the company of Gdward >oss and his new wife, he commented: '@othing +ueer or eccentric a out either.' And of a =hristmas card from a friend: 'less eccentric than any they ha(e sent.' $n a self/critical mood, he speculated that this same attitude pro a ly e,plained his penchant for research that earned prestige rather than money, when more profita le opportunities ec)oned. '*he ig idea is that we do the things that are highly socially (alued. And research is the goal we must all stri(e for'.-1<. Ai)e other o 0ecti(ists !g urn translated this concern for reputation into the (iew that human eha(ior was a 'response to stimulus,' rather than the organiCation of ha its around a pree,isting or socially/created self. 'All mem ers of the human species do not respond e,actly to the same material stimulus,' he noted. 2ut all actions are nonetheless 'responses to stimuli.' So persuaded, he sometimes spo)e of himself and his professional acti(ities as o 0ects o(er which he had little control. %espite sometimes frenetic professional acti(ity, he fre+uently commented on his lac) of 'am ition.' >ather, he was 'dri(en on y a sense of duty, or in response to the general idea, inculcated in youth, to do the immediate 0o ahead, rather well....2ut no great ego, no great desire to lea(e my mar) on the world'.-18. $n later years, !g urn li)ewise ascri ed his success to circumstance rather than to effort or am ition, despite the fact that oth were considera le. Although he owed his appointment at =olum ia in 19"" in part to the efforts of GliCa eth 2.F. 2a)er, an economist who 0oined the 2ernard department the same year, he attri uted it to the impersonal wor)ing of 'social forces' whose time had come. '*he fact that $ was offered a professorship at Fale on the same day that $ recei(ed the offer from =olum ia should e considered e(idence on this point.'-19. Similarly, he credited his position on the S.S.>.=. and other professional odies less to his own efforts than to the good fortune of eing in the 'right group' at the right time. 8'$n their passion for democracy, for egalitarianism, and for race e+uality,' sociologists too often o(erloo) the fortuitous, he once commented9.-"#. As a southerner, when such things mattered e(en more than today, !g urn also inherited other traditions that seemed somehow archaic in the @ew Gra of the 19"#s//'regarding women, chi(alry, honor, money, courage, etc.' Ai)e many of his generation, he a sor ed these (irtues from reading the Dictorians//*hac)eray, %ic)ens, and especially Sir &alter Scott. '!ne ideal $ recall was that it was not good

for a strong man to tal) much,' he added. 'A ra(e, courageous man was a man of few words. *oo much tal) was feminine. *o e garrulous was to e a sissy.' >emem ering this wisdom, !g urn years later urged fellow/sociologists to culti(ate a no/frills literary style and to eschew the con(entional graces.-"1. For the rest of his years, !g urn1s life was a attle etween illusion and reality, youthful ideals and a world that that seemed to render them meaningless. @owhere was this more pronounced than in his (iew of women. As a southerner, he got a dou le dose of the Dictorian cult of true womanhood. '$ started off in my youth with a strong sense of chi(alry,' he remem ered. '$ ne(er had any sisters and $ re(erenced my mother.' =on(erted to feminism, he supported total se,ual e+uality, ut premised on the elief that women were 'unselfish angels.' >eality e(entually chec)ed this fantasy. Bany modern women were 'narcissistic, self/centered//interested only in themsel(es,' he decided. Although they demanded e+uality, most women wanted men 'to dominate them, to ta)e responsi ility, e(en to ully them.' *he result of this realiCation was a fran) lament: '?ere $ ha(e een treating them as superior eings who want freedom and rightsI 2ut so many of them do not.' $n face of the erosion of traditional se, roles, 'facts' were sternly masculine, and 'speculation' a dangerous feminine allurement.-"". %uring the progressi(e era, !g urn, in his way, ecame something of a re el. Aea(ing home in 19#1, he studied at near y Bercer =ollege , where he de(eloped a fascination for 'wilderness'//whether em odied in wild animals, primiti(e men, or e(en the wanderings of gypsies and ho oes. As with se(eral other leading o 0ecti(ists, although with less scandalous effect, his re ellion focused on 'restrictions on se,.' As he later recalled : 'Freedom of speech or thought ne(er othered me. $ thin) $ re elled against sham, against pretense, against con(entional morality.' Fet wilderness, and the freedom it promised, was as frightening as it was fascinating. ?e finally decided that it was not the 'wilderness of se,' he wanted, ut a ' etter code.' A trip to Paris in 19#;, !g urn1s first outside :eorgia, rought him face to face with the perils of li eration. '$ was young, nai(e, modest, not self/asserti(e, well/mannered and reasona ly normal,' he recalled. $ met many +ueer characters who were egotistical, self/centered or lo(ed power who ullied me with their (iews, the li)e of which $ had ne(er heard, ecause $ was a listener, not self/asserti(e and had good manners...*here were >ussians, poets, artists, Eews, anarchists, socialists, social wor)ers, Gnglish, French, etc. 2ut nearly all +ueer. %uring his stay he was drawn irresisti ly to art, and spent thirty successi(e days in the Aou(re. 2ut the eauty there also frightened him. '$t was an unreal, a dream world, the world of eautiful pictures,' he later wrote. 'Afterward when $ egan my long fight for reality, $ was always a it afraid to (isit the Aou(re again, afraid that $ might ecome into,icated, and ta)e a long flight from reality again.'-"3. &hether this reference was to a real or metaphoric rea)down, !g urn gradually egan to structure a rigid separation etween his pu lic and pri(ate self. For the sociologist, e,act measurement was an antidote to illusion, statistics the asis of a ' etter code.' Professionalism pro(ided rules for the office, ut not for the home. 'Dery definitely, $ would li)e to confine my peculiarities which are due to my

occupation, to my hours of duty on the 0o ,' he resol(ed upon his retirement. Ai)e many Americans in the twenties, the pri(ate !g urn de(eloped a passion for sports. ?e lo(ed o,ing and ase all, and had a passion for tennis, which he played regularly until his death. ?owe(er, he ne(er let himself go completely. Although he lo(ed sporting e(ents, he once commented, '$ hardly e(er go. $ ha(e the techni+ue of denial down pretty well.'-"4. Although coming from different regions and social class, other leading o 0ecti(ists e,perienced a similar dis0uncture etween past and present, self and the world. As a group, their ac)grounds were significantly different from the comforta le middle class ones of most eastern and midwestern progressi(e reformers half a generation or more older: F. Stuart =hapin, the descendent of many generations of @ew For) patricians whose fortunes were temporarily in decline5 Auther A. 2ernard, the son of a neer/do/well &est *e,as farmer5 >ead 2ain, orn in ac)woods !regon, raised y a di(orced mother and her paramour, then 'psychologically adopted 8as he later put it9 y an older woman following his own mother1s premature death5 and :eorge Aund erg, orn in rural South %a)ota of a Swedish immigrant women who was herself an orphan. &hereas the cele ration of 'community' and 'social cohesion'//the language of =harles ?orton =ooley and li)eminded progressi(es//incorporated a nostalgic longing for a past social order, the o 0ecti(ists language of efficiency and social engineering 0udged the past to e irredeema ly irrele(ant. -"6. 3. ! 0ecti(ism was also a chapter in the transformation of American Protestantism, although in ways different than in most account of the clerical connections of many early American sociologists. Diewed superficially, o 0ecti(ism would appear to e resolutely irreligious. Bost o 0ecti(ists were distinguished y their re0ection of and/or indifference toward the religion of their youth. From :iddings onward, attles o(er scientific sociology pitted indi(iduals who in one fashion or other had re0ected their childhood religion against those who remained faithful to it. Fet in more important respects, o 0ecti(ism owed a great deal to religion, and more specifically, to the =al(inist strain within American Protestantism. !n the most o (ious le(el, its (ision of an 'efficient' social order contained more than a little missionary Ceal, while its cele ration of 'hard facts' and the 'rigors' of research rought the Protestant Gthic into the era of modern professionalism. At a deeper le(el, the o 0ecti(ist program, with its eha(iorist assumptions, mar)ed oth a re0ection of =hristian conception 8'soul' eing translated to 'self, 'conscience' to consciousness'9 and a restatement of the =al(inist impulse to control. For pro(incials raised on the pieties of 19th century =al(inism, @ew For) and =hicago a out 191# were scary places, rendering 'consciousness' not less than 'conscience' a pro lem. 2y e,plaining human acti(ity in terms of stimulus and response, o 0ecti(ism su tly relie(ed ur an newcomers of moral responsi ility. At the same time, the reification of eha(ior 8whether one1s own or of others9 allowed o 0ecti(ists to control an otherwise threatening situation. *hus, in a sense, they en0oyed the special pleasure of playing :od while denying ?is e,istence.-";. Finally, and more speculati(ely, =al(inism 8as opposed to other traditions of natural theology or rational religion9 disposed its practitioners to accept the idea that there

was an order in the uni(erse despite the fact that its 'causes' good not e immediately )nown.So disposed, !g urn and other leading o 0ecti(ists 8nota ly :iddings and =hapin9 were more inclined to ta)e %arwinian selectionism more seriously than, for e,ample, did Small or Sumner. From it they proceed to a nominalist and statistical conception of natural and social law, the fundamental premise of their o 0ecti(ism. -"<. Since !g urn was (irtually silent concerning his religious ac)ground, and spo)e of religion less fre+uently than most o 0ecti(ists, e(idence for this interpretation is admittedly indirect in his case: his :eorgia ac)ground and early training at the 2aptist Bercer =ollege5 the missionary Ceal he rought to the cause and his dogged sense of duty and determined self/denial5 his tendency to spea) of his professional self as a product of circumstance rather than of (olition, while pri(ately he sought emotional outlets in e,otic tra(el, and e(en fiction writing under a nom de plume. *o these things one should add his steady intellectual de(elopment from the social selectionism of his doctoral thesis to his emphasis on statistics, a su 0ect too comple, to e discussed here.-"8. $n a general way, !g urn himself in his later years confessed that he was not as far remo(ed from religion as he had imagined. 'By worship of statistics has a somewhat religious nature, ' he noted in his 0ournal at a time when his enthusiasm was fading. Statistics had een his :od. '2ut :od only meets an emotional need which has little to do with reason.'-"9.

4. ! 0ecti(ism, thirdly, was a y/product of the professionaliCation of scholarship, although not the only or the ine(ita le one. Among the many impulses that shaped 19th century professionalism, a prominent one, as 2urton 2ledstein has argued, was the desire to consolidate and control. From their fascination with 'words' 8the 0argon of the different specialities9 to their claims of autonomy,' professionals em odied the Dictorian effort 'to set apart, regulate, and contain' the different elements of an increasingly chaotic e,perience, and to transcend the partisan strife that threatened to destroy society and to undermine the recently/won power of the &ASP middle class. !ffering more than psychic comfort 8although this too9, the all/em racing standard of science, in 2ledstein1s words, 'pro(ided the raison d1etre of the middle class...and 0ustified its standard of li(ing.'-3#. Diewed in this light, !g urn1s o 0ecti(ism appears, in one sense, to ha(e een an e,treme of professionalism, indeed almost a caricature of its open/ended demand for wor), organiCed procedures for o taining credentials, and claim of disinterested ser(ice. 2ut the o 0ecti(ists sharp distinction etween pu lic and pri(ate, and the fact that the o 0ecti(ists in their pri(ate li(es were less than the model of professional rationality, suggest that this regimen e,acted its own price. At its most enign, the professionals1 ifurcation of self into pu lic and pri(ate, scientist and citiCen led to escapes in poetry, painting, sports, or tra(el. At its worst, the 0argon of o 0ecti(ity and disinterested acti(ity mas)ed chaotic inner li(es that led !g urn at one point to psychoanalysis and another prominent o 0ecti(ist to compulsi(e philandering. For the 'profession' as a whole, the pretense of superior rationality, as >ead 2ain finally o ser(ed, did not rule out often (icious s+ua ling and ac) iting.

*he institutionaliCation and specialiCation of scholarship, first within the uni(ersity and later within foundation/sponsored institutes, also played a part. &ithin the uni(ersities, se(eral factors together narrowed the scope of the discipline, including the need to defend and define the newcomer against the other social sciences 8a circumstance that differed from one uni(ersity to another95 the need to de(ise easily reproduci le 'methods' for the training of graduate students, as early e(ident in the case of :iddings5 and perhaps e(en the practical realiCation that grand theory on the style of Spencer or &ard assumed more )nowledge that the a(erage undergraduate commanded in the age of free electi(es. $n choosing =olum ia for graduate wor), !g urn found himself in an en(ironment where these narrowing tendencies were well ad(anced. A highly/professionaliCed faculty, and an interest in statistics antedated the esta lishment of sociology in the early 189#s. !g urn1s mentor :iddings in his Inductive Sociology 819#19 produced one of the earliest research manuals for graduate students. $n the decade efore the war, :iddings imposed rigid research models on his doctoral students, first in a series of community studies, and later in +uantitati(e studies of social issues, of which !g urn1s thesis was a prime e,ample. Progressi(ism and then war offered !g urn and other mem ers of their still/fragile discipline oth incenti(e and opportunity to pro(e their professionalism and pu lic worth, again as illustrated particularly in !g urn1s case.-31. *eaching at >eed and the 7ni(ersity of &ashington during the war years, !g urn honed his statistical s)ills in (arious studies of pu lic affairs. *he e,istence of such new procedures as the initiati(e and referendum, whate(er the outcome of the elections, pro(ided a chance to gather data on an unprecedented scale. For one study, !g urn generated statistics on (oting in more than twenty counties on one hundred and three issues o(er a four/year period. $n 1919, he spent a year wor)ing for the =ost of Ai(ing Section of the @ational &ar Aa or 2oard and the 2ureau of Statistics tra(elling up and down the &est =oast sur(eying industry, la or, and social conditions. '*he usefulness of statistics,' he later noted with characteristic understatement, 'was (ery apparent during the war.' -3". %uring the 19"#s, !g urn1s association with the Social Science >esearch =ouncil helped refine his nominalist conception of the discipline. Gsta lished in 19"3, the S.S.>.=. had two asic o 0ecti(es: to foster empirical, inducti(e 'scientific' research and to rea) down the arriers that di(ided the disciplines. $n theory, the two might appear contradictory: the first loo)ing to narrow and more specialiCed studies, the second premised on the ideal of the unity of )nowledge. $n practice, howe(er, the two con(erged in a nominalist definition of science: the unity of the social sciences lay in their 'methods' rather than their material. *here was integration, one political scientist e,plained, ut it was an 'integration along new scientific and methodological lines.' -33. $n the S.S.>.=., this ma,im was effecti(ely institutionaliCed. *he emergence of o 0ecti(ism, howe(er, also underlines the danger of a too/e,clusi(e emphasis on the professionaliCation/institutionaliCation model, particularly in unilinear (ersions that typically o(erestimate the strength and success of the process. -34.For the 188#s, e(idence of this wea)ness may e seen in the dream of economists and others of professional associations modeled on the :erman Derein fur SoCialpoliti), which would oppose strict definitions of science on their disciplines. $n

the case of economics, and in such departments as Small1s at Eohn1s ?op)ins, the dream +uic)ly ga(e way to decentraliCed and di(erse organiCation. Future sociologists coe,isted with historians, and remained yo)ed to economists, howe(er uneasily, for almost two decades. As a result, sociology remained imperfectly professionaliCed through the interwar period: uncertain of its oundaries, sensiti(e to attac), and a tempting target for any group that wished to promote a new paradigm. ! 0ecti(ism, rather than eing the end product of a unilinear professionaliCation, was a symptom of this (olu ility. American sociology egan as a discipline with no agreed/upon theory or coherent research area5 it ne(er dropped the appeal to utility5 and it altered its initial oundaries in dramatic ways, first in the triumph of the 'group' concept in the 191#s, later with the ascendency of structural/functionalism in the 196#s, and finally with the near/anarchy that has o tained since the 19;#s. !g urn1s id to redefine the discipline in the 19"9 presidential address to the A.S.S. was one of many that had wrac)ed the discipline since its founding. $n the end, the attempt to impose restricti(e definitions of sociology within the A.S.S during the 193#s finally came up against the same centripetal forces that earlier )ept American scholarship from de(eloping along Guropean lines. 6. Political disillusion and alienation completed !g urn1s con(ersion to the ser(ice/ intellectual conception of social science. Although in his youth he resisted the pat formulations of self/proclaimed reformers, he ecame something of a radical during his &est =oast days//cele rating the '!regon system' of direct democracy, and e(en showing enthusiasm for the &o lies. $n his classroom he preached the economic interpretation of history, then as now a standard item in the arsenal of the left. -36. . %uring the war years, howe(er, the se(eral components of this would/ e radicalism gradually dissol(ed. *he first tests of the initiati(e and referendum in !regon yielded prohi ition and anti/immigration laws, oth signs of reaction, and hence a low to his faith in direct democracy. A study of the opinions of different social classes on pu lic issues con(inced him that &o ly predictions of imminent class warfare were unfounded. &artime passions and propaganda then destroyed what remained of his elief in human rationality, the premise of his economic interpretation of history. -3;. *his disillusion, in turn, set the stage for Social Change 819""9, his est/)nown oo). !g urn1s starting point was the apparent contradiction etween the model of human rationality implicit in the economic interpretation and mounting e(idence of irrationality. Following Freud, he initially decided that economic moti(es, li)e se,ual impulses, were hidden or disguised, an e,ample eing the wartime use of the $.&.&. as a scapegoat. 2ut, as he thought a out it, he decided that the time factor was more important than the disguise factor. *hat is, the conflict etween economic interests and announced moti(es was not the product of self/deception ased on unconscious dri(es, ut of different rate of change among the se(eral elements that made up 'culture.' ?ence, the widespread (iew that 'women1s place is in the home' was not an unconscious rationaliCation of 8disguised9 male economic pri(ilege, ut the result of a gap etween traditional cultural (alues and the technological realities that made them outmoded. *his gap he termed 'cultural lag.'

For present purposes, this formulation was important ecause it implied that sociologists should henceforth de(ote their energies to measuring rates of change in different areas of human acti(ity, rather than to constructing grand theories of e(olution or of the ideal society. Such was the theory that ultimately led to !g urn1s 19"9 address to the A.S.S. Politically, Social Change was also am i(alent when measured y prewar standards of reform as re(ealed y the fact that some readers attempted to gi(e it a reformist interpretation while others criticiCed its technological determinism and apparent fatalism.-3<. !g urn1s proposals, although 'fragmentary' y his own admission, in fact loo)ed neither to social 0ustice or go(ernmental controls, on the one hand, nor to rugged indi(idualism and laisseC faire, on the other, ut rather to the good life in a well/ad0usted, consumer/oriented, leisured society. Bore enlightened attitudes toward se,, perhaps earlier se, education, might relie(e 'psychoses and neuroses,' he speculated. *he su limation of se,ual energies into creati(e acti(ities, and an increase in sports and recreation, would also help. &hereas earlier progressi(es had urged the channeling of pri(ate passion into pu lic pro0ects 8Aester &ard, for e,ample9, !g urn argued, in effect, that Americans should fran)ly accept the separation of pu lic and pri(ate sphere. $n the modern world, recreation and se,ual fulfillment would foster ad0ustment to a situation one could or would not change. &hat did this posture mean in practiceH An illuminating if limited answer can e found in an interesting confession !g urn later made in his 0ournal concerning his dealings with Eews, a num er of whom were already prominent within the profession.Seeing discrimination during his =olum ia years, he spent 'great go s of time' helping Eews o tain 0o s and fellowships. 2ut their 'aggression, ego, contempt, etc.' soon got under his s)in. $n(ited to dinner parties, he would wonder 'if Br. JJJ, a Eew, would e there, or Prof. JJJ, a Eew was in(ited. $f so, $ raced myself for a ad time.' Finally, he as)ed himself 'why $ ha(e to e so damned nice to the Eews if $ do not en0oy them'. At the same time, he realiCed how un0ust it was to endow 'the indi(idual with the traits of the race.'-38. Faced with this dilemma, a 19th century li eral ideally might ha(e reread Eohn Aoc)e on 'natural rights,' or +uoted the %eclaration of $ndependence. !g urn instead too) a poll. Aisting thirty/fi(e Eews he had )nown at =olum ia and at =hicago, and a random list of thirty/fi(e non/Eews, he compared the two for ten to fifteen o 0ectional traits often attri uted to Eews. *he result showed that 86 percent of the Eews had the traits, ut only 16 percent of the non/Eews. 'So $ declared my independence of my conscience a out the Eews,' he concluded this tortured dairy entry. 'And $ am not 1nice,1 to those $ don1t li)e, no matter how much $ sympathiCe, or how well $ understand how they got that way.'-39. !g urn1s response to ?itler and fascism raised further +uestions concerning the ideological payoff of his 'o 0ecti(ity.' Although there e,ists little direct e(idence of !g urn1s position on the issue during the late 193#s, indirect e(idence suggests that some colleagues felt that he was soft on fascism. '*he consensus e,pressed a out you was that your professional career...has een seriously marred and your reputation in0ured y your non/ elief in democracy and your o session with -and. your fondness and admiration for totalitarian dictatorships,' one former student wrote him after the war, shoc)ed to hear him eing so criticiCed during a Princeton conference. 'Four

friends cited the fact that you seemed to e pro/@aCi in the late thirties, e(en up to Pearl ?ar or. *hey now say you are 0ust as strongly in fa(or of the So(iets, and that you e(idently adhere to a totalitarian form of go(ernment.' @or was she comforted when another friend defended !g urn, saying he was reported as pro/@aCi 'merely ecause of the a surd notion you had that you could (iew o 0ecti(ely a war in which the world was in(ol(ed, and remain neutral.'-4#. Although the letter shoc)ed !g urn 8'0er)ed me up +uic)'9, his e,planations in his diary left the cloud hanging. ?e did admire organiCation and efficiency: he did despise hatred e(en when directed against ?itler. At a meeting in Eune 194" to hear the impressions of a former head of the Associated Press in 2erlin, for e,ample, he found himself mar(elling at the s)ill of the @aCi propaganda machine 8'not admiration of course for the end, ut for the means'9. &hile others listened 'with contempt, disgust, and horror,' he reflected to himself that the propaganda minister was only doing what e(ery family, fraternity, and college does in indoctrinating its mem ers.-41.&as he 'psychoticH' &as he 'in any way a normalH' @o, he decided. 2ut he disli)ed seeing his colleagues 'so emotional and so hating. And then there was that lonely feeling.'-4". &as !g urn thus an antisemite or pro/fascistH =ertainly not in the sense that he openly supported anti/democratic causes or espoused anti/li eral ideas. %uring the depression years, he wor)ed tirelessly for numerous @ew %eal agencies and pri(ately 8although not pu licly9 de(eloped great admiration for Fran)lin and Gleanor >oose(elt. 2ut his 0ournal confessions alone suggest that he himself was aware that his o 0ecti(ist principles had eroded his li eralism: in its implicit preference for order o(er freedom, its focus on efficiency o(er humanity, and its su stitution for pro a ility predictions for self/e(ident natural or moral laws. &hat finally of 'corporatismH'-43. $f !g urn was not pro/fascist noropenly antidemocratic did he not ser(e, and e(en help create through he wor) on the S.S.>=., the foundations and @ew %eal agencies the alliance etween usiness, go(ernment, and the uni(ersity intelligensia which the critics of corporatism denounceH $f one may distinguish 'corporatism' as conscious policy from its de facto emergence in the interwar years, the answer in !g urn1s case is not guilty on the first count, although pro a ly guilty y association on the second.Since !g urn insisted that the sociologist +ua scientist should ma)e no policy recommendations, he scarcely +ualifies as a corporatist theorist. After a year with the @ational >eco(ery Administration, for e,ample, he reported that go(ernment/ usiness cooperation was a prominent feature of the early @ew %eal, e(en speculating that it might e the wa(e of the future. 2ut he also reported in o 0ecti(e fashion that it raised the perennial +uestion of the alance etween freedom and order, an issue upon which he would (enture no opinion. -44. :uilt y association may e another matter, at least to the degree that a case can e made the the foundations and the academic 'e,perts' they sponsored were an integral part of @ew Gra capitalism. Social Change, as noted a o(e, also pro(ided a lueprint for a consumerist, leisured society ad0usted to the technological imperati(es of modern industry. *he irony, of course, was that this lueprint in !g urn case was the wor) of a displaced southerner suspended etween traditions he lo(ed ut would not accept, and an order he accepted ut would not lo(e. =arrying this analysis further,

one might argue that it was no coincidence that !g urn and his fellow o 0ecti(ists stood ready and willing to ser(e the functions they did in the world of go(ernment and the foundations, or that their wor), indirectly at least, hould ha(e shaped the corporatist, consumerist order since the same forces that produced this order were responsi le for the social and cultural crisis that ga(e rise to their o 0ecti(ism in the first place. For present purposes, howe(er, the central point is that the +uest for o 0ecti(ity as represented y !g urn was not an ine(ita le unforlding of the 'logic' of science, ut a product of historical forces that con(erged on the generation that came of age intellectually on the e(e of &orld &ar $. ! 0ecti(ity, that is, has a history no less than other chapters in human history, although some sociologists continue to reisist the point. Although !g urn en0oyed professional success and prestige until his death in 1969, and the positi(ist spirit he represented has scarcely disappeared from American sociology, the Second &orld &ar cast a pall o(er the e,treme and often nai(e scientism of the interwar period, 0ust as the First &orld &ar had contri uted to its rise.Since he 19;#s, numerous charges were le(elled against the entire o 0ecti(ist program: that it ignored the realities of power, e,ploitation, and conflict5 that it narrowed the focus of sociology to parochial and often tri(ial concerns5 and that it failed to see the cultural5 class, and, most recently, gender iases of its own ideal of o 0ecti(ity. &hether or not one accepts this indictment, this essay has attempted to identify the rather special conditions in the shaping of modern America that produced this chapter in American thought. &hether these conditions ha(e changed significantly, and with them the assumptions they red, remains an open +uestion. -1. &illiam F.!g urn, '*he Fol)ways of a Scientific Sociology,' Scientific onthly 3# 8193#9, 3##/3#;. For 'realism' and 'nominalism' in sociology, see >o ert G. Par) and Grnest 2urgess, Introduction to the Science of Society !Chicago, "#$"%, pp. 3;/445 E. %a(id Aewis and >ichard A. Smith, , American Sociology and &ragmatism 8=hicago, 198#9, chap. ;5 =hristopher :. 2ryant, &ositivism in Social Theory and Research 8Aondon, 19869, pp. 4/6. -". Freidrich (on ?aye), The Counterrevolution of Science 8:lencoe, $ll. 196"9, p. 1 -3. For ela oration of this point see Anthony :iddens ed. , &ositivism and Sociology pp. 3/45 and 2ryant, &ositivism, pp. 1/1#. -4. For e,ample see >ead 2ain, '*rends in American Sociology,' pp. 413/"", +uoted in 2ryant, &ositivism, pp. 4/6. -6. 2ryant, &ositivism, pp. 141/46. -;. For discussion of the confusion etween ' ias' and 'psychological' in definitions of 'su 0ecti(ity' see >ichard S. >udner, &hilosophy of Social Science 8Gnglewood =liffs, @E, 19;;9, pp. <3/83. -<. !n !g urn1s career see %uncan, ed. 'g(urn) 'n Cultural and Social Change*, pp. (ii/,,ii5 *o y G. ?uff, '*heoretical $nno(ation in Science,' American Journal of

Sociology <9 819<39, ";1/<<5 %on Bartindale, The +ature and Types of Sociological Theory, 8Aondon , 19;19, pp. 3"4/33#. -8. !g urn, 'A Beasurement of Factors' Social Forces 8 819"9/3#9, 1<6/835 :ary Gasthope, A ,istory of Social Research ethods 8Aondon, 19<49, pp. 114/19, 133/34, 146/4;5 and ?einC Baus, A Short ,istory of Sociology !Gng. edn. Aondon, 19;"9. pp. 13;/38. -9. Aewis Bumford, Technics and Civili-ation 8@ew For), 19349, pp. 31;/1<. -1#. Bichael =hou)as, '*he =oncept of =ultural Aag,' American Sociological Review 1 8193;9, <6"/;#5 ?enry F. Frost, 'Functionalism in Anthropology and Sociology,' Sociology and Social Research "3 819399, 3<3/<95 A ott ?erman, '*he Answer to =riticism of the Aag =oncept,' American Journal of Sociology 43 8193<9, 44#/615 Eohn ?. Bueller, 'Present Status of the =ultural Aag =oncept,' American Sociological Review 3 819389, 3"#/"<5 *.:. Standing, 'A =riti+ue of the =oncept of =ultural Aag,' Social Science 14 819699, 144/665 Eoseph Schneider, '=ultural Aag,' American Sociological Review 1# 819469, <8;/915 Eames &. &oodward, '=ritical @otes on the @ature of Sociology,' Social Forces 11 8193"/339, 388/98, and 'A @ew =lassification of =ulture,' American Sociological Review 1 8193;9, 89/1#". -11. ?erman and Eulia >. Schwendinger, Sociologists of the Chair 8@ew For), 19<49, 4;#/;"5 =hristopher Aasch, in a ,eartless .orld 8@ew For), 19<<9, pp. 3</38. See also Stuart Gwen, Captains of Consciousness 8@ew For), 19<;9, pp. 1"#, 136, 1;4, 1<8. -1". Bartindale, +ature and Types, p. 3";. -13. >ichard ?ofstadter, The Age of Reform 8@ew For), 19669. -14. !g urn , 'Eournal,' @o(em er "<, 196", @o(em er 3#, 194", &illiam F. !g urn Papers, 7ni(ersity of =hicago -hereafter &F!.. -16. !g urn to 2ain, Eanuary 9, 1934, >25 'Eournal,' @o(em er 3, 194;, @o(em er 3#, 194", &F!. -1;. I(id., @o(em er 3#, 194". -1<. I(id., Eune 4, 194;, Eanuary 1<, 1949, %ecem er ";, 194;, Barch 11, 1948. -18. I(id., August ", 196", Euly 4, 194;. -19. I(id. August 14, 1966, &F!. -"#. I(id. =f. Gdward Aee *horndi)e, 'Auto iography,' in p. "<: '! (iously $ ha(e not 1carried out my career,1 as the iographers say. >ather it has een a conglomerate amassed under the pressure of (aried opportunities and demands.' *horndi)e was a =olum ia educational psychologist and proto/ eha(iorist.

-"1. I(id., Barch "4, 1944. G.*. *hompson, a graduate student of !g urn spo)e fran)ly of his own e,perience in this regard: ...'$ sort of turned against e(erything southern $ could thin) of....*hat was part of my e,cess Ceal to e o 0ecti(e.' *hompson, -inter(iew., Barch "<, 19<", p. 9, Sociology %epartment Archi(es, 7ni(ersity of =hicago . -"". !g urn, 'Eournal,' Barch 1", 1948. -"3. I(id., Euly 16, 196#. $ id. Euly 16, 196#. -"4. I(id., Barch "", 194<, August 4, 194;. -"6. !n the se(eral 'languages' of progressi(ism see %aniel >odgers, '$n Search of Progressi(ism,' Reviews in American ,istory 11 8198"9, 1"3/"<. -";. For this analysis as applied to E.2. &atson, see %a(id 2a)un, '2eha(iorism and American 7r aniCation,' Journal of the ,istory of the /ehavioral Sciences " 819;;9, 6/"65 Paul =reelan, '&atsonian 2eha(iorism and the =al(inist =onscience,' i(id 1# 819<49, 96/1185 >uth Aeys, 'Beyer, &atson, and the %angers of 2eha(iorism, i(id "# 819849, 1"8/49. $n Sociology and Scientism !=hapel ?ill, 198<9, $ e,tend this analysis to sociological o 0ecti(ism more generally. -"<. !n this point see E.>. Boore, The &ost01arwinian Controversies 8=am ridge, Gngland, 19<895 *alcott Parsons, The Structure of Social Action 8@ew For), 193<9, pp. 113/1<. -"8. For a full description see my Sociology and Scientism , pp. 1;;/;8. -"9. !g urn, 'Eournal,' Eune 14, 196", &F!. -3#. 2ledstein, The Culture of &rofessionalism 8@ew For), 19<;9, chs. 1/3. -31. For an e,tended treatment of this theme see =arol :ru er, 82aton >ouge, Aa 19<69. ars and inerva..

-3". !g urn, '*he Political *hought of Social =lasses,' &olitical Science 2uarterly 3" 8191;9, 3##/1<. -33. >onald Althouse, '$nter(iew with &illiam Anderson,' ms. April 4, 19;3, =hapin Papers, 7ni(ersity of Binnesota. -34. For the following $ am inde ted to ?. Ku)lic), '>estructuring the Past,' Sociological 2uarterly "1 8198#9, 6/"1.5 Eohn ?igham, '*he Batri, of SpecialiCation,' in The 'rgani-ation of 4nowledge, edited y Ale,andra !leson and Eohn Doss 82altimore, 19<99, pp. 3/18. -36. See %uncan ed. , 'g(urn, p. i,5 '!g urn, 'Bethods of %irect Glection in !regon,' 2uarterly &u(lication of the American Statistical Association 14 819149, 13;/665 'Social Aegislation on the Pacific =oast,' &opular Science 8; 819169, "<4/

89.5 '*he Psychological 2asis for the Gconomic $nterpretation of ?istory,' American 5conomic Review 9 819199, 3#". -3;. !g urn, '*he $nitiati(e and >eferendum,' Survey 33 819169, ;93/945 '*he Political *hought of Social =lasses,' &olitical Science 2uarterly 31 8191;9, 3##/1<5 '2ias, Psychoanalysis, and the Su 0ecti(e,' -19""., in -3<. =f. G.A. >oss, The &rinciples of Sociology, 83rd edn., @ew For) 19389, p. 1135 and Floyd Allport, 'Social =hange,' Social Forces " 819"49, ;<1/<;. -38. !g urn, 'Eournal,' Barch 16, 1948, &F!. -39. I(id. -4#. Bary Sims &al)er to !g urn, +uoted in !g urn 'Eournal,' Bay 8, 194<, &F!. -41. I(id. Bay 8, 194<5 Eune "", 194". -4". I(id. , Eune "", 194", and Euly 1#, 194". -43. !n corporatism, as the term is used here, see G. ?awley, '*he %isco(ery and Study of 1=orporate Ai eralism,1' /usiness ,istory Review 6" 819<89, 3#9/"#5 >. Eeffrey Austig, Corporate 6i(eralism 82er)eley, 198"9. -44. !g urn, 'Future of the @ew %eal,' American Journal of Sociology 39 819349, 84"/48.

&ritten in ?*BA y >o ert 2annister, 1"/"</##. Send comments to r annis1Lswarthmore.edu.