The Fifth Modality: On Languages That Shape Our Motivations and Cultures

“The” Fifth Modality: On Languages that Shape our Motivations and Cultures

International Comparative Social Studies Editor-in-Chief

Mehdi P. Amineh Amsterdam School for Social Sciences Research (ASSR)— University of Amsterdam and International Institute for Asian Studies (IIAS)—University of Leiden Editorial Board

Sjoerd Beugelsdijk, Radboud University, Nijmegen, The Netherlands Simon Bromley, Open University, UK Harald Fuhr, University of Potsdam, Germany Gerd Junne, University of Amsterdam, The Netherlands Tak-Wing Ngo, University of Leiden, The Netherlands Mario Rutten, University of Amsterdam, The Netherlands Advisory Board

W.A. Arts, University College Utrecht, The Netherlands Chan Kwok-bun, Hong Kong Baptist University, Hong Kong S.N. Eisenstadt, Jerusalem, Israel L. Hantrais, Loughborough University, UK G.C.M. Lieten, University of Amsterdam, The Netherlands L. Visano, York University, Canada

VOLUME 17

“The” Fifth Modality: On Languages that Shape our Motivations and Cultures By

Carl W. Roberts

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2008

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Roberts, Carl W. “The” fifth modality : on languages that shape our motivations and cultures / by Carl W. Roberts. p. cm. — (International comparative social studies, ISSN 1568-4474) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-16235-8 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Interpersonal relations. I. Title. HM1106.R632 2008 306.4409—dc22 2008025498

ISSN 1568-4474 ISBN 978 90 04 16235 8 Copyright 2008 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

voor Wies

CONTENTS Preface ......................................................................................... Glossary .......................................................................................

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Chapter One

On Persuasion ...................................................

1

Chapter Two

Reading Personhood .........................................

21

Gedankenexperiment .....................................

40

Chapter Four

Individualism .....................................................

69

Chapter Five

Mutualism ..........................................................

88

Chapter Six

Essentialism .........................................................

110

Chapter Three

Chapter Seven

Doctrinism ......................................................

133

Chapter Eight

Another Modality ............................................

157

Appendix: A Formalization ........................................................

171

Bibliography ................................................................................ Index ...........................................................................................

179 187

PREFACE There is no such thing as society “as such”; that is, there is no society in the sense that it is the condition for the emergence of all these particular phenomena. For there is no thing as interaction “as such”—there are only specific kinds of interaction. —Georg Simmel (1959 [1908], p. 320)

The time is past when we can live comfortably within our social worlds, separated from others by oceans, languages, or scarcity of information. Not only have our communications increased by virtue of there being nearly four times as many people as there were a century ago, but technological advances now allow many of us—if we choose—to be transported (virtually or physically) to foreign social worlds. Although we may choose neither to travel to unfamiliar places, nor to communicate with the people there, we do so at our peril. As we deal with our economy, our ecology, and our politics, it is ingenuous to believe that each “our” in this list only refers to folks in our locality who think as we do. No matter how provincial our beliefs, we are all fundamentally linked into the world economy, a global ecology, and international politics—each of which is influenced by people whose motivations often differ radically from our own. As the United States loses its relative predominance within the world economy, as welfare nations strain to subsidize ever-increasing proportions of their citizens, as older generations of Asians seek harmony amidst materialism, and as democracy increasingly becomes a tool with which fundamentalist majorities oppress the minorities in their midst, we shall need to understand others’ various motivations if we are to grasp these world events and their impact on us. This is a book about cultures, and about the motivations of those who participate in them. More precisely, my approach here is to differentiate among cultures solely in terms of how their members typically understand each other’s motivations. Such understanding is not problematic in tribal settings (within which everyone has opportunities to know everyone else) or between long-time acquaintances. However, when there are enough people in a society for most interactions to be between strangers, a “cultural default” is needed for them to understand

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why people act as they do. For example, when approached by a stranger I might assume that she wants me either to do something for her or to stop what I am doing, that she wishes either to guide me or to have me guide her, etc. With no cultural default for understanding strangers, I will not know how to react to them (with friendliness, fear, embarrassment, hubris . . .). Each culture’s default understanding of personhood is, in my view, maintained as people consistently use a language-of-motivation—or a modality—when referring to each other. The vast majority of people in any given society generally assume one of these cultural modalities to be universal. In the following chapters my objective is to make the grammars of these languages explicit. Beyond this, my position is that there are only four cultural modalities—a position that can only be taken from a more general language that incorporates them all. My hope is that this fifth, nonuniversalistic modality will be compelling enough for you to try reading others in accordance with its grammar. When people use language, they do so in hopes that nobody will notice that they are speaking or writing. When one uses words in nontraditional ways, one runs the risk that others will stop striving to understand their experiences in accordance with your language, and simply dismiss your words as expressions not in accordance with theirs. (“Why can’t he just write in plain English?”) One’s hope is that the audience notices what one wishes to convey, not how one is conveying it. For example, think of the many times parents of sophomoric teenagers will have said, “Please pay attention to what I am saying, and stop commenting on how I am saying it!” Thus there is something sophomoric in this book’s commentary on modal languages, as I ask readers to pay attention to how people refer to their motivations. Yet “the” fifth modality differs from these other languages in its repudiation of its own universality—a repudiation that leaves it ever-open for people to adopt or refuse (but hopefully not dismiss) at will. The book’s first chapter spells out the conditions under which discourse is persuasive. Consistent with the vast body of research on persuasion, I argue that one person’s success in persuading another depends both upon an emergent sense of who is more credible than whom, and upon the types of (operational versus relational) knowledge each has regarding the position under discussion. Chapter 2 focuses on cases in which this position is the very “personhood” of someone involved in the persuading. Starting with four universalistic depictions of personhood—depictions predominant in the social sciences, and labeled

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here as agent, collaborator, persona, and follower—I introduce a more general theoretical language for distinguishing among them. Rather than debate which single depiction might be universal, I suggest that each is better understood as being universal only among adherents to a specific type of world culture. Chapter 3 is the theoretical prism through which all other chapters refract. It is the place where ambiguity-reduction is introduced as an overarching principle of motivation, and is shown not only to account for the motivations of each of the four personhood types, but also to explain how a person’s motivations are manipulated by those who (purportedly independently of their own motivations) interpret or observe what this person says and does. The idea here is that our words and actions serve to persuade us of the type of people we are. Long-term patterned behaviors, indeed societies, are sustained by mutually reinforcing persuasive behaviors in which one person persuades others of her or his personhood while the latter persuade the former that they have or have not been so persuaded. Each remaining chapter illustrates a modality. Chapters 4–7 deal respectively with the universalistic modal narratives of individualism, mutualism, essentialism, and doctrinism. When interactants persuade each other in terms of a particular modality, they may use polite or familiar strategies for initiating or refusing interaction, and they may debate whether or not to take seriously what has been said or done. After distinguishing among serious, playful, polite, and familiar episodes within a chapter’s modal narrative, an illustration is provided of how these types of episodes might emerge. Each illustration allows the reader to eavesdrop on “discourse in an art shop” within the United States, the Netherlands, China, or Morocco—a location where the default modal narrative typically corresponds to the modality discussed in the chapter at hand. Each chapter then explains the myth underlying the modal narrative’s discourse. Each myth is a rationale for why one participant, independent of her or his personal motivations, may not be persuaded by another participant’s personhood. Interactions will break down unless statements to this effect are believed to be fair or natural, and unless corrective actions are understood to be responsible or righteous. The content of each chapter is then linked back to the ambiguity-reduction principle, and concludes by noting whether a serious, playful, polite, or familiar episode is the default modal narrative when discourse is between a person and her- or himself.

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The final chapter draws four sets of conclusions. If there are four personhood types, it seemed fitting to write conclusions that address each of these types of person among my readers. As developed in Chapter 8, “the” fifth modality is a language of motivation that posits neither universals nor its own universality. Unlike the previous four chapters, no illustration is provided here of “choice” as a modality. Once modality is a matter of choice, it becomes possible to communicate with those who think solely in terms of a modal narrative different from one’s own. It becomes possible to persuade others that their modality is one of many. And it becomes possible to opt out of a modal narrative at will. “Choice” is a modality for changing one’s modal narrative. As such, it is a modality without a narrative. Most of this book was written in Amsterdam, while on sabbatical leave from Iowa State University, amidst a score of warmly hospitable colleagues at the Free University’s Department of Communication Sciences. Many friends and colleagues from these institutions and elsewhere kindly provided me with encouragement and critical feedback as this book’s ideas and text were coming into being. First and foremost, my deepest thanks go to my student and colleague Yong Wang for being a steadfast soundboard and insightful critic throughout the past decade. Then there are my Dutch colleagues (Gábor Péli, Ivar Vermuelen, and Jaap Kamps) whose expertise in first-order logic contributed fundamentally to the formalization provided in the book’s appendix. Thoughtful feedback on one or another of the first three chapters was provided by Alicia Cast, Randall Collins, Cornelia Flora, André Goddu, Willis Goudy, Horst Helle, James Hollander, Jan Kleinnijenhuis, Roel Popping, David Schweingruber, Rafael Wittek, and many cohorts of Iowa State University graduate students who have participated in my sociological theory courses over the years. I gladly include them all as contributors to what one might find of value in my words. Of course, all opinions, errors, and misinterpretations are attributable to me alone.

GLOSSARY (toward a language of motivations) Many of this book’s words are used in nonstandard ways—not only ways that diverge from “plain old English,” but ones that do not accord with standard usages among sociologists, psychologists, philosophers, linguists, and other scholars. As defined in the following pages, these words comprise the technical vocabulary that I found necessary while developing a language with which to write about languages of motivation. Rather than exiling this glossary to the book’s end, I have placed it here in hopes that readers will refer to it when faced with peculiar wordings in the pages that follow. It is my humble request that the book be read on its own terms. • Accepted—see embodied. • Achieved vs. verified—aspects of a goal during interaction. Whereas the goal’s sensed aspects are those achieved by an agent, its not-sensed aspects are those unverified by the individualist observer. • Action—sensory data that a person produces with the intention that they will be understood self-referentially (i.e., as aspects of a personconcept that are sensed). Familiar achievement and embodiment, as well as serious nonanswering (or laziness) and opposing are all types of action. (See also “Speech.”) • Agency—see Agent. • Agent—a person read as a thought until the concept associated with this thought (a goal) appears. (“You’ve fairly achieved the goal!”) Sometimes referred to as a person read as agency. (See also “Collaborator,” “Persona,” and “Follower.”) • Ambiguity reduction—a motivational mechanism that allows one a common basis for understanding intentions among individualists, mutualists, essentialists, and doctrinists. If one is motivated to reduce the ambiguity of the most ambiguous known concept at any given time, this concept could be one that… o “Is Not” but that is more noticeable than unnoticeable, leaving one motivated (as an individualist) toward having a thought (and thus one’s goal) appear.

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o “Is” but that is more implausible than plausible, leaving one motivated (as a mutualist) toward having discretion (and thus one’s need) disappear. o “Is” but that is more plausible than implausible, leaving one motivated (as an essentialist) toward having a symbol (and thus one’s role) appear. o “Is Not” but that is more unnoticeable than noticeable, leaving one motivated (as a doctrinist) toward having a sign (and thus one’s rule) disappear. Ambiguous—the state of a concept when some of its aspects are sensed and some are not sensed. (See also “Appears” and “Vacates.”) Answered—see articulated. Appears—the state of a concept when all of its aspects are sensed. (See also “Ambiguous” and “Vacates.”) Articulated vs. answered—aspects of a need during interaction. Whereas the need’s not-sensed aspects are those articulated by the collaborator, its sensed aspects are those unanswered by the mutualist interpreter. Aspect—the content of a single sensation. It is a potential unit of sight, sound, scent, touch, or taste. One speaks of aspects as being either sensed or not sensed. Although a concept may be known, the sensing of a solitary aspect is too primitive an experience to be noticed (unless, of course, it is a concept’s only aspect). Collaboration—see collaborator. Collaborator—a person read as discretion until the concept associated with this discretion (a need) vacates. (“You’ve responsibly articulated a need!”) Sometimes referred to as a person read as collaboration. (See also “Agent,” “Persona,” and “Follower.”) Concept—a set of aspects. During speech a concept’s aspects are not sensed insofar as its usage (as a sign) is grammatically correct. A concept is experienced directly (as a symbol) only as long as some of its aspects are sensed. Conception—a concept-usage in terms of operational knowledge (i.e., regarding which sensory experience truly corresponds to a particular concept, or regarding which concept intelligibly corresponds to a particular sensory experience). Conceptualization—a concept-usage in terms of relational knowledge (i.e., regarding which usage coheres normatively with a particular gram-

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mar, or regarding which grammar genuinely coheres with a particular usage). Contingency—a modal position that an expert’s speech or action may not result in a person-concept’s being inside reality. Note, for example, the contingency in the agent’s action being able not to achieve a goal, in the mutualist interpreter’s action being not compelled to answer a need, in the essentialist observer’s speech being not obliged to accept a role, and in the follower’s speech being permitted not to implement a rule. Discretion—a concept that “Is” when reality is a system. Discretions become apparent when behaviors are not grammatical (and thus lack signification) within the social system. (See also “Sign vs. symbol” and “Thought.”) Discourse—a finite sequence of speech and/or action between a person and her- or himself or between two or more people, freely participated in by all and during which each attempts to gain operational or relational knowledge. Discursive position—a conception or a conceptualization of which one person (the source) attempts to persuade another (the target). Doctrinism—a type of modal narrative during which interaction begins with a follower’s polite speech, and that ends if an interpreter responds seriously to this speech by opposing the follower’s ruleimplementation. Embodied vs. accepted—aspects of a role during interaction. Whereas the role’s sensed aspects are those embodied by the persona, its notsensed aspects are those unaccepted by the essentialist observer. Episode—a modal position with which an interaction begins, ends, or fails to begin or end. Episodes are either familiar, polite, playful, or serious. Essentialism—a type of modal narrative during which interaction begins with a persona’s familiar action, and that continues only as long as an observer responds playfully to this action by accepting the persona’s role-embodiment. Existential status—one of two mutually exclusive states that characterize every known concept. If a concept is known, its existential status is either “Is” or “Is Not”. Expert—the person depicted discursively as active, or self-directed. A person-concept’s “possibility of being” and its “contingency of remaining” inside reality are attributed to the expert’s speech or

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action. Among persons who are perpetually outside reality (namely, individualists and mutualists), the expert during interaction is the one who acts. For example, agents are experts given their immediate access to the thoughts behind their actions, much as mutualist interpreters are experts given their immediate knowledge of how discretionary their actions are. In contrast, actions are self-evident among persons who are perpetually inside reality (namely, essentialists and doctrinists), leaving the expert during their interactions being the one who speaks. For example, essentialist observers have immediate awareness of the symbolism of a persona’s embodiment, and a follower knows directly of the signification lacking in their interpreters’ opposition. (See also “Novice,” “Possibility,” and “Contingency.”) Familiar—see polite. Fidelity—see follower. Field vs. system—the two alternative types of reality. Reality is never simultaneously field and system. When reality is a field, concepts are observed as symbols, leaving every concept that “Is Not” a thought outside the field. When reality is a system, concepts are interpreted as signs, leaving every concept that “Is” a discretion outside the system. Follower—a person read as a sign unless the concept associated with this sign (a rule) appears. (“Your unrighteous rule-implementation is not permissible!”) Sometimes referred to as a person read as fidelity. (See also “Agent,” “Collaborator,” and “Persona.”) Goal—the person-concept that agents assert to be contingent (i.e., that they are able not to achieve) in their discursive positions for not initiating interactions, and that individualist observers may assert to be impossible (i.e., that they are not able to verify) in their discursive positions for not ending interactions. During interaction each is motivated to ensure that a goal appears: Observers’ motivations are to keep the agent’s action possible (by speaking of the goal as one she or he can achieve), whereas an agent’s motivation is to make the observers’ speech inevitable (by acting such that the goal becomes one they are not able not to verify). Grammar—a set of rules for relating concepts. A grammatical expert is someone able to persuasively take the position that an instance of speech or writing is grammatically incorrect. Such an expert may also take the discursive position that someone has “acted ungrammatically.”

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• Implausibility—see plausibility. • Implemented vs. opposed—aspects of a rule during interaction. Whereas the rule’s not-sensed aspects are those implemented by the follower, its sensed aspects are those opposed by the doctrinist interpreter. • Impossibility—a modal position that a novice’s speech or action is prevented because a person-concept “Is Not”. Note, for example, the impossibility in the individualist observer’s speech being not able to verify a goal that “Is Not”, in the collaborator’s speech being compelled not to articulate a need that “Is Not”, in the persona’s action being obliged not to embody a role that “Is Not”, and in the doctrinist interpreter’s action being not permitted to oppose a rule that “Is Not”. • Individualism—a type of modal narrative during which interaction begins with an agent’s familiar action, and that ends if an observer responds playfully to this action by verifying the agent’s goal-achievement. • Inevitability—a modal position that a novice’s speech or action is forthcoming because a person-concept “Is”. Note, for example, the inevitability in the individualist observer’s speech being not able not to verify a goal that “Is”, in the collaborator’s speech being compelled to articulate a need that “Is”, in the persona’s action being obliged to embody a role that “Is”, and in the doctrinist interpreter’s action being not permitted not to oppose a rule that “Is”. • Interaction—a segment of a modal narrative during which either one person reads another’s speech and the latter anticipates the former’s action (or inaction), or one person reads another’s action and the latter anticipates the former’s speech (or silence). If reality is a field, interactions comprise action in anticipation of speech (for individualists) or silence (for essentialists); if reality is a system, interactions comprise speech in anticipation of action (for mutualists) or inaction (for doctrinists). • Interpreters—people who present themselves as impartial (i.e., unmotivated) judges of the existential status of a concept within the system. A mutualist interpreter judges whether or not an articulated need is worthy of being answered; a doctrinist interpreter judges the extent to which a rule-implementation is to be opposed. (See also “Observers.”)

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• Is—the existential status of a concept that appeared more recently than it vacated. A concept that “Is” is experienced operationally as “physically there.” (See also “Is Not”.) • Is Not—the existential status of a concept that vacated more recently than it appeared. A concept that “Is Not” is experienced relationally in accordance with a grammar. (See also “Is”.) • Modal language—see modality. • Modal narrative—a sequence of episodes during which people refer to each other in accordance with the same modality. Individualism, mutualism, essentialism, and doctrinism are four types of modal narrative. • Modal position—a discursive position in which a person-concept is used within a conception or conceptualization. Each modality allows people to reference each others’ intentions in precisely four ways: Intentions are referenced as either possible (e.g., can, not compelled not, not obliged not, permitted, or choose), impossible (e.g., not able, compelled not, obliged not, not permitted, or not choose), inevitable (e.g., not able not, compelled, obliged, not permitted not, or not choose not), or contingent (e.g., able not, not compelled, not obliged, permitted not, or choose not). • Modality (or modal language)—a language for referencing people’s motivations. A specific type of narrative is yielded as people act and speak in accordance with one of these languages. Can (or to be able) is the modality of individualism, must (or to be compelled or to have to) is the modality of mutualism, ought (or to be obliged) is the modality of essentialism, and may (or to be permitted) is the modality of doctrinism. • Mutualism—a type of modal narrative during which interaction begins with a collaborator’s polite speech, and that continues only as long as an interpreter responds seriously to this speech by answering the collaborator’s need-articulation. • Narrative—see modal narrative. • Need—the person-concept that collaborators assert to be inevitable (i.e., that they must articulate) in their discursive positions for initiating interactions, and that mutualist interpreters may assert to be contingent (i.e., that they are not compelled to answer) in their discursive positions for ending interactions. During interaction each is motivated to ensure that the need vacates: Interpreters’ motivations are to make the collaborator’s speech impossible (by acting such that

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the need becomes one she or he is compelled not to articulate), whereas a collaborator’s motivation is to keep the interpreters’ action possible (by speaking of the need as one they are not compelled not to answer). Nerby—a Turing machine programmed with the ambiguity-reduction principle as its motivational mechanism. Nerby-concept—a person-concept applied to a Nerby. (See also “Person-concept.”) Noticeability vs. unnoticeability—the extent to which the aspects of a concept that “Is Not” are sensed. A concept that “Is Not” is noticeable if more of its aspects are sensed than not sensed, and it is unnoticeable if fewer of its aspects are sensed than not sensed. Novice—the person depicted discursively as passive (i.e., whose speech or action is either impossible because a person-concept “Is Not”, or inevitable because a person-concept “Is”). Among persons who are perpetually outside reality (namely, individualists and mutualists), the novice during interaction is the one who speaks. For example, individualist observers are novices given their perpetual uncertainty of the thoughts behind an agent’s actions, and a collaborator is a novice given a chronic ignorance of discretions among her or his interpreters’ actions. In contrast, one’s actions are always more exposed to others than to oneself among persons who are perpetually inside reality (namely, essentialists and doctrinists), leaving “the one who acts” the novice during their interactions. (See also “Expert,” “Impossibility,” and “Inevitability.”) Observers—people who present themselves as impartial (i.e., unmotivated) judges of the existential status of a concept within the field. An individualist observer verifies whether or not a goal has been achieved; an essentialist observer judges the extent to which a role is being acceptably embodied. (See also “Interpreters.”) Operational knowledge—the “know how” one has regarding what sensory experiences are associated with which actions or concepts. For example, a chauffeur has operational knowledge of how cars are driven, and an ornithologist has operational knowledge of what cormorants look like. (See also “Relational knowledge.”) Opposed—see implemented. Person—a perpetually ambiguous concept understood consistently in accordance a single reality-type. Unlike other concepts, a perpetually ambiguous concept cannot change existential status, which is to say

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glossary that a person is continually understood as either inside or outside reality. Accordingly, there are four “personhoods” (i.e., types of person): Agent (perpetually outside the field), collaborator (perpetually outside the system), persona (perpetually inside the field), and follower (perpetually inside the system). The interpreters and observers who understand, or read, these person-types are themselves also persons. All persons’ speech and action are motivated by the principle of ambiguity reduction. Person-concept—a concept regarding “that which constitutes a person.” Goal is the person-concept among individualists; need is the person-concept among mutualists; role is the person-concept among essentialists; rule is the person-concept among doctrinists. During modal narratives the aspects of person-concepts are jointly influenced by the person being read and the observers or interpreters who are reading this person. Persona—a person read as a symbol unless the concept associated with this symbol (a role) vacates. (“Your unnatural role-embodiment is ridiculous!”) Sometimes referred to as a person read as personification. (See also “Agent,” “Collaborator,” and “Follower.”) Personification—see persona. Plausibility vs. implausibility—the extent to which the aspects of a concept that “Is” are sensed. A concept that “Is” is plausible if more of its aspects are sensed than not sensed, and it is implausible if fewer of its aspects are sensed than not sensed. Playful—see serious. Polite vs. familiar—a type of episode with which a person either attempts or refuses to begin an interaction. When reality is a field, familiar episodes comprise attempts to begin interaction, whereas polite episodes comprise refusals to begin them. When reality is a system, polite episodes comprise attempts to begin interaction, whereas familiar episodes comprise refusals to begin them. Position—see discursive position. Possibility—a modal position that an expert’s speech or action may result in a person-concept’s being inside reality. Note, for example, the possibility in the agent’s action being able to achieve a goal, in the mutualist interpreter’s action being not compelled not to answer a need, in the essentialist observer’s speech being not obliged not to accept a role, and in the follower’s speech being permitted to implement a rule.

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• Reading—a consistent understanding (i.e., one in accordance with a single reality-type over time) of an observer’s or interpreter’s single most ambiguous concept during a continuous period of time. A reading ends when the concept changes existential status. • Reality—a society’s default mode of understanding. Reality is either a field or a system. (See also “Field” and “System.”) • Relational knowledge—the “know why” one has regarding the rules (or grammar) associated with concepts and speech. For example, a mechanic has relational knowledge of why engines work, and a linguist has relational knowledge of which sentences are grammatically well-formed. (See also “Operational knowledge.”) • Role—the person-concept that personae assert to be impossible (i.e., that they are obliged not to embody) in their discursive positions for not initiating interactions, and that essentialist observers may assert to be possible (i.e., that they are not obliged not to accept) in their discursive positions for not ending interactions. During interaction each is motivated to ensure that a role remains plausible: Observers’ motivations are to make the persona’s action inevitable (by speaking of the role as one she or he is obliged to embody), whereas a persona’s motivation is to keep the observers’ speech from becoming contingent (by acting such that the role does not become one they are not obliged to accept). • Rule—the person-concept that followers assert to be possible (i.e., that they are permitted to implement) in their discursive positions for initiating interactions, and that doctrinist interpreters may assert to be inevitable (i.e., the rule here being that they are not permitted not to oppose a noticeable, or excessive, implementation) in their discursive positions for ending interactions. During interaction each is motivated to ensure that the rule remains unnoticeable: Interpreters’ motivations are to make the follower’s speech contingent (by acting such that the rule becomes one she or he is permitted not to implement), whereas a follower’s motivation is to keep the interpreters’ action impossible (by speaking of the rule as one they are not permitted to oppose). • Sensation—subliminal input at a particular time from a particular aspect. One point in time gives way to another when any concept’s set of sensed aspects changes. (That is, “time stands still” as long as one’s sensations remain unchanged, as potentially in meditation or solitary confinement.)

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• Sensory experience—the totality of all sensed and not-sensed aspects at a particular time, made intelligible (and thus liminal) as conceptions or conceptualizations associated with known concepts. Whereas one’s action may influence what aspects are sensed, one’s speech/writing tends to ensure (when grammatically articulated) that concepts’ aspects are not sensed. • Serious vs. playful—a type of episode with which a person either attempts or refuses to end an interaction. Like all readings, an interaction ends when its discursive position’s concept changes existential status. When the person-being-read is of a type perpetually inside reality (as is the case with essentialists and doctrinists), an episode to end interaction is always a serious one that challenges either the intelligibility of a persona’s embodiment or the normativeness of a follower’s implementation. Their inside-reality statuses as persona and follower remain intact as long as episodes are playful (i.e., respectively with more embodied than nonaccepted role-aspects and with more implemented than opposed rule-aspects). However, when the personbeing-read is of a type perpetually outside reality (as is the case with individualists and mutualists), an episode to continue interaction is always a serious one that challenges either the truth of the agent’s achievement or the genuineness of the collaborator’s articulation. Playful episodes convey that their person-concepts have changed existential statuses (respectively from thought to goal-achievement and from need-articulation to discretion). • Sign vs. symbol—concepts understood as part of reality. Whereas a sign is a concept that is other-referential (and thus “Is Not” when reality is a system), a symbol is self-referential (and thus “Is” when reality is a field). For example, in the following interchange Chris presumes that Terry understands the concept, “social security number,” as a symbol with a specific referent (namely, “123-45-6789”). However, Terry’s question (“What is it?”) references this concept as a sign that Chris might define in terms of its grammatical relations to other signs (e.g., retirement, unemployment, social assistance, etc.). Chris: “Hey, man. I just got a social security number.” Terry: “Uh, yeah. What is it?” Chris: “123-45-6789.” Terry: “No, man. I mean, what is a social security number?”

• Speech—sensory data that a person produces with the intention that they will be understood other-referentially (i.e., as aspects of a person-

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concept that are not sensed). Playful nonacceptance (or amusement) and verification, as well as polite articulating and implementing are all types of speech. (See also “Action.”) Symbol—see sign. System—see field. Thought—a concept that “Is Not” when reality is a field. Thoughts arise when speech yields no corresponding sensory experience (and thus no symbolization) within the field. (See also “Sign vs. symbol” and “Discretion.”) Threshold—a person-concept’s point of maximum ambiguity at which a person refuses to initiate or continue interaction. Understanding—either the observation or the interpretation of a concept in accordance with a reality. A concept is observed if its existential status within the field is “Is”; it is interpreted if its existential status within the system is “Is Not”. Unnoticeability—see noticeability. Vacates—the state of a concept when none of its aspects are sensed. (See also “Ambiguous” and “Appears.”) Verified—see achieved.

CHAPTER ONE

ON PERSUASION On January 6th, 1697, while exploring an estuary on the west coast of Australia, some sailors from the Dutch East India Company caught two long-necked black birds. Later the next year a letter appeared in the Royal Society’s Philosophical Transactions that is the earliest known published report of the existence of “black swans” (Witsen & Lister 1698). The report mentioned this and other cargo onboard a ship that had recently arrived in Amsterdam. Now imagine yourself eavesdropping on a conversation between two Hollanders at the close of the 17th century: Did you see? When they unloaded the Hollandia Nova yesterday, there were two black swans onboard. Those two black birds? They’re not swans. There’s no such thing as a black swan.

Archival documents suggest that such conversations were commonplace in Europe at the time. Thus it would be reasonable to picture our hypothetical conversation as having lasted a long time, or even as having developed into a fistfight. For now, let’s presume our imaginary conversation to have ended in a consensus. Yet what might this consensus be about? The Hollanders might have decided . . . • whether “swan” or another word (e.g., anhinga) is the more intelligible concept for referring to “these black-feathered birds.” • whether the phrase, “black swan,” is grammatically correct or incorrect. • whether the proposition, “This is a black swan,” is true or false. • whether the person who spoke of “black swans” genuinely meant that the definition of “swan” should be revised or that another definition is appropriate (e.g., maybe they are the makings of blackbird pie). End of list. Consensus would have been reached through the Hollanders’ decision on an acceptable concept for making their sensory experiences

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intelligible; on a grammatically normative way to use concepts; on the verifiability of a proposition as true; or on the definition (or grammar) that was genuinely intended. There are no other ways in which the Hollanders might have resolved their differences, according to social philosopher Jürgen Habermas. Habermas on Communicative Action Arguably Habermas’s (1979, 1984) most provocative theoretical argument is that there are precisely four occasions when people stop “doing what they are doing together” and start talking about what they have been doing. Stated in Habermas’s terms, “communicative action” interrupts “strategic action” only when one or more of four “validity claims” has been violated.1 When this happens, people’s orientations shift away from tangible goals and toward discourse on whichever of the following claims was violated regarding their immediately prior strategic action: its normativeness (Richtigkeit), its truth (Wahrheit), its genuineness (Wahrhaftigkeit), or its intelligibility (Verständlichkeit). Where Habermas’s theory of validity claims has suffered its strongest criticism has been with his argument that during communicative action, “the agents involved are coordinated not through egocentric calculations of success but through acts of reaching understanding . . . (so) that they can harmonize their plans of action on the basis of common situational definitions” (1984, pp. 285–6). Butler’s (1993, p. 192), Fuchs’s (2001, p. 30), and others’ critiques have focused on Habermas’s contention here that people will be motivated to continue discourse once one of them appears to have done something nonnormative or untrustworthy, or to have said something false or unintelligible. Although references to such acts “might” prompt an immediate attempt to re-establish a common understanding of the situation, it seems more likely that invoking one of Habermas’s validity claims would be a strategy for ending discourse Habermas’s third type of action, “instrumental action,” focuses primarily on nonsocial, logistic aspects of goal attainment. This he contrasts with strategic action in which participants “assess the efficiency of influencing the decisions” of others during their goal-seeking activities (Habermas 1984, p. 285). A fourth type, non-propositional “symbolic action” (e.g., a concert or a dance), gets only cursory mention as a “stillinsufficiently-analyzed” topic (Habermas 1979, p. 41). Since instrumental and symbolic actions are peripheral both to Habermas’s work and to my present objectives, they are dropped from consideration at this point. 1

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with declarations of nonnormativity (“How disgusting!”), untruth (“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”), nongenuineness (“You’ve been using me!”), or unintelligibility (“You’re speaking gibberish!”). Yet no matter how convincing this critique, it does not detract from Habermas’s insight that discourse becomes problematic when one person’s action or speech is nonnormative, untrue, nongenuine, or unintelligible for another. This said, it seems reasonable to ask why Habermas stopped at merely four validity claims. Are these four theoretically interrelated in some way that precludes others? Or might there be five validity claims, or more? Habermas’s position that there are exactly four validity claims is grounded in his assertion that there is a “world” corresponding to each, namely the social, objective, and subjective worlds, plus the lifeworld of “unshaken convictions that participants in communication draw upon in cooperative processes of interpretation” (1987, p. 124). Whereas an utterance’s normativeness references the social world, its truth references the objective world, its genuineness references a person’s subjective world, and its intelligibility reflects its unproblematic participation in people’s lifeworld. Moreover, there is “a hierarchical order between the well-formedness or comprehensibility of the linguistic expression as a presupposition of communication, on the one hand, and the claims to sincerity, propositional truth, and normative rightness, on the other hand” (Habermas 1984, p. 310). Since it is only via intelligible linguistic expressions that these latter three claims can be called into question (i.e., that someone might reject, or take a “no position” toward them), communicative actions are restricted to considerations of “exactly three criticizable validity claims” (1984, p. 308). Unintelligible utterances comprise a special case of validity-claimviolation in that they yield new situational definitions, each appearing within its own “always already familiar” lifeworld. Regarding participants faced with such utterances, Habermas writes, When they go beyond the horizon of a given situation, they cannot step into the void; they find themselves right away in another, and now actualized, yet preinterpreted domain of what is culturally taken for granted (1987, p. 125; italics in original).

Even when culture and language (and thus their corresponding lifeworld) fail, “translators, interpreters, therapists” start referencing an alternative, reparative lifeworld within which they “have at their disposition only

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the three familiar world concepts”—social, objective, and subjective (1987, p. 134). In brief, Habermas defined his theoretical universe as one dealing with actions oriented to reaching understanding. These “rational actions” are made manifest in accordance with people’s common culture and language (a.k.a. their lifeworld). Every such action (i.e., every “rationalization of the life world”) can be placed along a continuum from “normatively ascribed agreements” (in which cultural traditions predecide [sic] strategic actions) to “communicatively achieved understanding” (in which “the participants themselves have the possibility of making explicit and examining” their cultural traditions [1984, pp. 70–1]). The lifeworld can thus be thought of as the cultural and linguistic resources in accordance with which people’s situations retain their intelligibility—a “location” for either nonreflective strategic actions or reflective communicative ones. In the latter case “communicative actors can achieve an understanding only by way of taking yes/no positions on criticizable validity claims” regarding the normativeness, truth, or genuineness of each other’s utterances (1984, p. 70). Thus discourse on these three criticizable validity claims presupposes that the fourth, noncriticizable validity claim of intelligibility is met. Accordingly, Habermas’s actors are precluded from ever debating the relative intelligibility of each other’s utterances. In their efforts to gain understanding, they never question each other’s situation-specific credentials. (“Maybe you understand the situation better than I . . . ”) With the exception of those requiring therapeutic rehabilitation, Habermas (1979, pp. 26–9) assumes people to have complete and equivalent communicative competence relative to the situation at hand. Given their uniformly intelligible speech, people never debate “who among us is most conversant on this topic” but instead “which of our utterances is most meritorious,” with their conversation’s most normative, true, and genuine speech act as the consensual outcome of their rational discourse. For this reason, Habermas’s perspective fails to account for discrepancies in persons’ perceptions of each other’s situation-specific competence. Moreover, with its emphasis on cooperative processes of consensus formation Habermas’s perspective also fails to account for those people who react to violations of validity claims by opting to terminate discourse altogether. Thus a more flexible theoretical explanation is needed, according to which people may both question the intelligibility of each other’s positions, and either renegotiate or opt out of discourse when faced with sufficiently problematic utterances.

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So let us retain Habermas’s premise that when a validity claim is violated people’s speech stops being part of what they are doing, and itself becomes the topic of conversation. Yet unlike Habermas, I shall assume that . . . • participants perceive each other to have varying degrees of communicative competence regarding the validity claim under discussion, and • participants will terminate discourse whenever they perceive their own competence to greatly exceed that of any participant who espouses a position inconsistent with their expectations. By allowing participants to critically evaluate the intelligibility of each other’s speech acts, the privileged status of this fourth validity claim is lost, and Habermas’s validity claims revert to a mere list. This chapter’s purpose is to show that working from these two relatively unproblematic assumptions, Habermas’s four validity claims can be incorporated into a more viable theoretical framework with empirical grounding in the vast literature on persuasive communications. The Hinge Although Jacques Derrida never wrote on Habermas’s work, he did devote one book, Limited Inc, to a critique of speech act theory—the perspective from which Habermas developed his ideas on validity claims.2 Here, as in his other works, Derrida refuses to accept any presumption about there being a world of objects independent of the concepts we use to organize our experiences. For example, when speech 2 Habermas’s indebtedness to John Austin is clear in his writings on communicative action. Whereas Habermas referred to “violations of validity claims,” Austin spoke of “infelicities” (i.e., “things that can be or go wrong” on the occasion of “unhappy utterances” [1975, p. 14]). Yet after developing a list of five ways in which utterances can be classified in terms of their illocutionary force (i.e., in terms of subjective intentions that might go wrong during discourse), one learns that these too comprise little more than a list that, says Austin, “I leave to my readers the real fun of applying” (1975, p. 164). Reminiscent of Habermas, Goffman (1983, p. 26) later suggested that breaches of “felicity conditions” can serve as “keyings . . . for shifting from what is more or less literally said to what is meant.” Yet unlike Habermas, Goffman further argued that discourse might better be treated as motivated toward maintaining felicity conditions than toward recovering from infelicitous actions. In Chapter 3 I introduce an alternative motivational mechanism to one of either maintaining or recovering consensus.

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act theorists like Austin and Searle distinguished utterances’ propositional content from their intent, or illocutionary force, they (like the nominalist and structuralist linguists whom they addressed) presumed that there are independent facts to which such utterances may or may not refer. Instead, Derrida’s position is that each utterance “opens up the possibility of a trace” (or a sensory experience) associated with that utterance (Derrida 1976, p. 47f, 1988, p. 98f ). Yet Derrida’s position goes beyond merely asserting, “There is no sound when a tree falls in the woods without someone there to hear it.” The very possibility of “a tree’s falling” is contingent upon one’s having developed expectations regarding what a trace of “falling tree” is like. Thus, for Derrida, the relation between concept and trace is not binary (i.e., true vs. false). Instead, the relation is a continuous one of différance (viz., “what makes possible the presentation of the being-present (and) . . . is never presented as such” [1982, p. 6]) between concepts such as “tree,” “failure,” “liberty,” etc. and experiences to which they may correspond in degree. Thus people may genuinely disagree on whether an action is “truly” one of liberation or of terrorism, for example. And it is precisely with such disagreements (i.e., between people who presume identical sensory experiences) that, Derrida argues, concepts become more than mere invitations for others to (possibly) experience traces of these concepts. Whereas différance affords no more primacy to experience than to the concepts in accordance with which experiences are sensed, Derrida’s articulation concept gives equal primacy to both concepts and the grammars according to which they are articulated in discourse. Like Lyotard (1984, p. 37f ) who argued that scientific pursuits can no longer be legitimated via grand narratives, Derrida and other postmodernists refuse to accept the ultimate authority of any single grammar. Instead, Derrida proposed that the study of discourse (or grammatology) involve making explicit the grammar according to which concepts are articulated. In Derrida’s writings such deconstructions almost exclusively included critiques of philosophical positions that presumed either experiences without différance, a grammar independent of articulation, or both. Thus Derrida argued that concepts are simultaneously linked to both the sensations one experiences and the grammar according to which concepts are referenced in speech and writing. Because sensory experiences and grammatical presuppositions are likely to vary among individuals, this dual-linkage accounts not only for modest variations in grammar usage among people but also for the possibility that per-

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Grammar

ti la cu ti ar on

Conceptualization/ Conception

dif

fér

an

ce

Sensory Experience, or “trace”

Figure 1.1. Derrida’s “hinge” depicts concepts’ dual nature as conceptualizations articulated according to a grammar and conceptions having différance with sensory experiences.

sons with different sensory experiences will nonetheless associate their sensations with the same concept (and thereby presume that others’ experiences are identical to their own). To convey this dual nature of the concept, Derrida (1976, p. 65) used the metaphor of a hinge (brisure) as “a single word for designating différance and articulation.” In picturing such a hinge, one should imagine its “pin” as a concept that is connected simultaneously to sensory experiences (or traces) via the “plate” of différance and to a grammar via the “plate” of articulation. (See Figure 1.1.) Knowledge of a concept is thus of two kinds: On the one hand, one must know what an accurate trace of the concept is like when experienced. On the other hand, one must know what an appropriate articulation of the concept is according to its grammar. With some indulgence from the reader, clarity might be gained at this point by drawing an analogy to the dual-condition of subatomic particles. Starting in the mid-1920s, a series of physics experiments showed photons to have an ambiguous existence that is like a wave when measured in some ways and like a particle when measured in others (Darling 1993, p. 98; Baker 1970, p. 176). Likewise, Derrida invites his

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readers to imagine concepts as “suspended” ambiguously between their experiential accuracy and their grammatical appropriateness. Habermas too argued that “the system of all validity claims comes into play” during communicative action. Yet he continued by pointing out that these claims “cannot all be thematic at the same time” (1979, p. 66). Building on this idea, let us adopt as a key premise that when participants conceptualize problematic situations, they can only speak of these situations exclusively in terms of their accuracy or their appropriateness. This is due in part to the linear nature of language (i.e., because it’s only possible to say one thing at a time). Yet it is more fundamentally because the experiential (or operational) criteria for evaluating a concept’s accuracy are unrelated to the grammatical (or relational) ones for evaluating its appropriateness. In brief, there is no discursive common ground between participants who bring these different types of validity criteria to bear. Returning to our analogy from the physical sciences, whereas physicists’ measurements capture photons’ ambiguous condition as exclusively either waves or particles, discourse snaps our concepts out of their ambiguous condition by allowing one to examine either the concepts’ experiential accuracy or their grammatical appropriateness—but not both simultaneously. Like physicists who cannot simultaneously “see” the photon as both wave and particle, people cannot take discursive positions that hinge simultaneously on both their operational knowledge of a concept’s accuracy and their relational knowledge of its appropriateness. Thus discourse involves only one of these knowledge types, and prior to initiating discourse each participant must have decided whether operational or relational knowledge applies. Let us now turn to a more thorough discussion of these two types of knowledge. Operational vs. Relational Knowledge3 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 Chinese as Zhi-Dao. Their corresponding

Merton (1972, p. 41), James (1955 [1909], 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 dual nature of the concept, as developed in the previous section. 3

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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). The heart of the distinction between operational and relational knowledge lies in the concept’s previously-discussed dual nature as hinged simultaneously on experiences and a grammar. In most discourse, people are able to seamlessly key each other into which type of knowledge is called for. Like Hollanders at the close of the 17th Century, they may find “the appropriate type of knowing” itself the subject of dispute. If the decision were for discourse on operational knowledge, they would compare the relative accuracy either of the concept, “swan,” in accordance with its modified trace (“Some swans are black.”) or of the commonly experienced trace in accordance with an alternative concept (“Might it be an anhinga or a cormorant?”). If agreement were for discourse on relational knowledge, they would compare the relative appropriateness either of the phrase, “black swan,” in accordance with the traditional grammar (“There are no black swans.”) or of a phrase in accordance with an alternative but commonly-understood grammar (“They are ingredients for blackbird pie.”). Table 1.1 illustrates these four types of outcomes in accordance with which discourse on the topic of “black swans” might be brought to a consensus.

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Table 1.1. Four types of consensual outcomes for concluding discourse on “black swans” Type of knowledge Discursive orientation Position

Alternative position

Operational “Some swans are black.” (the trace associated with experiences of swans is modified) “It is a cormorant.” (the concept for experiencing swans is replaced)

Relational “No black birds are swans.” (an experience of swan-grammar is denied) “Blackbirds make for savory pies.” (an experience of poultrygrammar is accepted)

The heuristic value of Derrida’s hinge-metaphor can now be extended beyond the premise that it is “snapped apart” during discourse, whereby people restrict themselves exclusively to operational or relational concerns (or, respectively, to conceptions or conceptualizations). The illustration’s two operational outcomes and two relational outcomes can be depicted as four ways that discourse can be “hinged.” If people’s discourse involves operational knowledge, this discourse will be . . . • about whether or not their sensory experiences truly correspond to a shared conception (e.g., “Is that a swan?”), or • about which conceptions intelligibly correspond to their shared sensory experiences (e.g., “What is that?”). Likewise, if discourse involves relational knowledge, it will be . . . • about whether or not people’s conceptualizations cohere normatively with their shared grammar (e.g., “May something that is black be referred to as a swan?”), or • about which grammars genuinely cohere with their shared conceptualization (e.g., “Are mentions of ‘long-necked black birds,’ references to tourist attractions or to poultry?”). And so we return to Habermas’s validity claims. However, instead of claiming primacy for intelligibility over the others, here each validity claim has equivalent import as the discursive problematic among par-

on persuasion Shared Conception

True

Untrue

Sensory Experience, A

Nonnormative

Conceptualization, A

Conception, C

Unintelligible

Sensory Experience, B

Shared Grammar

Normative

11 Conception, D

Intelligible

Shared Sensory Experience

Grammar, G

Nongenuine

Conceptualization, F

Grammar, H

Genuine

Shared Conceptualization

Figure 1.2. Four “discursive hinges” are possible when Derrida’s hinge is snapped apart during discourse as participants presume a shared awareness of either conception, sensory experience, grammar, or conceptualization.

ticipants with a priori consensus on whether their deliberations hinge on a mutually presumed conception, sensory experience, grammar, or conceptualization: • Truth: Is “this conception corresponds to a sensory experience” untrue (A) or true (B)? • Intelligibility: Is “this sensory experience corresponds to a conception” unintelligible (C) or intelligible (D)? • Normativeness: Is “this grammar coheres with a conceptualization” nonnormative (E) or normative (F)? • Genuineness: Is “this conceptualization coheres with a grammar” nongenuine (G) or genuine (H)? Four corresponding forms of discourse are illustrated in Figure 1.2 as the four “discursive hinges” that can be produced when discourse snaps Derrida’s hinge into its operational and relational parts.

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Yet a few loose ends remain at this point: Once people agree to participate in operational discourse, it remains unclear whether this discourse will hinge on a “conception” or a “sensory experience.” Likewise if participants agree on relational discourse, it remains unclear whether this discourse will hinge on a “grammar” or a “conceptualization.” In both cases, the deciding factor is the relative credibility (i.e., perceived communicative competence) between the audience (or target) and the source of the conception or conceptualization under consideration. During ongoing bombardment a highly credible politician might proclaim, “Peace is nigh,” leaving less self-assured listeners struggling for intelligibility in this conception. Yet when spoken between persons of similar credibility, the conception would more likely provoke a search for truth or falsehood among the evidence at hand. Likewise, when a revered religious leader asserts, “Brother Joseph has sinned,” members of the laity would most likely seek clarity on the nonnormativity (based on the sacred life-grammar they share in common) of Joseph’s expressions. In contrast, a rival religious leader (self-judged to be of similar credibility) would be much more likely to interpret this conceptualization in accordance with an alternative grammar (e.g., one of self-promotion). Yet once we begin taking into account differences and similarities in credibility, our conceptions and conceptualizations become positions taken by sources with specific targets in mind. And so we have shifted to the terminology of persuasion—a literature to which we now turn for an empirical base upon which to construct a more robust theory of discourse. Grounds for Persuasion Probably the most consistent empirical finding in the literature on persuasive communications has been that communications only persuade when their targeted audience believes that changes in its attitudes, beliefs, and actions are not predetermined. On the one hand, people’s credibility may be neither too much higher nor too much lower than each other. On the other hand, they must be open to persuasion (i.e., they should have at least some doubt about the accuracy or the appropriateness of the position under discussion). The following two paragraphs review empirical research pertaining respectively to these two statements. People’s relative credibility. Communications require a credible source if they are to be persuasive (Hovland & Weiss 1951; Andersen &

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Clevenger 1963), yet if the source is too credible they will be uncritically accepted, leading to no lasting attitude change (Brock 1965; yet see also Wilson & Sherrell [1993] and O’Keefe [2002, pp. 181–96]).4 Credibility requires both the expertise (i.e., the truth of the source’s operational positions) and trustworthiness (i.e., the genuineness of the source’s relational positions) of the source (McGinnies & Ward 1980; Mowen, Wiener, & Joag 1987; O’Hara, Netemeyer, & Burton 1991; O’Keefe 2002, pp. 191–6).5 The target’s self-esteem should not be so low that messages are not comprehended or so high that the target is not open to persuasion (Hovland, Janis, & Kelley 1953; McGuire 1985; Rhodes & Wood 1992). In other words, when the target’s self-esteem is low relative to the source, the source’s position may seem unintelligible; when high, it may seem nonnormative. Perceived accuracy or appropriateness of the position. People are not persuaded when the accuracy or appropriateness of the source’s position is obvious (i.e., either inaccurate or accurate beyond doubt, or inappropriate or appropriate beyond question). Thus, for example, little persuasion occurs when the target of a persuasive communication has been “inoculated” against its appropriateness by previously having learned corresponding counter-arguments (Lumsdaine & Janis 1953; McGuire 1964; Eagly & Chaiken 1993, pp. 561–8; Pfau 1997; Szabo & Pfau 2002), or when the target simply holds strong contrary beliefs (Sherif & Hovland 1961; Johnson & Eagly 1989; Wood, Rhodes, & Biek 1995); whereas persuasion is likely when such communications are to subjects with little message-related knowledge (Biek, Wood, & Chaiken 1996; Wood 1982; Wood & Kallgren 1988; Wood, Kallgren, & Preisler 1985). People may change risky behaviors if they fear dangerous outcomes (Sutton 1982; Boster & Mongeau 1984; Mongeau 1998) and have a viable coping strategy (Rogers 1983; Witte 1992), yet if their fear is excessive they may switch to a fear-avoidance strategy (Witte 1998; Witte & Allen 2000). For example, fearful persons often deal with the “accuracy” of a feared outcome either by denying its possibility in their cases (Weinstein

4 Curiously, the persuasive effectiveness of high-credibility sources is truncated when their messages appear self-evidently consistent with the target’s attitudes (Bergin 1962; Bochner & Insko 1966; McGinnies 1973). This is likely due to the target’s greater cognitive engagement with a pro-attitudinal message when its source’s credibility is closer to its own (Wu & Shaffer 1987). 5 Eagly et al. (1978, 1981) report findings that communicators’ credibility is enhanced if their communications are believed to have been consistently accurate (i.e., both trustworthy and expert).

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1980, 1993) or by accepting its inevitability given their present (i.e., unchanged) courses of action (McGuire 1968; Morris & Swann 1996). Moreover, evidence regarding positions’ accuracy enhances persuasion (Reynolds & Reynolds 2002), but too much evidence can raise doubts about the source’s motives (Levasseur & Dean 1996). The bottom line here is that persuasion takes place in a “discursive space” within which people perceive themselves as freely choosing whether or not the position under consideration is accurate or appropriate (i.e., acceptable in terms of the target’s respective operational or relational knowledge regarding the position). This sense of freedom is undermined when targets are forewarned (Papageorgis 1968; Petty & Cacioppo 1979) or sensitized to the source’s motives (Hilton & Darley 1985; McCroskey & Teven 1999). Yet when positions are communicated in ways that are not expected, the chances of persuasion are increased (Santos, Leve, & Pratkanis 1994; Knowles, Butler, & Linn 2001). Thus persuasion only occurs among people who believe themselves responsible for their choice to (or not to) be persuaded (Cooper & Fazio 1984). It does not occur among people who perceive the position under consideration to be impossible, irrelevant, or coerced (Dillard, Segrin, & Harden 1989; Linder, Cooper, & Jones 1967). Discursive Space Habermas depicted involvement in communicative action as motivated “to bring about an agreement that terminates in the intersubjective mutuality of reciprocal understanding, shared knowledge, mutual trust, and accord with one another” (1979, p. 3). In contrast, I am proposing a much more individualistic image of discourse—one that sidesteps the thorny issue of knowing when intersubjectivity may or may not have been attained. More specifically, discourse is defined here as a finite sequence of speech and/or action between two or more people, freely participated in by all and during which each attempts to gain operational or relational knowledge (i.e., to learn how or why something is or is not the case). A few points of clarification are called for at this point: • Participants seek knowledge about positions (i.e., conceptions or conceptualizations) endorsed by one or more of their number. Sometimes this involves making interrogative requests for another’s (usually an expert’s) position.

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• Discourse need not be rhetorical (i.e., people need not initiate discourse seeking to persuade others of their initial positions). For example, when initiating discourse with someone presumed to be an expert, self-proclaimed novices will believe themselves likely to be persuaded by the expert’s pronouncement on the accuracy, inaccuracy, appropriateness, or inappropriateness of the novice’s initial position. • Discourse need not be motivated toward a consensual position. Thus in interrogating a suspect the police officer may be the only one seeking knowledge regarding the truth or falsehood of the suspect’s innocence. The suspect’s motivation might be to know whether his or her demeanor is or is not normatively appropriate. When their discourse terminates, each will believe her- or himself have gained knowledge of a quite different sort. • Discursive outcomes are always indeterminate for participants. That is, people engage in discourse with a willingness to be persuaded. Accordingly, discourse stops with unequivocal assertions that, for example, a position is impossible (i.e., grammatically inappropriate or experientially inaccurate) or inevitable (i.e., grammatically or experientially obvious). Such statements would constitute a refusal by the speaker to engage in discourse with anyone who might take the position. People’s freedom to participate or refuse to participate in discourse, lends itself metaphorically to the location of persons relative to a “space” within which knowledge is sought but that one may “leave” at any time. Discursive space can be thought of as located along two continua: an epistemology-continuum between the relative (operational) accuracy versus (relational) appropriateness of the position under consideration, and a credibility-continuum between a person’s relative expertise versus naiveté regarding her or his (operational or relational) knowledge concerning the position. Epistemological reasons for leaving (or not entering) discursive space arise when a position is accurate (or true) beyond doubt or appropriate (or normative) beyond question; credibility-based reasons for leaving discursive space arise when the position is too puzzling (unintelligible) or too contrived (nongenuine) for one to consider. Consistent with the persuasion literature (and Habermas’s characterization of communicative action), discourse is more likely when epistemological validity claims (i.e., ones of truth and normativeness) are less than self-evident. Yet at odds with Habermas but consistent with this literature, discourse is less likely when credibility-related validity claims (i.e., ones of intelligibility and genuineness) are violated.

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Reiterating this chapter’s individualistic approach, it must be emphasized that both continua deal with dimensions within the mind of a single person. Moreover, for operational and relational knowledge to form a continuum there must be some common “units” in terms of which they differ. The epistemology-continuum’s units reflect the person’s dual expectations regarding the single concept underlying the discursive position being considered. Although positions are formulated either in operational or relational terms (i.e., respectively as conceptions or conceptualizations), each varies simultaneously in how accurately it corresponds to sensory experiences and in how appropriately it coheres with its grammar. For example, after years of study and practice a veterinarian may have strong expectations regarding her operational knowledge but weak ones regarding her relational knowledge of swans. For an experienced linguist, the relative strengths of these two types of epistemological expectations might be reversed. The common units on the epistemology-continuum are thus the relative strengths of the person’s operational versus relational expectations regarding the concept underlying the discursive position under consideration. The common units on the credibility-continuum are the relative strengths of the person’s expectations regarding her or his own versus other persons’ competence regarding this position. The units along the axes of discursive space are thus uniformly ones of expectation. To clarify how discursive space works, let us return to our 17th Century polemicists’ discourse regarding the position, “There is a black swan.” As illustrated in Figure 1.3 instances of discourse can be depicted in terms of a two-dimensional square on which a single person is placed, but on which the coordinates of other participants are unclear. The horizontal axes on the figure’s squares rank the relative strength of each participant’s operational versus relational knowledge of the discursive position under consideration. The squares’ vertical axes correspond to the participant’s emerging ranking of her or his own expertise relative to other participants in the discourse. For example, during our hypothetical situation a 17th Century veterinarian (V) might find herself situated within the left square’s upper left-hand corner—as someone confident with her own expertise and who finds “swan” to accurately (but not beyond doubt) apply to the birds. A novice (N1) having little expertise beyond his modest readings about swans might find himself situated further to the right and below the square’s center—as someone relatively unconfident with his own competence but who finds the birds inappropriate (although not beyond question)

s

“N1”

to p

a su r e

M

c

p le tib

s su

on si

“N2” One’s relational credibility is too low to participate

“N1”

on

“L”

Position is appropriate beyond question

Figure 1.3. Discourse is a process of persuasion whereby participants of comparable credibility reach understandings regarding a position in terms of either operational or relational knowledge (but not both).

Position is accurate beyond doubt ce

p

e or

Position is appropriate beyond question

s su to

t ep

to

rs

M e or

pe

n

io

s

s ua

s Le p le tib

le ib

to

a

si

a su er

“N2” One’s operational credibility is too low to participate

s Le

p

ce

s su

le tib

u rs pe

on si

Disagreement due to high operational credibility “V”

Disagreement due to high relational credibility “L”

ce

s su

Position is accurate beyond doubt

“V”

A conceptualization: “There are no black swans.” (“Black swans” is inappropriate.)

A conception: “There are black swans.” (“Black swans” is accurate.)

on persuasion 17

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representations of “swan.” Moreover, one might imagine a linguist (L) refusing to participate in the discourse altogether. In this case, her location would be above the square’s top margin, reflecting her steadfast disagreement with the contrived position that “black swans exist.” Likewise, one might also imagine a novice (N2) positioned below the bottom margin as not becoming involved in the discourse because he evaluates the veterinarian’s credibility so highly that any position she might take would be uncritically accepted by the novice as obvious. Figure 1.3’s division into two parts depicts each discursive space’s link to a particular position—either a conception regarding accuracy and thus operational knowledge, or a conceptualization regarding appropriateness and thus relational knowledge. Note that linguistic expertise is irrelevant to discourse in which the conception, “the existence of black swans” (i.e., the non-inevitability of white swans), is being entertained. For the linguist, the issue is whether this peculiar juxtaposition of words is one that a linguistically competent person might use. The words’ empirical referents (i.e., the birds themselves) play no role in the linguist’s deliberations. Instead, the linguist justifies his discursive position with references to the words’ traditional usages (i.e., their interrelations within a historically established grammatical system).6 Conversely, veterinary expertise is irrelevant within discourse about the conceptualization, “ ‘black swans’ is inappropriate.” The veterinarian’s operational knowledge is grounded in personal empirical experiences within a field populated by swans and dark-feathered birds. Such operational expertise will have no persuasive effects when the position under consideration deals with grammatical appropriateness. Likewise, a participant’s relational expertise will be equally unpersuasive when the position deals with accuracy. Given that each discursive instance concerns a position in terms of a specific type of knowledge, participants who believe themselves to have least expertise of that type will find the position persuasive if it is espoused by other, more-expert participants within the discourse.

6 The relational expert is like the art critic, who judges how creatively an artistic expression fits within its genre. If the expression too closely follows (i.e., is overly appropriate given) the genre’s rubric, it will be deemed uncreative. If it violates the rubric, it will be deemed misrepresentative of the genre. Between these extremes lies a domain where discursive rules are stretched but not broken—a domain, for example, where one’s betrothed may “punish” one with neglect but never with mutilation.

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Conclusion There is a genre of games (e.g., the paper-and-pencil game, “Battleship,” and the board game, “Clue®”) in which each player begins with a secret, and during the course of the game players gradually learn these secrets. Now imagine that before the game can begin, each player must decide what the purpose of the game will be. Depending on the game, this might be to gain knowledge about the locations of one’s opponent’s ships or about who, where, and how a “murder” was committed. Yet despite the game’s rules, some players might have other motivations (e.g., to ensure that other players enjoy themselves, or that they feel utterly vanquished, or etc.). The model of discourse developed in this chapter can be thought of as a game that incorporates both of these characteristics. Discourse can only commence once a person conveys a position (i.e., the concept to be considered plus the type of knowledge relevant during this consideration) to be evaluated. Parties to the discourse have an initial understanding of their own expertise regarding this position, yet the expertise of others is left to emerge as discourse proceeds. Discourse terminates for a person when persuasion or repudiation occurs (i.e., when the person decides definitively that someone else is more or less of an expert regarding the position than she or he is). This model of discourse is grounded in Derrida’s position that our knowledge of concepts is suspended (or hinged) between the sensory experiences (or traces) and the grammatical applications (or articulations) we have come to expect of these concepts. It is a characterization of discourse with similarities to Habermas’s communicative action in that both depict people as grappling with the truth, normativeness, genuineness, or intelligibility of each others’ positions. Yet the characterization differs from communicative action in that (in accordance with the literature on persuasive communication) it places limits on a person’s willingness to seek understanding through discourse. In particular, discourse is pre-empted or aborted when novices accept that their relative lack of competence makes an expert’s position unintelligible for them, or when a more self-assured person rejects another’s position as contrived (and thus nongenuine). Moreover, Habermas’s presumption of intersubjective understanding is avoided in this model given its depiction of discourse from the standpoint of individuals, each of whom evaluates a position that may or may not jibe with the positions being considered by other participants in the discourse.

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Perhaps it was Habermas’s (1989) interest in locating a public sphere—a “space” where democratic peoples might find consensual solutions to their common problems—that led him to posit an idealized place where communicatively competent people attempt to impassionedly resolve their misunderstandings via relatively straightforward references to their objective, subjective, and social worlds. Whatever Habermas’s intentions, his critics have charged him with portraying the self as a bodiless subject absent “the sensuous experiences of hope and despair, of venture and humiliation” (Heller 1982, p. 21), and with wrongly assuming “that ideological factors and competing material interests could be effectively set aside in the pursuit of genuine consensus” (Gardiner 2004, p. 29; see also Fraser 1992). Yet once discourse is conceptualized as a process of knowledge-seeking (via position-evaluation), it becomes possible during discourse that participants’ initial selfassurance transforms into despair or humiliation in the wake of a more credible person’s argumentation. Although this view of discourse allows people to bracket relational knowledge while considering operational knowledge (or vice versa), participants remain incapable of bracketing all strategic concerns while “the identity of reason with the will to reason freely arises” (Habermas 1972, p. 197). Instead, they enter discourse only with a confidence commensurate with how highly they judge their own competence relative to that of others, while remaining open to re-evaluating such judgments based on the expertise or naiveté these others reveal while discursively engaged. Possibly the most controversial implication of this approach to discourse lies in its denial that people are “persuaded by the facts.” Instead, the argument here is that people develop expectations regarding “which sensory experiences are accurate (intelligible) reflections of what (true) conceptions,” just as they develop expectations regarding “which conceptualizations are appropriate (normative) expressions of what (genuine) grammars.” During discourse people willingly open these expectations to question and doubt. Yet invitations to participate in discourse will not always be greeted with such willingness. The stronger their convictions regarding “what constitute the facts,” “what has been clearly articulated,” “what contrivances are to be expected from potential participants,” or even “what one is incapable of comprehending,” the more likely people will refuse to allow themselves to be persuaded in ways at variance with the expectations they hold most dear.

CHAPTER TWO

READING PERSONHOOD But what if during discourse a participant is her- or himself the concept under consideration? That is, one’s discursive position might be a concept or conceptualization of oneself or of someone else. On such occasions, one might refer to people’s reading each others’ personhood. In other words, one might view people as understanding each others’ speech or actions as motivated to persuade the former of the truth, genuineness, intelligibility, or normativeness of the latter’s existential status as a person. As it turns out, these four types of motivation correspond roughly to those upon which classical sociological thinkers have based four distinct universalistic theories of society. Depictions of Personhood Even if one were to agree with Dennis Wrong’s (1961, p. 192) position that all sociological theories make assumptions about human nature, a review of all theoretical depictions of human nature seems a daunting, if not impossible task. Nonetheless, the theoretical landscape is narrowed considerably if one restricts oneself to theories grounded in universalistic conceptions of human nature, within which deviations from this nature are deemed exceptional or even pathological. Such universalistic theories lend themselves to the study of self-sustaining social forms (as per Simmel [1908]), because they tend to focus on how societies are possible when people have a consistent context within which to interpret each other’s words and deeds. Thus at the outset let us remove from consideration all subversive theories that focus primarily on limitations and dangers inherent in the status quo (and, possibly, on means for its transcendence), but that fall short of proposing a self-sustaining alternative social form. Accordingly, I exclude theories critical of rampant capitalism (e.g., Adorno, Offe, and others of the Frankfurt School), of social complacency (e.g., Giddens, Beck, and other risk theorists), of ascription (e.g., Derrida, Butler, and other post-structuralists and antiessentialists), and of noncontextualization (e.g., Lyotard, Gergen, and

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other postmodernists and social constructionists). This paring down process leaves, I suggest, theories, each of which can be roughly classified according to its grounding in one of four universalistic conceptualizations of human nature—one of four readings of personhood. In the following subsections, I briefly review the type of personhood characteristic of each (respectively, of the agent, collaborator, persona, and follower).1 Individualism. Theories of individualism are ones in which each person seeks to realize a goal by the most efficient means at her or his disposal. Rational choice theory (plus, beyond some normative constraints, exchange theory) is the most obvious candidate for this classification. Yet individualism’s roots date back at least to Weber’s (1976 [1922], p. 13) description of the ends-reasoning (zweckrational ) agent “who orients his dealings according to ends, means, and consequences, and thereby weighs out means against ends, ends against consequences, as well as finally the various possible ends among themselves.” This contemplative, rational person is arguably the one most widely presumed in contemporary US sociology. It is the self whose ends may not only be economic, but also be ones of approval (Blau 1964, p. 158; Coleman 1990, p. 283), personal integrity (Homans 1958, p. 602), power and prestige (Hechter & Kanazawa 1997, p. 194), and the like. The agent is thus a utilitarian, who dispassionately seeks to produce the most valued ends by the most opportune means—means that remain used until it is apparent that the ends have, in truth, appeared. Mutualism. Theories of mutualism have a deontological character in which people are depicted as intermittently alleviating conditions of potential harm to others. The philosophical roots here lie with Kant, and possibly with Weber’s value-rationality (but only insofar as persons’ ultimately valued goal is linked to their common welfare). Whereas the agent is fundamentally rational, the collaborator is commonly depicted as reasonable. For example, Freud frequently spoke of the psychotherapist as someone who educates or trains (erzieht) patients.

1 I hope that the reader is willing to indulge my taking some license not only in applying nonstandard personhood-labels within each class of theories, but also in my omission of many theoretical nuances that bridge or fall outside these classes. Furthermore, no claim is being made here that depictions of personhood that fall outside my four classes are not “really” ones of personhood. Instead, my motivation is simply to fit a broad swath of sociological theorizing into a rudimentary comparative framework while simultaneously grounding a corresponding form of personhood in each.

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Thus trained, the ego becomes ‘reasonable’ (verständig). It no longer allows itself to be controlled by the pleasure-principle, but follows the realityprinciple, which also basically wants to attain pleasure, albeit a deferred and diminished pleasure secured by taking reality into consideration. (1924, p. 370)

Properly socialized people will thus have learned to subsume their hedonistic impulses to collectively reasonable means. In like fashion the functionalist depiction of personhood is of someone who evaluates the reasonableness of conduct in terms of the broader needs (or functional imperatives) of society. In this vein consider Parsons’s (1954, p. 78) argument that a person’s illness “must be understood in terms of the common values of a system of social interaction . . . ; one can only speak of sickness in this sense if the deviance is ‘unconscious’.” During communicative action Habermas (1979, p. 41f ) too depicts people as reasonable interactants who seek common discursive grounds with others in order that they might return to the comforts of their (only secondarily rational) strategic actions. In each case, people are depicted as collaborators striving to maintain cognitive/social processes against contingencies over which they have only partial control (viz., hedonistic impulses, imperfect socialization, and misunderstanding). If the collaborator is a hedonist, it is one of an Epicurean sort, namely one for whom neither reason nor pleasure goes too far “because, if they were, they would come upon knowledge that negates enjoyment” (Marcuse 1968, p. 172). The collaborator is thus someone who genuinely curbs such discretions whenever it appears that they might jeopardize the continued functioning of her or his community. Essentialism. Theories of essentialism depict people as linked to fixed identities. For example, Goffman (1959, p. 17) argued that each person “implicitly requests his (sic) observers to take seriously the impression that is fostered before them.” Such a persona is fundamentally different from collaborators, who are duty-bound to fulfill their communal responsibilities and whose community suffers when responsibilities are left undone. In contrast, personae’s sheer intelligibility depends on others’ seeing them for “who they are,” leaving their audiences more amused than perturbed by their improprieties. For example, Mead (1964 [1913]), the social behaviorist (Lewis 1979), depicted people’s thoughtful accommodation of each other’s attitudes as a stimulus to their respective behavioral responses. Unlike the Freudian neurotic who strives for rehabilitation into its community, the persona is ontologically linked to a social situation. If the situation changes, the persona—by virtue of its

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consequentially unsituated identity—becomes irrelevant (like the pianist who leaves the concert hall to join a football game). Accordingly, Goffman (1961) has argued that personae tactfully maintain their situation, and thereby themselves, via “rules of irrelevance” and “transformation rules” (whereby extra-situational matters are respectively filtered out or modified). Perhaps the best conceptual model of the persona is that of a control-system, within which “(t)he subject behaves exactly as if he (sic) is comparing the perceived state of affairs with the reference perception of how that perception ‘should’ look” (Powers 1973, p. 46). In other words, the persona imagines a fixed reference perception while acting in ways to keep her or his image in alignment with this subjectively held reference, or “identity standard” (Burke 1991). Personae are thus perpetually seen in terms of their identities within the situation at hand. Doctrinism. Theories of doctrinism depict people as living in accordance with doctrines that legitimize the status quo. For example, to Karl Marx the factory worker is a follower, who blindly accepts the legitimacy of capitalist forms of exploitation. Whereas personae alter their modifiable environment in accordance with their identities, followers’ beliefs are a reflection of their environment: “Life is not determined by consciousness, but consciousness by life” (Marx 1978 [1845–6], p. 27). Consequently, a person who controls others’ lives controls their consciousness as well, such that they are susceptible to the controller’s self-proclaimed (divine, legal, etc.) right to power. Of course, Marx then proposed that workers might transcend their exploiters’ self-promoting doctrines, making way for radical schools of Marxist and feminist thought (Lukács 1971; Wittig 1980; MacKinnon 1997; etc.).2 Other conflict theorists (Collins 1975; Tilly 2002; etc.) circumvent Marx’s revolutionary dogma with an individualistic depiction of personhood within which power (under which wealth, prestige, etc. are subsumed) becomes the overarching ends of premeditated social action, and violence its potential means. Yet a third theoretical trajectory (Althusser 1984; Latour 1993; Bourdieu & Passeron 1990) holds closer to the image of “personhood as follower” being referred to here. This is a

Moderate feminists like Smith (1992) and Collins (2000) take positions more in line with one of this chapter’s arguments, namely that rather than uncritically accepting a dominant theoretical discourse, social scientists should be open to social forms that vary according to the standpoint of the persons under study. 2

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structuralist view of the person, for whom relations among people follow the rules set out in a doctrinal grammar. (S)ubjects . . . “work by themselves” in the vast majority of cases, with the exception of the “bad subjects” who on occasion provoke the intervention of one of the detachments of the (repressive) State apparatus. But the vast majority of (good) subjects work all right “all by themselves” . . . They “recognize” the existing state of affairs (das Bestehende), that “it really is true that it is so and not otherwise,” and that they must be obedient. . . . Their concrete, material behavior is simply the inscription in life of the admirable words of the prayer: “Amen—So be it.” (Althusser 1984, p. 55, quotes and parentheses in original)

Unlike the persona, who is concerned that its identity remains intelligible to its audience, the follower is motivated to remain beyond notice, as a passing “inscription in life” in normative conformity with the reigning doctrine. Accordingly, followers’ motivations are toward the appropriate expression of (or fidelity to) this doctrine’s grammar. Note the interesting pattern that arises when one contrasts the motives attributed to the agent, collaborator, persona, and follower. The agent subjectively weighs costs and benefits before pursuing any course of action. Her or his primary objective is to get desirable states to appear. The collaborator too thinks before acting. Yet in this case, the primary motivation is to reverse undesirable (e.g., dysfunctional) circumstances, rather than on getting desirable circumstances to materialize. The focus of personae is on the extent to which their characterizations are consistent with the identities they seek to portray. Most commonly, these identities are valued images that each tries to prevent from disappearing. The follower strives for grammatically correct expressions of social doctrine. Here the objective is to keep blasphemous (i.e., ungrammatical) expressions from appearing. Table 2.1 summarizes this 2-by-2 pattern. Both agent and collaborator are the active subjects of changes in their respective circumstances. Yet agents’ behaviors are toward the appearance of desired states, whereas collaborators’ behaviors are toward the elimination of undesired ones. In contrast, persona and follower are both passive responders to their respective circumstances. Whereas the persona’s behavior is toward the retention of desired impressions, the follower’s behavior is toward the avoidance of undesired ones. Thus, we arrive at four “human natures” presumed within these four universalistic theories. In a nutshell, people are motivated toward making . . .

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Table 2.1. Four universalistic conceptualizations of human nature People are motivated toward making . . . States Impressions Apparent Nonapparent

• • • •

Individualism (agent) Mutualism (collaborator)

Essentialist (persona) Doctrinism (follower)

desired states (or goals) apparent. undesired (dysfunctional) states nonapparent. desired impressions (namely, one’s presentation of self ) apparent. undesired (inappropriate) impressions nonapparent.

Countless volumes have been written on how all human behavior is properly understood as fundamentally motivated in accordance with only one of these mechanisms. For example, consider the tomes devoted to Parsons’s insistence that social institutions are only possible when (with near universality) people give goal attainment secondary importance relative to dutifully meeting their social institutions’ functional prerequisites. In contrast, there is Hechter’s (1990) compelling counterargument that cooperative institutions are also possible in a world universally populated by rational agents (specifically, as a secondary consequence of their attempts to more efficiently attain their goals). My suggestion here is that understanding of social phenomena might be better served if instead of posing the theoretical (or, one might argue, rhetorical) question, “Which motivational mechanism is universal,” one considers the empirical question, “Which type of intention is in play.” Only once the rhetorical question has been suspended, can at least potential legitimacy be attributed to the latter question. In the following two sections, I develop a formal theoretical language that treats people’s intentions as discrete interpretive forms—only one of which may be in play at any given time. This book’s appendix contains a formalization of the language in first-order logic. Toward a Theory of Motivations Having sketched out four models of personhood that predominate in sociology, I now begin constructing a theoretical foundation for these

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Figure 2.1. Eight drawings illustrating ambiguity in perception (from Fisher, 1967, with permission).

models based on four distinct ways of reading the world (or Weltanschauungen). The theory is built around three key ideas: the inherent ambiguity of perception, reality as system or field, and distinctions among sign, symbol, thought, and discretion. Yet underlying all these ideas are our experiences of subliminal sensory data—experiences that accumulate until one perceives something to have appeared or vacated. Sensation, perception, and being. Long before the advent of morphing software, ambiguity in our sensations had been made glaringly apparent in Escher’s art and Wittgenstein’s philosophical investigations (1970 [1953], p. 194). Thom (1975) even developed mathematical models to account for the lag between changes in our sensations and “catastrophic” shifts in how these sensations are perceived. Soon thereafter empirical evidence consistent with these models appeared in the psychological literature (Isnard & Zeeman 1976, Zeeman 1977, Poston & Stewart 1978, Stewart & Peregoy 1983). Yet sociologists have almost completely ignored the theoretical implications of the fact that two people can read the same sensory stimuli differently. (See Granovetter and Soong [1983] and DeVault [1990] for noteworthy exceptions.) For example, when subjects are asked to view the sequence of drawings in Figure 2.1 from left to right, the fourth and fifth drawings will consistently be read as ones of a man’s face. Yet when the sequencing is reversed, these same drawings are read as ones of a woman. My theory begins with a model of perception that allows for such ambiguity. Let’s refer to the content of a single sensation as an aspect. Think of aspects as being like pixels on one’s computer screen. Like the number of pixels (or the number of neural connections from one’s sense organs into one’s brain), the number of possible aspects is finite. Yet aspects are not located “out there” like Leibniz’s monads in some ontologically presumed reality. Aspects comprise content that remains subliminal (and thus locationless) “without the difference or opposition which gives them form” (Derrida 1976, p. 62). Thus although one may speak of aspects as either sensed or not sensed at various times, one

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does not notice one’s sensations of individual aspects ( just as one fails to notice the on or off status of individual pixels). Following Husserl (1972 [1913], chap. 2) and most contemporary epistemologists (cf., e.g., Hamlyn [1970, p. 163]), my position is that perception is concept dependent. That is, our experiences are mediated by concepts—sets of aspects, some or all of which may be sensed at any given time. In particular, if all of a concept’s aspects are sensed, it appears; if none of its aspects are sensed it vacates. Note that the number of concepts is astronomical, given that the number of aspects is large and that every combination of aspects comprises a concept. This number is dramatically reduced, however, if one restricts oneself only to concepts that are known at a given time. Unlike unknown concepts, every known concept has a status-aspect (i.e., an aspect that when sensed the concept appeared more recently than it last vacated, and when not sensed the concept vacated more recently than it last appeared). One might speculate that a concept’s status-aspect originates only after its other aspects have had a sufficiently recurrent pattern of sensing and not sensing. Yet whereas unknown concepts may appear and vacate beyond notice, people have control over the concepts they know in that a concept will only appear once its status-aspect is sensed and will only vacate once it is not sensed. This is why, for example, one need have no “objective” basis for one’s willingness or one’s refusal to acknowledge failure. And so it is with the status-aspect that I move beyond positing merely behaviorist responses to sensory stimuli. Moreover, without loss of generality I assume (i.e., ignoring cases of brain damage, memory loss, etc.) that once a concept is known, it is known at all subsequent times. Frequently a known concept will be neither apparent nor vacant, but will be ambiguous in that only some of its aspects are sensed. When faced with such ambiguous stimuli, perceptions involve more than potentially shared “public” sensations of aspects. For example, when reading the middle drawings in Figure 2.1, the male (or female) character resides not solely in the drawings themselves, but has a historical “location” depending on the reader’s prior applications to the figure’s drawings of the known concept, “man” (or “woman”). This historical dimension follows from the constraint that as long as a concept remains ambiguous (and thus neither appears nor vacates), there is no change in whether the concept appeared more recently than it last vacated or vice versa. Moreover, a known concept’s existential status is, I argue, a direct consequence of this experiential history: Every concept that

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“Is” is a known concept that appeared more recently than it vacated, and every concept that “Is Not” is a known concept that vacated more recently than it appeared. Accordingly, a concept’s existential status remains unchanged as long it remains ambiguous. The appearing or vacating of a concept thus comprises a catastrophe (in the Thomian sense previously mentioned) when the existential status of a known concept switches from “Is” to “Is Not” or vice versa. Yet it is here that the limitations of the illustration in Figure 2.1 become apparent. There, a man’s face “Is” until a woman “Is”. Still unclear is what it means to sense a concept that “Is Not”. And so a new illustration is called for. 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 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. The formalization in the appendix lists a theorem (Theorem 1) that can be derived at this point—a theorem that, fortunately, notes the impossibility that a concept’s existential status might be both “Is” and “Is Not” at the same time. Of course, the fortune in this conclusion is that one finds it hard to imagine what it would be like to experience a concept that simultaneously “Is” and “Is Not”. Yet this theorem does not preclude the possibility that there is a time when a concept neither “Is” nor “Is Not”—which, it turns out, indicates that the concept is unknown at the time. For example, many an American entrepreneur has been unable to sense not only the wa that “Is” in a Japanese corporate board meeting, but also the disruption of wa (such that it “Is Not”) she or he may bring about (cf. Wierzbicka 1997, p. 248f ). For the uninitiated, the existential status of wa is that it neither “Is” nor “Is Not”. In contrast, for each Japanese board member wa is known and thus either “Is” or “Is Not”; it would never have neither existential status.

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chapter two All Concepts

Sensed aspects of known concepts

Appears and thus “Is”

Not sensed aspects of known concepts Ambiguous and “Is Not”

Ambiguous and “Is”

Vacates and thus “Is Not”

Aspects of no known concept

Figure 2.2. After a known concept vacates, its existential status is “Is Not” until it appears; after it appears, its existential status is “Is” until it vacates.

Figure 2.2 depicts the relations among aspects, concepts, and existential statuses set out thus far. The figure’s rectangle encloses all aspects, and thereby all concepts (i.e., all possible sets of aspects). Between the rectangle and the two hexagons lie those aspects that are not of any known concept. The left hexagon contains all aspects of known concepts that are sensed and the right one contains all those that are not sensed. Consequently all known concepts that appear (and thus have “Is” existential statuses) are contained within the left hexagon, and all those that vacate (and thus have “Is Not” existential statuses) are within the right one. All ambiguous concepts straddle the boundary shared by the two hexagons, since, by definition, some of their aspects are sensed and others are not. An ambiguous concept’s existential status depends on whether it most recently appeared or vacated (i.e., was respectively contained within the left or right hexagon). Accordingly, the left-pointing arrow to the right of the upper ambiguous concept suggests that it most recently vacated and thus “Is Not”; the right-pointing arrow to

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the left of the lower ambiguous concept suggests that it most recently appeared and thus “Is”. The implication here is that concepts’ existential statuses will be inconsistently read among people who differ in their most recent unambiguous experiences of the concept. Thus two observers may honestly disagree over whether or not a cigarette-smoking teenager is “a good kid,” when one’s most recent perception of the youth was as belonging to an unassailably good family but the other’s was of the youth as rolling marijuana into his cigarette. Reality. The frequency of such inconsistent readings will be reduced considerably if both interactants interpret ambiguous concepts in accordance with the same reality. On the one hand, reality may be a system within which public space consists of everything that “Is Not” until (or unless) it “Is”. On the other hand, it may be a field within which public space consists of everything that “Is” until (or unless) it “Is Not”. For instance, to gain consistency in their readings the decrepittrashcan’s owner must induce the trash handler to read the trashcan not as an occasion for participating within a system of trash removal but as a removal-worthy object within a field. More fundamentally put, my position is that at any given moment all known concepts are read exclusively in terms of one of these two realities. Perhaps it would be instructive here to draw parallels with another theorist’s use of the terms, “system” and “field.” To Bourdieu an artistic field is always the site of struggle between advocates for heteronomous versus autonomous principles for evaluating art. The former advocates, in appealing to “definitions of the object and the boundaries of the population . . . to give themselves an air of scientificity, ignore the fact . . . that the definition of the writer (or artist, etc.) is an issue at stake in struggles in every literary (or artistic, etc.) field” as pursued by the latter advocates (Bourdieu 1993, pp. 41–2, parentheses in original). My position is that these two types of advocates read artistry according to distinct forms of reality. Established artists read their world as a field, with clearly distinguishable artists and art objects, whereas autonomous artists may develop an avant-garde system of art evaluation. For Bourdieu the system is grounded in a historical struggle between dominant versus dominated actors within the field; for me it is Bourdieu who invites his reader to transcend readings of art and artistry as objective aspects of a field and to read them as occasions for struggles of domination within a system of artistic evaluation. His invitation to view a “field as a system” (Bourdieu 1971, p. 166) is not uncommon from social commentators, be it in critiques of the nonobjective natures of art (Adorno

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1967), science (Collins 2000, Gergen 1997), or the marketplace (Mills 1963, Marcuse 1966). By conceptualizing system and field as mutually exclusive at any particular time, neither is granted precedence over the other. Each remains a distinct way of interpreting the world: as a system in accordance with which to read concepts’ historical potentialities or as a field in accordance with which to read their empirical existence.3 Like Bourdieu’s artists who either embrace a system of avant-garde artistic evaluation or restrict themselves to the field of the status quo, at any given moment one always views one’s present either as a process within a system or as a state within a field. If reality could simultaneously be both field and system, one would be unable to resolve cases in which ambiguous concepts (e.g., trashy trashcans) might be read in accordance with either. However given that field and system cannot be simultaneous, these cases are resolved as all concepts of a single existential status are removed from public consideration. When reality is a system, every known concept that “Is” is simply outside reality and thereby beyond public notice. When reality is a field, every concept that “Is Not” falls outside reality. Thus at any given time every known concept can be uniquely categorized in accordance with its (either “Is” or “Is Not”) existential status and the (either field or system) reality in accordance with which it is interpreted. Sign versus symbol. For most semioticians a symbol is a type of sign—a signifier with a specific relation to its signified object (Peirce 1932; Morris 1938; Sebeok 1994; but also see Ayer [1952, p. 62] for whom signs are elements of symbols). Depending on the typology, symbols are contrasted with other signs according to the extent and nature of their “similarity” with their referential objects. Reminiscent of de Sassure’s (1986, p. 67) insistence on the arbitrary relation between sign and object, Pierce and his followers generally referred to symbols as the most arbitrary of signs because they are linked to their objects solely via conventional linguistic usage. Yet in a radical departure from this schema, Susan Langer (1976, p. 61) argued that “signs announce their objects” to a person, “whereas symbols lead him (sic) to conceive their

3 Note the parallel here with the previous chapter’s discussion of Derrida’s hinge. Through articulation concepts are linked into a grammatical system, whereas through différance they are linked to a field of sensory experience. During discourse a concept’s hinged (or dual) nature gives way to its consideration either relationally in terms of the system, or operationally in terms of the field, but never both.

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objects.” That is, signs are other-referential and thus afford themselves to rational consideration as signs within a sign system, whereas symbols are self-referential in that they are uncritically identified with their objects. It is this latter, more sociological distinction that I incorporate into the definitions that follow. Following Berger and Luckmann (1966, p. 36), I take the structuralist stance that signs are clustered within systems. Yet unlike them, I do not restrict signs’ other-referential nature to one of indicating persons’ subjective intentions. Instead of identifying signs with individuals’ private thoughts (i.e., as falling outside a field), I define sign as a component within a publicly accessible system, like a machine or an ecosystem. The defining characteristic of a sign is thus that it “Is Not” when reality is a system. Whereas a sign indicates something other than itself, a symbol is a representation of something. This conceptualization of symbol is nearly identical to Berger and Luckmann’s “symbolization” (1966, p. 75) and, from a more critical standpoint, Derrida’s “instituted trace” (1976, p. 46). In each case, reference is made to an entity that is uncritically read as representative of (i.e., self-referentially at one with) a concept. Yet any reading-as-symbol requires its “trace” (possibly via human enactment). Absent a trace every known concept is vacant, not only ensuring its existential status as “Is Not”, but also ensuring the following: If reality is a system, the concept is read as a sign; but if reality is a field, it is outside reality (and thus removed from public consideration). Note that signs involve time, even if only that involved in switching one’s attention from a concept that “Is Not” to its referent (e.g., from a trashcan to its contents). Every symbol occupies space, namely that segment of its field within which its trace is present and which thereby locates it in accordance with its existential status of “Is”. The set of signs that comprise a system may be collectively thought of in terms of the rules for (or grammar of ) the signs’ appropriate uses. When used inappropriately a concept would appear (e.g., as a stutter interrupting discourse), and at that moment could no longer be read as a sign (i.e., as indicating something other than itself ). Instead, it would either be read as a symbol or, if reality were a system, fall outside reality. When a known concept is outside reality, it takes on a private character. Signs and symbols are public in that when people presume a common reality, they also presume that they share the same system of signs or the same field of symbols. In contrast, thoughts and discretions are inherently private. Each implies a subjectivity that veils either thoughts

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chapter two Table 2.2. Four categories of known concepts Existential status Reality

Is

Field

Symbol

System

Discretion

Is not 1 3 2 4

Thought

Sign

without correspondence to the field or discretions without conformity to the system. Accordingly, I now define thought as a concept that “Is Not” when reality is a field—a reality from which thoughts are excluded. Likewise, discretion is a concept that “Is” when reality is a system—a reality from which discretions are excluded. Thus without direct access to your subjectivity it is impossible for others to know for certain whether, for example, your reading a book on the job “Is Not” (i.e., constitutes the unremarkable sign of a responsible colleague participating in the academic system) or “Is” (i.e., constitutes the discretionary act of a lazy colleague acting outside the system’s requirements). Moreover, at this point one can deduce (v. Theorem 3 in the appendix) that at any given time every known concept is exclusively a sign, symbol, thought, or discretion. Table 2.2 depicts the interrelations among these four categories of known concepts. Reading Personhood Reading a change in a concept’s existential status involves understanding the concept in accordance with a consistent reality (i.e., while reality either remains a system or remains a field). For example, while reality is a system a concept like “engine” might transform from the locus of a disconcerting “knock” to an unremarkable sign of smooth performance at the moment that its “discretionary” sounds vacate (i.e., change from “Is” to “Is Not”) as a mechanic adjusts its timing. Likewise, while reality is a field “table” might transform from thought to symbolic representation when the existential status of “3 or more legs” changes from “Is

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Not” to “Is” as previously unapparent legs are unfolded from beneath a card table. More generally, it follows (v. Theorem 4 in the appendix) that there are four ways in which a concept can be read over time: It may transfer from discretion to sign, from thought to symbol, or as the converse of one of these. Personhood is the intentionality attributed to (or, in Goffman’s terms, the interpretation as a “guided doing” of ) a concept over time. Unlike the process of an engine’s vacating or a table’s appearance, this process of attribution only applies to concepts while they remain ambiguous. Accordingly, one might attribute changes in an engine’s performance to a mechanic (but only prior to its being repaired), or attribute changes in a table’s appearance to one’s host (but only prior to its being assembled). Since every reading ends with the unambiguous appearing or vacating of a concept, attribution stops at the moment the reading ends. Note that this definition of personhood as “attributed intentionality” is sufficiently broad to accommodate persons behind disembodied voices over the telephone, behind the actions of robots directed by remote control, as well as behind the activities of nonhuman animals. The definition also leaves open the possibility that human beings might not be understood as persons at all, but rather as vacant system-components or apparent objects within a field. There are four mutually exclusive (v. Theorem 5) forms according to which intentionality is attributed to concepts’ existential changes: agency, collaboration, personification, and fidelity.4 If reality is a field, every concept that “Is Not” is outside this reality. Given that in a field every concept that “Is Not” is a thought, a Cartesian image of personhood emerges. If read as agency the person’s 4 Of course, other typologies of personhood have been developed by social scientists. For example, in taking developmental approaches to the interpretation of personhood Mauss (1985 [1938]) argued for progress from the persona (an unreflective part of society) to the person (individual consciousness itself ) and Elias (1985 [1939]) for progress from primitive (externally constrained) to civilized (self-restrained) forms of personhood. Margolis (1998) posits three primary types of self (the exchanger, the obligated self, and the cosmic self ) and three combinations of these forms (the reciprocator, the called self, and the civic self ). Habermas (1984, p. 285) in his distinction among actors involved in “instrumental, strategic, and communicative action” and Luhmann (1993, p. 223f ) in his discussions of “first- and second-order observers,” allow for multifarious readings of personhood. The closest to my four types of readings is Simmel’s “great forms of mental life” (1977 [1905], pp. 77–87), comprised of scholarship, art, reality, and religion. Yet in each case, the theoretical basis of the typology receives little attention in comparison to its lengthy application.

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thoughts are private (although accessible via symbols in the field). Reading agency begins by drawing inferences from people’s behaviors to their thoughts (i.e., to the ends they seek to have appear). As depicted by the left-pointing arrow (Arrow 1) in the first row of Table 2.2, when one of these thoughts does appear, the concept’s existential change transforms it from mere thought into a symbol of the person’s goal achievement (i.e., into another object, among many in the field). Reminiscent of the previous overview, this is the individualist manner of reading personhood used by rational choice theorists. Yet beyond the borders of the United States, few readings of personhood are of this type. For example, to most Western Europeans reality is a system from which people are ontologically excluded.5 Typically their initial readings of concepts associated with each other are as an existence that “Is” (i.e., as their dress, their smile, etc.). A person’s discretion “is purely interrogative. If it can posit questions this is because it is itself always in question; its being is never given but interrogated” (Sartre 1966, p. 787). As depicted by the right-pointing arrow (Arrow 2) in the bottom row of Table 2.2, interrogation will likely subside when such discretion vacates, transforming it into a sign of the person’s need articulation (i.e., into a requirement, among many in the system). In attempting to collaborate with others, “an individual must find her or his identity amid the strategies and options provided by abstract systems” (Giddens 1990, p. 124). Acutely aware of both the system’s functional imperatives and their responsibility when articulating them, people find that “any choice implies the negation of its counter possibility” (Luhmann 1995, p. 445). Accordingly, collaboration is the mutualist (e.g., functionalist) reading of a person’s discretions until they can be interpreted as responsibly articulating (and thereby negating) the system requirements being signified.

5 The word “most” requires clarification here. Of course, there are Americans who constantly read people’s discretions according to some religious or ideological system, and there are Western Europeans who read people’s thoughts as premonitions of achievements to be. Yet a society need not be very large before most of the relations among its members are relations between strangers. Before alternative interpersonal readings are possible, primary frameworks (or cultural starting points) are needed from which deeper relations may evolve (Goffman 1974, p. 21f ). The point being made is thus that reading a stranger in the US as someone performing discretions short of duty, would lead to as much confusion as would reading a stranger in rural Norway as someone engaged in thoughts short of achievement.

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In most of East Asia, the prevailing reading of personhood is as one of many symbols within their common field. There are no inner thoughts. “We say ‘inner world’ or ‘outer world,’ but actually there is just one whole world” (Suzuki 1996, p. 29). The valued state is to become so much at one with the field that one’s behaviors are observed as perfect embodiments within this field (as an object, albeit an animate one, devoid of thought). Thoughts are prompted by imperfections in people’s embodiments; they separate them from what they are. There is no restraint in how badly the vulgar (literally, “little”) man acts in his private life, but when he sees a virtuous man, he instantly tries to disguise himself, concealing the bad and showing off the good in him. But what good is his disguise, if people see into his very heart when they look at him? This illustrates the saying, “What is truly within (tr.: a man’s heart) will be shown without (tr.: in his outward appearance).” (The Great Learning, 6, p. 2, translation by Yong Wang)

Thus with personification a person’s concept is read as long as at least some of its aspects are sensed, allowing one to politely ignore all that is not sensed but to become more amused as the occasional faux pas brings the concept closer to vacating. As per my previous discussion, theories of essentialism (e.g., dramaturgy) incorporate this type of personhood into their depictions of human nature. For example, personification corresponds closely to Goffman’s (1959, p. 253) image of self for which “the crucial concern is whether it will be credited or discredited.” As depicted by the right-pointing arrow (Arrow 3) in the first row of Table 2.2, if none of the aspects associated with a person’s concept is sensed, readers are left with the mere thought of an embodiment of the person’s identity and its lack of correspondence with the ridiculous flailings of the one who has lost face. According to the Qur ān, “if others believe as ye believe, they are indeed on the right path; but if they turn back, it is they who are in schism” (Sūrah 2, v. 137). When read as fidelity, a person’s concepts are (at least initially) signs that implement the single true system of beliefs (or doctrine). The valued state is to become so much at one with the system that one’s behaviors are interpreted purely as implementations of this system (and thus devoid of discretion). A concept is read as fidelity only as long as at least a slight semblance of its signification masks what might otherwise appear as discretion. When a person’s discretions appear, as depicted by the left-pointing arrow (Arrow 4) in the bottom row of Table 2.2, the concept can no longer be read as fidelity. Such

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discretions call forth corrective action from others with more fidelity to the system than the person whose fidelity just lapsed. Note that beyond their application in Islamic societies, these social dynamics correspond closely to those mentioned earlier as depicted in theories of doctrinism (cf. Althusser [1984] on state-sponsored repression and Bourdieu & Passeron [1990] on “symbolic violence”). Discussion One of this chapter’s objectives has been to show that four universalistic theories of human nature can be made consistent once the scope of each is restricted to a discrete type of personhood reading. Only after discarding the universality premise of each, was I able to situate the theories within a broader conceptual framework—one of an inherently ambiguous world, populated by people with potentially inconsistent perceptions of both it and each other. As a consequence, seeming inconsistencies among the theories disappear once they are located as discrete perspectives within people’s minds. Yet if one conceptualizes each person as understanding the world in her or his own way, the theorist is left with the challenge of explaining how such people can communicate. If there are as many perspectives as there are people, then the worlds they perceive must be distinct ones about which they could presumably never agree. The traditional “solution” to this dilemma has been to treat these differences as noise (i.e., as due to goal-inconsistency, imperfect socialization, misapprehension, or indoctrination), and to proceed as if all motivations were like one’s own. However, as contacts among people from various world cultures become increasingly commonplace, this premise has become less defensible and more noticeably ethnocentric. Such contacts also teach one to distinguish between one’s “reading into” others versus one’s remaining open to a “reading of ” them. If one wishes to avoid the former, one must learn to recognize cues into how others read themselves. Instead of proposing a shared universalistic perspective, my suggestion is that communication only requires a “minimal consensus” for people to consistently read each other. In particular, stable readings of personhood only require a consensus on both what constitutes reality and what existential change a person intends. On the one hand, readers must agree that reality is either system or field. On the other hand, the person’s intention must be understood as toward either the appearance

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or the vacating of the concept being read. These four ways of reading personhood correspond roughly to the depictions of human nature in four classes of universalistic sociological theory, and—as suggested here but argued extensively in the balance of this book—to the ways in which personhood is generally read among members of four broad types of world cultures.6 Thus far I have argued that persuasion hinges in four ways, and that personhood is read in four ways. In the next chapter “ambiguity reduction” is introduced as people’s—or, by proxy, Nerbys’—motivational mechanism. The challenge thus becomes one of explaining how this mechanism yields the four readings of personhood just described. Let’s begin with what Germans call a Gedankenexperiment (i.e., an experiment in one’s mind).

6 The idea that cultures can be differentiated according to motivational psychologies dates back at least to Max Weber’s analyses of world cultures. In more recent treatments, Fiske (1991) and Triandis (1995) develop four-fold classifications with some similarities to the one suggested here. Whereas Fiske emphasizes differences in the standards people use to guide their decisions and Triandis emphasizes variations in people’s attitudes, my argument is that the theoretical spadework underlying world cultures can be found with longstanding universalistic sociological traditions. The argument continues in Chapter 3 with an explanation of how the four readings of personhood are sustained via the consistent use of four corresponding modal languages among distinct world societies.

CHAPTER THREE

GEDANKENEXPERIMENT In 1998 Tiger Electronics introduced the FurbyTM—an electronic soft-toy with an apparent ability to communicate and learn. FurbysTM (its designated plural form) initially speak only “Furbish.” Yet in time (presumably as they matured) they were programmed to gradually speak more English. Recently some programmers have altered Furbys’ TM psychology by modifying their software. Let’s imagine ourselves doing the same, thereby producing the “Nerby,” a hybrid form, instead. This Gedankenexperiment (literally, “thought experiment”) is of the same type performed by every universalistic social theorist. One first imagines sentient creatures endowed with a specific nature, and then retreats to a location from which one can, as a universal (i.e., unmotivated) observer, deduce a variety of social consequences. One might, for example, deduce the origins of cooperative institutions among a group of individualistic, goal-seeking Nerbys, or of social change among Nerbys programmed to maintain the status quo. Of course, no respectable social theorist would refer to Nerbys here. After all, why obscure the fact that one is theorizing about humans and human nature? At the risk of being considered unrespectable by some, universalistic theorizing often has the effect of persuading the reader that one’s ideas are universal, rather than universalistic; that they are true, rather than theoretical. My purpose in theorizing about “Nerby nature” is to ensure that the reader retreats with me to a universalistic, but not a universal, location where we can deduce the social implications of Nerbys’ nature. If readers find enough parallels between human nature and the “nature” of reprogrammed FurbysTM, then, as is my hope, this mind experiment may yield them a new location from which to understand more of humanity than they found “visible” from their old locations. And so let us program a group of Nerbys with a set of known concepts about each other (e.g., happy, busy, Nerby, etc.), and with the universal motivation to reduce the ambiguity of the most ambiguous of these concepts. Recalling from the previous chapter that unambiguous concepts are ones that appear (i.e., all of the aspects of which

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are sensed) or vacate (i.e., none of the aspects of which are sensed), a concept reaches its point of greatest ambiguity when precisely half of its aspects are sensed. Accordingly, a Nerby’s most ambiguous concept at any specific time is the known concept that is the closest to having a one-to-one ratio between its aspects that are sensed and its aspects that are not. Figure 3.1 illustrates the fine gradations of ambiguity that any concept might have. Within the figure “Concept” is placed on a white background if its existential status is “Is” and on a black background if it is “Is Not”. A concept is unambiguous when it appears (i.e., when all its aspects are sensed, and thus has pure white letters in the figure) or vacates (i.e., when none of its aspects are sensed, and thus has pure black letters in the figure). A concept’s maximum ambiguity is reached when precisely half of its aspects are sensed—a state depicted in Figure 3.1 as occurring when “Concept” is at a shade of grey halfway between pure white and pure black. To say that a Nerby is motivated to reduce a concept’s ambiguity is to say that its motivation is to facilitate the concept’s appearing (if more than half of the concept’s aspects are sensed) or its vacating (if less than half of them are). So what would be a Nerby’s motivation when exactly half of its most ambiguous concept’s aspects are sensed? In this special case, let’s program our Nerbys to enter a state of “being puzzled”—a state out of which they are only released given a change in the proportion of the concept’s aspects that it senses. Note that such puzzlement will likely be short-lived given that internal cognitive and physiological stimuli (e.g., a blink that shuts off visual input) will keep every concept’s proportion of sensed aspects in flux. To simplify our terminology, let us refer to all ambiguous concepts with “Is” existential status as either plausible (if more than half their respective aspects are sensed) or implausible (if less than half are sensed). Let us also refer to all ambiguous concepts with “Is Not” existential status as either noticeable (if more than half their respective aspects are sensed) or unnoticeable (if less than half are sensed). Accordingly, one can refer to motivations toward reducing the ambiguity of concepts in each of these four states as ones to respectively facilitate a concept’s plausibility, its implausibility, its noticeability, or its unnoticeability. The ambiguity-reduction principle that we have programmed into the Nerbys thus entails that their motivations will be toward the appearing of plausible or noticeable concepts, and toward the vacating of implausible or

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fa Ambiguity cil ttyy i i l l ita ii b b i te i s s im aauu l l pl Concept ee pp au t t aa sib t t i i l l i i ili cc ty Concept Concept ffaa Appears

Concept

Is Is Not

Concept

Vacates

fa Concept Concept ty cil ili b ita ea te tic no Concept o tic nn ea eu t bi lit ita Maximum y cil Ambiguity a f Figure 3.1. The motivation to reduce concepts’ ambiguity is one to facilitate either the plausibility of a plausible concept that “Is”, the implausibility of an implausible concept that “Is”, the noticeability of a noticeable concept that “Is Not”, or the unnoticeability of an unnoticeable concept that “Is Not”.

unnoticeable ones. It is a principle diametrically opposed to the one followed by nonliving, inanimate nature. For well over a hundred years, a basic antithesis was noticed between inanimate and animate nature. The direction of physical events is prescribed by the second principle of thermodynamics which says that the general trend of physical happenings is toward most probable states, that is, maximum entropy and progressive destruction of differentiation and order. . . . Living systems present a different picture. They are maintained in a state of fantastic improbability, in spite of innumerable irreversible processes continually going on. Even more, organisms—in individual ontogeny as well as in phylogenetic evolution—develop towards more improbable states, towards increase of differentiation and higher order of matter (von Bertalanffy 1968, pp. 46–7).

Whereas physical matter tends toward undifferentiated, ambiguous states, living matter is “programmed” (like our Nerbys) toward orderly states of presence and absence.

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Nerby’s Motivation maximum-ambiguity threshold most ambiguous known concept “downhill” motivation (here, to make concept appear) A p p e a r s

more

fewer

known concepts’ sensed aspects

V a c a t e s

Figure 3.2. If a Nerby’s known concepts are thought of as positioned along an ambiguity-curve, its motivation will be to change the position of the most ambiguous of these concepts in a “downhill” direction (i.e., toward a less ambiguous state).

I shall use ambiguity-curves like the one in Figure 3.2 to depict the principle of ambiguity reduction at work. One curve is used to characterize a single Nerby’s motivations. Each of this Nerby’s known concepts is assigned a rank along the figure’s horizontal axis according to the amount of its aspects that are sensed, ranging from all (i.e., the concept appears) to none (i.e., the concept vacates). Now imagine that all these concepts are projected vertically to corresponding positions along the figure’s curve. Doing this transforms the curve’s vertical axis into a measure of concepts’ degrees of ambiguity, making the concept positioned highest on the curve the Nerby’s most ambiguous known concept. In accordance with the ambiguity-reduction principle, the Nerby’s motivation is toward making this concept appear (if, as in the figure, it falls to the left of the curve’s maximum-ambiguity threshold) or vacate (if it falls to the right of the threshold). Thus the image here is of a Nerby’s motivation being toward its most ambiguous concept, but in the direction “downhill” from that concept’s location on the curve.

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chapter three Nerbys as Observers or Interpreters

In Chapter 1 it was argued that discourse can only proceed once those involved in it attain a consensus to mutually seek operational knowledge (regarding their common field) or relational knowledge (regarding their shared system). Ensuing communications persuade participants of the truth or untruth, genuineness or nongenuineness, intelligibility or unintelligibility, or normativeness or nonnormativeness of the discursive position at hand. So, one might ask, how does discourse proceed when one of its participants is the position being judged? In Chapter 2 four readings of personhood (or, by extension, of Nerbyhood) were developed—readings as agency (thought, until it appears as an object within the field), as collaboration (discretion, until it vacates as a dutiful expression within the system), personification (an [animate] object within the field, unless it vacates as thought), and fidelity (an expression within the system, unless it appears as discretion). To persuade its readers of its agency, collaboration, personification, or fidelity, “the person being read” may take discursive positions respectively asserting the truth of its thought’s appearing within the field, the genuineness of its discretion’s vacating within the system, the intelligibility of itself within the field, or the normativeness of itself within the system. In this chapter “reading personhood” loses its passive character in that the reader (i.e., the observer of the field, or the interpreter of the system) too is understood as actively motivated toward reducing the ambiguity of the person-concept (or, equivalently, the Nerby-concept) being read. Thus a reading of agency involves both an agent and an observer who are jointly motivated toward having a goal change existential status from a thought (that “Is Not”) to an object (i.e., a conception that “Is”). A reading of collaboration is now considered to involve a collaborator’s and an interpreter’s joint motivations toward having a need change existential status from discretion (that “Is”) to duty (i.e., a conceptualization that “Is Not”). Likewise, a reading of personification now involves both persona and observer, jointly motivated toward keeping a role plausible (i.e., a conception that “Is”, rather than a disembodied thought that “Is Not”). And a reading of fidelity now involves a follower and an interpreter, jointly motivated toward keeping a rule unnoticeable (i.e., a conceptualization that “Is Not”, rather than discretionary rule-opposition that “Is”). In particular, our four Nerbyconcepts are defined as . . .

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• goal, comprised of both sensed aspects achieved by the agent (i.e., the Nerby being read as agency), and not-sensed ones as-yet unable to be verified by the observers doing the reading; • need, comprised of not-sensed aspects articulated by the collaborator (i.e., the Nerby being read as collaboration), and sensed ones as-yet unanswered by the interpreters doing the reading; • role, comprised of sensed aspects embodied by the persona (i.e., the Nerby being read as personification), and not-sensed ones unaccepted by the observers doing the reading; and • rule, comprised of not-sensed aspects implemented by the follower (i.e., the Nerby being read as fidelity), and sensed ones opposed by the interpreters doing the reading. In each case, one Nerby behaviorally manipulates the concept’s proportion of sensed aspects (via achievement, answering, embodiment, or opposing) and the other one verbally directs attention toward either the concept’s aspects that are sensed (via verification, articulating, acceptance, and implementing) or its aspects that are not sensed (via nonverification, nonarticulating, nonacceptance, and nonimplementing). In Figure 3.3 the axes from Figure 3.1 are retained while these four Nerby-concepts are depicted as encircled sets of aspects with “Is” existential status if above the horizontal axis but with “Is Not” status if below the axis. Vertical lines divide each circle such that the aspects of “Nerby” are sensed if and only if they are to the right of the line. Following the ambiguity-reduction principle, Nerbys’ motivations will be to move these lines to the left (increasing the number of sensed aspects) when more than half of a Nerby-concept’s aspects are sensed (as per both circles on the figure’s left side). They will be to move the lines to the right (decreasing the number of sensed aspects) when less than half of the concept’s aspects are sensed (as per both circles on the figure’s right side). A Nerby’s motivation is thus toward having its Nerby-concept appear if this concept is defined in accordance with either circle at the figure’s left, but toward having it vacate if defined in accordance with either circle at the figure’s right. Note, however, that only in the bottom-left and upper-right hand circles are Nerbys depicted as motivated toward changing their Nerby-concepts’ existential statuses. With the appearing of the Nerby-concept depicted in the figure’s bottom-left hand circle, the concept—a goal—changes from “Is Not” to “Is” existential status. With the vacating of the Nerby-concept depicted in the figure’s top-right hand circle, the concept—a need—changes from “Is”

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Need

Role Unaccepted (not sensed)

Embodied (sensed)

Articulated (not sensed)

Unanswered (sensed)

personification

collaboration

facilitate facilitate plausibility plausibility facilitate facilitate noticeability noticeability agency

Is Is Not

Goal Unverifiable (not sensed)

Achieved (sensed)

facilitate facilitate implausibility implausibility facilitate facilitate unnoticeability unnoticeability fidelity

Rule Implemented (not sensed)

Opposed (sensed)

Figure 3.3. “Nerby” as role, need, goal, and rule—concepts, the sensed aspects of which are manipulated by one Nerby and the not-sensed aspects of which are manipulated by another.

to “Is Not” existential status. Regarding the other two Nerby-concepts, the one depicted in the upper-left hand circle—a role—retains its “Is” status upon appearing, and the one depicted in the lower-right hand circle—a rule—retains its “Is Not” status upon vacating. Although Figure 3.3 only depicts one concept in each of its quadrants, there should be (minimally) two such concepts—one each in the minds of both the read-Nerby and its reading-Nerby(s). Thus it is quite possible for our Nerbys to have conflicting motivations if one of them senses more than half a concept’s aspects at the same time that another senses less than half of them. In accordance with the ambiguity-reduction principle, a Nerby will avoid interacting with Nerbys whom it believes are motivated toward the appearing of the concept that it is motivated to have vacate (or, of course, toward the vacating of the concept that it is motivated to have appear). Likewise, it will seek out interactions with

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Nerbys whom it believes would share its motivation. Such “motivations to (or not to) motivate” require that our Nerbys communicate these motivations among themselves. As explained in the following sections, such communications will involve not only our four Nerby-concepts, but also a language of motivation (i.e., a modality) for making meaningful references to these concepts. Modal Narratives Nerbys may reassure each other that their motivations are not in conflict by consistently using languages for referencing their intentions (a.k.a. modalities). In this way, ongoing discourse becomes a narrative into which Nerbys’ actions and speech gain historical relevance. Participation in a modal narrative involves Nerbys’ joint understanding of whether reality is either system or field, and thus, respectively, whether either their actions or their speech departs from their participation in this reality. Modalities afford two strategies for manipulating a Nerby’s most ambiguous concept. On the one hand, Nerbys can give the concept an existential status of “Is” (by pointing it out as a symbol or discretion: “Your fur is unkempt!”) versus one of “Is Not” (by pointing with it as a sign or thought: “Might I interest you in buying a good brush?”). On the other hand, through action and inaction, speech and silence Nerbys can regulate the amount of attention produced for these concepts (as a means of altering whether or not the to-be-manipulated Nerby senses most of the underlying concept’s aspects). These strategies are occasionally used to facilitate transitions between Nerbys’ actions and their speech. When reality is a system, Nerbys interpret themselves as primarily involved in speech that only occasionally gives rise to action. When reality is a field, they observe themselves as primarily involved in actions that only occasionally give rise to speech. Such occasional departures of “action from speech” or of “speech from action” comprise segments of influence among our Nerbys—interactions, in contrast to their mundane participation in reality. An interaction is defined here as a segment of a modal narrative during which one Nerby’s actions are in response to or in solicitation of another Nerby’s speech. Note from Figure 3.3 that the four Nerbyconcepts (i.e., goal, need, role, and rule) have aspects jointly controlled by both read- and reading-Nerbys. On the one hand, when initiating an interaction a read-Nerby accepts the reading-Nerbys’ responses to

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it as aspects of its most ambiguous concept—responses that it, in turn, seeks to influence behaviorally or verbally. On the other hand, readingNerbys accept the read-Nerby’s actions or speech as aspects of their most ambiguous concept—aspects, sensory experiences of which they likewise seek to influence reciprocally by alternating their own responses. An interaction ends whenever reading-Nerbys persuade read-Nerbys that it has terminated. In brief, the read-Nerby’s control resides in the persuasiveness of its modal position to initiate, or not to initiate, interaction. The reading-Nerby’s control resides in the persuasiveness of its modal position to terminate or continue interaction. Each modal narrative has characteristic sequences of episode-types with which interactions are initiated and terminated. When reality is a field, for example, Nerbys solicit interaction via familiar episodes in which a reading-Nerby’s speech (anticipated verification of its goalachievement or unanticipated nonacceptance of its role-embodiment) comprises a departure from its ongoing actions. However when reality is a system, Nerbys solicit interaction via polite episodes in which a reading-Nerby’s action (anticipated answering of its need-articulation or unanticipated opposing of its rule-implementation) comprises a departure from its ongoing speech. A Nerby may also refuse to anticipate these readings when potential reading-Nerbys take such modal positions regarding it. However, when reality is a field interactions are refused via polite episodes, and when reality is a system they are refused via familiarity. Playful episodes are successful (i.e., persuasive) when both read- and reading-Nerbys agree that the state of their interaction is as anticipated. Accordingly, continued interaction is playful within essentialist and doctrinist narratives, since it respectively conveys acceptable role-embodiment and nonopposed rule-implementation. Within individualist and mutualist narratives interaction is playfully terminated, since such episodes respectively convey verification of goal-achievement and answered need-articulation. Serious episodes comprise discursive positions that (counter to read-Nerbys’ anticipations) an individualist or mutualist interaction continues or that an essentialist or doctrinist interaction has ended. Thus the sequence of episode-types that characterizes individualist interactions is polite (refusal), familiar (initiation), serious (continuation), and playful (termination). The sequence characteristic of mutualist interactions is familiar (refusal), polite (initiation), serious (continuation), and playful (termination). The sequence characteristic of essentialist interaction is polite (refusal), familiar (initiation), playful (continuation), and serious (termination). And the sequence characteris-

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tic of doctrinist interaction is familiar (refusal), polite (initiation), playful (continuation), and serious (termination). Each comprises a “structure of interaction” with which Nerbys become capable of parsing each others’ actions and speech into interactions that contrast either with the field’s mundane actions or with the system’s everyday speech. Insofar as Nerbys consistently apply only one of these sequences of episode-types, their ongoing “attempts at mutual persuasion” will comprise a unified modal narrative for them—an ongoing history of who they are for each other. An individualist modal narrative will develop insofar as these episodes reference their abilities and goals; a mutualist one will develop insofar as they reference their compulsions and needs; an essentialist one will develop insofar as obligations and roles are referenced; and a doctrinist modal narrative will develop insofar as permissions and rules are referenced. In brief, my argument here is that participation in a modal narrative involves Nerbys’ consistent use of one of the following four modal auxiliary verbs: can (or to be able), must (or to be compelled or have to), ought (or to be obliged), and may (or to be permitted). Table 3.1 illustrates how the above four sequences correspond to usages of these four verbs, and thus how these verbs afford our Nerbys with languages, or modalities, for referring to their motivations. So let’s program our Nerbys to use modal statements (i.e., grammatical clauses, each with a single, inflected, modal auxiliary verb) when taking positions regarding each other’s motivations. Given this newfound fluency in modal languages, Nerbys may now refer to each other’s intentions as being impossible, contingent, possible, or inevitable. This fourfold nature of modalities is a byproduct of the fact that every modal statement can be negated in three ways—by negation of the modal, the main verb, or both.1 In particular, each of the four abovementioned modal auxiliary verbs may be used in conveying each of four modal positions: impossibility (not able, compelled not, obliged not, not permitted), contingency (able not, not compelled, not obliged, permitted not), possibility (able, not compelled not, not obliged not, permitted), and inevitability (not able not, compelled, obliged, not permitted not). These modal positions allow Nerbys to

1 Modal logicians often conceptualize this four-fold character of modal expressions (i.e., no negation, negated modal, negated infinitive, and double negation) as the “Square of Oppositions” (Horn 1989; Van der Auwera 1996).

able not to achieve (polite inaction)

Refuse interaction

may permitted not to (or to be permitted) implement (familiar silence)

Doctrinism

obliged not to embody (polite inaction)

ought (or to be obliged)

must compelled not to (or to be compelled, articulate or have to) (familiar silence)

can (or to be able)

Modality

Essentialism

Mutualism

Individualism

Modal narrative

permitted to implement (polite speech)

obliged to embody (familiar action)

compelled to articulate (polite speech)

able to achieve (familiar action)

Initiate interaction

Read-Nerby’s position

not permitted to oppose (playful inaction)

not obliged not to accept (playful silence)

not compelled not to answer (serious action)

not able to verify (serious silence)

not permitted not to oppose (serious action)

not obliged to accept (serious speech)

not compelled to answer (playful inaction)

not able not to verify (playful speech)

Terminate interaction

Reading-Nerby’s position Continue interaction

Modal positions

Table 3.1. Four modal narratives’ structures of interaction in terms of their respective modalities and episode sequences

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use discourse in controlling one another. They need merely persuade one another to neither attempt the impossible, resist the inevitable, accept the contingent, nor forego the possible. Maybe the best introduction to the four modalities is with caricatures of narratives corresponding to each. The next four paragraphs all begin with a read-Nerby’s motivation to reduce the ambiguity of its most ambiguous concept. Each ends with a response from reading-Nerbys that either is or is not in accordance with the read-Nerby’s anticipations. Individualism. As an agent-Nerby surveys all noticeable goals (dinner, a game of “tag,” etc.), it divides them into the most ambiguous, but noticeable one that it is able (i.e., that is possible for it) to achieve versus all other ones that it is politely able not (i.e., that are not necessary, or are contingent, for it) to achieve. In accordance with its ambiguity-reduction programming, it will be motivated to achieve the former goal. Yet after the agent-Nerby’s motivation has run its course, observer-Nerbys may find goal-achievement not to have appeared (and thus impossible to verify), leaving them seriously not able to verify it. (“There’s nothing but slop here, Harry. Can’t say that there’s any dinner for us again.”) More commonly, observer-Nerbys will find goal-achievement apparent and, as such, something they (inevitably and playfully) are not able not to verify. (“Can’t deny how great dinner was tonight, Pet.”) Individualism is based on the following fairness principle: If a Nerby’s goal appears (i.e., no longer “Is Not”), then it is verified. The fairness principle implies the following theodicy (i.e., explanation of failure or suffering), however: If not verified, the Nerby’s goal does not appear. Mutualism. Every collaborator-Nerby knows that it is compelled not to articulate (i.e., direct attention to) a need that would not be most ambiguous (and thus be an impossible motivator) for interpreter-Nerbys with whom they are familiar. These Nerbys are (playfully) not compelled to answer (unnecessary, or contingent) “needs” like its neighbor’s unkempt fur or its bad breath. Yet the collaborator-Nerby is politely compelled to articulate needs that the interpreter-Nerbys would (inevitably) be motivated to answer. Since answering a need requires getting the need to vacate, it must be a need that the interpreter-Nerbys are qualified to answer (i.e., that is implausible for them). However, given their ambiguity-reduction programming the collaborator’s articulations will only motivate interpreter-Nerbys to answer a need if these articulations increase the need’s aspects that are not sensed, such that the need remains implausible but nonetheless most-ambiguous for them. (“With

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all that equipment every fire must seem ‘implausible’ to you fire-Nerbys. Well then, would it be ‘possible’ for you to answer my need and extinguish this ‘implausible’ fire?”) In other words, if interpreter-Nerbys are slow in answering its need, the collaborator-Nerby may strengthen its articulation by seriously pointing out that they are not compelled not to answer it. Mutualism is based on the following responsibility principle: If a Nerby’s need is not vacant (i.e., still “Is”), then it will continue to be answered. The principle implies the following theodicy, however: If no longer answered, the Nerby’s need is vacant. Essentialism. If a role is implausible for a persona-Nerby, it can preempt interaction by politely communicating to potential observer-Nerbys that the role is something that it is obliged not to embody (i.e., that will remain impossible for the observers to accept). (“Forget it! My legs are too short for me to be a gymnast.”) In accordance with the ambiguity-reduction principle, its most ambiguous but plausible role is the one with which it is familiar enough to be obliged (i.e., inevitably motivated) to embody. Yet if during interaction the role becomes seriously implausible for observer-Nerbys, they will find continued roleacceptance something not obliged of (i.e., contingent for) them. (“We shouldn’t waste any more time trying to coach this fur ball.”) On the other hand, they will remain playfully not obliged not to accept the persona-Nerby’s embodiment as long as the role remains plausible (i.e., possible). Essentialism is based on the following naturalness principle: If a Nerby’s role is plausible (i.e., more sensed than not), then it is accepted. The principle’s theodicy is as follows: If not accepted, the Nerby’s role is implausible. Doctrinism. Like the agent-Nerby, who surveys all noticeable goals, a follower-Nerby surveys all unnoticeable rules (no smoking, keep your room orderly, etc.), in this case dividing them into the most ambiguous, but unnoticeable one that it is politely permitted (i.e., that is possible for it) to implement versus all other rules that it is, in friendship, permitted not (i.e., that are not necessary, or contingent, for it) to implement. Every follower-Nerby knows that if applied too forcefully, an implementation might be just enough to make the rule not only most-ambiguous but also noticeable for interpreter-Nerbys, such that in accordance with the ambiguity-reduction principle they will (inevitably and seriously) be left not permitted not to oppose this rule. (“You’ve gone too far this time, Fuzzy. Soon it will be ‘payback time’.”) However, if a rule is implemented with a sufficiently light hand that the rule remains unnoticeable (but one still forceful enough for the rule to be interpreted

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as their most ambiguous), the interpreter-Nerbys’ ambiguity-reducing motivation will be to playfully stop that which they are not permitted to do (thereby making their rule-opposition impossible). (“We won’t throw you out for smoking here, but there’s a stiff fine for anyone who doesn’t stop smoking right now.”) Doctrinism is based on the following righteousness principle: If a Nerby’s rule is unnoticeable (i.e., less sensed than not sensed), then it will not be opposed. The principle’s theodicy: If opposed, the Nerby’s rule is noticeable. Note the aloofness of the reading-Nerbys in each of these four caricatures. Fair observer-Nerbys only verify goals that have appeared; responsible interpreter-Nerbys only answer needs that are not vacant; essentialist observer-Nerbys only accept naturally plausible roles; and doctrinist interpreter-Nerbys only withhold opposition from righteously unnoticeable rules. The implication is thus that reading-Nerbys occupy a privileged position from which to evaluate agents’ or personae’s symbolizations as well as collaborators’ or followers’ significations. Yet once the ambiguity-reduction principle is extended to the motivations of these observers and interpreters, one allows for their ability to strategically time their judgments (as anticipated or otherwise) in ways that manipulate the motivations of the Nerbys they read. Reading-Nerbys are “Persons” Too Each of the above narratives depicts a deference that the read-Nerby has for its readers. The agent defers to its reader’s judgment of whether or not a goal has appeared; the collaborator defers to its reader’s judgment of whether or not a need has vacated; the persona defers to its reader’s judgment of whether or not a role is plausible; and the follower defers to its reader’s judgment of whether or not a rule is unnoticeable. What is the basis of this deference, of this prestige attributed to the readers? My thesis is that it results from readers’ attempts at motivating others to submit to their judgments. For example, note that the more abstract one’s goal (be it a desirable home, a publishable manuscript, a prize-winning performance), the less certain an agent-Nerby can be in its belief that the goal has appeared. In such cases reading-Nerbys will usually be successful in persuading the agent-Nerby that they are not able to verify a goal’s appearance, despite their emphatically-alleged motivation to have the interaction terminate as anticipated with an acknowledgment that they are not able not to

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do so. This persuasiveness is a product of the marketability-expertise that the agent-Nerby attributes to its observer-Nerbys. Accordingly, “if this house is less-than-desirable given its high price, maybe another will appear as your ‘desirable home’”; “if this manuscript is less-than-publishable in comparison to others recently reviewed, maybe your next effort will appear as a ‘publishable manuscript’ ”; etc. In appealing to goals’ marketability, observer-Nerbys do more than merely point out not-sensed aspects that the agent-Nerby may have overlooked. By inventing marketplaces for abstract goals, observer-Nerbys are able to reduce the noticeability of an agent-Nerby’s goal by increasing the goal’s aspects that are not sensed (i.e., adding “affordability” aspects to those of “desirable home,” “originality” aspects to those of “publishable manuscript,” etc.). Such redefinition via marketability-discourse serves observer-Nerbys’ motivations towards goal-achievement by making goal-verification more ambiguous and thus more likely to become the agent-Nerby’s motivating goal. Observer-Nerbys can also stimulate goal-achievement from an agentNerby through advertisements and other sorts of encouragement that make its verification more noticeable. (“With Acme Realty, you too will be able to find your dream home.”) Thus by stimulating the agentNerby’s demand (thereby increasing for it the noticeability of specific goalverifications) while using marketability-discourse in restricting supply (thereby decreasing the noticeability of goal-verification), observer-Nerbys are able to optimize the object of their motivations (viz., goal-achievement) within a marketplace from which the agent-Nerby’s only freedom is its ability not to take part. Those familiar with the Frankfurt School’s critique of capitalism will find all fundamental aspects of this critique within the previous two paragraphs. For example, consider Theodor Adorno’s explanation of how professional critics may come to undermine intellectual freedom in capitalist societies: Their arrogance derives from the fact that, in the forms of competitive society in which all being is merely there for something else, the critic himself is also measured only in terms of his marketable success—that is, in terms of his being for something else. . . . When the critics . . . permit themselves to be degraded to propagandists or censors, it is the old dishonesty of trade fulfilling itself in their fate. The prerogatives of information and position permit them to express their opinion as if it were objectivity. But it is solely the objectivity of the ruling mind. They help to weave the veil. (Adorno 1967, p. 20, italics in original)

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Rephrasing this in terms of the ambiguity-reduction principle, professional critics (i.e., observer-beings for the marketplace) use propaganda and censorship to maintain the agent’s behaviors for goals by making their verification of goal-achievement respectively more or less noticeable to it. Collaborators too may be manipulated by their interpreters. A collaborator-Nerby will generally grant credibility to interpreter-Nerbys by virtue of the greater expertise required from those who answer needs versus the one who merely articulates them. Thus the patient-Nerby tends to accept that doctors know when they have answered its health-related needs, and a homeowner-Nerby usually accepts that builders know when they have answered its home-repair needs. The greater the disparity in their expertise regarding an articulated need, the less certainty the collaborator will have (and the more discretion the interpreter will have) in determining when its need has been answered. For example, in a recent article in the New England Journal of Medicine (Barclay et al. 2006) it was reported that among 2,053 first-time colonoscopies performed as routine screenings, the average withdrawal time (when polyp detections are made) varied between 3 and 19 minutes among the study’s twelve performing gastroenterologists, and that those doctors who took more time were those who detected more polyps in the patients being screened. Thus not all colonoscopies are alike, and a doctor’s haste may put a patient’s health at risk. Likewise, risks may ensue if consumers are given false assurances that a builder’s work conforms to current safety requirements. Even though its sensory experiences suggest otherwise, a collaborator-Nerby may be persuaded that an interaction has ended because its interpreter-Nerbys are not compelled to answer a need that is now vacant. If the need were not met (i.e., were not vacant), it is told, the latter would be not compelled not to continue answering it. Accordingly, “your headaches are probably psychosomatic, so there is no reason for concern about your ‘health’”; “uneven patterns in bathroom tiles are stylish nowadays, so the wall is now ‘repaired’ ”; etc. By such appeals to their expertise, interpreter-Nerbys may do more than merely ignore sensed aspects that the collaborator-Nerby mistakenly associated with a need. They may discursively increase the need’s implausibility by decreasing its sensed aspects (i.e., removing “headache” aspects from those of “health,” “unevenness” aspects from those of “repair,” etc.). However, such attempted redefinitions will only be persuasive if the collaboratorNerby gets consistent messages from all its interpreter-Nerbys. Given

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that its motivation is to have its need answered, such an absence of consistency would leave the collaborator-Nerby motivated to articulate its needs to those interpreter-Nerbys who answer these needs rather than to those who accuse it of misarticulating. The suggestion here is that reading-Nerbys must develop standards to which they universally subscribe and in accordance with which their redefinitions are to be based. Like observers who develop marketability-expertise for ranking agent’s achievements, interpreters develop worthinessexpertise for ranking collaborator’s articulations. For example, workers often develop a consensus regarding what constitutes “an honest day’s work” (i.e., the amount of work worthy of their employer’s corporate needs). Such consensuses are the basis of informal sanctions against rate breakers within workers’ ranks and of worthiness-discourse within collective bargaining. If workers’ definition of “an honest day’s work” (i.e., their definition of “answering an employer’s corporate needs”) is insufficient to make these needs implausible for their employer, the employer can either facilitate these needs’ implausibility by hiring new workers or—given their greater plausibility than implausibility—close the company (i.e., stop articulating the needs altogether). In sum, interpreter-Nerbys can manipulate the implausibility of a collaborator-Nerby’s need-articulations by answering them hastily (thereby increasing the need’s implausibility, such that these specific needs are “answered”) or by redefining the need via worthiness-discourse (thereby decreasing the need’s implausibility, such that “this need” is the one to be answered). Both manipulations have the potential of exposing the collaborator to risks. On the one hand, interpreters must take sufficient time in answering the collaborator’s needs, despite their motivation to have the collaborator’s articulations vacate. On the other hand, they must be careful not to push their worthiness-discourse (be it regarding “thorough colonoscopies,” “stylish tile-work,” or “an honest day’s work”) such that it becomes rejected as a smokescreen for their unwillingness to participate in their system for answering each other’s needs. (“As my doctor, you are not compelled not to alleviate my pain.”) Concerns over these two types of risks abound in works by risk theorists such as Beck, Giddens, and Luhmann. For example, Niklas Luhmann argues that such risks can be averted via writings that allow collaborators to see the world through their interpreters’ eyes: This detour via ‘the written form’ (in the broadest sense) offers an alternative to direct observation of another observer. Such direct observation

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invites us to explain to ourselves why the other observer observers in the way he observes. Affected parties thus develop theories of their own on the risky behavior of decision-makers and the decision-makers produce theories on the protest behavior of those affected by their decisions. (Luhmann 1993, p. 230)

Thus critical writings (like the above-mentioned article in the New England Journal of Medicine) enable the “collaborator” to interpret its interpreters’ decisions on how its needs are to be answered. Only once a collaborator-Nerby is made aware of its interpreters’ risk-taking tendencies, can it distinguish responsible answerings (during which it is compelled not articulate its needs) from risky decisions (in response to which it is compelled to articulate them). A mutualist system thus requires both educated collaborators and responsible interpreters joined in a network of need-articulating and need-answering relations—a network in which every Nerby is potentially an interpreter for those collaborators who articulate the needs it is qualified to answer. The persona-Nerby is manipulated by its observers via their ongoing feedback (or role-acceptance) regarding its role-embodiments. ObserverNerbys afford a sort of “mirror” to the persona-Nerby, who grants them expertise based in part on the clearer view they have of what it is doing. Thus the boy modifies his appearance in anticipation of others’ acceptance of his manliness, the athlete modifies her technique in anticipation of motions accepted by her trainers, and the actor modifies his demeanor in anticipation of a performance acceptable to his director. If the persona-Nerby lacks confidence (i.e., believes implausible) that its role-embodiment will be met with acceptance, it will refuse the role as something it ought not attempt to embody. Thus observer-Nerbys’ manipulation of the persona-Nerby’s motivations consists of accepting or failing to accept its embodiments, thereby directly increasing or decreasing the plausibility of role acceptance in the persona’s mind. This plausibility is increased as observer-Nerbys ignore those not-sensed role-aspects about which the persona-Nerby is least confident, and it is decreased as they display amusement with embodiments that they anticipate but fail to sense. As long as they anticipate continued interaction, observer-Nerbys will attempt to persuade a persona-Nerby that they are not obliged not to accept even the most clumsily-embodied role. By stifling their laughter, the observers refrain from undermining motivations toward embodiments of manhood from the boy “who throws a ball like a girl,” of grace from the athlete “who trips over her own feet,” and of tragedy from the actor “who has led a sheltered life.”

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As the persona-Nerby’s confidence grows, observer-Nerbys need merely withhold role-acceptance to keep the original role most-ambiguous (but still plausible) for the persona-Nerby. Whereas the sentence, “You throw the ball like a girl,” might send one young boy home in tears, never to play baseball again; the same sentence uttered to a more self-confident boy might challenge him to try ever-harder. For interactions to continue as anticipated, observer-Nerbys will thus need to take into account the potentialities of the Nerbys they read. Yet observer-Nerbys have another strategy for prolonging interaction besides “amusement at” versus “ignoring of ” aspects not sensed. By inventing potentialities associated with roles, observer-Nerbys are also able to facilitate the plausibility of a persona-Nerby’s role by decreasing or increasing the role’s aspects that are not sensed (e.g., removing “manly” aspects from those of “boy,” yielding “effeminate boy”; removing “graceful” aspects from those of “athlete,” yielding “awkward athlete”; or, more positively, adding “adult” aspects to those of “Nerby” as it ages). If observer-Nerbys fail to facilitate role-embodiment through playful tolerance, they may redefine the persona-Nerby’s old role (that they henceforth are not obliged to accept) into one that more closely fits the exceptional persona-Nerby’s potentialities (and thus that henceforth is a role that it is obliged to embody). Note that unlike the agent’s observers and the collaborator’s interpreters, the persona’s observers may use such redefinitions to decrease ambiguity in the mind of the person being read. The expertise attributed to the persona’s observers is thus one of potentiality. This expertise consists partly in their ability to predict how much acceptance they may withdraw without pushing the personaNerby into believing that role-acceptance is no longer plausible. In accordance with the ambiguity-reduction principle, observer-Nerbys facilitate role-embodiment by ensuring that role-acceptance remains the persona-Nerby’s most ambiguous but plausible concept. To keep role-acceptance most ambiguous, they either display amusement at the persona-Nerby’s embodiments or (less commonly) “raise their expectations” by observing its embodiments in accordance with a more challenging role. To keep role-acceptance plausible, they increase the plausibility of role-embodiment either by playfully ignoring poorlyembodied aspects (i.e., ones they are not obliged not to accept) or by offering a redefined role more in line with the persona-Nerby’s lesser potentialities—presumably a more befitting, albeit exceptional role that it will find itself obliged (i.e., motivated) to embody. The cost of such

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redefinition is, of course, that it leaves observers no longer obliged to judge the persona in accordance with its original role, thereby dramatically decreasing (in the persona’s mind) the plausibility that the original will be accepted ever again. Anti-essentialist writers like Derrida and Butler argue that blind acceptance of social categories can be oppressive. For example, consider Judith Butler’s argument that exceptional roles (or identities) are created when dominant signifiers, like “male” and “heterosexual,” fail to apply to persons’ embodiments: The “failure” of the signifier to produce the unity it appears to name is not the result of an existential void, but the result of that term’s incapacity to include the social relations that it provisionally stabilizes through a set of contingent exclusions. . . . When some set of descriptions is offered to fill out the content of an identity, the result is inevitably fractious. Such inclusionary descriptions produce inadvertently new sites of contest and a host of resistances, disclaimers, and refusals to identify with the terms. As non-referential terms, “women” and “queer” institute provisional identities and, inevitably, a provisional set of exclusions. (Butler 1993, pp. 220–221)

Butler continues by arguing that protesting in the name of women (or homosexuals) is counterproductive, because it only reifies women’s status as “other than men.” Whereas Adorno argues for agents’ refusal to accept their observers’ verifications and Luhmann argues for collaborators’ refusal to accept their interpreters’ answers, Butler argues for personae’s refusal to accept the exceptional roles their observers define for them. Role subversion is accomplished by embodiments that blur distinctions between genders (and among sexual orientations), and thereby prompt puzzlement in the minds of one’s observers: Is this male or female; heterosexual or homosexual? Why isn’t it obvious to me? Why do I care? Does it matter? Finally, the follower-Nerby’s rule-implementations are manipulated by their interpreters insofar as the latter selectively oppose some rules but not others. We know from the ambiguity-reduction principle that the follower-Nerby is motivated to implement (i.e., facilitate the unnoticeability of ) the rule that is most ambiguous (but still unnoticeable). Since opposition is what determines which rule is most ambiguous for the follower-Nerby, interpreter-Nerbys are able to guide it toward implementing whichever rule they choose to oppose. However, applying the same ambiguity-reduction principle to the interpreter-Nerbys’ motivations, we know that their choices will be for the rule that would yield

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the least unnoticeable implementation from the follower-Nerby. Thus their opposition will continually test the follower-Nerby’s power at its weakest points, namely at the rules they perceive the follower least likely to implement in a just (i.e., seamlessly unnoticeable) manner. Such “testing the follower’s justness” normally has a sacrificial character to it, however. Interpreter-Nerbys typically imagine themselves in a perpetual state of “original sin,” since their ongoing opposition is something they are not permitted to do. Accordingly, the sassy wife accepts her bruises as justified, since her beating was her husband’s measured implementation of the rule, “Wives may not talk back to their husbands”; and the soldier accepts his paraplegia as justified, since the bullet in his spine was only an opposing warrior’s implementation of the rule, “Kill or be killed.” Another case in point is found during the Stalinist era with the Russian citizenry’s legendary submission to the rules, or laws, of history: In the Stalinist ideological imaginary, universal Reason is objectivized in the guise of the inexorable laws of historical progress, and we are all its servants, the leader included. . . . (O)n Stalin’s birthday, prisoners sent him telegrams wishing him all the best and the success of Socialism, even from the darkest Gulags like Norilsk or Vorkuta. . . . The lowest Gulag inmate still participated in the universal Reason: he had access to the Truth of History. (Žižek 2006, p. 291)

Yet unlike their passive depiction here, doctrinist-interpreters do not always defer to the followers’ expertise. Interpreters may stop believing that their opposition is not permitted, if a follower-Nerby is so severe in its rule-implementation that enough sensed aspects are generated to make the rule noticeable. Should this happen, ambiguity-reduction would be toward making the follower’s rule-implementation appear, in contrast to its previous motivation of making it vacate. At this point interpreters would conceptualize their opposition as inevitable (i.e., something they are not permitted not to do). (“Why are you making me punish you?”) Thus in its attempts to make opposition unnoticeable, our follower-Nerby must ensure that interpreter-Nerbys judge its rule-implementations to be just. In particular, it must ensure that interpreters are more often provided familiar reminders of the rules it is permitted not to implement than polite (less unnoticeable) expressions of those it is permitted to implement. When faced with an unjust rule-implementation, interpreter-Nerbys stop reacting to the implementation as signifying a rule, and start see-

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ing it as a symbol of the follower’s excesses. At such times they may “turn the tables” on the excessive Nerby, changing it from a follower to an interpreter with actions in opposition to the Excessiveness Rule: “Followers may not be excessive when implementing rules.” Charges of excessiveness (i.e., of unjust implementation) reconceptualize an implementation as opposition to (i.e., as the sensed aspects of) the Excessiveness Rule. (For example, a doctrinist might point out that rules had been “tarnished” in the wife’s compound fractures or in the soldier’s wanton torture.) Like the collaborator who routinely becomes an interpreter when its time comes to answer another collaborator’s needs, a follower may transform into interpreter in this case, subject to another follower’s implementation of the Excessiveness Rule. Thus if interpreter-Nerbys call attention to (i.e., declare as not permitted) a follower-Nerby’s severe rule-implementation, designated follower-Nerbys may be permitted to facilitate the unnoticeability of such sinful opposition to their shared system of rules. Such permission may be granted, for example, to police officers on behalf of the battered wife or to a war crimes tribunal on behalf of the tortured soldier. Accusing a follower-Nerby of excessive rule-implementation is clearly dangerous for the accuser, however. If no designated follower-Nerby surfaces to implement the “Excessiveness Rule” (or if the ones that do surface prove incapable of its implementation), the original followerNerby’s implementation will likely become even more severe in light of the opposition contributed by both the accusation and the efforts of those who may have responded to it out of loyalty to the accuser.2 Yet some implementations take longer than others, and an interpreter’s opposition may be deferred for years until an occasion arises for turning the tables and gaining retribution for excesses long past. (Witness, for example, the ethnic cleansings that emerged in the Balkans during the 1990s and the sectarian conflicts that surfaced in Iraq after the

2 For this reason, implementation of the Excessiveness Rule will end up restricted to those Nerbys with the largest and most reliable loyalty-networks of potential followerNerbys willing to and capable of successfully implementing the rule at a moment’s notice. As a case in point, recall Stalin’s strategy of developing loyalty networks around himself by creating an environment within which it was dangerous to prematurely disclose one’s loyalties: The way the system operated under Stalin’s long rule tended to eliminate those who were threats as potential rivals to one-man dictatorship and to favor, on the whole, those who were shrewd, cautious plotters who took few unnecessary risks but had good organizational ability. (Bauer, Inkeles, & Kluckhohn 1960, p. 199)

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“enforcers of the Excessiveness Rule” [respectively, the Soviets and the Baathists] lost power.) In the meanwhile, keeping a follower-Nerby’s excesses at bay (i.e., unnoticeable) requires that its interpreter-Nerbys remain protected by sufficiently strong and loyal alternative followerNerbys who are ever-ready to implement the Excessiveness Rule. Turning to an illustration that Georg Simmel revisited repeatedly in his writings, Victorian rules of courtship provide a straight-forward context within which to depict the three means available to the interpreter (i.e., the lady) for manipulating the follower’s (i.e., her suitor’s) motivations. First of all, the lady can dissipate or peak her suitor’s motivations by respectively submitting to or opposing his advances. For example, given a lady’s total submission to his initial advances, the suitor might lose all interest (leaving him permitted not to engage) in further courtship due to insufficient ambiguity in “this lady’s opposition.” On the other hand, if the lady were to oppose a suitor’s advances with sufficient reserve, she might succeed in optimizing his motivation—his presumption of being permitted—to implement his bonds of matrimony against her (feigned) opposition, relative to other ladies’ opposition-attempts. If she further increases her opposition, a weak suitor (with his inability to intimidate by means of excessive implementation) would generally interpret her brush-offs as greater opposition to his entreaties than would a more powerful suitor with a relatively wide loyalty-network. The weak suitor knows that if he were to continue pursuing the lady, he would find himself not permitted to continue doing so (likely at the hand of more powerful suitors, whom she enlists to implement the Excessiveness Rule against his opposition). Nonetheless, even a lady’s most graphic opposition might escape the notice of a powerful suitor, serving only to increase the ambiguity of a matrimony-implementation that he is certain she is not permitted to oppose. Yet a resolute lady, who sees herself as not permitted not to continue her opposition, can always appeal to her own loyalty-network (perhaps the King) on her behalf. Yet what of that loyal Duke, who comes to her aid, only to find himself a pawn within a broader intrigue? (Perhaps by soliciting the Duke’s aid, she was able to arouse both the King’s jealousy and his subsequent motivation to liquidate all “rivals” while imposing his right to marry her himself.) And broadening our scope somewhat, what of the Russian citizens who swore loyalty to Stalin, only to be accused of counterrevolutionary (i.e., not merely oppositional, but excessive)

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acts? Clearly, it can be costly if one misses the intentions that others’ words conceal. Social constructionists commonly emphasize the distinction between one’s “intention to follow” commonly held rules and one’s “intention in following” them—between, as it were, the rules of the game and the objectives of those playing it. The type of argument being debunked here is that by implementing rules one is merely participating (i.e., absent motivation) within a social system. Not long after the Hiroshima bombing, Kenneth Burke noted, for example, how occupational specialization serves to insulate citizens from the broader implications of their professional activities. If the technical expert, as such, is assigned the task of perfecting new powers of chemical, bacteriological, or atomic destruction, his morality as technical expert requires only that he apply himself to his task as effectively as possible. The question of what the new force might mean, as released into a social texture emotionally and intellectually unfit to control it, or as surrendered to men whose specialty is professional killing—well, that is simply “none of his business,” as specialist, however great may be his misgivings as father of a family, or as citizen of his nation and of the world. (Burke 1969 [1950], p. 30. Italics in original.)

A half-century later, Kenneth Gergen notes a more active, even deceitful application of the “mere participation” argument by news reporters who use it to mask motives that their subjects might interpret as excessive. More specifically, although representatives of the news media may portray themselves as neutral conduits for politicians’ words, politicians are aware that “the media representative is also capable of deceit—securing views in good faith but exploiting (‘distorting’) them for his or her group’s purposes (creating controversy, winning prizes, selling papers) in addressing the public” (Gergen 1997, p. 282. Parentheses in original.). Each of the above modal narratives—be it individualist, mutualist, essentialist, or doctrinist—is sustained as a read-Nerby and a readingNerby strive to keep a Nerby-concept most ambiguous in each other’s mind. Since each is programmed to reduce the ambiguity of its most ambiguous concept, these strivings comprise attempts at manipulating one another’s motivations. In this section the modal languages of can, must, ought, and may have been shown to afford Nerbys discursive means for consistently motivating others, respectively, toward the appearing of Nerby-concepts (goals) with “Is Not” existential statuses, toward the vacating of Nerby-concepts (needs) with “Is” existential statuses, toward

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the appearing of Nerby-concepts (roles) with “Is” existential statuses, and toward the vacating of Nerby-concepts (rules) with “Is Not” existential statuses. Motivating a read-Nerby in one of these ways involves observers’ alternation between speech and silence, and interpreters’ alternation between action and inaction. As explained above, manipulation of an agent-Nerby’s motivations involves alternating between advertisements (speech, making the goal more apparent) and nonverification (silence, making it more ambiguous) regarding its achievements. A collaborator-Nerby’s motivations are manipulated by alternatively responding to its articulations with answerings (action, making the need more vacant) and refusals to answer (inaction, making the need more ambiguous). Persona-Nerbys are motivated when an observer alternates between reacting to imperfections in their embodiments with accepting nonattention (silence, making their respective roles more apparent) and nonaccepting amusement (speech, making the roles more ambiguous). To motivate a follower-Nerby, interpreters either oppose (action, making the rule more ambiguous) or do not oppose (inaction, making the rule more vacant) its implementations. Table 3.2 summarizes these and the concept-redefinition techniques described in this section. So, What is a Modality? A modality is a language for referencing motivations. More specifically, each modality allows participants to persuade each other that their interactions have or have not begun, and have or have not ended. One way in which modalities differ is in their exclusive situating of either read-Nerby or reading-Nerbys as having more credibility at the outset of their interactions. For example, agents are presumed experts given their immediate access to the thoughts behind their actions, much as mutualist interpreters are presumed experts given their immediate knowledge of how discretionary their actions are. In both cases, the expertise of “the one who acts” is initially presumed. Yet actions are self-evident among essentialists and doctrinists. Given that their respective modalities situate them perpetually inside reality, the other-referential nature of speech leaves “the ones who speak” expert judges of the others whose actions they reference. Accordingly, essentialist observers have immediate awareness of the symbolism of a persona’s embodiment, and a follower-Nerby knows directly of the signification lacking in its interpreters’ opposition. In sum, modalities facilitate persuasive communications between read-

goal

need

role

rule

Collaboration

Personification

Fidelity

Nerbyconcept

Agency

Modal narrative

Increase ambiguity

nonopposition (inaction)

nonattention (silence)

answer (action)

opposition (action)

amusement (speech)

refuse to answer (inaction)

advertisement nonverification (speech) (silence)

Decrease ambiguity

Manipulate Nerby-concept’s ambiguity

increase rule’s sensed aspects

decrease role’s notsensed aspects

decrease need’s sensed aspects

increase goal’s not-sensed aspects

Strategy

make Excessiveness Rule more (and old rule less) unnoticeable

make new role more (and old role less) plausible

make need less implausible

make goal less noticeable

Effect

Redefine Nerby-concept

Table 3.2. Reading-Nerbys’ techniques for manipulating Nerbys’ motivations to be read

righteousness ( justness)

naturalness (potentiality)

responsibility (worthiness)

fairness (marketability)

Discursive principle (standards)

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Nerby and reading-Nerbys by affording an initial credibility advantage to only one of them.3 As a result, both begin interactions not simply with a willingness to be persuaded, but with an understanding that persuasion is least likely to be of those who, in accordance with their modality, are experts by default. The second distinguishing characteristic of modalities is their exclusive contextualization of interaction as discourse during which either operational knowledge of the field or relational knowledge of the system is being sought. Taken together, this and the previous distinguishing characteristic situate agents as operational experts, collaborators as relational novices, personae as operational novices, and followers as relational experts. When modalities are consistently used among groups of Nerbys, sequences of their interactions place them perpetually at the end of their modal narrative—at the ever-present, ever-continuing storyline of their reality. Although considerable variety may evolve among the narratives of distinct groups of Nerbys, similar principles and standards come to be invoked among narratives based on the same modality. As listed in the last column of Table 3.2 (and as mentioned at various points in the previous two sections), specific principles and standards are used to justify reading-participants’ allegedly unmotivated positions on whether or not interactions have terminated: Marketable goals are fairly verified; worthy needs are responsibly answered; potential roles are accepted as natural; and just rules are unopposed as righteous. These myths of impartiality sustain not only reading-Nerbys’ credibility, but also the reality within which their modal narrative is contextualized. Thus in reading others, Nerbys must leave no doubt (even in their own minds) that their positions are simply unmotivated observations or interpretations of reality. Each modal narrative consists of a string of episodes, during each of which participants may or may not become persuaded regarding

3 Note that this credibility advantage is manifest in modal usage via active (i.e., possible or contingent) depictions of experts’ speech and actions, versus passive (i.e., impossible or necessary) depictions of novices’ speech and actions: As experts, agents are actively able or able not to achieve, whereas individualist-observers are not able or not able not to verify. As novices, collaborators are passively compelled or compelled not to articulate, whereas mutualist-interpreters are not compelled or not compelled not to answer. As novices, personae are passively obliged or obliged not to embody, whereas essentialist-observers are not obliged or not obliged not to accept. As experts, followers are actively permitted or permitted not to implement, whereas doctrinist-interpreters are not permitted or not permitted not to oppose.

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the applicability of a modal position (indicating impossibility, contingency, possibility, or inevitability) to one or more of their number. The outcomes of these episodes determine for participants whether or not interactions have begun (e.g., respectively whether “I am able to achieve the goal” or “I am able not to achieve it”), or ended (e.g., respectively whether “I am not able not to verify the goal” or “I am not able to verify it”). Differently put, by adopting a modal language for discourse about their intentions, participants are able to parse time into socially meaningful segments, or episodes. Figure 3.4 contains a depiction of interaction as a sequence of episodes within a modal narrative—a depiction like those used in conjunction with the narrative illustrations provided in upcoming chapters. As rendered in the figure, interactions’ beginnings and endings are contingent upon the outcomes of discursive episodes—polite discourse indicative, for example, of an agent’s refusal to initiate interaction or familiar discourse about the agent’s willingness to do so, or serious discourse about individualist readers’ unwillingness to terminate interaction or playful discourse about their attempts to do so. The figure illustrates how interactions among individualists begin or continue when a familiar or serious episode is persuasive (solid lines) or when a polite or playful one is not persuasive (dashed lines); it ends or is preempted when a playful or polite episode is persuasive or when a serious or familiar one is not persuasive. As a narrative unfolds, episodes leave each participant situated (meaningfully) as the one either being read or doing the reading, and with continuously updated expectations on whose modality-consistent reciprocity will be likely. Since our programming does not prevent Nerbys from being both reader and read, such episodes could also evolve within a single Nerby’s mind as it reads and potentially motivates (or unmotivates) itself. Each of the next four chapters is an excursion into a distinct modality. My purpose in these chapters is to breathe life into the four modalities so compactly rendered during our Gedankenexperiment. Since members of most societies participate in a single modality, moves among the chapters will entail a sort of virtual transportation to different parts of the world. If effective, they should also convey you into distinct social realities. Our first stop is New York City.

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Person-concept #1: Person-concept #2:

Familiar Episodes

Interaction 2

Playful Episodes

Interaction 3

Interaction 1

Polite Episodes

Serious Episodes

Interaction 4

Familiar Episodes

Serious Episodes

Playful Episodes

Figure 3.4. An interaction between a person and reader(s) is a period during which their motivations are mutually self-sustaining in accordance with a broader modal narrative—here an individualist narrative within which interactions are politely preempted, initiated with familiarity, prolonged in sincerity, and playfully terminated via persuasive (solid lines) or unpersuasive (dashed lines) discursive episodes.

CHAPTER FOUR

INDIVIDUALISM New York, NY—portal to the land of opportunity. As brass instruments seductively punctuate the moment of decision, a smile parts and enthusiastically invites all comers to take a bite out of “the Big Apple” (as New York City is euphemistically called). Then, following Sinatra’s lyrics, comes the challenge: “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” And so we take the challenge . . . Yet upon arriving at the Port Authority and walking along Times Square, one is curiously alone. The smiling faces and the enthusiastic invitations peer at one from billboards but not from passersby. Everyone is engaged in “making it.” If someone does smile, the accompanying invitation is one, it turns out, for you to help the smiling person “make it” (presumably while simultaneously helping yourself make it too). Nobody seems interested in your motives unless, of course, these motives prove useful in recruiting you to their cause. The world is a field of objects, including any “person” whose motives seem unrelated to your own. You simply navigate around these objects while attempting to create your own object—the “it” you are “making.” Yet an uncertainty remains: “At the end of my efforts, who among these engaged persons will verify my having made it?” The answer is, of course, someone for whom your making it helps them make it too. Familiar Episodes (Ability) Every schoolchild in the US knows that she or he too can become President of the United States—just one of a seemingly limitless field of possibilities. You can climb Mount Everest, explore outer space, and “be all that you can be in the Army.” With sufficient cash or credit, all the trappings and gadgets of middle-class existence can be realized in moments: cell phone, plasma television, SUV, home in the suburbs, etc., etc. As one surveys the opportunities, how is one to choose? Or, perhaps more aptly put, which possibility does one choose?

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As Christmas nears, a serendipitous letter arrives at homes in the poorest US neighborhoods. Mailed from a credit card company, the letter happily announces, “Given your outstanding credit record, your credit limit is being increased by” an amount of money with monthly installments that the recipient can afford in repayment. The company’s statisticians have carefully estimated the maximum amount that the recipient is likely (i.e., with a known probability of error) to repay. The credit card company’s executives request these numbers for all of their customers, allegedly because they are eager to provide services that these customers want, while at the same time minimizing risk to the company that the money will not be repaid. Yet in making such offers are these executives not manipulating, rather than merely responding to, consumers’ desires? Note in the above scenario that no mention is made of why the customer wants to borrow money from the credit card company. According to the ambiguity-reduction principle introduced in Chapter 3, these customers (as agents) are motivated to have the most-ambiguous-but-noticeable concept appear. Whereas individual companies use advertising to make customers notice their respective products, most products will remain unnoticeable ones that a retailer would be not able to provide them in exchange for the little money they have on hand. Raising a customer’s credit limit serves to lower this affordability threshold thereby making otherwise unnoticeable products become noticeable and thus wanted. In other words, while corporate advertising shapes the product qualities that customers want, credit card companies place quantitative limits on how many of these products customers will believe themselves able to possess. Their surrender to the wants instilled by these others reaches its zenith when their reaction to the credit card company’s letter is, “I can spend another $500 this Christmas,” rather than, “I’ve decided to increase my debt by $500.” Such is the mechanism for creating a pliable mass market of consumers, whose workforce participation is primarily for the benefit of their creditors.1 What makes the US consumer market so pliable is the lack of selfconstraint that this mechanism produces. Consumers’ only reason to

1 At the end of 2005 US households owed an average of $9,159 in credit card debt (CardWeb.com). According to the March 2004 Cambridge Consumer Credit Index, 42% of Americans are making just minimum payments or no payments on their credit card balances. Although paying more than the minimum allowed, an additional 39% paid less than half the monthly balance they owed.

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refrain from purchasing commodities is because retailers would be not able to verify their having paid for them. Thus, instead of choosing from among the things one can do, debt-ridden US citizens find it perfectly normal to explain their actions as ones having taken advantage of opportunities (read, abilities) as each was presented to them.2 As a case in point, recall that “because I could” was the reason then-President Bill Clinton gave for his sexual intimacy with a White House intern. This was a rationale familiar to vast numbers of his constituents for whom people are expected to exploit opportunities as they arise. Interactions within an individualist narrative begin with familiar episodes within which agents become persuaded of their abilities. Usually such persuasion would only be effective if the persuader were to have some familiarity with (i.e., relational knowledge of ) which goals the agent might find motivating. Yet in the individualist world, agents’ motivations are themselves manipulated, making it unnecessary for their manipulators to become familiar with each of them. Like newcomers to Times Square, agents spy no sentient beings behind the billboards and other advertisements that stimulate their motivations. Such familiar discourse is a monologue to which agents only listen. And so the pronoun of familiarity, “thou,” becomes superfluous; everyone is a polite “you” with whom business is contingent on “what’s in it for me.” Playful Episodes (Inability Not) Playful moments of success are short lived for the agent. They symbolize undeniable goal appearances—events that any fair reader would be incapable of denying (i.e., not able not to verify). Yet once the bows are taken and the kudos ends, the agent turns to achieving the next goal. When a young Cassius Clay proclaimed himself “the greatest” after defeating Liston in 1964, few could deny that he alone had truly achieved the world heavyweight championship. And at the moment “credit approved” appears on the cashier’s screen, nobody would deny 2 Moving from the individual to the corporate level, the persistent threat of leveraged buyouts from private equity firms and hedge funds ensures that even large firms remain debt-ridden as well. CEOs risk losing control of their businesses if they reduce debt and hold cash in an attempt to avoid fiscal risk stemming from fluctuating demand for the business’s products. Their nemeses, the corporate raiders, argue that such excess cash is unproductive, and happily apply it toward the business’s purchase price.

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that the customer has achieved her or his goal of owning a picturewindow-sized plasma television. Here we are dealing with achievements, the truths of which are obvious to nearly everyone. Achievements of this sort tend to be ranked a priori in agents’ minds, leading to the sort of non-self-controlled goal-selection that characterizes a pliable consumer marketplace as described in the previous section. If observers choose not to verify such obvious instances of goal achievements, they do so at their own risk. The appropriate adage in such cases is, “fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.” The observer’s decision to (or not to) verify achievement comes only at the end of an interaction (i.e., of a reading of agency). If after knocking an opponent unconscious, a boxer is told that he has lost the match (or if after handing over one’s money, a customer is provided no product in exchange), the boxer (or customer) would be justified in pointing out that their readers are not able not to end the interaction by verifying such an obviously true achievement. By repeatedly denying the obvious, observers (e.g., boxing judges and retailers) may gain reputations as being unfair—that is, as unlikely to verify goal achievements. Accordingly, an unfair observer is one whose prospective verifications have shifted from noticeable to unnoticeable in agents’ minds—verifications that they, not wishing to be fooled, will declare themselves able not to pursue. Yet what about achievements more difficult to verify, like “the best candidate for the job” or “best supporting actress in 2007”? The ambiguity-reduction principle does not stipulate that agents only pursue goals that others will inevitably verify. Instead, it is precisely the uncertainty of verification that keeps a goal most ambiguous for an agent throughout a reading. According to the principle, each agent will be motivated to pursue a goal, as long as its verification remains most ambiguous but still noticeable. When the conditions of goal achievement are obvious, agents generally pursue goals as the verification of each becomes noticeable; when they are less than obvious, “objective” standards (analogous to a knockout or a credit approval) are needed for observers to rank the noticeability of achievements, and thus to ensure that they have chosen the “truly best” (e.g., candidate or actress). Should agents come to believe that observers’ measures are biased against them, their verifications would become unnoticeable and they would simply stop applying for jobs or competing for Oscars. And so how is it that observers from the Academy “see” the year’s “truly best” performances? The trick lies less in what the observers see,

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than in each actress’s and actor’s belief that she or he has the same opportunity of winning. No matter how small one’s movie’s budget, who directed it, or what additional support one may or may not have had, it was you alone who gave the performance ranked by the Academy’s experts. That actresses and actors have decontextualized themselves in this way is no more apparent than during the brief moments when Oscar recipients speak of their awards. Whereas US actors and actresses tend to thank the Academy for having recognized what they have done as individuals, their non-US (generally European) counterparts tend to emphasize how the recognition belongs to everyone involved in the film within which they merely acted. Serious Episodes (Inability) Hallway etiquette has it that conversations should be held along a single wall, rather than between walls. Nevertheless, people do occasionally find themselves engrossed in conversation across a hallway rather than along it. In the United States, a curious phenomenon occurs in such circumstances. When passing between those involved in the conversation, nearly everyone utters a barely audible, “Excuse me.” Why should they excuse themselves? Anyone stupid enough to hold a conversation across a hallway should expect distractions from occasional passersby, right? Actually, this two-word phrase serves the important purpose of ensuring that the utterer’s passing is understood by the conversationalists not to have been an intentional distraction from whatever goal the conversation may be serving. The idea is that when the moment of reckoning comes (namely, when the goal-achievement is [or is not] verified), the agent is understood to be the sole cause of whatever may or may not have been achieved. No one other than the agent is to be blamed for her or his failures, or to be credited with her or his successes. Coercion, when necessary, should be applied informally so that the power of authority is masked. If possible, the individual is allowed to maintain the illusion that what he is compelled to do was decided by himself in his self-interest. In the final analysis, it is not the conformity and the inevitability of authority which Americans dislike, but the assault upon the self as the subjective and private core of the individual (Stewart 1972, p. 73).

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Like the pronoun, “thou,” the concept of “permission” has virtually disappeared from contemporary English usage, such that “You may go” is generally understood to mean “You will possibly go” rather than “I permit you to go.” No US mechanic would tell a customer, “You are not permitted to take your car home today.” Customers are always able to do whatever they wish with their possessions. Accordingly, schoolchildren who start learning other languages, find it hard to fathom what this word, “permission” (e.g., dürfen in German) refers to. Permission implies that one person might potentially (by withholding permission) get in another person’s way. Such a possibility is unimaginable for the agent. Yet each time observers inform an agent that they are not able to verify the achievement of her or his goal (of being hired, winning an Oscar, etc.), they are unavoidably involved in making the agent’s failure obvious. “You are overqualified for the job.” “Your performance was too affected.” Such judgments are conveyed as if they were public truths that any fair observer could see. In a society in which people even excuse themselves for impeding one’s conversations, these observers would “surely” not intentionally impede more serious attempts from an agent to have her or his achievements verified. Instead, individualistobservers’ pronouncements are purportedly unmotivated invitations that the agent join them as observers in judging what has or has not been achieved. “Surely you understand our position: A Ph.D. like yourself would find this job boring, and we are not able to afford having our workers bored with their work, right?” In the ensuing discursive episode, self-observing-agents typically become convinced, in all fairness, that they too are not able to verify their own goal achievements. Nonetheless, observers’ rankings of others may (perhaps unintentionally) systematically impede some agents relative to others, based on their ethnicity, religion, etc. In such cases, observers’ judgments may themselves be challenged by (e.g., legal) experts, potentially affording agents newly noticeable opportunities (e.g., law suits). During such “observations of the observer” the observer-but-now-agent-beingobserved is placed under pressure to make her or his judgments “more transparent,” which is to say “based on something obvious.” Like every other agent, such “observers” too are judged as having (or not having) achieved their goals—only this time, the judgment is of its having made fair judgments. Responding to these pressures, CEOs point to corporate profits in justifying their decisions to acquire or liquidate company divisions, school principals cite dropout rates to justify their

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curriculum changes, and politicians cite crime statistics to justify stricter law enforcement. Out of concern not be judged unfair, observers thus make their decisions so obvious that anyone wishing to observe their agency would judge their judgments beyond repute (Huber & Litan 1991; Nader & Smith 1996). The final step in this “objectivization process” follows as one considers the observer’s motivations in terms of the ambiguity-reduction principle. Success as a CEO, school principal, etc. involves ranking each on such objective measures as were created to shelter them from accusations of unfairness. Consequently, these observers-as-agents find themselves competing to maintain or improve their ranking relative to others with similar positions. Not doing so might cost them their jobs; doing so might help them find new ones. Because search committees too need to shelter themselves from accusations of favoritism, or unfairness, in recruitment, they will tend to use the same “objective” measures (profits, dropouts, etc.) when ranking candidates. Since decisions to hire or fire these observers-as-agents depend on their rankings relative to each other, their motivations to achieve less ambiguous (i.e., higher) rankings will place them in competition with each other. When the best, or highest-ranking, ones receive multiple job offers, they will be motivated to choose the job that is both noticeable (i.e., an opportunity, given the likelihood that one will be hired) and most ambiguous (i.e., a challenge, given a modestly high likelihood that one will not be hired). The art in such career-making is recognizing when one is not able to contribute more to one’s organization. At such times, one commonly hears observers-as-agents politely apologizing, “It’s time for fresh ideas” or “My talents would be more useful elsewhere”—all code-words for “I am able not to work for you anymore, given my having accepted another job that I believe will better facilitate improvement in my professional ranking.” Polite Episodes (Ability Not) The agent can quit (i.e., is able not to achieve) at any time. If you believe that your achievements would be unfairly judged, if you believe yourself incapable of achieving a goal, or if you are simply insufficiently motivated by such an unambiguous goal, interaction with observers can always be preempted or terminated. Yet the cost of opting out is that it precludes one’s (prospective) observers from verifying one’s

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goal achievement. As sweepstakes hosts happily warn, “You can’t win if you don’t play.” When CEOs leave one corporation for another, they are opting out of one career choice for a different, more challenging—or ambiguous—one. In contrast, teenagers who drop out of high school, generally have no promising alternative to the studies they believe themselves able not to continue.3 In a world where everyone is treated fairly, those for whom verification (e.g., of academic success) is difficult to obtain may find solace in knowing that they are free not to seek such verification. “I don’t need (am able not) to put up with this. I’m out of here.” Note that the solace in such verification-avoidance is in knowing that goal achievement may nonetheless someday be verified. “I can still become US President; I just choose not (read, am able not) to run this year.” Yet this refusal process is more fundamentally linked to the influence of time constraints on the agent’s motivations. By entering into contracts, agents place constraints upon themselves whereby their goal achievements are to be judged by observers at some future points in time (a.k.a. “deadlines”). Unless agents have been engaged in ensuring their contracted goals’ verifiability, verification of their goal achievements will become increasingly ambiguous as their respective deadlines approach. For example, as depicted in Figure 4.1 if one neglects to earn the money, one will experience a more gradual increase in the ambiguity of (and thus in one’s motivation toward) public verification that one has become US President than of one’s landlord’s verification that the rent has been paid at month’s end. Likewise, as the deadline for productdelivery approaches, suppliers will find progressively greater ambiguity in (and experience greater urgency regarding) customers’ verifications that goods will have arrived on time. Thus contracted goals (the rent, product delivery, etc.) tend to take precedence over discretionary goals (e.g., becoming President) as deadlines for the former approach. Generally speaking, the more that an agent’s resources are tied up in short-term contractual commitments, the less she or he will be motivated toward

3 According to the 2003 Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) survey of 15-year-olds within its 30 industrialized member-countries the US ranked 19th in science literacy and 24th in mathematics literacy (Lernke & Gonzales 2006, pp. 16, 22). Moreover, a broad uneducated consumer base looms in the US where currently “about a third of students are leaving high school without a diploma” (Barton 2005, p. 3).

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Goals Rent payment

Ambiguity that goal (payment or Presidency) will be verified

US Presidency

low rent deadline to achieve rent payment

to verify rent payment

ABLE

ABLE

NOT ABLE

to achieve US Presidency

Time Figure 4.1. If a tenant earns no money as a rent-payment deadline approaches, the tenant’s motivation will switch from other goals (e.g., becoming US President) to paying the rent when the landlord’s verification of rent-payment becomes relatively more ambiguous.

less immediate, discretionary goals—goals the achievement-verifications of which gain ambiguity at a relatively slower rate. An Illustration These four types of episodes may appear in any sequence within an individualist narrative. They may involve only isolated monologues or may be part of lengthy interactions among individualists. To clarify how such narratives proceed, consider the discourse of an artist—a would-be observer (O1, later A3) engaged in soliciting prospective customer-agents (A1 and A2, who later becomes O2). She begins by taking a photograph of A1 outside her studio: O1 (playful—ownership of photo is verified): “Congratulations! You are the 100th customer to walk by my shop today, and you have just won a free photograph of yourself on this beautiful day in

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Manhattan. Look here. (Even you are not able not to) See how great you look in the picture?” A1 (polite—refusal to acknowledge interaction as having begun): “Sorry. I’m not interested (able not to accept your free picture).” O1 (familiar—invitation to initiate interaction): “If you can come inside, it will only take a moment for me to frame it . . . ” A1 (polite—refusal to initiate interaction): “I’m busy (able not to do this) now. Good-bye.” Interaction 1 begins O1 (familiar—invitation to initiate interaction): “I’ve often noticed you looking at the portraits in my storefront. You can come and look inside, if you’d like . . .” A2 (familiar—acceptance of invitation to initiate interaction): “Well. I have a few minutes before meeting a friend. Sure, I can have a look.” O1 (familiar—make a purchase more noticeable for A2): “You can buy one of these small portraits for $50. And then prices go up to about $2,000 for my largest portraits. In what sort of room would the portrait be located?” O2 previously A2 (serious—make verification of “a desirable portrait” less noticeable): “I couldn’t fit such a large painting above the mantelpiece in my dining room . . .” Interaction 2 begins O2 previously A2 (familiar—make verification of “a desirable portrait” more noticeable): “Nonetheless, a portrait about this size could fit well with my other things.” Interaction 1 continues A2 (playful—anticipation of purchase verification): “I’ll take (You’ll be not able not to sell) one . . . of me, of course.” O1 (playful—anticipation of purchase verification): “We (are not able not to) take all major credit cards.” Interaction 1 ends Until the dialogue turned briefly serious, “the customer’s purchase” had been the only goal addressed. At this point a first allusion is made to the

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customer’s goal of “a desirable portrait” (for which he solicits the artist’s help in a subsequent familiar episode). At the moment of purchase, the customer switches permanently from agent (A2) to observer (O2) as the artist does from observer (O1) to agent (A3). The artist is no longer the observer who verifies that the customer has made a purchase; she is now the agent who achieves “the portrait” that the customer may or may not verify as having appeared at deadline. A few weeks later, the customer drops by the artist’s shop. Interaction 2 continues O2 (playful—attempt to verify portrait’s having appeared): “Hello. I was in the neighborhood, and thought I might drop by to see if my portrait is done (not able not to be verified).” A3 previously O1 (serious—make portrait’s appearance less noticeable to the customer): “No. I’m sorry, but you will not be able to pick it up until next Saturday. That’s the deadline stipulated on the contract, you know.” A3 (familiar—ensure portrait’s appearance is nonetheless noticeable to the customer): “Don’t worry. I can still meet the deadline.” A3 (playful—make portrait’s appearance more noticeable to the customer): “Here. Note how the background is already completed for the most part. You will like (be not able not to verify) what you see on Saturday.” And when Saturday arrives . . . O2 (playful—attempt to verify portrait’s appearance): “Hello again. I’ve come to pick up my portrait.” A3 (playful—attempt to have O2 verify portrait’s appearance): “Of course. Here it (something not able not to be verified) is.” O2 (serious—refusal to verify portrait’s appearance): “But it doesn’t even look like me. I am not able to see much similarity with the photographs that I gave you.” A3 (playful—further attempt to have O2 verify portrait’s appearance): “The portrait incorporates some of the endearing characteristics—ones of charity and self-confidence, for example—that I noticed in you during our previous conversations in the store. Surely you cannot miss (not able not to verify) the ‘deeper you’ that the portrait captures.”

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Familiar Episodes

Serious Episodes

Playful Episodes

Goals: Art purchase

Interaction 1

Portrait

Interaction 2

Polite Episodes

Familiar Episodes

Serious Episodes

Playful Episodes

Figure 4.2. One interaction between artist and customer ends normally with the artist’s verification of the customer’s purchase, yet another is left unfinished when the customer is left unpersuaded—and thus unwilling to verify—that the artist has produced a portrait.

O2 (serious—further refusal to verify portrait’s appearance): “I cannot see either the ‘surface me’ or the ‘deeper me’ in the portrait. I’d like my money back, please.” Figure 4.2 provides a graphic depiction of the above individualist narrative as being comprised of persuasive episodes both prior to and during two artist-customer interactions. At the outset, the first (prospective) customer politely allows the playful artist first to succeed in persuading him that “their interaction” has ended, but then to fail in familiarly persuading him that “their interaction” has begun. However, the familiar episode that she initiates with the second customer does succeed, thereby initiating an interaction that ends with a persuasive (i.e., successful) playful episode. During this interaction, a second interaction was initiated. However, none of a series of playful episodes (first initiated by the customer then by the artist) has been persuasive when the narrative is cut off. If the artist’s playful attempts fail to make the portrait “apparent” for the customer, she has three additional options (assuming that the

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customer’s verification remains most ambiguous for her). First, if the seriousness of the customer’s denials has made his verification unnoticeable to the artist, at that point ambiguity reduction will, for her, be toward politely making customer verification vacate rather than appear. (“Here is your money. I won’t try [am able not] to talk you into buying something you would not be happy with.”) The artist’s second and third options arise only if the customer’s verification remains noticeable to her. On the one hand, she might use familiar attempts to make the portrait more noticeable (and thus potentially apparent given an extended deadline). (“If you wish, I can change your features and expression to make the portrait more realistic.”) Or the artist might confront the customer seriously, adopting the observer role herself and accusing him of being an unfair observer. (“You paid me to paint your portrait, and here it is. I cannot accept [am not able to verify] your being not able to accept it.”) But then the artist is likely to be the loser as she and the customer each accuse the other of being an unfair “observer” (i.e., an agent attempting to weasel out of their contract). Even if the artist prevails (and the sale goes through), the customer will likely leave their interaction libelously not able to verify the desirability of the artist’s portraits. The Myth of Fairness Individualism lends itself to the premise, or myth, that everyone is faced with the same field of opportunities. Although people’s initial resources may differ, verification will be forthcoming to anyone who achieves a goal. As legend has it, Steve Jobs started his career assembling personal computers in a garage in Cupertino, California; and Colonel (Harland) Sanders began selling chicken dinners at his service station in Corbin, Kentucky. The lesson to be learned from these accomplished individuals is that even the poorest amongst us can achieve riches, as long as we make the right decisions. The fairness principle thus has two components: First, if a goal has been achieved by one agent, it is one that every agent is capable of achieving. If one assumes that goals like the US Presidency and vast wealth are accessible to everyone, the fact that at any given moment an agent has not achieved one of them implies one of two positions: The agent either decided not to achieve it (“I am able not to be President”), or has decided—but has yet to achieve—it (“I’m able

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to be President someday”). Both positions are private matters removed from readers’ judgments of the agent’s achievements. The latter position is particularly important, however, in that it provides ongoing meaning to the agent’s motivations. Like a failed belief in heaven, the agent may die having forsaken all other goals for a loftier, yet never-to-be-verified one. Yet with every success (e.g., every Jobs or Sanders) the masses find goal achievement more noticeable. (“Like them, you too can make it rich.”) And so agents continuously choose to achieve barely noticeable goals as long as setbacks do not increase these goals’ ambiguity to the point that the goals become unnoticeable (and thus something they are able not to achieve). Second, those who read agency merely verify public facts that every knowledgeable reader can see. That is, if readers have verified one agent’s achievement, it is one that they would have verified if it had been achieved by any other agent. Note that no matter how much publicity surrounds the accomplishments of a Jobs or Sanders who “beat the odds,” an agent will refuse to achieve any goal that in her or his case has zero odds of being verified as achieved. That is, verification will be noticeable for me not merely if I believe there to be a class of people who have achieved a goal; I shall only be motivated to achieve the goal if I also believe that I belong to this class. Readers will thus be incapable of motivating agents, without first convincing them that each agent’s achievements will be judged fairly (i.e., uniformly in accordance with unmotivated, universal standards). Nevertheless, fair verification remains only a secondary motivation for individualist readers. Their primary motivation is to have agents achieve those goals that are most ambiguous, but noticeable for them. To these ends they not only use advertisements to build fairness reputations as per the first component (“Women comprise nearly half of our management staff ”), they also closely ensure that agents “see” no violations of these reputations. Once readers lose their fairness reputation, agents will stop seeking verifications from them. For example, agents stop applying for jobs at companies with reputations for discriminating against people like themselves; they stop seeking funding from foundations reputed not to support their work; etc. Yet employers need skilled workers to achieve profits for them, and foundation officers need capable applicants to justify their continued funding. And so the worker most likely to increase company profits is hired, allegedly because he is the best qualified applicant but tacitly because of his mother’s connections within the industry; the researcher most likely

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to justify foundation funding is hired, allegedly for the same reason but tacitly because the researcher’s potential for generating numerous (albeit often trivial) publications will increase the likelihood that patrons will be impressed with the foundation’s upcoming annual report; etc. Yet to avoid potential reputation loss, readers must ensure that they can (should others decide to read them) defend such tacit aspects of their decisions.4 These defenses typically make use of sour grapes and/or marketplace rhetoric. On those rare occasions when agents (workers, researchers, etc.) might challenge a reader’s fairness, they will likely get no further than a condescending smile and oblique allusions to the challengers’ “sour grapes” (i.e., their unwillingness to accept failure). Given the reader’s motivation to prevent agents from seeing her or his unfairness, the reader will politely refuse to join agents in making any unfairness apparent. However, the sour grapes defense is greatly weakened if an unfairness accusation is made by someone whose achievements the reader has not personally refused to verify. Yet an individualist would only be motivated to make such challenges-on-behalf-of-others as a means to the achievement of some goal. Accordingly, within individualist societies legal agents may find that they can gain considerable wealth by championing (as a secondary motivation) “fairness laws,” thereby making “challenges to blatant violations of fairness” apparent to the directly-affected agents as well as to their unfairly-treated clients. The myth of fairness is nowhere more reified than with the “marketplace” concept. When decisions’ unfairness is sufficiently subtle to preclude legal action but polite allusions to “sour grapes” fail to curtail agents’ challenges, a reader will usually deflect criticism by inviting agents to observe their own failures in terms of a mysterious “marketplace” of achievements—one of their society’s many discrete domains of goal-specific relational knowledge. During such serious episodes, the reader defends her or his decision by applying the rules (e.g., hire if “enough but not too many” years of experience) associated with 4 Most commonly, individualist observers will not be cynical in these decisions, but will be sincerely convinced by their defenses of them. In this regard, consider expectation states theory research on the blindness of males to females’ achievements within task groups (Ridgeway 1993). Nonetheless, not all self-deceptions are ones individualists will be willing to make public. For example, a “misanthropic politician who dealt in mankind-loving imagery could still think of himself as rhetorically honest, if he meant to do well by his constituents yet thought that he could get their votes only by such display” (Burke 1969 [1950], p. 36).

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the marketplace of achievements to which the failed achievements are being compared. Agents then join the reader in “seeing” their own failures as ranked lower than the achievements of other agents who did succeed. . . . Perhaps the agents will be successful in their next endeavors; perhaps elsewhere. Ambiguity Reduction among Individualists The ambiguity curves in Figure 4.3 depict a cycle of individualist interaction as involving first an agent’s motivation to reduce the ambiguity of an observer’s verification, and then the observer’s motivation to reduce the ambiguity of agents’ achievements. An interaction begins when the agent is motivated toward the most-ambiguous-yet-noticeable verification of which he is able. The left dashed arrow represents the agent’s motivational direction (i.e., toward the goal’s appearance and the observer’s subsequent verification). All other noticeable verifications remain contingent ones that the agent is able not to pursue. Although no other potential verifications are sufficiently challenging for the agent, some unnoticeable ones may have become sufficiently ambiguous (e.g., via prolonged exposure to advertising) that the agent’s motivation is to push them out of mind. (“I’ve got more important things to think about.”) Motivation will not be toward verifications more unnoticeable than this, given their lower ambiguity due to the agent’s past market experiences. Instead, the agent will believe them to be impossible verifications she or he would be not able to bring about. Nonetheless, if a verification becomes noticeable in time (i.e., if it passes the affordability threshold), agents will be motivated to reduce the ambiguity of this newly most-ambiguous-yet-noticeable verification. Agents only seek an observer’s verification after they have verified to themselves that the goal has been achieved (i.e., has appeared). This is the point at which controversy is likely to arise—controversy regarding the agent’s belief that any fair observer would inevitably (i.e., would be not able not to) verify that the goal has appeared versus the observer’s belief that she or he is not able to do so. Of course, there is little room for controversy when observers directly verify achievements of the goal in question (e.g., breaking the sound barrier or becoming a millionaire). Yet in deciding whether or not less clear-cut goals (e.g., an Oscar-winning performance or a qualified job-applicant) have appeared, the observer’s judgment will also involve ranking degrees of these goals’

noticeable

Verification

unnoticeable

noticeable

unnoticeable

Achievement

V a c a t e s

NOT ABLE NOT

(given past marketplace experiences) A p p e a r s

(present marketplace experience) and

(present marketplace experience)

NOT ABLE

ABLE

NOT ABLE

V a c a t e s

NOT ABLE

(potential for sour grapes)

Figure 4.3. Agent’s and observer’s reciprocal motivations: for the former toward the most challenging (but affordable) verification, and for the latter toward the greatest projected number of agents with marketable achievements.

A p p e a r s

(insufficient challenge)

ABLE NOT

ABLE

“push out of mind”

(among agents)

(re a specific observer)

affordability threshold

Observer’s Motivation

Agent’s Motivation

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noticeability. As explained above, the agent presumes that the observer will fairly administer the allegedly fixed set of standards associated with the goal’s marketplace. However, if these standards for goal achievement are so high that the observer is not able to verify any achievement, in time all agents will conclude that they are not able to obtain verification within this marketplace and will stop seeking verification there. Yet agents will also quit a marketplace if its standards are so low that agents find its observers’ verifications insufficiently challenging. Thus observers’ verifications will not be forthcoming simply because achievements are noticeable. Given their motivation to reduce the ambiguity of goal achievement within their respective marketplaces, observers will alternate verifications and nonverifications in ways that expand their market and their share within it. In contrast, every agent believes that observers rank all agents’ achievements according to their noticeability, and that they are not able not to verify every achievement that meets a standard degree of noticeability. Charges of unfairness (and “sour grapes” counterarguments) may arise if agents believe that the sheer number of agents with marketable achievements has supplanted fairness as the basis for nonverification in their cases. Nonetheless, observers may be successful in persuading these agents that this nonverification was merely the result of impersonally applied standards of the marketplace, rather than of the observers’ failure to judge with impartiality. Individualism: A Narrative with Serious Episodes as Persons’ Reflexive Default If one conceptualizes individualism as an ongoing narrative, punctuated by polite, familiar, serious, and playful episodes, one notes that when agents observe themselves they usually are engaged in serious discourse. During these prolonged forward-looking episodes, agents perpetually observe their achievements as they imagine a fair observer might perceive them. Time spent in such serious self-reflection vastly dwarfs the individualist’s time spent politely refusing other’s familiar requests to achieve their goals, playfully validating others’ goal achievements, or even familiarly soliciting others to achieve their goals. Long-term goals (higher education, home ownership, etc.) require corresponding long periods of such critical reflexivity. Thus for the most part the individualist leads an isolated existence, gazing into a field inhabited by other individualists engaged seriously in their own ongoing self-observation.

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Even when inviting others to achieve one’s goals, one’s smile of familiarity (as their observer) masks the subjectively serious episode that continues in one’s mind—an ongoing episode that is also masked as the individualist engages others politely, playfully, or seriously. Alexis de Tocqueville discerned this perpetually serious aspect of the American psyche as early as 1831. In America I have seen the freest and best educated of men in circumstances the happiest to be found in the world; yet it seemed to me that a cloud habitually hung on their brow, and they seemed serious and almost sad even in their pleasures. The chief reason for this is that . . . (they) never stop thinking of the good things they have not got (1966 [1835], p. 508).

Only with the occasional playful verification of her or his own goal achievement, is the agent briefly disengaged before engaging quickly anew with another most-ambiguous concept. For those individualists with many resources, this new concept will likely be noticeable. There is “always” another job (home, spouse, etc.) that they are able to pursue once they notify the relevant observers (employers, mortgage holders, etc.) that they are able not to achieve their current goals any longer. In contrast, there are those who at the point of disengagement are not able to imagine a goal that they could achieve in the eyes of a fair observer. Such individualists find only themselves to blame, in light of the general understanding that any complaints would be evidence of “sour grapes.” Thus after noticing no jobs for ex-convicts on the outside, a newly freed prisoner commits another crime in hopes of returning to a penitentiary where she is able to have her (relatively modest) goal-achievements verified. And throughout the experience she accepts that her time in prison is solely due to bad decisions she made as a solitary individual.

CHAPTER FIVE

MUTUALISM When referring to themselves collectively, Hollanders speak of their corporation (maatschappij) or their life together (samenleving), not to a “society” (e.g., the “National Ghost Hunters Society”) composed of people with common interests. Everyone is interrelated within their national system, their life together. Unlike the American who boasts having “put an extension on my house,” the Hollander realizes that she only paid the bill after “allowing a contractor to put the extension up.” When she is herself at work, she knows that like the contractor she too is allowed the privilege of contributing to the life she shares with him and her other countrymen. And when she leaves work at 5 p.m., she rests assured that she has done her part in keeping the “national corporation” running. Familiar Episodes (Compulsion Not) Corporal punishment of children is illegal in most Western European welfare nations (or care-taker states, as they generally refer to themselves), as well as in all of Scandinavia. Public school teachers tell their pupils that their parents must not spank or strike them, and they instruct them to notify authorities if their parents disobey the law in such ways. Instead, in the spirit of Rousseau children need to learn through experience why some acts are good and others are bad. (P)unishment must never be inflicted on children as a punishment, but that it ought always to come to them as the natural consequence of their bad acts. Thus you will not preach against lying, nor punish them just because they have lied; but when they have lied you will heap on their heads all the effects of falsehood, as not being believed when they have spoken the truth, and being accused of evil which they have not done and which they have denied (Rousseau 1914 [1762], p. 65).

By lying, children remove themselves from the life they share with others—an unpleasant “outside” where the genuineness of their claims and denials is questioned at every turn. Left to themselves, young children discover the unpleasantries of the “outside,” where quarrels,

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belligerence, and fights abound. In time, they come to realize that they must not commit such asocial acts, and that participation in their parents’ life together is much to be preferred. When quarrels break out during a game, parents in the US typically remind their children to “play fair,” whereas Dutch parents remind them to “play honest” (eerlijk spelen). The distinction here lies between parents’ emphases on “how” versus “why” their children are playing. US parents are primarily concerned that the game’s rules are followed, and that whoever wins or loses did so “fair and square” (i.e., having followed the rules throughout). In this way US children are taught not to be bad losers, whereas their Dutch counterparts are taught not to be bad winners. Rather than focus on how the game is played, Dutch parents tend to presume that “having fun” (not “winning”) is the reason why their children are playing. Those most skilled in playing the game must not exploit those skills to the point that other players no longer enjoy themselves. For the same reason, older children must not hold a younger child too strictly to the game’s rules, and in any account they must not always win. The point is not to win; it is to ensure that losses are shared. If I always lose, you may be playing fair but you are not playing honest with me. And I will quit the game, if you remain dishonest. Unfortunately, “honest” is too broad an English translation of the Dutch word, “eerlijk,” because the former term is commonly used to convey an accurate reporting of facts. In this sense, to be dishonest is to lie. In contrast, there are occasions when it might be eerlijk for someone to lie. For example, siblings may praise the eerlijkheid of a doctor who intentionally lies by telling their terminally ill father that he will be “just fine.” What makes the lie “honest” is that it was the doctor’s way of responsibly answering everyone’s (including the father’s) need to avoid discomfort. Thus every eerlijk act is a responsible one insofar as its intention was to answer a generally recognized need. As a means of averting confusion, I shall thus use “responsible” rather than “honest” in the pages that follow.1

1 What makes “responsible” an otherwise poor translation of “eerlijk” is that in addition to characterizing the intention behind an act (“It was responsible of him to say that.”), it can be used in classifying types of acts (e.g., “It is a doctor’s responsibility to say such things.”). My later discussion of the myth of responsibility returns to this broader definition of the term.

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Generalizing the principles of honest, or responsible, play to social systems, citizens of care-taker states are concerned that when a citizen’s needs (e.g., poor housing or ill health) are not answered, she or he may refuse to “play their game” (i.e., to contribute to the social system shared by all). Unlike the United States, where resources are available for citizens to use, care-taker states guarantee rights that their citizens might abuse. By refusing to participate in US society, citizens merely hurt themselves by failing to exploit their opportunities. Yet every Hollander who refuses to contribute to the Dutch social system is one less person trying to answer the needs of the nation’s citizenry—including those of its noncontributors. But Hollanders’ motivations are not the same as those of people in the US. At issue is not how much of the nation’s wealth one has earned, but whether or not one deserves one’s (relatively) equal share. As explained in Chapter 3, the ambiguity-reduction principal stipulates that mutualists’ motivations are to have most-ambiguous-but-implausible concepts vacate. Recognizing this, they know that they must not articulate needs to an interpreter unless they believe two preconditions to hold: First, upon articulation the interpreter would believe the needs implausible (i.e., ones the interpreter is qualified to answer for collaborators). Second, the interpreter would find the collaborators’ needs sufficiently ambiguous to justify her or his assistance. The first precondition is because mutualists are not compelled to answer plausible needs (i.e., ones they are unqualified to answer). That is, the articulated need must pass a prospective interpreter’s “preparedness threshold” (i.e., the point on her or his ambiguity curve that divides plausible from implausible needs) if one’s articulation is not to be playfully dismissed. (“Luckily, in my profession I do not have to deal with such problems.”) The second precondition follows because when interpreters are busy answering more pressing needs, they will refuse them with the familiarity of a fellow collaborator, and thereafter likely (via a serious episode) transform them into interpreters if they appear too lazy to answer the needs themselves. (“You must not tell me to do it. . . . There’s nothing keeping you from doing it [i.e., ‘You are not compelled not to do it’] yourself, right?”) Interactions within a mutualist narrative thus begin as collaborators note a sufficiently ambiguous need that they believe would be barely implausible for (i.e., likely answered by) an interpreter. When this happens, collaborators will initiate a polite episode whereby the interpreter’s attention is directed to the need as something they are compelled to articulate. (“I have to ask your help with that customer, okay?”) If the

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interpreter fails to respond by attempting to answer the need, collaborators may motivate the interpreter by decreasing the implausibility of the need via a serious episode in which they articulate the interpreter’s being not compelled not to answer (i.e., not exempt from answering) the need. (“Just because it’s 2 minutes before closing time does not mean that you must not serve that customer.”) But then again, such serious episodes may fail simply because they consume time that might otherwise be spent answering the needs at hand. Playful episodes usually afford a welcome—although not always a responsible—alternative. (“But since it’s now 5 o’clock, I do not have to serve customers any more, right?”) Although possible (i.e., not compelled not) during working hours, it is unnecessary (i.e., not compelled) for an interpreter to answer a collaborator’s needs when interpreters pass the “preparedness threshold” once again as the workday ends. Playful Episodes (Noncompulsion) In the US most suburban, single-family homes are built on top of a concrete basement—often a carpeted and furnished cellar with drywall or wooden siding covering its walls. In these basements teenagers commonly find both welcome respites from parental oversight, as well as places to talk among themselves. Their talk often proceeds as follows: Teenager 1: “Hey, Guys. What do you want to do?” Teenager 2: “I dunno. What do you want to do?” Teenager 1: “No idea. I was just wonderin’ what you might want to do.” Teenager 3: “How about the mall? Do you want to go to the mall?” Teenager 4: “Naah. We went to the mall yesterday, and there was nothing to do there.” Teenager 3: “Okay. So then what do you want to do?” Teenager 4: “I dunno.” . . .

Such conversations could last for hours. Yet they would never be heard from Western European teenagers, for whom free time is an occasion for talking, not doing things, with others. The Dutch have a word, gezellig, without counterpart in the English-language. (Its Danish variant is hyggelig—a word in many respects like gemütlich in German, but much closer to gesellig, as Simmel [1949 {1910}] defined the term.) Gezelligheid is what adults strive for in their life together, and what children miss when their ongezellig behavior leaves them isolated outside of it. It is an experience only possible within the

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company of others—a shared cognitive openness within which people reveal each other’s likes, dislikes, and nonprofessional experiences. “Shop talk” is off limits, since one must not broach such matters during each other’s free time. Accordingly playful, gezellig episodes begin the moment one leaves work. Within care-taker states, time is cleanly divided at the beginning and end of the workday. Upon showing up early for work or failing to leave work on time, one is playfully reminded that one is not compelled to do such things in one’s free time. (“You do not have to finish that today,” commonly followed with, “Come on now. Let’s go out for a beer.”) Such playful reminders would also be forthcoming if one were to skip lunch, or fail to take part in morning or afternoon coffee breaks. During work hours, however, one is trusted to dutifully address needs that one is qualified to answer.2 As in a game, Hollanders’ life together rests on a foundation of people who volunteer only as long as they find it fun to participate. Even school should be fun. Thus toward the end of elementary school, pupils with less aptitude for abstraction are counseled into vocational schools whereas those with more of such aptitude are encouraged toward universities. While meeting with a student’s parents, an elementary school teacher (commonly with the pertinent student sitting quietly in the background) might reassure them, “In our Dutch life together there are many jobs requiring few math qualifications—jobs that Jan might enjoy doing.” Their son, Jan, is not compelled to do anything that would not be fun for him. Given Jan’s weakness in mathematics, university study would be difficult for him and thus no fun at all. Absent any sense of shame or embarrassment, Jan might also matter-of-factly mention an older sister who does attend the University because, “she learns better than I do.” Nonetheless once both siblings have been trained, each will become an important volunteer, contributing toward the nation’s life together from the slot for which she or he is now qualified. In the US a teacher would never allude to a student’s innate incapacities, however. To do so would be in flagrant contradiction of the fairness myth, according to which every student is capable of achieving

2 Note that the locus of trust lies elsewhere in the US, where people trust the observer not to have cheated (i.e., to have verified their goal-achievements fairly). The Hollander trusts interpreters not to have lied (i.e., to have answered their need-articulations responsibly). The former trust is that the same measure is applied to all achievements; the latter one is that dutiful effort is applied during the workday.

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any goal that has ever been achieved. (“My child can do whatever he chooses to do with his life. If he is mathematically challenged, then a tutor can help strengthen his abilities.”) In contrast, the Dutch find each others’ differences endearing topics of gezellig conversation: one’s likes or dislikes in food or clothing, one’s peculiar experiences (e.g., a kindness, a slight, a crisis, or a jocularity), one’s shortcomings or strengths (e.g., a poor/good sense of direction or difficulty/skill with algebra), etc. Yet to remain gezellig, all participants should leave the conversation believing themselves different, but not better or worse than each other. Gezellig conversation helps us gain relational knowledge about differences in our inner selves. Like the discrete occupational “slots” within Hollanders’ life together, these presumably innate differences are not to be ranked (and thus do not lend themselves to pride or panic as we compare ourselves to each other). Our relative value is only measured in terms of how dutifully each of us spends our work hours. On this measure, the most humble street worker may proudly command more respect than a lazy (albeit absent) court justice, allowing the former’s complaints of the latter’s irresponsibility to leave an evening’s gezelligheid intact. (“When Judge van Dijk dies, his epitaph will read, ‘May he continue to rest in peace.’”) Serious Episodes (Noncompulsion Not) Yet work is serious business and no place for idle, gezellig chatter. Whereas familiar and playful episodes predominate when people are off duty, work time calls for polite or serious discourse. As the workday begins, each Hollander “steps into” her or his slot within their interconnected life together. Each slot is sufficiently equipped and every slot-holder sufficiently qualified to meet whatever needs the day may bring. If perchance one has insufficient equipment or resources, or even no slot from which to do one’s duty, then someone else is to blame for not having answered the (potential) slot-holder’s need to do her or his job.3 However, if despite sufficient equipment, resources, and good health you should fail to answer the needs for which anyone in your position

For someone from the US it is almost beyond comprehension to imagine Western European graduates seriously complaining that shortsighted politicians are, as social planners, responsible for having failed to ensure them jobs upon their having earned a doctorate (i.e., after having done their parts). Yet they do. 3

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would be responsible, there is only one explanation for the failure: You were too lazy (i.e., not compelled not) to do your job. When a US executive’s performance lags, she is generally not faulted as having been lazy. Instead, one presumes that a more capable executive would have made better decisions. (“Someone trained at Harvard, might be better qualified for her job.”) Yet unlike the United States, no distinction is made among degrees from a care-taker state’s various universities. For example, Hollanders generally recognize doctorates in economics from Leiden, Groningen, and Amsterdam to certify virtually identical qualifications. Since everyone is gradually counseled into the positions, or slots, for which they are qualified, workers’ abilities are rarely called into question at times of failure. Instead, the inclination is not to replace a worker due to incompetence, but to presume the worker’s competence and to snub her or him for having been unconscientious. (“Have to go home again early [rhetorically, not compelled not to work], Joe?”) Because of your laziness, everyone suffers. If you feel guilty, well, that is precisely the idea. In short, mutualist interpreters are motivated to preempt serious episodes with their colleagues. The more an interpreter fails to answer the needs articulated by her or his collaborator-colleagues, the more these articulations will escalate (making the need less implausible for the interpreter). The strategy here is one of browbeating wayward interpreters (in contrast to the US strategy of rewarding agents’ achievements via verification). As described in Chapter 3, the mutualist-interpreter’s motivation is to have collaborators’ need-articulations vacate—a motivation effectively pursued by answering the needs. Since they generally have sufficient equipment, resources, and qualifications to easily meet these needs, most interpreters develop responsible work habits for dutifully answering needs as they arise. Acquiescence in their daily routines is contingent on the promise that each workday is itself ultimately improbable, since it will—like every other—come to a playful end signaled by an even more mechanical process revealed on a clock face. Polite Episodes (Compulsion) Yet many need-articulations will not be preempted as interpreters’ habitually follow their work routines. For example, workers may lose track of time during their coffee break, such that colleagues must remind

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them to go back to work. Doctors will lose patients unless the latter have to report their symptoms to the former. Yet as discussed within this chapter’s section on familiar episodes, collaborators will hesitate to mention others’ responsibilities (i.e., articulate needs for them to answer) unless these responsible parties would interpret the need as being sufficiently ambiguous. In clear-cut cases (e.g., their coffee break is over), mentions of interpreters’ responsibilities will immediately draw their attention to the needs they are not compelled not to answer. But what if one has recurrent headaches? Would these needs be sufficiently ambiguous (i.e., lacking in implausibility) that one must motivate a doctor to answer them? Although as interpreter I may be confident in my ability to judge the relative implausibility of needs that I am qualified to answer, as an untrained collaborator I will be less certain of my judgments in this regard. Given my hesitance to articulate needs that I believe interpreters would find insufficiently ambiguous to answer, I am less motivated to initiate polite episodes with those whose qualifications differ greatly from my own, than either with similarly qualified colleagues or with those whose responsibilities are clear-cut. Thus within care-taker states, people with specialized qualifications tend to be politely approached either by colleagues (out of a need to balance the workload: “I have to ask you to take on more patients.”), or by others whose need for their expertise has become sufficiently desperate (i.e., barely implausible: “Doctor, I have to be cured. Please.”) for them to seek help. These other-policing efforts among interpreters in combination with collaborators’ tendencies toward self-restraint serve as mechanisms for preventing mutualists’ misuse of their life together. A fitting image at this point is one of mutualists continuously “taking turns”: Sometimes one is the collaborator, whose needs are being served; at other times one serves as the interpreter, answering others’ needs. One only requests what one must, with the understanding that at other times (namely, when one is compelled not to make an unworthy request or when one is on the job and thus no longer not compelled to work) one is not compelled not to serve others in turn. Of course, a switch from interpreter to collaborator might also occur during work time. As depicted in Figure 5.1, a clerk might be involved in answering a customer’s needs at a time when her own health needs become less implausible (e.g., due to increasingly severe chest pains) than those of the customer. At that moment her motivation shifts from an

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low work hours begin to articulate customer’s needs and COMPELLED NOT to articulate own health

COMPELLED

to answer customers’ needs and NOT COMPELLED NOT to have own health needs answered NOT COMPELLED

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Figure 5.1. If during work hours a clerk’s own health needs become more ambiguous than the needs of customers for which she is responsible, her motivation will switch from answering customers’ needs to articulating her own needs to those responsible for meeting them.

interpreter’s concern with reducing the customer’s need-articulations to a collaborator’s motivation to have her own needs answered. An Illustration Let us visit an art studio like the one considered in the previous chapter. Yet this time we should imagine two artists (C2, who later becomes I1, and C3) plus a customer (C1, later I2) to be mutualists. The customer walks into the studio at around 2 p.m.: C1 (polite—invitation to initiate interaction): “Is anybody here? I must have some help, please.” C2 (familiar—refusal to initiate interaction): “I’m sorry, but you must not request service during our coffee break. Why don’t you have a look around until we’re done?”

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Interaction 1 begins C3 (polite—initiate interaction to serve C1): “Since it’s my turn to put away the cups, I must ask you to serve our customer. He’s been waiting so patiently.” I1, formerly C2 (serious—acknowledge interaction): “So (spoken to C1) . . . I do not have to neglect (i.e., am not compelled not to serve) you any longer. Shall I serve you now?” C1 (polite—attempt interaction for matching decor): “Oh, yes please. I must have a portrait to hang in our dining room. It must be about ‘this’ size, and have colors that match our dark red and chartreuse decor.” C2 (familiar—refusal to interact as long as C1’s articulation is plausible): “I see. But you must not expect your portrait to look like a photograph. Notice from the displays that all of our portraits follow an impressionistic style. This is our gallery’s trademark—one that our customers must accept (i.e., must not articulate as a [bad] need to be answered).” Interaction 2 begins C1 (playful—make articulation implausible for C2): “Of course, you will not have to compromise your style. I only hope that the portrait’s colors might fit with those in our dining room.” I1, formerly C2 (serious—make matching decor less implausible): “Excellent! As long as you understand that there are artistic standards that we are not compelled not to meet, . . .” I1 (polite—acknowledge that C1’s articulation is implausible): “ . . . we certainly understand that you must have a portrait to match your decor. Will you be placing an order today?” C1 (polite—make articulation less implausible for I1): “Yes, please. But my wife is the one who ultimately needs to make the decision.” C1 (playful—end customer interaction where I1 serves C1): “You do not have to serve me any longer. I’ll return tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to speak with my wife.” Interaction 1 ends Unlike individualist discourse within which only one goal is considered at a time, mutualist narratives involve an ongoing weighing of needs. Others’ needs are only to be answered when they are more ambiguously implausible than one’s own. For example, at the outset

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the customer’s (C1’s) neglect was a less pressing (i.e., less ambiguously implausible) need than the artist’s (C2’s) fatigue, prompting the latter’s friendly refusal to the former’s polite invitation to interact in lieu of continuing her coffee break. When the time for the second artist’s (C3’s) coffee break with C2 elapses, a first interaction is initiated as C3 notes this fact via a successful polite episode. The first artist switches thereby from collaborator (C2) to interpreter (I1) by answering to C1’s neglect. However, I1 only commits to answering C1’s secondary need (namely, to avoid mismatched decor), if his articulation of this need would not undermine her own professional need to avoid substandard art. Note that in contrast to the agent, who uses actions to motivate observers’ verifications (i.e., a type of articulation), the collaborator withholds (or imposes) articulations to motivate interpreters’ actions. Here the issue is no longer that the observer reports “the facts”; it is that the collaborator only asks interpreters to answer needs that they are prepared to answer responsibly. Claims of irresponsibility arise whenever this “responsibility condition” is not met, either because collaborators have requested more than they need or because interpreters have misrepresented their responsibility in answering the needs at hand. This said, let us proceed to the next day when the customer returns to the gallery. Interaction 3 begins, and Interaction 2 continues C1 (polite—initiate interaction where I1 serves C1): “My wife and I have decided that we must have you paint our portrait.” Interaction 4 begins I2, formerly C1 (polite—initiate interaction to answer C2’s need for client input): “I have a photograph with me. Do you need (i.e., must you have) anything else?” C2, formerly I1 (playful—faint attempt to prematurely conclude C2’s client input needs as answered): “Thanks for the effort, but you do not have to provide a photograph.” C2 (polite—make C2’s needs less implausible): “Instead, you must be painted in person. That’s why I have to arrange for you and your wife to come here to the gallery for a few sittings with one my students.” I2 (familiar—refusal to continue interaction to answer C2’s need for client input): “But this doesn’t seem honest. You must not have your students paint our portrait.”

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Interaction 4 ends C1, formerly I2 (polite—attempt to reinitiate interaction to answer C1’s need): “Wasn’t I clear that we have to have a painting from a trained artist like yourself.” Interaction 2 ends I1, formerly C2 (familiar—refusal as long as C1’s articulation is plausible): “I am sorry for the misunderstanding. But you must not presume that my students paint poorly.” Figure 5.2 depicts the above mutualist narrative as a series of episodes. The series consists of three concentrically-related interactions, such that completion of the most nested interaction is necessary for completing its superordinate interaction. In particular, the artist’s needs for client input must be answered if the artist is to meet the customer’s need to avoid mismatched decor, and answering the customer’s decor needs requires at least minimal customer service from the artist. When the customer starts doubting the artist’s responsibility (i.e., her honesty in the sense of eerlijkheid), he presumes a familiarity with her motivations—thereby refusing to continue interaction regarding her needs—and reverts back to a polite episode regarding his own needs. This latter episode then fails to be persuasive for the artist, who refuses to continue interaction given her familiarity with the customer’s escalating articulations, and thus returns the narrative to discourse regarding customer service (i.e., regarding what services the customer must versus must not expect). Let’s assume as the dialogue ends, that the customer’s decor needs (via the artist’s efforts) remain most ambiguous for him. As collaborator, there are four discursive episodes with which he may continue the narrative. If in the customer’s mind his decor needs have become plausible (i.e., unlikely to be answered) via this artist, he will simply end the interaction playfully by returning the interpreter to collaborator status. (“I see. Well, you do not have to bother yourself any longer with my problems.”) However, if his needs remain implausible, ambiguity reduction may proceed via familiar, polite, or serious episodes. First, the customer may simply give a friendly indication that he accepts the artist’s conditions. (“I must not question your better judgment.”) Second, he may subject the artist to an “articulation barrage” of polite episodes until in the artist’s mind the implausibility of his articulations have decreased to the point that she eventually agrees to do the painting. (“I really must

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Interaction 4

Polite Episodes

Familiar Episodes

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Figure 5.2. Interactions within mutualist narratives build on each other, whereby an artist’s needs for client input must be answered before she begins answering the customer’s need to avoid mismatched decor, which remains only part of her answer to his customer service needs.

insist that you do the painting yourself.”) Although this second option may be effective when dealing with people (e.g., immediate relatives) who have no playful strategy to escape such browbeatings, it will be a less effective means of initiating discourse with strangers, who may simply stop volunteering to help. Finally, the collaborator may use serious episodes to confront his interpreter. As with the previous, polite strategy, the mutualist-interpreter’s motivation is here also to decrease the implausibility of the collaborator’s articulations. However, this time the browbeating is not intended to initiate interaction, but to have interaction continue. For example, if the customer believes that the artist is trying to sell her students’ art under false pretences, he might confront her with this apparent laziness in hopes of shaming her into responsibly painting her own portraits. (“You have no reason not [were not compelled not] to

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have told me earlier that your students do the painting here.”) But like the previous strategy, this one too is unlikely to be persuasive. Instead, the artist will almost certainly conclude that “remaining unpersuaded of her own irresponsibility” will be more effective in realizing her motivation to have the customer’s articulations vacate. Given her expertise as a responsible professional (e.g., a dutiful participant within a long tradition of “responsibly administered student galleries”) she will likely prove persuasive when confronting her accuser with a countercharge of irresponsibly seeking special treatment beyond constraints that she must uphold. (“It is you who is not compelled not to accept our system’s constraints—constraints that I, unlike you, am acting in accordance with.”) Ignorant of aspects of their life together about which the artist has (or claims to have) expertise, the customer will unlikely doubt that she is being responsible. The Myth of Responsibility A mutualist system may best be conceptualized as a machine operated by many thousands of responsible persons, who conscientiously apply the system’s answers to needs input by off-duty collaborators. At times the system may function so well that collaborators are left motivated to articulate only the trivial, yet modestly ambiguous needs that remain. Scandinavians I have spoken to betray a sense of unease about so much welfarism. They vaguely feel that their everyday lives are too much caught up in the impersonal machinery of the welfare state. They wonder whether they might be better off if everything were not so tidy and secure. “Everything is too well arranged,” they say. “We don’t even have the opportunity to feel miserable.” There is worry about the fact that young people do not express great ambitions. (Connery 1966, pp. 79–80)

Yet there is a motivational dynamic underlying mutualists’ acceptance of the system they are routinely not compelled not to maintain—a dynamic grounded in the myth of responsibility. Like the fairness principle, this myth also has two parts: First, during work hours every mutualist is responsible for answering a distinct set of needs. Unlike individualists who (in accordance with the fairness myth) presume that everyone has access to all operational knowledge, mutualists presume that each person only has knowledge of how to operate her or his part of their life together—a social system with a division of labor too complex for any one person to master. In brief,

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people are understood to be “functionally illiterate” in most activities beyond their special area of expertise, making other activities ones they do not have to do. Whereas the individualist might choose among operations in achieving a goal, mutualists are limited (for the most part) to a single set of professional operations that they must do while on the job. Thus failure and success do not depend on the quality of the operations one selects; they depend on the quantity of operations one applies (within one’s specialty and during working hours, of course). In other words, it is because of their presumption that all workers have been trained to do quality craftsmanship, that mutualists judge each other in terms of the quantity of their efforts. “Hard work” is the measure of a mutualist’s responsibility. Second, those who answer collaborators’ needs merely apply the same system operations that would be applied by any other trained person. Since all experts are equally qualified, poor quality craftsmanship or exorbitant costs will be attributed to workers’ laziness rather than to their lack of ability. Yet interpreters’ specialized operational expertise usually impairs a collaborator’s capacity to differentiate whether they are being responsible or lazy. For example, at the end of the previous section the customer’s functional illiteracy in how student galleries are properly administered, leaves him incapable of discerning whether the artist’s administrative training is merely a story “dreamt up” to persuade him that she is responsible or whether it truly constrains her as she responsibly tries to meet his decor needs. Since collaborators articulate their needs to an interpreter primarily because of the latter’s greater expertise on how to answer these needs, they will likely be persuaded when the interpreter takes positions related to this expertise. This follows due to both the importance of credibility in persuasion (v. Chapter 1) and the considerable credibility generally afforded interpreters by virtue of their expertise. Through being repeatedly persuaded of interpreters’ responsibility, collaborators develop a trust that needs will be answered responsibly when dealt with by experts who are better trained to deal with them than they are. What makes mutualist interpreters’ claims of responsibility mythical is that their motivations to act responsibly are secondary to their motivations to have collaborators’ need-articulations vacate. As a consequence, they will tend to declare prematurely that a collaborator’s needs have been answered. (“Take two aspirin, and if it still hurts in the morning [only then must you] call me.”) Yet the collaborator will only find such declarations persuasive if they come from sufficiently credible

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interpreters. Rather than face serious episodes in which a collaborator might accuse them of irresponsibility, interpreters will preempt such accusations by making their hard-work verbally and behaviorally (e.g., via “busywork”) apparent. (“Sorry to have kept you waiting but I’ve been taking care [not compelled not to answer the needs] of other patients all morning.”) Although interpreters will find such strategies persuasive for most collaborators whose needs they are trained to meet, they will find them less effective when trying to convince their relatively more credible colleagues that they are acting responsibly. Unlike individualist narratives wherein accusations of unfairness generally originate with the person being read (with possible assistance from legal experts), mutualist allusions to irresponsibility usually come from among an interpreter’s colleagues (as ad hoc collaborators in need of her or his share of hard work). No one is more qualified than one’s colleagues to judge whether or not one is doing one’s part. In making such accusations of irresponsibility colleagues switch from their usual statuses as interpreters to ones of collaborators, only in this case the need they articulate is an unjust distribution of the needs they all work to answer. A subtle playful articulation will usually suffice to increase the implausibility of such an unjust distribution, because most colleagues will have learned during previous accusations that less subtle articulations will follow (thereby decreasing the implausibility of articulation in the interpreter’s mind) if their laziness persists. (“How is it that you do not have to keep your eyes open while reading your mail?”; “You must wake up, Jan.”; “There is not a reason why you must not do your job!”) Given that all colleagues have the same expertise, the interpreter will be hard pressed to persuade them that she or he is (chronically) not compelled to do her or his duty. Unable to rely on a credibility advantage with which to persuade colleagues that they are acting responsibly, interpreters’ only recourse will be to align their efffforts with those of their colleagues, and to do their part in answering needs articulated by the collaborators they jointly serve.4 These motivational dynamics lend themselves to the mechanistic, or habitual, answering of collaborators’ needs. With collaborators easily persuaded that an interpreter is acting responsibly, and with the Such distributive justice works not only to stimulate laggards, but also to dampen efforts from the overly zealous (Homans 1958; Blau 1964, pp. 151–160). Beyond their links to exchange theory, these dynamics are explained here in terms of the ambiguityreduction principle, and thereby fit into the broader context of mutualist narratives. 4

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interpreter’s colleagues primarily concerned with the quantity of her or his work, the quality of some interpreters’ work may be at risk. Should a catastrophe occur, mutualists would hesitate (i.e., be compelled not) to conclude that a hard-working interpreter was responsible for something so unforeseeable. Yet if the interpreter had a reputation for laziness, these same mutualists might find it more persuasive that the interpreter’s professional routines had not been carefully followed (i.e., that something was not compelled not to have been done). By utilizing the gap between impact and knowledge, data can be hidden, denied and distorted. Counter-arguments can be mobilized. Maximum permissible levels of acceptance can be raised. Human error rather than system risk can be cast as villain of the piece. (Beck 1999, pp. 150–1)

The capacity of a mutualist system to responsibly manage both interpreter error and system risk will depend on the extent to which interpreters upgrade their training whenever changes in their specialties emerge. Yet since neither collaborators nor colleagues are motivated to question the quality of interpreters’ work, it remains unlikely that system faults (e.g., under-trained workers) will be identified as the culprit. Instead, misguided social policies will likely go unnoticed as maladies devolve into accusations of politicians’ and administrators’ laziness and “shirked responsibilities.” Whereas among colleagues mutualists are susceptible to accusations of shirked responsibilities, when appealing to others’ responsibilities they are susceptible to ones of expected special treatment. Although mutualists may vote to expand the needs met via their care-taker states (e.g., long waits for hospital treatment, inadequate elderly care, underfunded education, bumpy roads), they commonly do not see themselves as personally needing such services. (“Although I must not have prompt hospital care now, others must have it.”) In brief, collaborators eventually learn that they “must not bother” interpreters with frivolous needs. This is to some degree because part of being a hard-working interpreter is to turn away all collaborators whose needs are less ambiguous than those they are capable of answering during working hours. (“You must not request my immediate help. You see, I am not compelled to provide prompt care for such minor injuries.”) As a consequence, collaborators learn to accept the interpreter’s credibility in judging not only when their needs have been answered, but also when their needs are unworthy of being answered. (“You do not need [i.e., are not compelled] to be concerned with my problems.”) Thus collaborators (who generally have

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no idea how busy their interpreters are) will tend to resist articulating their needs until they believe them to have become sufficiently ambiguous (and thus sufficiently worthy) for an interpreter to answer. Not to do so is to risk being shamed for “expecting special treatment” ahead of the truly needy—an experience that accompanies an unintended decrease in the need’s implausibility. And so, unlike agents who might be quick to exploit such a system in pursuit of individualistic ends, collaborators restrain themselves responsibly so that people with “real needs” have them answered. Ambiguity Reduction among Mutualists Much of this chapter’s content is diagramed in the ambiguity curves within Figure 5.3. Before a cycle of mutualist interaction begins, a collaborator considers both the qualifications and the motivations of those present. Anyone unqualified to meet the collaborator’s needs is someone who is not compelled to answer these needs (i.e., answering is contingent on the answerer’s competence). If mutualists’ qualifications are unknown, a collaborator will ascertain if their answering a need would only make it worse (i.e., more plausible). Since only few interpreters are qualified to answer any specific need, the collaborator’s initial motivation will be toward establishing that the mutualist is not compelled to answer the need in question (i.e., in the direction of the short dashed arrow along the left curve). If discursively persuaded otherwise, the collaborator will classify this person on the other side of a “preparedness threshold” (i.e., as potentially motivated to answer the need rather than as being unqualified do so). Next, based on her or his past experiences the collaborator considers whether or not a qualified interpreter would answer the need. If in the past interpreters typically found such needs too implausible to be worthy of answering, familiarity with this leaves the collaborator believing that the need is one she or he is compelled not to articulate (thereby making it impossible, given their unawareness of the needs, for interpreters to answer them). If the collaborator’s judgment is that interpreters would inevitably find the need worthy and thus answer it, it will have become a need that she or he is compelled to articulate—the need, the answering of which is most ambiguous-yet-implausible (and is thus located above all other needs at the tip of the solid arrow just below and to the right of the collaborator’s preparedness threshold). This articulation initiates

plausible

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(potential for shirked responsibilities)

V a c a implausible t e s

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NOT COMPELLED NOT

and

COMPELLED

Figure 5.3. Collaborator’s and interpreter’s reciprocal motivations: for the former toward having (albeit competently) her or his most worthy need answered, and for the latter toward the least number of collaborators with unworthy articulations.

A p p e a r s

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interaction with the interpreter via the collaborator’s ambiguity-reducing motivation, depicted as a right-downward direction in the figure’s middle dashed arrow. It is a motivation toward the vacating of the articulated need and, thereby, the interpreters’ answering of it. In contrast to agents who keep acting (achieving) as long as they believe that an observer’s verbalization (verification) would not be forthcoming, collaborators do not verbalize (articulate) as long as they believe that an interpreter would not act (answer) in response. If agents stop their actions prematurely, observers are likely to judge goals not to have appeared within their common field (i.e., not to be one of the objects that comprise reality). If a collaborator starts verbalizing prematurely, interpreters are likely to judge this articulation to reference an insufficiently worthy need—a need they are thus not compelled to answer but that the collaborator is qualified (and thus not compelled not) to answer her- or himself. Referring to the left half of Figure 5.3’s right ambiguity curve, this corresponds to a plausible articulation, the ambiguity of which the interpreter would be motivated to reduce by making it appear (i.e., clearly unworthy). Of course, judgments of unworthiness will increase the plausibility of collaborators’ articulations in the short term. (“But Doctor, surely my pain is not psychosomatic.”) Yet given that the collaborator initiated the interaction only after convincing her- or himself of the interpreter’s qualifications, the latter’s judgment will nearly always prove persuasive. (“But then again, you are the doctor . . .”) Note that mutualists understand the collectivity of all interpreters to comprise a system for answering collaborators’ needs. This system works according to the rule, “If a need is articulated, then it will be answered.” That is, the system always responds to a collaborator’s articulation, even if by only immediately responding that the collaborator her- or himself, rather than other interpreters, is qualified to answer the need. Thus in referring to the needs they are compelled to articulate, collaborators argue that their lack of qualifications makes it inevitable that they seek assistance from more qualified interpreters. When interpreters judge a need worthy of articulation, they accept this argument regarding the collaborator’s lack of qualifications and acknowledge that it is possible (i.e., that they are not compelled not) to answer it. Their motivation will be the direction of the figure’s right-most dashed arrow (i.e., toward the vacating of the need and, thereby, the collaborator’s articulating of it). However, this answering is contingent on the collaborator’s lack of qualifications to take over. That is, the interpreters’ answering stops as

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soon as the need becomes sufficiently implausible for the lower-qualified collaborator to answer. Thus immediate declarations of unworthiness become a special case of playful episodes in which interpreters are deemed not compelled to continue answering a collaborator’s needs. Charges of “shirked responsibilities” may result if colleagues (or, less commonly, effected collaborators) judge that it is due to laziness that an interpreter repeatedly attempts to stop collaborators’ articulations by prematurely ending interactions with them. Mutualism: A Narrative with Playful Episodes as Persons’ Reflexive Default Analogous to agents, who imagine their achievements through the eyes of fair observers, collaborators imagine their articulations “through the ears” of responsible interpreters. Outside working hours, a responsible interpreter would maintain gezelligheid by playfully dismissing every (non-life-threatening) articulation. On the job, a responsible interpreter would likewise dismiss colleagues’ allusions to laziness in one’s responsible efforts. And prior to articulating one’s own needs, a responsible interpreter is commonly imagined to playfully dismiss them as needs not compelled to be answered. In each case, mutualists’ reflexive interpretations serve to preclude collaborator-interpreter interactions among themselves. Everyday life is thus experienced as a string of playful references to the unnecessary—when off-duty in gezellig references to the idiosyncratic or peculiar, and in the work-world in teasing references (albeit in anticipation of familiar, then possibly serious ones) to the laziness of collaborators and interpreters alike. Except for the occasional calamity that is too serious to be dismissed, that does not lend itself to one’s professional routines, or that is too egregious for one’s colleagues to ignore, mutualist narratives are predominantly comprised of playful episodes. Yet even when answering a calamitous need, the interpreter’s look of sincerity masks a reflexive playful episode initiated by an imagined interpreter who dismisses any suggestion of his or her irresponsibility. As a case in point, consider this description of bombastic storytelling from an illiterate resident of a rural Norwegian village. He exerted a sort of monopoly of sound, competing voices had no chance. And guests increased his output. Often they liked it, listened, nodded, encouraged him to continue. Not only story A and B, but also

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C and D. The permanent members of the household could have killed the guests for giving encouragement. Lots of participants had potential contributions, maybe something new, at a minimum their own need for self-presentation. And story A and B and C and D were familiar to them down to their most minute detail, because the stories were repeated in exactly the same way each time. (Christie 1989, p. 15)

Yet as the story continues, one learns that the household’s permanent members know something of the storyteller that the guests do not: He is mentally incapable of carrying on a normal conversation, and desperately needs to keep this fact from notice. And so in weighing their needs (to avoid ordinariness) against the storyteller’s need (to avoid peculiarity), most nonguests conclude that they must politely join in the “cover-up.” Those who do not are told that by virtue of their familiarity with the storyteller, they must not interrupt. He is to be taken seriously as someone who is not compelled not to continue. In the meanwhile, the storyteller’s household colleagues find enjoyment not so much in listening to his stories as in knowing that in doing so they do not have to do more, as responsible interpreters, in answering his needs.

CHAPTER SIX

ESSENTIALISM To say that wife and husband are indistinct is not to say that they are indistinguishable. Of course, you can look at one without seeing the other. Yet being wife always involves the husband’s being, even when he is out of view. Husband completes wife, like one hand rinsing soap from the other. At times this completion reaches a state of near perfection—a period of unreflexive self-absorption within which the couple may go weeks without speaking. The wife anticipates the husband’s every gesture with her own, such that they blend into a unity without distinguishable parts. Like a face that one sees as a unit without distinguishing eyes from ears from nostrils, a marriage may (with sufficient practice) become a unit having wife and husband as its indistinct elements. Familiar Episodes (Obligation) It would be a mistake to understand essentialists’ blended gestures as a set of rituals. Unlike rituals their gestures have no fixed sequence. Moreover, variety among their gesture-sequences increases as one moves from blending gestures between two people to harmonizing gestures when there are more people present. Every assembly of essentialists develops its own set of mutual expectations—an elusive “language of gestures” that they implement whenever they meet. Thus when an established set of essentialists is joined, the stranger will at first be unsure what she or he ought to do. The first step in understanding what is meant here by a “language of gestures” is to consider not only facial expressions and hand movements but also instances of both spoken and written language to be gestures. Next, imagine that every gesture leaves one expecting another gesture. Citing a couple of Western examples, a lady walking toward a door leaves one expecting a gentleman to open it for her; the expression, “Excuse me,” leaves one expecting to hear, “That’s alright,” from the person to whom it was addressed. If such gesture sequences occur

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frequently enough, people will develop expectations regarding how each ought to behave at any given moment—the gesture that would “best” (i.e., in accordance with these expectations) complete the ones expressed up until that point. In the same way that words blend into sentences when a single speaker conforms to a language’s expected usages, gestures blend into meaningful units (e.g., marriages) when their embodiments are according to expectation. A language of gestures is thus a set of common expectations regarding how (i.e., the role according to which) people ought to behave from moment to moment while they are together. Whereas mutualists command distinct types of operational (in their case, professional) knowledge, each essentialist has developed her or his own setting-specific varieties of relational knowledge. Thus the knowledge appropriate in one setting (i.e., among one set of essentialists) differs from that appropriate in another one. And entering a setting involves mastering its gesture-language, such that everyone present “sees” the newcomer as a persona whose gestures are sufficiently intelligible for them to complete with their own gestures. Accordingly, the less time that a set of essentialists have invested in developing a common language of gestures, the more problematic their setting.1 This is why, for example, Japanese task groups have difficulty working effectively prior to having built a sufficiently unified set of mutual expectations—a unity the Japanese refer to with the word, wa. (W)a implies not so much a unity which is already there as a unity which is desired and aimed for. This would explain why wa is so often used in slogans and mottos and why it is used by companies rather than by naturally cohesive groups such as families. By appealing to wa, company management, coaches of sports teams and other people responsible for the success of group effort are trying to forge wa rather than to acknowledge what is already there. (Wierzbicka 1997, p. 250)

1 “In all matters, success depends on preparation; without preparation there will be failure. When what is to be said has been previously determined, there will be no difficulty (tr.: in carrying it out). When a line of conduct is previously determined, there will be no occasion for vexation. When the natural path (tao) is previously determined, there will not be a lack (tr.: of correct options).” (The Doctrine of the Mean, 20:16) All of this section’s translations from the Four Books (i.e., the Great Learning, the Doctrine of the Mean, the Analects of Confucius, and the Mencius) are by Yong Wang.

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The less problematic their settings, the clearer will be personae’s understandings of how they ought to act (i.e., of how best to simultaneously embody the expectations of everyone present). A persona’s embodiment is thus a behavioral compromise, not unlike a sculptor’s attempt to create a form with multiple interpretations. Yet unlike many Western artists, the persona’s artistry is intended not to provoke but to harmonize (i.e., to create an embodiment within the confines of everyone’s expectations). Since personae’s embodiments will be imperfect within all but the most practiced of settings, each setting calls for a newly refined behavioral creation, and the renewed risk that some of those present will not accept (and thus will fail to complete) what they have done. Thus there is no language, there are no words, for stating what one ought to do. “Ought” lies somewhere among the gesture-languages shared between oneself and everyone present. Nonetheless, if spoken by someone sufficiently wise, suggestions may be helpful in personae’s constant search for harmony. And they will be immediately adopted if offered by the wisest person on hand. In contrast, more harmonizing will be called for when friends of like status suggest what they, as observers, believe one of them ought to do. In the US people have a saying, “A friend is many things, but a critic is not one of them.”2 In contrast, the Chinese refer to such noncritical people as “meat and drink friends,” who are no friends at all.3 A true friend is an observer who calls to personae’s attention imperfections in their embodiments, but whose command of the present setting’s gesturelanguages is not so refined as to find these embodiments implausible. (“Maybe next time you ought to open the door before trying to walk through it.”) When faced with an implausible embodiment, observers are not obliged to continue familiar or other gestures of completion. In accordance with the ambiguity-reduction principle, their motivations will instead be toward having the persona’s role vacate altogether—a serious situation for a persona when those present in a setting seemingly concur that her or his embodiments are either too ridiculous or offensive for someone with that role. (“After this latest gaffe, we are surely not obliged to accept his pretense of being a ballet dancer.”)

2 For the individualist, friends offer encouragement to make one’s goals more noticeable. Criticism is a form of (often subjective) nonverification that reduces goals’ noticeability. 3 “Hwéi (tr.: Confucius’s student) is not one who helps me. In all my words, there is nothing he does not delight in” (Analects, 11:3).

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Rather than deride a persona’s imperfections, friends are motivated to reduce the ambiguity in her or his embodiment (i.e., to help the persona improve her- or himself ) via constructive criticism. Thus, although one would never tell a US friend who just came from a salon that her hair ought to have been styled differently, such constructive criticisms are the norm among East Asian friends—not in criticism of the stylist, of course, but as guidance for one’s friend.4 And so it is not surprising that as they begin university study in the US, East Asian students typically find it difficult to develop friendships with domestic students who shower them with what would be encouraging or playful comments to an individualist. (“Your hair couldn’t [is not able not to] look better!”) As the Korean Zen master, Seung Sahn, allegedly said, “The one who praises you is a thief. The one who criticizes you is your true friend.” As a persona, friends are important allies in my ongoing search for harmonious behavioral compromises. My friends serve to mirror the embodiments I have just attempted—embodiments that I am incapable of standing apart from myself to see. My choice of friends will be of people who are practiced in the languages of gestures among which I seek behavioral compromises. As a consequence, they will have sufficient credibility to persuade me to adopt their suggestions on how I ought to improve myself. Moreover, my friends should be “safe observers” who (unlike more credible, esteemed observers) would not deride me as a persona whose role they are not obliged to accept outright. Instead, they will find my actions amusing (but never ridiculous or offensive), and thus will always be not obliged not to accept (and thus complete) my embodiments. “Constructive” suggestions from less esteemed observers are ones that I am (albeit politely) obliged not to embody, however. Polite Episodes (Obligation Not) A tree branch, a colorful butterfly, a distant pagoda near a serene pool, and much, much empty space . . . What may be the most distinguishing characteristic of East Asian paintings is their focus on a few objects, to

Dramatic changes have occurred in East Asian societies during the past century, making generalizations about people from China, India, etc. sound anachronistic. For this reason, this chapter’s references to these peoples should be considered ones to earlier, even ancient times. 4

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the exclusion of everything else. Like the artist’s view in these paintings, the persona’s view is only of things sufficiently plausible to be noticed. All things vulgar are to be politely ignored; they are implausible (and thereby unintelligible) gestures that are obliged not to be embodied. The virtuous man completes the good in others, and does not complete their evil. The vulgar man does the opposite of this. (Analects, 15:7)

Given their vulgar immaturity, Chinese children are thus generally ignored by their parents. The only break with this neglect comes at moments when a child’s behavior reaches a maturity threshold at which its role as “person” becomes plausible. These are moments when the child’s gestures are sufficiently intelligible for parents to complete them with gestures of their own. Chinese youngsters enter into the adult world unobtrusively in the course of their mental and physical growth. Their own infantile and youthful world is tolerated but never encouraged. On the contrary, they reap more rewards as they participate more and more in adult activities. (Hsu 1981, p. 89)

Of course, children may be scolded when they are too disruptive for parents to ignore. Yet these scoldings are accompanied by polite rationales that as children they are obliged not to attempt things they are too immature to handle. Not only are personae obliged not to consider constructive criticism from such immature persons, they are also obliged not to consider their own best judgments. Few things sound as peculiar to Chinese parents as when their child, upon returning from a US daycare facility, justifies her actions as “because I want” something. One does not act upon one’s wants; one does things because one ought to do them. Unlike agents who are motivated toward fleeting verifications of unseen goals, personae are motivated toward ongoing acceptance (via completion) of their actions. And it is from friends’ constructive criticisms that I, as persona, gain insights into how appropriately I have acted. Since I ought not to question such constructive criticisms, I adopt them with politeness instead. Given that I also politely ignore gestures suggested by those less mature than myself, only suggestions from someone more mature will persuade me to ignore alternative suggestions that I would otherwise have been motivated to embody. In neither case do I reflect on the relative merits of the gestures that I versus another may deem appropriate. At issue is only the maturity of the critic relative to myself.

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If I am less mature, I adopt their suggestions over my own; if I am more mature, I do not. The life of a persona is thus one of embodying, not reflecting on, suggestions from mature observers. There are no hidden agendas, as long as all relative statuses (or maturity levels) are clear relative to everyone present. In this sense, essentialism is the interpersonal equivalent of “what you see is what you get.” While working, while eating, while playing, while walking and driving, always keep the question, “What am I?” (Sahn 2002, p. 168)

Thus life is a pretense, an outward show of what I am (i.e., of what I believe mature observers to expect of me). Yet my understanding of “what I am” is in a polite process of gradual maturation, as I uncritically embody role-expectations in accordance with either my own or more mature observers’ suggestions of what I ought to do. In sum, a persona is not motivated (i.e., obliged not) toward embodiments suggested by people who have not reached her or his “maturity threshold.” Given their relatively lower status, the persona will politely refuse to be motivated toward their acceptance. Personae will only modify their embodiments in accordance with higher status observers’ suggestions regarding what the personae ought to do. As long as these embodiments remain plausible, those present will be not obliged not to accept them. (“Although it is unconventional, I do not feel obliged to reject [i.e., am not obliged not to accept] your solution outright.”) Yet if a persona’s embodiments are implausible to the present setting’s observers, the maturity threshold may be passed once again. Only this time, these observers’ interactions with the persona will stop as her or his disdainful embodiments are seen as ones they are not obliged to accept. (“This is ridiculous! I am not obliged to consider such an unconventional solution.”) Playful Episodes (Nonobligation Not) The strength of personae’s motivation for acceptance will increase proportionally with the status of the person from whom they hope it to emerge. In accordance with the ambiguity-reduction principle, each persona is motivated toward the most-ambiguous-yet-plausible acceptance of her or his role. Having only a tentative grasp of a setting’s gesture-language, those new to the setting will easily accept that one’s

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embodiments are plausible. However, those with extended experience in the setting will have developed more specific expectations regarding each other’s role, making their acceptance of the same embodiment relatively less plausible. (“See the smile betraying that man’s selfishness? Novice, you are obliged not to reciprocate his vulgarity.”) Thus the ambiguity associated with an observer’s role-acceptance corresponds directly with her or his esteem (as reflected in the specificity of her or his role-expectations within the setting at hand)—a status characteristic according to which the persona ranks everyone present in an effort to identify the one from whom acceptance is most-ambiguousyet-plausible. From among those participants who would be unlikely to ridicule a persona’s embodiment, the one of highest status will be the observer from whom the persona will seek acceptance. Thus in seeking acceptance from ever-more-esteemed observers, personae gradually advance beyond parents and relatives in a perpetual quest for self-improvement. One’s responsibility ( yi) is appropriateness itself, the highest expression of which is to honor (tr.: act appropriately toward) the virtuous. Correct behaviors (li ) produce a decline in affection for one’s family members relative to one’s honor for the virtuous. (The Doctrine of the Mean, 20:5)

I shall use the term, mentor, when referring to the highest-status-yetaccepting observer from whom a persona seeks acceptance within her or his current setting. In stark contrast to Hollanders, for whom allusions to status are a source of gezelligheid-destroying discomfort, East Asians remain in a state of discomfort until a (usually tacit) consensus has been reached on a linear status ranking among everyone present. In India, for example, everyone is ranked in accordance with a “linear order of castes” (Dumont 1980, p. 57). Yet the rankings extend into even the smallest groupings (e.g., with men ranked above women in marriage). Even friends develop rankings among themselves. For example, all of a Chinese professor’s students will know who the professor’s “first student,” “second student,” etc. are. Moreover, to secure the professor’s favorable relative ranking in the absence of such consensus, students may redouble their efforts or “accidentally” ensure that the professor finds reasons to rank their competitors less favorably than themselves. (“Is Zhou sick? I [am not obliged not to mention that] haven’t seen her all week.”) Yet all the students’ competition and subversive intrigues come to an abrupt end as soon as the professor (no doubt amused by

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such immature posturing) pronounces one of them more accepted than the other. (“Maybe you were too sick to see Zhou at her desk. After all, she is my first student.”) With their relative ranking established, the students are now free to improve “how they are” instead of “who they are” in the professor’s eyes. One should not misunderstand the Chinese professor’s students as trying to maximize how much each “gets” of their professor’s acceptance—as if acceptance were a goal to be achieved. Moreover, the students’ motivations are not (except during short-lived competitions among the immature) to be understood as toward higher-status rankings within their hierarchy. Such interpretations mistakenly view the students as individualists (i.e., to view their motivations in terms of goal verification and achievement). Instead, their efforts are ones of self-improvement, or maturation, whereby one gradually locates one’s status within the linear hierarchical order among all things. Men’s transgressions are respectively characteristic of their sorts. If you observe their transgressions, you will know their (tr.: degree of ) virtue. (Analects, 4:7)

When the virtuous act inappropriately, their mistakes may be amusing but are never severe enough to deserve ridicule. If an observer finds most personae’s embodiments ridiculously immature, the latter will in time view this observer’s role-acceptance to be implausible. (“We ought not please someone who only ridicules what we do.”) Given personae’s motivations to seek acceptance from the highest-status-yet-accepting observer, a chronically unaccepting observer (e.g., one who ridicules easily, and thus from whom acceptance is implausible) will find that personae ignore her or his role-expectations in lieu of ones from more esteemed but accepting observers. (“Why learn from the disciple? At least the master finds value in some of what we do.”) Thus in their motivation toward personae’s role-embodiment (as per Chapter 3), each observer will avoid ridiculing personae whose roleembodiment she or he judges to be plausible.5 The wise observer only shows amusement (i.e., humor below the level of ridicule) at an intensity sufficient to make her or his acceptance most-ambiguous-yet-plausible

Note that observers are not motivated to limit demand for their acceptance. Confucius is said to have had 77 disciples, Buddha had many more, and more contemporary East Asian sages (e.g., Seung Sahn) have had followings numbering in the tens of thousands. 5

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for personae, thereby motivating them to embody their roles as she or he expects. (“I’ll pretend not to notice [be not obliged not to accept] your hiccups during the speech.”) Unlike the playful episode with which the agent’s observer ends their interaction, the persona’s mentor initiates playful episodes with which to prolong their interaction. In unfortunate instances when a playful episode escalates, there are serious consequences for the erstwhile persona whose implausible embodiments observers are not obliged to accept any longer. The persona’s only hope is that her or his embodiments are accepted by an observer of higher-status than those currently ridiculing her or him. (If none is found, the persona’s status within the setting will drop to below that of the highest, lower-status observer whose acceptance is still plausible.) By gaining acceptance from a higher-status observer, the ridiculers may themselves become targets of amusement for having laughed out of turn. No matter how peculiar a persona’s antics, nothing is funny unless it is funny for the wisest among us. Nobody laughs, until the king shows amusement (e.g., at his having no clothes). To laugh out of turn is to risk amusement for not having expected what those wiser than you did expect. It is to risk losing one’s status ranking relative to others who may have wisely refrained from laughing with you, but who now find your amusement amusing. When he learned of Tsze-kung’s criticisms of others, Confucius showed his amusement saying, “Ah Tsze, he’s virtuous. As for me, I have no leisure (tr.: for such things)” (Analects, 14:31). Gaining acceptance from one’s betters involves not only adopting their suggestions, but also avoiding their wit. Serious Episodes (Nonobligation) The Chinese word, tao, is usually translated into English as “path” or “way.” For the essentialist, the persona’s natural path (i.e., what one ought to embody) involves restraint, simplicity, and moderation. The natural way (tao) is not far from humanity. If one practices a way that is far from human nature, this cannot be the natural way. (The Doctrine of the Mean, 13:1)

Observers offer “paths” to personae by showing them amusement when their embodiments stray unnaturally from it.6 Yet when (in an observer’s 6 For example, consider the vast cultural differences in how “the criminal in our neighborhood” is interpreted. In the US criminals are taken seriously as people who

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eyes) personae’s embodiments veer too far from their paths, there are two catastrophic (i.e., seriously nonharmonious) ways that personae are shown to have veered so far from their natural paths that all hope of role completion from their observers has vanished. First, as just mentioned, extreme deviations within one’s role will be met with ridicule. Second, prolonged deviations from one’s role will be met with offense. In brief, following one’s natural path means neither calling attention to oneself, nor forgetting one’s status. An essentialist conveys her or his status relative to others with the episode-type she or he uses in addressing them. A persona will politely refuse to interact not only with lower-status personae, but also with esteemed observers who might disdain (i.e., ridicule or be offended by) her or his embodiments. Between these extremes, the persona politely adopts familiar suggestions or seeks completion from the highest-status observers from whom acceptance is more plausible than not. These higher-status observers’ positions are conveyed in familiar, playful, and serious episodes. During every episode all involved essentialists are positioned along a status hierarchy—a location from which each is a persona for everyone of higher status and an observer of those with lower status. Motion along this hierarchy is limited, and usually gradual. China’s traditional examination system was exceptional in this regard, in that it allowed people of modest origins to attain dramatic increases in status. Starting in the 10th century candidates throughout China became eligible for civil service if they passed this exam. With an imperial examiner’s favorable decision, thousands of people from whom one once hoped for completion immediately became lower-status people hoping for completion from oneself. The examiner had not shown disdain for one’s examination paper, although he presumably would have ridiculed papers written by any of the people whose statuses one’s status now exceeded. Despite being atypical in the suddenness with which it afforded status change, what the examination system has in common with all essentialist modes of status mobility is that it makes increases in status contingent on acceptance from a high status person. Be it an

might make one not able to achieve one’s goals, whereas in Scandinavia criminals are commonly interpreted with politeness as having needs that must be answered. Yet in most East Asian societies, repatriated criminals are often sources of playful derision—people with embodiments that one is barely not obliged not to complete. Looking ahead, the doctrinist’s response is one of familiar permission not to implement a rule until the unnoticeability of the criminal’s rule-opposition declines.

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Ambiguity that roleembodiment (student’s or classmate’s) will be accepted

Classmate’s role

low switch to more esteemed mentor Classmate OUGHT to embody role

Classmate OUGHT NOT to embody role

Student OUGHT to embody role Time

Figure 6.1. If the acceptability of a student’s role-embodiments becomes less ambiguous than that of a classmate’s embodiments, the student, but not the classmate, will become motivated to be accepted by a more esteemed mentor.

anonymous imperial examiner or one’s relatively humble school teacher, the underlying process of “upward mobility via acceptance from above” is universal for the essentialist. Figure 6.1 depicts this process for a case in which a student’s status increases relative to that of a classmate. The process begins with the ambiguity of both students’ role-embodiments decreasing over time. Given that the ambiguity of the student’s embodiment decreases more quickly than the classmate’s, the student is motivated to seek acceptance from a more esteemed mentor. Only the classmate’s, not the student’s embodiment would be so ambiguous as to be judged ridiculous by this mentor. Rather than risk the new mentor’s disdain, the classmate will not be motivated to seek her or his acceptance. Thus by virtue of the new mentor’s acceptance, the student advances in status relative to the classmate. Officially sanctioned rites of passage may be difficult to accept when their consequence is that “those whom one once observed” are now one’s own observers. Although it was once natural to be amused by

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their immature embodiments, one ought now learn to politely ignore their imperfections and seek their acceptance instead. A serious episode is initiated by a higher status person whenever lower status persons show persistent amusement with her or his embodiment. Of course, an observer may initially be amused by such immature personae, whose unnatural embodiments she or he is not obliged not to accept. (Maybe they forgot the higher status person’s recent promotion; surely they are ignorant of how she or he ought to act.) Yet if their amusement (let alone their ridicule) persists, amused condescension may give way to offense. (“I am not going [i.e., not obliged] to continue humoring your insolence.”) Unlike the serious episode prompted by an observer’s status-consistent ridicule of personae, here the observer acts to rectify the unnatural state in which (lower status) personae observe the (higher status) observer. For example, consider the case of a lowly female entertainer who ridicules a male audience member. An entertainer by the stage name of Yi Roo was performing in a night club. She sang a tune entitled “Mama Asks Me to Marry.” While rendering two of the phrases: “I won’t marry big dope you” and “I won’t marry ugly frog you” she playfully pointed twice at a young Mr. Ts’ai in the audience. Ts’ai was so angered that he grabbed a tea cup and threw it at the singer with such force that it lacerated her left leg. (Hsu 1981, p. 177)

By forcefully averting her eyes from him, Ts’ai demonstrated that he was not obliged to accept the singer’s offense (i.e., her status-inconsistent observation of him). Whereas ridicule is nearly always the culmination of gradually escalating amusement, offense (if expressed at all) generally occurs without forewarning. Observers usually repress emotional impulses to force others to look away, given the ridicule-engendering irony in simultaneously “protesting” and “calling for” people’s attention.7 (“Stop looking at me!”) The hierarchy’s very stability depends on personae’s not finding their observers amusing, since such amusement calls into question the hierarchy’s conceptual basis (namely, who ought to be observed by whom). When referring to the natural, hierarchical order of all things, Hindus use the concept of dharma. Adherence to this order is implored

7 “It is only the virtuous who can love people; who can hate people. Those who will virtue (tr.: are) free of maliciousness” (Analects, 4:3–4).

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particularly from those of high rank. As the Code of Manu states, “Destroyed dharma destroys; protected it protects.” Thus, for example, Indic clerics would routinely prevail upon their king “to rein his passions and selflessly follow the path of dharma” (Geertz 1983, p. 202). And so essentialists’ status hierarchy is maintained not only via personae’s efforts to gain acceptance from ever-more-esteemed mentors, but also via observers’ efforts to continue guiding personae’s embodiments by avoiding improprieties (e.g., emotional displays of disdain) that these personae might find amusing.8 An Illustration A small dusty art shop (shuhua) on a crowded Beijing side street is run by an art merchant (O3, later P2) and his recently-hired clerk, Wu (P1). (In contrast to the Western illustrations in the previous two chapters, a Chinese artist would only consider selling her or his own art if faced with abject poverty.)9 The narrative begins between two women (O1 and O2), who have only come into the shop for a brief look: O1 (familiar—constructive criticism): “The paintings are all green, blue, brown. No happy red colors. There ought to be more red in the paintings.” Interaction 1 begins O2 (playful—partial withdrawal of acceptance): “In this corner are many red paintings. I’ll (am not obliged not to) look now for his corner with purple paintings. Ha. . . .” O3 (polite—refusal to complete P1’s embodiment): “Wu, what are you doing? You ought not rearrange the paintings.” Interaction 1 ends

8 Confucius (Analects, 12:17) once advised the ruler, Chi K’ang Tzß, “To govern is to correct. If, sir, you lead with correctness, who will dare not be correct?” 9 I am indebted to my colleague, Yong Wang, for this and others of this chapter’s insights into traditional Chinese society.

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P1 (polite—hesitance to stop embodying O2’s expectations): “Sir, the two ladies who just left said the paintings ought not to be arranged by color.” O3 (familiar—constructive criticism): “Of course, the paintings are arranged by color. Feng Shui art ought to always be displayed with colors in the proper direction. For example, those red paintings belong [i.e., ought to be] in the south, nearest the sun’s fire. You ought leave everything where it is.” O3 (serious—offense at O1 and O2’s improper presumption of observer status): “Those women understand nothing of art. You are not obliged to let them in my shop again, Wu.” P1 (polite—hesitance to adopt O3’s offense-based suggestion): “But Sir, I ought not to make a disturbance, do you agree?” Interaction 2 begins O3 (familiar—constructive criticism): “I agree (in retrospect). You ought to let them in.” O3 (playful—partial withdrawal of acceptance from O1 and O2): “We are not obliged not to complete their foolishness.” Whereas needs are weighed in mutualist discourse, essentialists discursively weigh the statuses of those who offer them suggestions regarding what they ought to do. Although the clerk initially adopts (then embodies) the women’s implicit suggestion to rearrange the shop’s paintings, his higher status employer’s alternative suggestion is immediately adopted in its stead. In this way most of a persona’s time is spent interacting with a higher status observer, in the sense that she or he is embodying this observer’s suggestions. These interactions are only interrupted by discourse during which the persona considers whether or not someone of higher status has an alternative suggestion. That is, the deciding factor in the persona’s persuasion is not the merits of observers’ suggestions but the relative esteem of those making them. Essentialist discourse is thus a narrative during which personae learn their observers’ statuses relative to each other (and themselves), thereby determining whose suggestions they ought to adopt. For example, when the merchant fails to repress his offense at the women’s counterstatus observations, he lowers his own status in the clerk’s eyes. The clerk reacts by politely probing the merchant to determine whether he

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should adopt this serious emotional display as if it were a suggestion. In response, the merchant’s familiar suggestion (immediately adopted by the clerk, we presume) is to allow the women through the shop’s door. Repressing inclination (if any) toward ridicule, he then playfully suggests that they humor the women’s vulgarity if they should return. Soon thereafter an occasional customer (O4) enters the shop, and begins looking at the paintings in polite silence. P2 (polite—hesitance to continue embodying own expectations): “Sir, it is an honor that you come to my humble [i.e., as it ought not be] shop once again . . .” P2 (familiar—constructive criticism): “According to Feng Shui masters, paintings (like these) with much blue and black ought to be displayed in the north . . .” P2 (familiar—constructive criticism): “East is the direction of the Pa Kua where green and dark brown landscapes (like these) ought to be . . .” Interaction 3 begins O4 (familiar—constructive criticism): “This is a fine landscape. My home ought to have it.” P2 (familiar—constructive criticism): “I hope the painting adds serenity to your home. I ought to have more paintings like it.” The assumption here is that merchant and customer have developed the beginnings of a friendship during their prior interactions, whereby neither will find the other’s embodiments implausible. This allows the merchant to make suggestions to the higher-status customer, without the latter’s taking offense.10 As the dialogue begins, the merchant makes a customary reference to their relative statuses by indicating his openness to the customer’s suggestions. The customer knows that the merchant is obliged not to contradict her suggestions, and thus quietly refrains from making any. Instead, she pauses occasionally in hopes that the merchant will offer friendly advice. With status-narrowing familiarity reinforced by Feng Shui masters’ wisdom, the merchant makes two subtle suggestions of principle. Without acknowledging having adopted the (lower status 10 The role of merchant (shang) is at the bottom of China’s traditional status hierarchy, ranking below both peasant (nong) and artisan (gong) (Taylor 1989, p. 498).

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Ongoing Essentialist Narrative Roles: Clerk

Interaction 1

Polite Episodes

Merchant

Interaction 2

Familiar Episodes

Serious Episodes

Playful Episodes

Interaction 3

Figure 6.2. Interactions within essentialist narratives are prolonged periods during which a persona embodies an esteemed observer’s suggestions. These interactions are occasionally interrupted by discourse during which the persona is only persuaded not to continue the previous interaction if an alternative embodiment is suggested by a more esteemed observer.

merchant’s) suggestions, the customer begins their interaction with a suggestion of how her house ought to be. The narrative continues as the merchant moves to complete the customer’s decision. Figure 6.2 depicts this illustrative essentialist narrative. Notice in the figure how discursive episodes generally occur between interactions, not within them. For both agent and collaborator, discourse during interaction typically occurs as consensus is formed regarding the likelihood that an ongoing interaction will be or has ended. (“You’ve almost achieved the goal!”; “You haven’t quite answered the need.”) In contrast, the persona’s ongoing interaction requires no such “discursive maintenance.” During interactions personae consider whether or not their embodiments (i.e., their essentialist interactions) might better be based on suggestions from more esteemed observers than those whose suggestions they were just in the process of embodying. (“The Philharmonic’s Music Director suggests that I ought to begin the crescendo more softly? But of course, I do not mind abandoning my 5th grade music teacher’s advice to the contrary.”) Once personae have adopted a particular observer’s suggestion, this observer need no longer stimulate their

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embodiments using as unnatural a vehicle as discourse. Instead, the observer need only show amusement with (i.e., withdraw acceptance from) unnatural aspects of what they do. Personae’s embarrassment is their natural emotional reaction to a loss in the acceptance they seek from the observer. Moreover, if their erstwhile amusement-engendering embodiments are insufficiently intelligible for the observer to complete, they may cascade such that the observer’s (now persona’s) embodiments become amusingly unnatural to her or his observers. (“The more of my subordinates’ errors that my boss identified, the more amusement that she found in my report over the department that I supervise.”) In this way personae’s embarrassment may escalate naturally into shame at the embarrassment they have caused their observer. The Myth of Naturalness In an essentialist world, people strive to embody “what they are” (i.e., their respective roles). The more at variance one’s embodiment from one’s role, the more amusing one is for others. By ranking people from those who are most to least amusing, a hierarchy is produced from the most vulgar to the most esteemed of people. The idea of naturalness is introduced with the premise that only people of relatively higher status are qualified to judge (and thus be amused by) a lack of correspondence between another person’s embodiments and role. A higher status person’s seemingly role-averse embodiments may be a source of confusion but only unnaturally one of amusement. As a lower status persona, I am ignorant of higher status persons’ roles (i.e., of relational knowledge regarding why they do what they do). However, by virtue of their higher statuses they do understand my role (as do I understand the roles of those less esteemed than myself) even better than I do. Since no two essentialists are of identical status, discourse is either for suggesting (from observer to persona only) embodiments or for establishing relative statuses. The naturalness myth is based on two principles underlying these respective types of discourse. First, every persona is obliged only to adopt suggestions from observers more esteemed than they are. Whereas operational knowledge is distributed among mutualists in accordance with their professional training, relational knowledge is distributed among essentialists in accordance with their status. Yet whereas mutualists’ distribution of knowledge leaves nobody capable of grasping the social system in its entirety, essentialists’

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knowledge cumulates with status. That is, every essentialist is presumed to know what is expected of everyone whose status they exceed, making the emperor unique in that only he is generally believed to understand all relational knowledge within his society.11 This collection of relational knowledge is not understood by the all-knowing emperor as an integrated system, however. Instead, he observes each persona as every other object he perceives, namely as a unit, with its own discrete nature. Just as his cup “acts as he expects” by breaking when he drops it, his people act as he expects by embodying whatever he suggests they ought to do. After all, everyone else is of lesser status—a person whose counter-suggestions they ought not to adopt. Second, observers provide spontaneous feedback on noncorrespondence between personae’s embodiments and their roles. The presumption here is that each persona has a nature, or role, that observers dispassionately apply when providing nonverbal and verbal feedback regarding the persona’s embodiments. Given the first naturalness principle discussed in the previous paragraph, “mixed signals” from observers will not shake a persona’s belief in the specificity of her or his nature. If two observers’ suggestions are inconsistent, the persona will simply adopt the higher-status observer’s suggestion. Moreover, the lower-status observer’s suggestions are themselves embodiments that the suggester’s (now persona’s) observers may or may not accept. (“Ought not friends be corrected, rather than praised?”) By contradicting more esteemed observers’ wisdom, a suggester amuses these observers and, should the contradictions persist, loses status relative to others who join in the amusement. Meanwhile, personae gain insight into their observers’ relative statuses—without joining in the amusement and thereby causing offense—by noting which (higher-status) observers are amused by suggestions from which (lower-status) observers. Thus in the persona’s search for the highest status observer from whom acceptance is plausible, she or he is likely to politely ignore suggestions from observers whose status has been 11 India is exceptional in this regard in that the caste of priests (Brahmans) is of higher status than that of royalty (Kshatriya). Since ultimate judgments of propriety were not made by those in power, Indic kings’ power was traditionally wielded within confines acceptable to their priestly advisors. In contrast, Chinese emperors only needed to retain their “Mandate of Heaven” (i.e., the peace and prosperity symbolic of the emperor’s embodiment of his role). In defeat an emperor’s status is lost. Once his victor reestablishes peace and prosperity (a.k.a. consolidates his power), the new ruler’s subjects immediately accept him as their now-current “person of highest esteem” (cf. Hsu 1981, p. 230).

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lowered via their having contradicted more esteemed observers’ wisdom. (“I ought not to adopt suggestions unless they are from someone more esteemed than this.”) Counter to the naturalness myth, essentialists are not motivated to dispassionately read personae’s role-averseness. Instead, the observer’s “spontaneous” amusement (short of ridicule) is motivated to ensure personae’s continued embodiment of her or his suggestions. In following the essentialist observer’s motivation to reduce the ambiguity of personae’s role embodiments (v. Chapter 3), this nonverbal strategy is only appropriate after personae have adopted (and thus are engaged in embodying) these suggestions. Beyond this, a verbal strategy is called for to have personae adopt the observer’s suggestions in the first place. To preserve their own status and thus make it more likely that their suggestions are the ones personae adopt, observers’ verbal strategy will be to formulate suggestions in ways that are consistent with those that higher status observers would make. Thus in motivating personae to embody their suggestions, observers are secondarily motivated to make their suggestions consistent with those made by the most highly esteemed in their society. This secondary motivation’s cumulative effect is toward the development of “conventional wisdom” (i.e., a collection of suggestions acceptable—and thus deemed natural—to those most esteemed within an essentialist society). Although changes in “the natural” are easily imposed by the emperor, they are virtually impossible for anyone else to impose without his assent. The dilemma is that one has no way to challenge naturalness per se, since every unconventional gesture is a potential target of amusement and every status-inconsistent gesture is a source of offense. Changes in conventional wisdom and hierarchy thus proceed gradually, if at all. When they do occur, a sufficiently large number of esteemed persons are required to risk being seen as unnatural themselves as they make gestures inconsistent with conventional wisdom or the hierarchical order. Yet given their motivations to (as personae) have their roles accepted and to (as observers) have personae’s roles embodied, their only reason for challenging wisdom and hierarchy would be to unseat higher status essentialists whose acceptance is implausible for both them and most of the personae who seek these subversive, second-tier observers’ acceptance. Should this happen, personae would adopt suggestions from observers below the hierarchy’s top, and the second-tier observers would be motivated to have first-tier observers’ role-acceptance vacate altogether. Such disloyalties and “court intrigues” were the

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usual (natural?) harbinger of dynasty change in ancient China. As one second century Shandong resident wrote of the previous Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, Each of the Three Dynasties was founded by a virtuous king and terminated by an evil ruler, each dynasty was given a mandate by Heaven because of the goodness of its wise, benevolent, and hardworking founder, and each lost its mandate because of the evil of its corrupt, sybaritic, selfish, and evil last king. (Wu 1989, p. 162)

To keep from losing one’s hierarchical ranking, one is obliged, as essentialist, to not only display embodiments and make suggestions that are natural to (and likely accepted by) higher-status observers, but also to stimulate such naturalness in lower-status personae by actively ensuring that they believe one’s acceptance of their gestures to be most-ambiguous-yet-plausible. Ambiguity Reduction among Essentialists Unlike the relatively short-lived motivations of individualists and mutualists, the essentialists’ motivations depicted in Figure 6.3 are possibly best understood as progressing gradually from polite hierarchical experiences to familiar and playful conventional experiences, and then (following rare instances of disdain) back to polite ones—albeit now in light of embarrassing past counter-conventional experiences. Personae learn their positions within their society’s status-hierarchy as they discover who ignores versus who accepts what they do. On the one hand, personae learn in time that their statuses are lower than those of observers who consistently ignore them. As indicated by the short dashed arrow on the figure’s left ambiguity curve, observers’ repeated nonacceptance teaches a persona that their acceptance is contingent on (i.e., not obliged without) her or his maturity. On the other hand, among observers whose acceptance is plausible, the ambiguity-reduction principle stipulates that personae’s motivations will be that each ought to act in ways acceptable to the single observer whose acceptance they find most challenging (i.e., most ambiguously plausible)—the observer ranked highest along the figure’s left curve at the tip of the solid arrow. Yet while acceptance from this mentor is motivational (toward ever-more-plausible embodiments, as per the figure’s left dashed arrow), the persona makes motivation via lower-ranked observers impossible by being politely obliged not to act in ways acceptable to them.

OUGHT NOT

plausible

Acceptance

implausible

A p p e a r s

(present conventional experience)

(given past hierarchical experiences) V a c a t e s

NOT OUGHT NOT

NOT OUGHT

and

OUGHT

plausible Embodiment

(given observer’s past counterconventional experiences)

OUGHT NOT

implausible

(prevent counterconventional experience)

NOT OUGHT

V a c a t e s

Figure 6.3. Persona’s and observer’s reciprocal motivations: for the former toward the most challenging mentor, and for the latter toward the most plausible (but nondisdainful) projected embodiment.

A p p e a r s

(insufficient challenge)

OUGHT

“nonacceptance” (present hierarchical experience)

(re a specific persona)

(among observers) maturity threshold

Observer’s Motivation

Persona’s Motivation

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Unlike an agent’s actions, the persona’s embodiments are included in the essentialists’ field of (here, animate) objects. The essentialist observer serves not as an umpire who decides whether or not a goal has appeared within the field, but as a coach who provides ongoing feedback on how close an embodiment is to vacating from the field. In both cases, a successful serious episode conveys that one’s personconcept is not part of reality (i.e., that the goal’s or embodiment’s existential status is “Is Not” [v. Chapter 2], thereby excluding it from the field). Yet whereas for the individualist serious episodes are prolonged periods of achievement-activity, for the essentialist they are as sudden as an individualist’s briefly playful verification of goal-achievement. In contrast, the existential status of the persona’s embodiment remains “Is” for prolonged periods of time, during which essentialist observers’ playful acceptance remains possible as a temperateness in feedback they are not obliged not to provide. These prolonged conventional experiences serve the observer’s motivation toward maximizing the plausibility of the persona’s embodiments (in the direction of the right ambiguity curve’s dashed arrow). Moreover, given the persona’s motivation toward the observer’s acceptance, these experiences inevitably convey what the persona ought to embody. Nevertheless, an observer’s motivation will suddenly turn toward the vacating of a persona’s embodiment when this embodiment becomes (most ambiguous and) more implausible than plausible—an experience of the embodiment’s passing the point of maximum ambiguity at the observer’s maturity threshold. As explained previously, observers commit the counter-conventional mistake of calling attention to themselves if they resort to physically altering, rather than merely ignoring, immature embodiments such as this. Attention from others positions an essentialist at a status lower than her or his newfound observers, leaving the essentialist an embarrassed persona and the brunt of their amusement. Such counter-conventional experiences teach observers that disdain is ineffective in making implausible embodiments vacate. And so it becomes conventional wisdom that reactions to implausible embodiments should be impossible, and are to be politely ignored instead: Observers ought not to embody disdain for lower-status personae.

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Essentialism: A Narrative with Polite Episodes as Persons’ Reflexive Default Whereas during interactions (i.e., during periods of interpersonal influence) the agent sees the world through his imagined observers’ eyes, the persona only imagines his observer’s view during discursive interludes between interactions. Each persona embodies a role based on a fixed understanding of what she or he is within the current setting—an understanding intermittently revised in response to her or his mentor’s amusement or suggestions. The normal state here is thus a nonreflexive one during which essentialists complete the gestures of lower-status personae, and their gestures are completed by observers of higher status. Personae typically prolong these nonreflexive states via polite episodes. For example, vulgar gestures from lower-status personae are politely ignored as ones one ought not to complete. When a less vulgar persona’s embodiments are sufficiently amusing to deserve a corrective comment, this too may be done via a polite episode that specifies what she or he ought not to do.12 However, once a persona has developed a clear identity based on years of familiar criticism (“You ought to be more critical.”), playful amusement (“I am not obliged not to find your praise amusing.”), and even serious offense (“I am not obliged to tolerate your condescension.”), the vast majority of current suggestions in any of these forms will be politely refused in light of a more esteemed observer’s counter-suggestions. (“As a Zen master, I am obliged not to heed your suggestions.”) Once socialized into an essentialist society, a persona’s life consists of open-ended interactive periods during which one’s embodiments are in accordance with suggestions from the most esteemed observers in one’s social milieu. Secure in one’s knowledge of what one is, one politely refuses to adopt suggestions from anyone except one’s most-esteemed-yet-accepting observer—an observer who actively retains her or his mentor status via the subtlest displays of amusement at one’s very occasional faux pas.

12 “If a man can be talked to, not talking with him wastes the man. If a man cannot be talked to, talking with him wastes your words. The wise waste neither their man nor their words” (Analects, 15:7).

CHAPTER SEVEN

DOCTRINISM There is a reason for everything, and anything anyone does is either consistent or inconsistent with this universal purpose. Yet this purpose, this wondrous plan, is merciful in that everyone may become part of it. Joining us simply involves adding your efforts to ours. The plan will always come to pass. If you join us, its culmination will be reached sooner; if not, it will only be delayed. By joining us you will know what it means to live correctly. But if you refuse to live correctly as one of us, you will be punished for your mistake. This too is part of the glorious plan. Retribution may not come today or tomorrow. In fact, it may only come after you die. However, those who live correctly all take part in a mysterious journey toward a sublime culmination beyond our every imagination. So, you might ask, how do I know these things? The answer, my friend, is that your question is incorrectly posed. I do not know these things; I have been promised them by a miraculous Being. These Truths are all written in THE book, where the Being’s promises are foretold. Explanations for everything that happens can be found in THE book. So certain am I of my correctness that I am prepared to die for the Being, in the name of THE book, and toward furthering the glorious plan. This is the certainty available to all who follow the Being. Understanding will not give you reason to join us. But if you join us, you will understand. Polite Episodes (Permission) Whereas in the US people generally understand laws as rules that prevent them from doing things they would otherwise be able to do, doctrinists embrace laws as rules that permit them to do things others might otherwise oppose. Without rules, followers would have nothing to implement. Or, for that matter, interpreters would have no basis for judging whether or not a particular implementation was excessive (i.e., unjust), and thus something they would be not permitted not to oppose.

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Unlike the essentialist’s language of gestures, doctrinists’ language is comprehensively inscribed in THE book. For the essentialist, relational knowledge about people (i.e., the grammar guiding people’s behaviors) often ranges widely from one setting to the next. However, for the doctrinist a single body of relational knowledge applies in all settings. At the present time, the very notion of a secular jurisdiction and authority—of a so-to-speak unsanctified part of life that lies outside the scope of religious law and those who uphold it—is seen as an impiety, indeed as the ultimate betrayal of Islam. The righting of this wrong is the principal aim of Islamic revolutionaries and, in general, of those described as Islamic fundamentalists. (Lewis 1988, p. 3)1

It is as if there were an omnipresent most-esteemed observer, whose expectations everyone is motivated to embody. Yet, unlike the essentialist observer, this most-esteemed Being communicates its expectations only indirectly via THE book. In the absence of an observer’s direct feedback, all doctrinists are left to interpret each others’ implementations of the book’s rules. Thus unexpected behaviors are not dismissed with an air of essentialist amusement. Instead, unexpected (here, noticeable) behaviors are not permitted unless, of course, a generally accepted post hoc interpretation reveals them to have been implementations of rules accepted by all. Then, when they forgot that whereof they had been reminded, We opened unto them the gates of all things, ’till, even as they were rejoicing in that which they were given, We seized them unawares, and lo! they were dumbfounded. So of the people who did wrong the last remnant was cut off. (Qur ān VI: 44–45)

Even violence is permitted, as long as people generally understand it to have been in accordance with THE book. In the same way that one ignores people’s well-enunciated speech (i.e., their normative implementations of grammatical rules), interpreters fail to notice how behavioral rules are implemented as long as the implementations are themselves normative (i.e., in accordance with these rules). Accordingly, a follower’s

1 Given contemporary widespread interest in Islam, I have opted for Muslim references throughout this chapter. Many other doctrinisms (Christian, Jewish, and other fundamentalisms, Marxist orthodoxy, national socialism, etc.) could have been used instead.

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authority resides in her or his ability to implement rules normatively (i.e., in ways that remain unnoticeable for interpreters). Serious Episodes (Nonpermission Not) If a follower’s rule-implementation is noticeable to interpreters, in accordance with Chapter 3 they will decrease the implementation’s ambiguity by increasing their opposition to it. Yet “the catch” here is that still others might notice this opposition, prompting them to oppose the opposition, and so on in an escalating spiral of violence. Like essentialists who risk becoming the brunt of others’ mirth when their amusement progresses to ridicule or offense, doctrinists risk becoming the brunt of others’ opposition when their own opposition is interpreted as an implementation sufficiently excessive for other doctrinists to be not permitted not to oppose it. (“Of course, she should have been arrested. What I fervently [am not permitted not to] oppose is that you broke her arm in the process.”) Thus like offended essentialists, who remain silent rather than face spiraling ridicule at their insistence that others not observe them, indignant doctrinists will refuse to act rather than face counter-opposition to actions others might interpret as unjust. Instead, interpreters will allow their opposition to build subjectively until a time when they, as followers, are likely to avoid counter-opposition—a time when their opposition may be sublimated in a form widely interpreted as “justified rule-implementation.” If ye punish, then punish with the like of that wherewith ye were afflicted. But if ye endure patiently, verily is it better for the patient. (Qur ān XVI: 126)

Rather than taking vengeance themselves, followers (in implementing rules, instead of opposing their implementation) will tend to leave vengeance to a being greater than themselves—the Being, whose rules they continue to implement in a variety of unnoticeable ways. (“Chris’s bookkeeping practices were so unethical that I felt morally bound [i.e., not permitted not] to report his actions to the home office. Now that his methods are officially not permitted, we may [i.e., are permitted to] call him to account if he returns to his old ways.”) Out of deference for their normative system, interpreters will refrain from opposing unjust implementations whenever this opposition would itself be interpreted as unjust. In such cases, the opposition is deferred until a

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“just occasion.” (“There are ladies present. Maybe it would be better [i.e., permissable] for us to take our differences outside.”) Accordingly, retribution can be defined here as an instance of deferred opposition implemented by followers who believe it will (at this later time) be generally accepted as just. Deferred opposition—a concept less delicately referred to as “hate”— is typically a byproduct of conflict. When interpreters’ opposition becomes more noticeable than unnoticeable, followers’ ambiguity-reducing motivation will no longer be toward having the opposition vacate but instead toward having it become more apparent. (“I’ll teach you not to [i.e., that you are not permitted to] insult a lady.”) Conflict results when two or more doctrinists see themselves as followers who are permitted to implement a rule against the other’s not permitted opposition. (“That’s no lady; that’s my wife whom, by the way, I am permitted to insult whenever I wish.”) Thus conflict is an ever-present threat between doctrinists, unless a clear consensus has been reached regarding who is to be follower and who interpreter during their interactions. Yet conflict is usually ineffective in determining authority relations from follower to interpreter. This is the case even if their conflict yields a clear victor, and thereby a provisional decision on whose implementation was a just (i.e., permitted) application of the rules they purportedly share. No plea had they, when Our terror came unto them, save that they said: Lo! We were wrong-doers. (Qur ān VII: 5)

Although the victor may believe that “the only thing the wrong-doers understand is force,” understanding the vanquished is more complex than “might makes right.” Even while humbly submitting that their actions were not permitted, vanquished doctrinists will typically refuse to subjectively accept the legitimacy of the victor’s implementation. (“If the ‘victor’ is pacified by believing that we are vanquished, so much the better. We are permitted to continue our just implementation of the rules they opposed—rules that, as has been promised, will prevail over this injustice in time.”) Although they may have lost a prior battle, doctrinists will bide their time—always remembering that they are not permitted not to oppose the conqueror’s unjust implementation—until an occasion for retribution arises. After nearly thirty years, the son of (a) murdered man killed his father’s killer while the old man was lying, helpless and immobile, in a hospital

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bed. This act, which led to the permanent exile of the killer, was much praised by the Pukhtun men. (Lindholm 1982, p. 77)

Confidence in the justice of one’s impending retribution (and, equivalently, in the unjustness of the other’s opposition) will remain either until one has implemented the rule in accordance with THE book’s promise, or until one has been persuaded that one’s rule is counter to this promise (and thus is not permitted in THE book). Being truly vanquished means accepting that the Being would oppose one’s continued implementation. (“Only God knows why my son died, Doctor. Thank you [i.e., I am permitted not to be retributive] for your efforts.”) Thus opposition to a follower’s rule-implementations can be quite ambiguous, with unrepentant interpreters’ still-deferred opposition much more ambiguous than any blatant opposition at hand. In sum, as long as a follower’s implementations remain unnoticeable to interpreters, the latter will accept both that their opposition is not permitted and that the follower’s rule-implementations are permitted. In this case, might makes right for everyone involved. However, if the follower’s implementations become noticeable for interpreters, thereby passing their “excessiveness threshold,” they are interpreted as unjust implementations that the follower was permitted not to have done. In such cases, interpreters are not permitted not to oppose the follower’s injustice, albeit possibly deferred in time and (when occasion for retribution arises) in permitted ways. Familiar Episodes (Permission Not) Of course, followers may implement any rule in THE book. Yet even though a follower’s reputation for brute power might reduce the likelihood of opposition in the short term, her or his implementations may occasionally be met with overwhelming opposition. As discussed above, interpreters may long harbor resentment against what they believe to have been a follower’s unjust implementation. To preempt such deferred opposition, followers typically use familiar episodes to decrease the chances that their implementations will be noticed (and, thus, be sooner or later opposed). The idea here is that the more often a follower might have but did not implement a rule against an interpreter’s opposition, the more the interpreter comes to trust that the follower will not do so in the future. When the time comes that a rule is implemented nevertheless, the interpreter will have been repeatedly warned that this would

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only happen if her or his opposition were to become not permitted (i.e., insufficiently unnoticeable). That is, prior familiar discourse gives present rule-implementations meaning such that, in response, interpreters know immediately what whey have done wrong (a.k.a. what rules they have opposed). Thus a familiar episode is simultaneously clemency and warning—a follower’s indication that she or he is permitted not to implement a rule against an interpreter’s opposition but might do so in the future. As long as a follower will have expressed to an interpreter more merciful warnings than implementations regarding a rule, she or he will not arouse deferred opposition when implementing the rule against the interpreter’s opposition. Acknowledging parallels with Max Weber’s definition of the term, authority is defined here as this capacity within doctrinist societies for a follower to implement rules without arousing deferred opposition. In addition to followers’ clemency and warnings, familiar episodes also convey the follower’s greater faith in an interpreter’s loyalty in comparison to the potential disloyalty (i.e., deferred opposition) of those less repentant interpreters against whose opposition the follower does implement rules. (“The boss didn’t [i.e., was permitted not to] reprimand me because your work is worse than mine.”) Such episodes may serve to reduce unrepentant (i.e., deferred-opposition-harboring) interpreters’ motivations to implement retribution, by conveying to them a facade of power among those followers who profess loyalty to each other. Even feigned loyalties leave the impression that retribution against any of a “loyal” troupe will be interpreted by them all as excessive. Accordingly, the gap between followers’ authority and their power lies between “their capacity to unnoticeably implement rules against others” and “others’ incapacity to unnoticeably implement rules against them.” The more powerful one’s potential interpreters (i.e., the more friends they have than you do), the more likely that your implementation of rules against their opposition will have counter-motivational (i.e., ambiguity-increasing) effects. Thus interpreters with many friends are people whom followers with fewer friends will treat with familiarity. (“I’m permitted not to arrest you in front of your [intimidatingly hostile] extended family.”) And so maintaining a large network of friends—or at least a convincing facade of many friends—makes it less likely that followers will believe themselves permitted to implement rules against one’s opposition. Implementing rules against friends’ opposition is thus self-destructive, in that it undermines one’s power to implement rules in general. And since in accordance with the ambiguity-reduction

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principle each follower is motivated to reduce rules’ ambiguity via their implementation (rather than to increase their ambiguity via a weakening power base), friends will tend to avoid mutual conflict and to join forces when implementing rules.2 Familiar episodes thus serve to build both followers’ authority and their power. As a result doctrinist societies are characterized by ongoing shows of camaraderie—of diversions from the rules that, in friendship, each is permitted not to implement against the other. Rituals expressing Pukhtun equality are quite pervasive. The most obvious are the elaborate greetings men offer one another whenever they chance to meet. . . . Failure to give or return a greeting is a serious matter and never occurred in my experience. . . . The landowning powerful aristocrats of the society, the khans, feel no compunction at embracing the lowliest shoemaker or barber. (Lindholm 1982, p. 212)

Every time one expresses friendship for a fellow follower, one decreases the noticeability of any future implementations against her or his opposition, which is to say one decreases the likelihood that her or his excessiveness threshold will be passed. This cultural variant of “I’m OK, You’re OK” thereby increases the likelihood that interpreters will be motivated to reduce, rather than increase their opposition to followers’ implementations. As a first approximation, consider the conception of friendship concisely summed up in the old German adage, “A friend is someone with whom I can steal horses.” Although we both might interpret our actions as inconsistent with the law against horse theft, neither of us would (i.e., each is permitted not to) implement this law against the other. Our bond of friendship is a sort of truce between us, based in part on our knowledge that in betraying my friend, I betray myself. As partners in crime we now either join forces to avoid punishment for our crime, or we both suffer the punishment. Unlike such symmetrically binding “honor among thieves,” friendships among doctrinists are usually asymmetric ones in which a powerful 2 “(A) man’s brothers and father are his most certain allies in any outside clash and it would be self-destructive to kill them. Nonetheless, one man did kill his brother within recent memory of my informants. The motive was greed for the brother’s wealth and lust for the brother’s wife, who was the killer’s accomplice. The killer inherited both his desired ends and was safe from revenge since he himself was the closest relative of the murdered man. But without allies he was unable to protect his gains. Soon afterwards, the threats of a local strongman deprived him of both his property and his wife, and he was driven from the village” (Lindholm 1982, p. 66).

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follower persuades less powerful followers that it would be unjust for them to punish a third party under the more powerful follower’s protection. Like the essentialist whose ridicule risks laughter from someone of higher prestige, the doctrinist’s rule-implementations risk opposition from someone more powerful. Thus powerful doctrinists “keep the peace” through friendly warnings that they are permitted not to implement rules that remain unopposed. (“If you leave my daughter in peace now, I won’t [i.e., shall be permitted not to] throw you out of my house.”) Yet these warnings are only rarely threats of impending conflict. Instead, they are promises that rules will be justly implemented (i.e., implemented in accordance with THE book). They are assertions that no morally upright witness to the implementation would find it noticeably worthy of opposition. Accordingly, in the Islamic courts defendants’ claims are only believed if supported by the oral testimony of two (adult, male, Muslim) witnesses of unimpeachable moral integrity. The search has not been for knowledgeable individuals sufficiently detached to retail empirical particulars an umpire judge can weight in legal scales but for perceptive individuals sufficiently principled to produce righteous judgments an exegete judge can cast into quranic rhetoric. (Geertz 1983, p. 191)

Rather than resorting to conflict that would only provoke opposition, the truly powerful temper their actions in ways that other principled followers would interpret as legitimate.3 More important than “what one does” is whether or not one has a record of “doings” that have been sufficiently merciful to remain unnoticed. Succinctly put, a follower makes her or his implementations unnoticeable to interpreters by showing them more mercy than not. Followers build friendship networks via such merciful acts. By building powerful friendship networks followers avoid having interpreters oppose their rule-implementations. On the one hand, a sufficiently powerful network will inhibit opposition from other friendship networks’ interpreters. On the other hand, a follower with sufficient authority within her or his own network will not be opposed by interpreters within this network. 3 In this regard, one can see the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks as a lost opportunity for US policy within the Islamic world. From the Muslim standpoint, a truly powerful nation would have reacted with force commensurate with Americans’ loss, instead of with sufficient violence to evoke broad retributive opposition to American excesses against Islam itself.

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Playful Episodes (Nonpermission) Yet no follower gains authority based on mercy alone. If a doctrinist never implements any rule, she or he is no longer a follower. Although interpreters will be incapable of finding excessiveness in such purely merciful behavior, followers might see opposition in this “safe” alternative. (As an extreme case here, one need only think of the warriors shot during innumerable past wars for having refused to kill people who, to them, were not the enemy.) Those of the believers who sit still, other than those who have a (disabling) hurt, are not on an equality with those who strive in the way of Allah with their wealth and lives. Allah hath conferred on those who strive with their wealth and lives a rank above the sedentary. (Qur ān IV: 95)

Authority is attributed to followers not only because they are merciful, but also because they justly implement the rules. And so the task now becomes one of explaining how authoritative followers decide whom they are permitted to implement a rule against or, equivalently, who was not permitted to act as they did. Notice here that the follower’s choice is not of a rule to be implemented. Instead, the follower chooses that interpreter whose opposition is most egregious, and thereby not permitted. Like the persona who takes on a role when choosing a sufficiently challenging mentor, the follower takes on a rule when choosing a sufficiently challenging interpreter. Yet here it is the ambiguity of interpreters’ opposition that affords challenge to the follower and that permits her or his implementation of an associated rule. As long as this implementation fails to reach their excessiveness thresholds, interpreters’ motivational responses will be repentant ones toward making the follower’s implementation even more unnoticeable. (“You were right [i.e., permitted] to stop me. My actions were uncalled for [i.e., not permitted].”) In such cases, the consequently reduced challenge posed by the interpreters’ opposition will mercifully lessen the follower’s motivation to continue implementing the rule. This cycle from opposition to implementation to repentance to mercy is the ongoing process that sustains the normative patterns characteristic of doctrinist societies. For example, if a would-be-thief enters a store while a shopkeeper is busy with a customer, the shopkeeper’s motivation to implement a purchase (against whatever opposition the customer might have) will likely lose precedence to her motivation to implement security within

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Security

low first aware of would-be-thief shopkeeper is PERMITTED to implement purchase and customer is NOT PERMITTED to oppose purchase

shopkeeper is PERMITTED to implement security and would-be-thief is NOT PERMITTED to oppose security

shopkeeper is PERMITTED to implement purchase and customer is NOT PERMITTED to oppose purchase

Time

Figure 7.1. When opposition to security becomes more ambiguous than opposition to a purchase, the shopkeeper implements security until it becomes sufficiently unambiguous for her to return to implementing the purchase.

her shop. As depicted in Figure 7.1, the customer’s purchase-opposition would likely decline (presuming no excessive sales pressure) until the shopkeeper first becomes aware of the would-be-thief ’s opposition to her shop’s security. She only returns to purchase-implementation, after the security-related opposition drops to the point that security is less ambiguous than purchase—possibly after her conveying a sharp warning to the would-be-thief. (“The last person who stole one of those left here in an ambulance, young man. [For the moment, I am permitted not to harm you.]”) Indeed, if she were to needlessly continue implementing security against the would-be-thief ’s newly abated opposition, her implementation would likely be interpreted as excessive and a consequent source of counter-motivational deferred opposition. When deciding which opposition is most ambiguous, each follower ranks interpreters according to their opposition (i.e., according to the follower’s estimates of their belief that she or he is not permitted to

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implement rules against them). The interpreter with the most ambiguous opposition is the one against whom the follower implements a rule. Yet there are two types of such “unrepentant interpreters” here: those whose opposition is unnoticeable (i.e., whom the follower judges will repent upon rule-implementation), and those interpreters whose opposition is noticeable. The latter group is hereby defined as the enemy. Fight against such of those who have been given the Scripture as believe not in Allah nor the Last Day, and (who) forbid not that which Allah hath forbidden by His messenger, and (who) follow not the religion of truth, until they pay the tribute readily, being brought low. (Qur ān IX: 29) . . . disbelievers are an open enemy to you. (Qur ān IV: 101)

Insofar as the enemy is judged to be incorrigibly unrepentant, however, followers will find little challenge (i.e., ambiguity) in its opposition. According to the ambiguity-reduction principle, only moderate levels of opposition convey interpreters’ doubts regarding the follower’s permission to implement a rule. An incorrigible enemy has no doubt that the follower is not permitted to do this; whereas a docilely repentant interpreter has no doubt that the follower has this permission. Opposition from neither of these interpreters would be sufficiently ambiguous for the follower to implement a rule against them. As suggested in the previous paragraph, the follower’s reaction to opposition from moderately unrepentant interpreters depends on whether or not she or he judges that rule-implementation against this opposition will result in the opposing interpreters’ repentance. On the one hand, followers will be motivated to reduce unnoticeable opposition by implementing rules in nonexcessive (i.e., unnoticeable, and thus permitted) ways that yield repentance. On the other hand, they will be motivated to increase noticeable opposition via (excessive) conflict until another, more ambiguously unrepentant interpreter becomes the new target of their motivation. Thus interpreters will only avoid conflict with (i.e., remain a friend of ) a follower as long as they keep their opposition unnoticeable to her or him. If their opposition escalates to overt resistance, they run the risk that the follower will stop shepherding them, as friends, toward conformity but will start making them into enemies via the most violent means at their disposal.4 4 Although conflict will be violent when targeting an interpreter whose opposition has reached the followers’ point of maximum ambiguity, it will be less extreme when targeting less ambiguous opposition. More generally, conflict will consist of confrontations commensurate with the ambiguity of the enemy’s opposition.

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Less ambiguous opposition from the enemy will be met with more moderate confrontation, however. For instance, many fundamentalist Christians understand the New Testament (Matthew 5:44; Luke 6:27) rule to “love your enemies” as justifying confrontational “teachings for the good of ” one’s enemies. Yet no matter how moderate or violent, doctrinists’ confrontations create a discursive barrier from other beliefs that keeps them from considering rules other than their own. Removed from sources of doubt, doctrinists find a “place of certainty” where their beliefs remain undoubted and thus uncontested when being referred to as beyond all doubt.5 All conflict is in self-defense, when viewed from a doctrinist standpoint. This is because followers presume the enemy’s motivation to be like their own: Their motivations are toward having interpreters repent for having opposed the rules, and so the enemy’s motivations are presumably toward forcing them to repent for having opposed its rules. Yet since followers are only permitted to implement rules inscribed in THE book and since the enemy’s “rules” are not inscribed there, the enemy’s acts are not permitted in that they prevent (and thus oppose) followers’ rule-implementations. (“Officer, you have no right [i.e., are not permitted] to keep me from making my children behave. You are violating the sanctity of my home.”) If conflict transforms into a stalemate (i.e., prolonged discursive separation from their enemies), followers’ motivations become once again diverted toward relatively more ambiguous opposition from among friends. Yet if conflict continues, followers will sacrifice their lives rather than repent for having opposed the enemy’s rules. The deaths of such martyrs bear witness to the enemy’s excesses, thereby strengthening their friends’ (deferred) opposition toward the enemy’s implementations of its rules. But for the

“Hasidim like Lazar have a total disinterest in any thing or anyone who isn’t Jewish. The goyim were invisible. Then why did Lazar cross the street to confront the gentiles with his presence? I think, in part, it was because Lazar didn’t want to slink by, like a nice Jewish boy causing no trouble. Crossing the street was cheeky, in-yourface, confrontational. . . . If the city of Postville tried to enforce any ordinance the Jews disagreed with, the immediate cry was anti-Semitism. If a local complained about noise from the shul, if anyone disagreed about annexation, he or she was quickly branded an anti-Semite. Ultimately, I discovered, carrying on a conversation with any of the Postville Hasidim was virtually impossible. If you didn’t agree, you were at fault, part of the problem. You were paving the way for the ultimate destruction of the Jews, the world’s Chosen People. There was no room for compromise, no room for negotiation, no room for anything but total and complete submission.” (Bloom 2000, pp. 197–8) 5

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time being the enemy thumbs its nose playfully at all doctrinists, as it continues doing all things not permitted without remorse. Sometimes an enemy is blissfully ignorant that its acts are not permitted. However, this is never the case with those interpreters whose opposition is barely unnoticeable. Having heard repeated warnings not to violate the rules, these interpreters will most certainly know of their not permitted acts. Or, if not, they will quickly recognize their mistakes when confronted with a follower’s rule-implementation. Yet all interpreters know that they will “get away with” their opposition as long as followers’ are distracted by the more ambiguous opposition of another. Prior to follower-imposed repentance, interpreters’ acts are discretionary (i.e., not permitted) and playful. During such times they may tease the follower by opposing her or his most ambiguous rule-implementation—an implementation required not to be excessive, lest deferred opposition be aroused. (“Of course, you are permitted to kiss me; but not twice [an excess to which you are not permitted].”) Moreover, given their motivations to make rule-implementations unnoticeable, interpreters will reduce awareness of their own wrongful discretions by diverting followers’ attention to wrongs committed by others. (“She [was not permitted to] hit me first!”) Of course, such diversions only succeed when the follower finds these other wrongs to be more ambiguous than those of the accuser. (“But you are not permitted to tattle on your sister.”) To have faith in THE book is to believe in the self-correcting nature of its rules. Its every rule is a promise that if the follower does one thing, then something else will happen in time. The book’s “rule regarding its rules” is that if followers implement them, then implementations of any contrary rule will, in time, be joyfully revealed to be the not permitted rule-oppositions that they truly are. Although you might oppose someone else’s “implementations,” simply continue with your own just implementations. Your faithful adherence to (and possible selective implementation of) the rules will vindicate one of you in time. Schadenfreude is the playful revelation that characterizes interactions within which a true follower implements a rule against the opposition of a “follower” who wrongly claimed to be justly implementing the rules. This day it is those who believe who have the laugh of the disbelievers. (Qur ān LXXXIII: 34)

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A whitewashed-brick art shop at the outskirts of Rabat is run by Hasan (F1) and his younger brother, Ali (I2). A narrative in this setting begins as Hasan greets a stranger (I1) who just began browsing a bin of etchings located barely inside the shop’s doorway. F1 (familiar—hesitance to implement purchase): “You look thirsty, friend. Do you like Cola? Ali, fetch our guest a Cola. (Tacit message: I am permitted not to implement your purchase.)” I1 (familiar—hesitance to implement purchase): “Please take no offense, friend (i.e., you are permitted not to implement my purchase), but . . .” I1 (serious—opposition to purchase): “ . . .there is nothing that I like among (i.e., am not permitted not to oppose purchasing) your etchings.” F1 (familiar—hesitance to implement purchase): “No offense taken. You are always welcome in my shop. Purchases are optional (i.e., I am permitted not to implement your purchase). Here, please have this Cola.” I1 (familiar—hesitance to implement purchase): “No, thank you. Your brother will surely enjoy it. Please excuse me for not (i.e., you are permitted not to implement) purchasing anything today. Maybe another day. And Allah is the successor.” Interaction 1 begins I2 (playful—hypothetical nonopposition to guests’ rights): “Hasan, I thought customers were not permitted to leave our shop without buying something, let alone refuse to drink our Cola . . .” F1 (polite—hypothetical implementation of guests’ rights): “I would have stopped (been permitted to stop) you, Ali, if you had forced our guest to buy something. Guests in this shop are (permitted) to be treated with respect.” Interaction 1 ends Since neither wants to risk future retribution, shopkeeper (F1) and stranger (I1) each use familiar discourse to avoid offending the other. The only exception to this is the stranger’s (I1) serious acknowledgment

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of steadfast opposition to the rule, “After entering a store, one purchases something before leaving it.” After the stranger leaves, Hasan’s brother, Ali (I2), jokes about the stranger’s blatant violation of this norm. Hasan (F1) quickly responds that he would have been permitted to forcibly prevent Ali from implementing the rule excessively. Soon thereafter a regular customer, Mohammed (I3), enters the shop. F1 (familiar—hesitance to implement purchase): “Mohammed! Praise be to Allah! Please come join me for tea. How is your family? (Tacit message: I am permitted not to implement your purchase.)” I3 (familiar—hesitance to implement purchase): “It is wonderful seeing you again, Hasan. Did I tell you that my daughter, Fatima, just got married? . . .” (Tacit message: You are permitted not to implement my purchase.)” I3 (polite—invitation to implement purchase): “Say, Hasan. Every time I come into your shop, I notice that many-colored calligraphy of the 99 names of Allah—His name be praised. Is this something that you might be permitted to sell me?” F1 (polite—attempted implementation of purchase): “Certainly, Mohammed. Such works I may sell for 1,000 dirhams, but to you maybe less.” I3 (serious—hypothetical opposition to purchase): “For 1,000 dirhams! Surely you would ask such a price from royalty. But what of your friend, Mohammed (who would be not permitted not to oppose such an expensive purchase)?” F1 (familiar—hesitance to implement purchase): “Of course you are a good friend, Mohammed. But this is one of my best calligraphies, and I hesitate (i.e., am permitted not) to part with it.” Interaction 2 begins F1 (polite—implementation of purchase): “However, I’ll (i.e., am permitted to) sell it to you for 500 dirhams, but only with the understanding that . . .” F1 (playful—nonopposition via telling others): “ . . .you are not permitted to tell anyone that I sell my art so cheaply.” I3 (playful—nonopposition to purchase): “I shall not argue with (i.e., am not permitted to oppose) such a generous offer, Hasan. Here are the 500 dirhams. May Allah bless you and your family.”

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It would be inappropriate to imagine the doctrinist-interpreter as an agent, whose purchase depends on whether or not the price passes her or his affordability threshold. From the doctrinist standpoint, Mohammed is better understood as an unmotivated interpreter of Hasan’s implementation of a norm. Both men know that an art purchase is to be made. At issue is how excessively Hasan will implement this purchase. To draw an analogy, by entering the art shop Mohammed is like a moth, having flown into Hasan’s normative web. As shopkeeper and follower of this normative order, Hasan has the right to implement the shop-rules. His only constraint is that if he chooses an implementation that passes Mohammed’s excessiveness threshold, then Mohammed may seek retribution from him in the future. As previously discussed, Mohammed’s excessiveness threshold is raised during his prolonged familiar interchange with Hasan (truncated above for brevity). In time Mohammed (I3) makes a polite reference to Hasan’s right to implement a purchase, and Hasan (F1) probes politely in return for the threshold at which Mohammed would find his price excessive. Gauging from the seriousness of Mohammed’s (I3) opposition, Hasan (F1) first adds a familiar episode to further raise Mohammed’s excessiveness threshold and then politely suggests a price that he believes Mohammed will not find excessive. After hearing Hasan’s playful proviso that he not convey his bargain to others, Mohammed agrees to withdraw his opposition to the purchase. A graphic of this narrative sequence is provided in Figure 7.2. Notice from the figure that interaction only takes place briefly when Hasan verbally imposes the Excessiveness Rule (i.e., not to violate guests’ rights) against his brother’s opposition and again briefly when Hasan offers a price that Mohammed finds nonexcessive. The latter interaction is the only time during the narrative when Hasan successfully implements the purchase-rule—a rule to which Mohammad belatedly submits. Applying a second analogy, doctrinist narratives can be thought of as prolonged seductions during which a follower woos interpreters until they no longer find their normative constraints to have been implemented with excess. Thus within doctrinist narratives instances of interpersonal influence, or interactions, are relatively infrequent in comparison to lengthier segments of discursive posturing.6

6 “What about all this discursive posturing,” one might ask. “Is this not interaction as well?” In brief, my response is, “No. Not if one uses this book’s definition of the term.”

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Ongoing Doctrinist Narrative Rules: Interaction 2

Customers buy

Polite Episodes

No excessiveness

Familiar Episodes

Serious Episodes

Playful Episodes

Interaction 1

Figure 7.2. Doctrinist narratives are prolonged periods during which a follower probes interpreters for what they would find excessive. An interaction begins when the follower believes that her or his implementation would not be excessive for interpreters, and noting no excess the interpreters reduce the opposition they had toward the implementation. Interaction continues as playful opposition is politely suppressed.

The Myth of Righteousness In contrast to essentialists’ consideration of spoken and written expressions as a subset of physical gestures, doctrinists presume that expressions of their universal language include physical actions, both violent and benign. Reading one’s every action as an embodiment of one’s role, essentialists build prestige in each others’ eyes by ensuring simultaneity between their roles and their embodiments. However, when doctrinists read each others’ actions as rule-implementations, those doctrinists who ensure the sequentiality from rule-promised to rule-implemented are seen as more powerful than those who do not. Prestige and power hierarchies are built on reputations formed through simultaneities or

Interaction was defined in Chapter 3 as a segment of a modal narrative during which one person’s actions are in response to or in anticipation of another person’s articulations. In the doctrinist case, it is the follower who articulates, and the interpreters who increase or decrease their behavioral opposition to these articulations. In the same way that this definition excludes exposure to advertisements from individualists’ interactions, it also excludes prolonged discursive posturing from doctrinists’ interactions.

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sequentialities ensured in the past. Moreover, these hierarchies help essentialists and doctrinists retain their respective prestige and power rankings as well: The greater a persona’s prestige, the smaller the number of more-prestigious essentialists who might be amused by her or his embodiments. The greater a follower’s power, the smaller the number of more-powerful interpreters who might oppose her or his implementations. Whereas essentialist discourse affords understandings of differences in prestige, doctrinist discourse affords understandings of power differences. In the latter case, discourse yields knowledge of two kinds regarding the power structure among doctrinists: what is permitted within this structure, and the relative power among those who apply it. The righteousness myth is the conceptual basis underlying both kinds of knowledge. First, every follower has the right to implement the same set of rules toward interpreters less powerful than they are. Like the individualist, who presumes that everyone has access to the same operational knowledge, doctrinists presume everyone has access to their normative language. Those who conform to this language—to these norms—are living correctly; those who do not, are doing wrong. A righteous act is one in which a follower implements a normative rule in an effort to stop a nonconformist’s wrongs. Yet the world is populated by many powerful nonconformists against whom one is permitted not to exact retribution. That is, one’s righteousness need not be suicidal. Righteousness does not depend on one’s power to implement the rules, but on one’s authority to secure sincere repentance from others. The extent to which others resent the excess in a follower’s rule-implementation (i.e., resent her or his use of power instead of authority), is the extent to which this follower’s actions are in the wrong. Implementations are only permissible if they remain unnoticed, serving merely to turn nonconformist interpreters’ attention to what they are doing wrong. Second, interpreters’ opposition is a spontaneous indication of the excessiveness of a follower’s rule implementation. Whereas personae “see” in an observer’s amusement a lack of correspondence between their embodiments and their roles, followers see in an interpreter’s enjoyment a coherence between their implementations and the rules. That is, although playful feedback conveys to personae that their actions are not appropriate, they convey to followers that their implementations are appropriate. Laughter from one’s interpreters is evidence that they, not oneself, are acting inappropriately. Insofar as interpreters have enjoyed “getting away

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with” their improprieties, followers know that their implementations are just. However, once their enjoyment dissolves into repentance, interpreters would meet further (i.e., past their excessiveness threshold) implementation with serious opposition. Righteous implementations last until the laughter stops, and no longer. But, of course, interpreters are only secondarily motivated to convey the extent of a follower’s righteousness. In accordance with Chapter 3, their motivation is to oppose the follower’s most-ambiguous-but-noticeable implementation. That is to say, they will oppose the rule that the follower will find most challenging (i.e., most difficult to implement unnoticeably), and thus continually incite her or him to unnoticeably implement ever-more-challenging rules. (“Okay. So you stopped me from running numbers in Chicago. Can you stop me from doing [Will I be not permitted to do] it in Antigua as well?”) Far from impartial judges of followers’ righteousness, interpreters continuously oppose those rules that test the limits of followers’ authority. Yet if a follower responds with (i.e., implements rules via) power beyond this authority, interpreters’ motivations will change from repentance to resentment for this excess. The objective is thus to “tease” the follower by alternating between discursively defending one’s opposition and revealing one’s growing resentment toward the follower’s implementation. False consciousness and table turning are interpreters’ key discursive strategies for prolonging this tease. An implementation is only righteous if it is against an interpreter’s opposition to a rule. (“You know that you are not permitted to stay out past midnight.”) However, followers may be persuaded that an interpreter’s actions were “really not” in opposition to a rule after all. (“But Mom, you’ve always told me not [I am not permitted] to walk home after dark. Well, I came home as soon as I could get a ride.”) That is, interpreters may make their actions less noticeable to a follower by conceptualizing them in accordance with an alternative rule to the one the follower “saw” them opposing. The doctrinist presumption here is that every act has a single “correct” interpretation. The follower may simply have mistakenly believed (i.e., had a false consciousness) that she or he was justifiably implementing a rule from THE book. O you who have attained to faith, do not be false to Allah and the Apostle, and do not knowingly be false to the trust that has been reposed in you. (Qur ān VIII: 27)

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Following their motivation to make a follower’s implementation unnoticeable, interpreters may suggest that she or he has a false consciousness of their actions.7 With the false consciousness argument interpreters invite a follower to reconsider an imminent rule-implementation as something she or he is permitted not to do. It is a request that follower and interpreter remain on friendly terms. If the false consciousness argument fails, interpreters may also “turn the tables” on a follower by invoking the Excessiveness Rule. (“What do you mean, I provoked [was not permitted to encourage] your advances? You have no right [are not permitted] to take liberties with me.”) In this way, every follower is at risk of becoming an interpreter as her or his “implementation” is characterized as “opposition” to the Excessiveness Rule. Of course, this strategy will only be effective if the table-turner is sufficiently powerful to become the follower her- or himself. (“Your Highness, this knave is bothering [not permitted to bother] me . . .”) Consequently, doctrinist interpreters will only rarely accuse their queen of excessiveness—at least not to her face. Ambiguity Reduction among Doctrinists Whereas a persona only attends to the most challenging mentor available, a follower only attends to her or his most challenging opponent—an interpreter for whom the moment of retribution has arrived. Identified by the solid arrow at the right side of Figure 7.3’s left ambiguity curve, this interpreter is the one against whose opposition the follower is permitted to implement a rule (i.e., to increase the unnoticeability of this opposition in the adjacent dashed arrow’s rightdownward direction). Opposition from most other interpreters remains sufficiently unnoticeable—given their reputations for just acts—that followers are permitted not to implement rules against them. This familiarity is broadly retained among these socialized interpreters, since they are situated along the curve-segment of greater unnoticeability located below the solid arrow. For the most part, followers are social-

7

Of course, false claims to others’ false consciousness are not permitted as well: Hence, do not utter falsehoods by letting your tongues determine, “This is lawful and that is forbidden,” thus attributing your own lying inventions to Allah: for, behold, they who attribute their own lying inventions to Allah will never attain to a happy state! (Qur ān XVI: 116).

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ized adults, who are permitted (i.e., for whom it is possible) to politely implement rules against the opposition of children and youths. Under the normal circumstances depicted by the dashed arrow in Figure 7.3’s right ambiguity curve, these less socialized interpreters’ motivations will be to make the follower’s implementation more unnoticeable by replacing their “enjoyment in” with “repentance for” their rebellious (i.e., not permitted) opposition. Like collaborators, for whom need-answering is contingent on their own qualifications, opposition is contingent on followers’ use of power. One is always permitted not to have implemented power in excess of authority. If a follower fails to stop rule-implementation at this point, sufficiently powerful doctrinists may turn the tables on this excessive follower-become-interpreter. Weaker doctrinists will lack sufficient power to implement the rule against such excess, and thus have no choice but to remain interpreters whose opposition against present injustice inevitably remains something they are not permitted not to gain retribution for in time. In both cases, these doctrinists are motivated to have excessive implementations appear, thereby shifting their attention away from what rules are (no longer unnoticeably) being implemented, and toward how these rules are (now noticeably) being implemented. This shift transforms the follower’s implementations from other-referential, and thus permitted, to self-referential, and thus something that interpreters are not permitted not to oppose. Returning to the figure’s left ambiguity curve, followers’ ambiguityreduction motivations will be toward making interpreters’ opposition appear if it becomes more noticeable than unnoticeable. The small dashed arrow at the left of Figure 7.3 corresponds to this motivation toward conflict against one’s enemies. Of course, an enemy’s opposition is always not permitted. Yet unlike opposition from doctrinist interpreters, this opposition stems from the enemy’s permanent state of false consciousness—a faith in rules that are inconsistent with those in THE book. (This contrasts with the previously discussed case in which interpreters discursively prevent a wrongful implementation by convincing a follower of her or his temporary state of false consciousness.) Conflict will persist only as long as the enemy’s opposition remains less ambiguous than opposition from among one’s fellow doctrinists. Accordingly an enemy avoids conflict in the present if it has consistently evaded defeat during past conflicts. Such a history will convince followers that the enemy’s wrongful intransigence is unambiguously noticeable. However,

noticeable

Opposing

(given past just acts)

PERMITTED NOT

unnoticeable

V a c a t e s

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NOT PERMITTED NOT

PERMITTED

noticeable Implementing

(prevent table turning)

PERMITTED NOT

unnoticeable

V a c a t e s

(present justice)

NOT PERMITTED

and

PERMITTED

Figure 7.3. Follower’s and interpreter’s reciprocal motivations: for the former toward the most vengeful interpreter, and for the latter toward having (albeit justly) the least unnoticeable rule implemented.

A p p e a r s

(given past conflicts)

PERMITTED

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(re a specific follower)

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Interpreter’s Motivation

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such “stalemates in the present” will not weaken the followers’ belief that the enemy’s ways remain not permitted, and that in time the Being will ensure retribution. This is why opposition remains ultimately impossible (or futile) for doctrinists, be it in the short term (for one’s fellow doctrinists) or in the long term (for one’s enemies). Doctrinism: A Narrative with Familiar Episodes as Persons’ Reflexive Default Doctrinists are masters of subtlety. Virtually all discourse is the familiar discourse of friends. Yet one never knows if perverse enjoyment or pentup resentment lies behind the facade of friendship one sees. Whereas doctrinists treat enemies as friends until a weakness in their otherwise hardened opposition appears, they continuously convey familiar loyalty amongst themselves. And remember Allah’s favor unto you: how ye were enemies and He made friendship between your hearts so that ye became as brothers by His grace; and (how) ye were upon the brink of an abyss of fire, and He did save you from it. (Qur ān III: 103)

Yet while filled with playful enjoyment as I act in ways not permitted, I profess to others that their false consciousness leaves them, as friends, permitted not to implement rules I know myself to be opposing. And just when I believe myself to have “got away with” my wrongs, a momentary shift from the familiar din leaves me disarmed by a politely implemented rule. My enjoyment changes to repentance. Since the implementation was permitted, repentance affords a return to the default state of friendship. Doctrinists’ familiar episodes not only provide them with a guise for imminent conflict and playful opposition, they provide them with a guise for deferred opposition as well. Deferred opposition (i.e., retribution that is not permitted not to be taken in time) is the ever-available prerogative of relatively powerless doctrinists. Powerful doctrinists would simply turn tables on a weaker doctrinist and (instead of deferring their opposition) would implement the Excessiveness Rule against her or him on the spot. Consequently, powerful doctrinists are forever uncertain of how much resentment weaker doctrinists harbor against them. Thousands of familiar episodes may suddenly give way to an attempt at retribution from a trusted “friend” whose power has grown over the

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course of a relationship. Yet familiar episodes remain a follower’s only hedge against such betrayals, since in the long-term they will make her or his occasional rule-implementations less noticeable. Beneath powerful doctrinists’ facade of familiarity lies an ongoing concern that their power may be insufficient to rebuff attempts at retribution for past excesses attributed to them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ANOTHER MODALITY In the center of Maragha, Iran, stands Gunbad-e Qabud—a 12th Century Islamic tomb with walls adorned in complex geometric patterns. The patterns fit pentagon, rhombus, hexagon, and other shapes together seamlessly in a way that seemed haphazard until centuries later, when Roger Penrose (1974, but also see Lu & Steinhardt [2007]) found a mathematical description for them . . . In addition to tombs in distant lands, our modern transportation and telecommunication media expose us daily to people whose thoughts and motivations, like Gunbad-e Qabud’s adornments, betray patterns that are strangely distant from our own. These patterns remain haphazard until a set of unifying principles affords a perspective for seeing them in a new way. In the same way that Penrose’s mathematics of quasicrystalline shapes enabled others to see how geometric shapes form recognizable patterns in Islamic decorations, in atomic configurations, and so on, a theory that links speech and motivations enables people to view themselves and others in accordance with a variety of cultural contexts. Of course, what one does with such “cultural awareness” will depend on one’s motivations. Familiar Episodes (Choice) Individualists’ motivations are toward goal-achievement. (“If I choose to see people in terms of their modalities, then what gains will there be?”) Here the request is for operational knowledge—for a set of hypotheses that one can test and replicate, thereby verifying if the “then” part of each hypothesis reliably follows the “if ” part. For example, one might hypothesize, “If people live in a democracy, then they will be wealthy.” Unlike this hypothesis, however, hypotheses deduced from a theory of modalities will not be as black-and-white (or universal) as this. Instead, all causal assertions derived herein will begin with what social scientists refer to as a moderating condition (i.e., a “given” precondition, without which a hypothesized causal relation may not hold). Also instead of simply stating, “If A, then B,” cause (A) and effect (B) are hypothesized

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to vary gradually. For example, the following are key hypotheses regarding the four types of modal narratives: Hi: Given that a goal is noticeable, the more noticeable an agent’s achievement of it, the more likely this achievement will be verified. (Observers verify unambiguously noticeable goal-achievements.) Hm: Given that a need is implausible, the less implausible a collaborator’s articulating of it, the more likely this articulating will be answered. (Interpreters answer ambiguous [but implausible] needarticulating.) He: Given that a role is plausible, the less plausible a persona’s embodiment of it, the less likely this embodiment will be accepted. (Observers accept unambiguously plausible role-embodiments.) Hd: Given that a rule is unnoticeable, the more unnoticeable a follower’s implementing of it, the less likely this implementation will be opposed. (Interpreters oppose ambiguous [but unnoticeable] rule-implementing.) But what sort of hypotheses are these? Testing them empirically requires finding measures of the noticeability and verification of a person’s achievement, the implausibility and answering of a person’s articulating, the plausibility and acceptance of a person’s embodiment, and the unnoticeability and opposing of a person’s implementing. How about concrete measures like democracy and wealth? But democracy and wealth are not “concrete” measures at all. For example, if one wishes to understand “the” relation between these two phenomena, one must first understand what each means to the persons participating in the democracy and possessing the wealth. If a democracy is among individualists, democratic participation is a means to goal achievement, and wealth is a goal to be achieved. In a democracy of mutualists, democratic participation is an articulation of needs, and wealth is a means for answering needs that arise. Through democratic elections, essentialists award mandates to inspiring politicians, and constituents’ wealth may be seen as evidence that their—constituents’ not politicians’—embodiments are acceptable. Democratic elections allow politicians to implement rules against doctrinists’ opposition, and politicians’ wealth may make their—politicians’ not constituents’—implementing less unnoticeable, and thus more opposed by their constituents.

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So does democracy generate wealth? The answer is that “it depends” on which moderating condition applies: Does the hypothesis apply to persons motivated to achieve goals, to articulate needs, to embody roles, or to implement rules? Certainly democracy affords wealth among individualists, although possession of this wealth will be restricted to those few who were able to achieve it fairly. Mutualists’ democracies will also enhance the generation of wealth; however this wealth will be more evenly (i.e., responsibly) distributed, with the neediest getting more than the rest. Only to the extent that wealth helps essentialists embody their roles, will politicians who deem wealth-generation acceptable receive popular support. Yet by engendering thoughts of future purchases, wealth has traditionally served to impede, not facilitate, the naturalness of essentialists’ embodiments. And so one would expect little empirical support for the “democracy yields wealth” hypothesis within essentialist societies. Likewise, doctrinists’ understanding of wealth will determine whether or not their elected officials would be motivated to make their constituents wealthy. If THE book states (as does the Qur ān, by the way) that righteous leaders will ensure care for the poor and disabled, then leaders who enrich themselves at their constituents’ expense will soon be voted out of office. Yet THE book might just as readily be interpreted to sanction the divine rights of royalty, as was The Bible during the Middle Ages. Briefly put, democracies among doctrinists may produce wealth, yet only if their doctrine specifies that wealth production is a rule for political leaders to implement.1 But even then, these leaders may never find occasion to implement the rule. The message here is quite simple: When hypothesizing causal relations among people, one needs to specify what the causes and effects in these relations mean to the people under consideration. Although natural scientists may dispense with such moderating conditions, social scientists may not. A single concrete effect may result from numerous—even inconsistent—causes, depending on the modality of the persons one 1 For the record, the Qur ān specifies that the righteous distribute their wealth, rather than hoard it. As a consequence, the wealthier the Muslim who implements a rule, the less unnoticeable—and thus the more opposed—his implementations will be. This makes it difficult for Muslims to accumulate assets, and thus to produce wealth via reinvestment. Moreover, there is an inherently democracy-averse proclivity among both Muslim and non-Muslim followers, given their common motivation to reduce opposition to their rule implementations. As a result, every “democracy of followers” will be inherently unstable and likely short-lived.

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wishes to influence. Whenever one initiates a cause in hopes of an interpersonal effect, one chooses to verify this relation in accordance with a modality—a motivational language that one presumes the tobe-influenced person will use in understanding what you have said or done. If done reflexively, this choice accompanies a tentative familiarity with the other person—the type of empathetic understanding emphasized by Max Weber but ignored by countless contemporary sociologists who blindly presume that their modality (and likely the modality shared among most of their research subjects) is universal. When one’s choice does not yield the hypothesized effect, one’s conclusion should not be that the error lies with the modality (“Nobody is motivated that way.”), but that it lies with one’s choice (“My subjects had other motivations.”). Serious Episodes (Nonchoice Not) Mutualist interpreters are motivated toward answering people’s needs. (“If modal narratives are needed for sustaining interactions within large societies, then qualified sociologists are duty-bound [i.e., do not choose not] to answer these needs by ensuring that the narratives’ preconditions are met.”) Here the issue is not one of hypothesizing causal relations under “normal” moderating conditions, but one of understanding why these conditions are necessary in the first place. Individualist narratives require noticeable goals. If verification of a goal remains elusive, it becomes unnoticeable for agents. In this way goals such as friendships, good health, and promises of a heavenly afterlife may supplant goals that have been more difficult to achieve. But what about goals necessary for one’s survival? Societies of individualists would even persist if thousands of its agents were to die obscurely after food and shelter were to have become goals no longer noticeable to them. The Achilles heel without which a society of individualists cannot function is the guise of fairness—the certainty that everyone’s achievements are evaluated according to the same criteria. When people begin to believe that they are being unfairly disadvantaged (e.g., due to their race, gender, etc.), their social narrative is at risk of becoming doctrinist, rather than individualist. (“Of course, I’m able to afford living in this neighborhood. I’m just not permitted to live here.”) The individualist social system is undone as agents learn that the “objective” qualities of their achievements are less important than avoiding

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“achievements” not permitted by those in charge of implementing the verification criteria. When this happens, agents become doctrinist interpreters, whose motivations are to oppose such noticeable (i.e., nonobjective) implementations of these verification rules. (“I’m not permitted not to get what’s rightfully mine.”) The transformation to doctrinism becomes complete when the verifiers no longer understand themselves as making objective evaluations of achievements but as making unnoticeable (e.g., politically correct) implementations of verification rules. (“An African American receptionist will help dampen liberal clientele’s criticisms of our company’s past hiring practices.”) Although agents will refuse to participate in marketplaces characterized by unfair verification, there are some (occupational, housing, sustenance) marketplaces in which their participation is unavoidable. Maintenance of an individualist social system requires the strict enforcement of interpersonally neutral (i.e., fair) verification criteria in these types of markets. Without such enforcement the system’s social narrative may drift toward a doctrinist one. Mutualist modal narratives require implausible needs. No mutualist will answer a plausible need (i.e., one she or he is unqualified to answer), because her or his efforts would only make it worse. Yet mutualist societies will continue functioning even if a need arises for which no qualified mutualist interpreter exists. For example, when doctors fail to answer the health needs of patients with a then-incurable disease, mutualists will simply accept that these needs are ones nobody is qualified to answer. System problems arise when mutualist interpreters fail to answer needs that they are qualified to answer, however. When this happens, these interpreters know that they will soon hear collaborators’ charges of irresponsibility—articulations accusing them of being too lazy [i.e., of being not compelled not] to do their jobs. But what if it is not their fault? What if “the computers are down,” “I’ve been busy with other customers,” etc.? Then the articulations are deflected to another (typically nameless) interpreter, leaving the original interpreters conveying the impression that they have done an acceptable job. Like agents who even accept death as long as it is not the result of having been treated unfairly, collaborators will accept unanswered needs as long as they believe themselves not to have been treated irresponsibly. Yet the ongoing narrative among mutualists will shift to an essentialist one to the extent that “interpreters” understand their actions as “embodiments to be accepted” instead of as answers to others’ articulations. (“I ought to convince him that I do not have to answer his needs.”) This shift can

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be prevented by ensuring that mutualist interpreters have no excuses for not answering the needs they are qualified to answer. Maintenance of a mutualist social system requires that interpreters are given all the resources they need to do their jobs. As a result, collaborators will come to interpret excuses from interpreters as occasions for more (accusing the interpreters of laziness) rather than less (accepting their excuses at face value) articulation. This means providing the former not only with their tools of trade, but also with time to process the work they are given. Mutualism is about making and keeping promises. For example, rather than putting more trains on the tracks to meet increased passenger demand, one only increases train traffic to a level that schedule-related promises to passengers can be met. (Of course, in the meanwhile more trains and tracks must be built with whatever resources remain after all mutualist interpreters have been provided the resources they need.) Excuses become commonplace when workers and technologies are pushed to their limits, making it difficult for mutualists to distinguish legitimate versus illegitimate reasons for their needs’ not being met. When its resources are stretched to the limit, a mutualist system’s social narrative may drift toward an essentialist one in which excuses are to be accepted, not challenged. Essentialist modal narratives require plausible roles. When role embodiments are implausible, they evoke disdain from those who witness them. Yet by voicing their disdain as ridicule or offense, these observers risk calling unwanted attention to themselves. Disdain and other implausible embodiments reveal the illusionary character of essentialists’ role performances—the pitiful gestures that personae use to persuade others that they truly are what they pretend to be. Those whose performances are persistently imperfect are ascribed lower-status easier-to-embody roles (e.g., the town fool) and are ritually dismissed without subversion of the essentialist system. As imperfect performances become commonplace, some essentialists come to believe that all worldly things are illusory, that all sentient creatures are frauds, and that they alone are their own most esteemed observers. When other-observation too is extinguished, the essentialist reaches a state that Buddhists refer to as one of enlightenment—when their thoughts cease in part because their own perfect embodiments require no critical reflection, and in part because they only see the reality (i.e., the true essences) beyond others’ imperfect embodiments. Enlightenment is thus an ongoing state in which a persona remains obliged not to conform to the embodiments suggested by others. An enlightened persona does not interact,

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but only reacts to others with the sort of nonreflexive confidence that an athlete displays after years of training. But enlightenment is not subversive. On the contrary, it entails a persona’s perfect harmonizing with the social order. Subversion arises when essentialist observers lose the ability to evaluate the naturalness of each others’ embodiments. For example, if artisans become wealthy and begin living like royalty, it becomes difficult to recognize who is more esteemed than oneself (and thus whose embodiments should be subject to whose acceptance versus amusement). Conventional wisdom gives way to confusion, when it is unclear which actions to expect from people with which roles. The greatest contemporary source of such confusion lies with essentialists’ contacts with people of different cultures. Of course, the reactions of most will be to keep to themselves thereby avoiding the embarrassment of trying to interact with someone who offers them virtually no guidance on what they are expected to do. Yet expanding international travel and commerce make interactions with outsiders increasingly unavoidable, leaving essentialists more frequently confused by others’ embodiments and potentially open to learning how they are expected to perform within alternative modal narratives. In this way, drift from their original narrative may result from social contacts with “the outside.” Doctrinist modal narratives require unnoticeable rules. Not having built a history of familiar episodes with them, outsiders (or infidels) are only capable of implementing rules in ways that doctrinist observers will notice and, thus, oppose. In this way (but in stark contrast with essentialists) outside contacts serve to motivate doctrinists’ conflict with the outsiders, thereby keeping their respective modal narratives isolated. Yet even when conflict fails to drive outsiders away, followers understand that only someone with a false consciousness—either the undefeated infidel or a defector—would submit to the outsiders’ rules. Although both infidel and defector normally lie beyond the “reach” of followers’ implementations, only the defector (a one-time insider) is subversive to a doctrinist social system. The prospect of defections leaves followers with two options, both of which put their authority at risk: On the one hand, they may harden their rule implementations (e.g., by restraining interpreters’ physical mobility) and face the increased opposition that these more noticeable implementations will motivate. On the other hand, they may weaken their implementations (e.g., by tolerating “minor” rule violations) and face a decrease in the number of THE book’s rules being implemented—a drift from the original narrative. Accordingly,

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a doctrinist modal narrative is not subverted when outsiders (try to) interact with doctrinists but when insiders interact with those from the outside. So how does one not choose not to answer the needs of a particular social system? If the system’s dominant modal narrative is individualist, one ensures fairness in decisions of who has achieved food, jobs, and housing. If it is mutualist, one ensures that everyone has the resources to answer each other’s needs. If it is essentialist, one prevents insiders from experiencing the unintelligible embodiments likely to be displayed by outsiders. And if it is doctrinist, one prevents insiders from escaping to an outside where implementing of the system’s norms is exceedingly unlikely. In sum, every social system is shored up by its own distinct structural precondition—a system requirement that, if not taken seriously, may enable a change in the system’s dominant modal narrative. Polite Episodes (Choice Not) Essentialists’ motivations are toward the embodiment of their roles. In this context, enlightenment is the ultimate state of role-embodiment—a state in which one no longer puzzles over what one ought to do but simply does it. One no longer adopts others’ suggestions because one has perfected one’s embodiments to the point that nobody besides oneself is a better judge of the embodiment most befitting the situation at hand. (“I choose not to adopt your suggestions, because they are based on an inappropriate modal narrative.”) As contacts with outsiders become commonplace, personae’s harmonious role-embodiments are increasingly contingent on their learning to recognize nonessentialist modal narratives and their roles within (or without) them. During the Zhou Dynasty (1122 BC to about 256 BC) a sleeved tunic—later named the Hanfu—tied with a sash and worn with skirt or trousers, became the site where persons’ social status could be recognized. The more ornate the costume, the droopier its sleeves, and the longer the skirt, the higher the status of its wearer. Thus by noting a stranger’s attire, one could immediately tell which of you was more esteemed, and thus who ought to adopt whose suggestions. One adjusted one’s actions based on cues found in others’ outward appearance. In the 21st Century such appearances lead more often to confusion than to clear cues on how one ought to behave. Instead of outward

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appearances, verbal cues may provide more reliable indicators of what to expect of others in contemporary societies. In the previous four chapters my intention has been to give readers practice in recognizing individualist, mutualist, essentialist, and doctrinist modal narratives within everyday conversations. Recognizing a type of social narrative does not involve listening for specific words (e.g., can, must, ought, etc.), but involves listening to how words are related. For example, “John can become foreman, because nobody dares to resist his candidacy” is a doctrinist statement despite its usage of the modal auxiliary verb, “can.” If the statement were that John’s promotion is possible due to his experience, intelligence, or other personal resource, it would likely have been intended to convey an individualist observer’s encouragement. However, in the original statement the reason for this possibility is not the quality of John’s abilities but a lack of others’ opposition. Most likely its intention would thus be a doctrinist warning that opposition to John’s foremanship would be futile. Nonetheless, one might choose not to accept this doctrinist argument, but instead respond in accordance with another modality (e.g., as a mutualist, “But since he has had no administrative training, he is unqualified [and thus must not be given] the job,” or an essentialist, “He has a lot of potential, and will grow into [one will be not obliged not to accept his efforts on] the job.”). Imagine that during an economic recession some administrators find themselves with a shortage of resources for distribution among their company’s subsidiaries. The administrators might account for their decisions with a mutualist argument like, “During these hard times we must all share the burden,” or with an individualist one like, “Hard times call for hard choices: We have to (i.e., are not able not to) build on our strengths (and thus are, implicitly, not able to ‘build on’ our weakest subsidiaries).” Such modal usages comprise what Erving Goffman (1974, chapter 3) referred to as “keyings”—persuasive strategies used to convince others of (or key them into) “what is really going on.” Keyings convey to others when interactions are to begin and end, and when people’s actions or speech are intended as polite, familiar, serious, or playful. Yet keyings will only be persuasive if made among persons who understand them as part of the same type of modal narrative. Thus, for example, mutualists will be puzzled by the argument, “economic hardships necessitate administrators’ support of strong but not weak subsidiaries,” until they recognize it as an attempt to transform, or key, their narrative from mutualist to individualist.

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Only through practice does the Zen master learn to harmonize unreflectively within every situation. Likewise, it is through practice in recognizing keyings among narratives that one learns to perfect roleembodiments within one’s own modal narrative even amidst outsiders who understand themselves (and oneself ) in accordance with a different narrative. In time outsiders’ actions will no longer cause confusion, but come to be seen as embodiments of individualist, mutualist, or doctrinist roles. Yet the individualist’s materialism, the mutualist’s precociousness, and the doctrinist’s tempestuousness reveal the lower statuses of these roles relative to that of even the most humble essentialist. Enlightenment will be more enduring to one who has leaned to recognize these outsiders’ roles (and thus their relative lack of esteem), and to respond to them by politely choosing not to adopt their suggestions. Playful Episodes (Nonchoice) Doctrinist interpreters’ motivations are toward the opposition of noticeable rules. When considered collectively, doctrinists’ rules comprise the grammar inscribed in THE book. Of course, the book you are now reading also contains a grammar—one for understanding human motivation. Moreover, I even have the audacity to claim that this book’s grammar is a grammar of (modal) grammars, of which there are only four. In making this claim, one might ask, am I not asserting that my theoretical language, my grammar, is superior to any of the modal languages it describes or, for that matter, to THE book’s sacred language? Am I claiming that my language is True, and all others False? My answer to this question is that it is incorrectly posed. Asking whether or not a language is True, is as silly as asking whether or not thoughts are green, or dilemmas have horns. That is, it is just as meaningless to speak of the physical characteristics of thoughts and dilemmas, as it is to refer to the Truth of a language. (“Are French and Arabic both False, or is only one True?”) My point here is not to be flippant, but instead to suggest that the statement, “My language is the True language,” says more about the (monolingual) person making it than about the superlativity of that person’s language. Languages are neither true nor false, they are simply rules we adopt to direct our perceptions and to enable our communication with others. To someone fluent in only one language, this language is self-evidently the “True” one for describing the world and for facilitating communication. When

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one becomes fluent in more than one language, “the” world becomes “a” world, and one begins thinking of languages in terms of how well each facilitates the expression of one’s ideas. For example, German’s intricate grammar lends itself to precision in technical writing. Because English is an amalgam of German, Celtic, Norse, French, etc., it allows fine gradations of meaning in one’s speech and writing. And if one wishes to express one’s passions—to write poetry, to express one’s love or hate—Arabic and the romance languages will likely be preferred. Mikhail Bakhtin has suggested that the fundamental characteristic of a novel (i.e., in prose as distinct from poetry) is that its characters bring their various languages—their discrete grammars on how words are to be used—into a narrative collage of partial understandings and frequent misinterpretations. As a result . . ., there are no ‘neutral’ words and forms—words and forms that can belong to ‘no one’; language has been completely taken over, shot through with intentions and accents. For any individual consciousness living in it, language is not an abstract system of normative forms but rather a concrete heteroglot conception of the world. . . . Each word tastes of the context and contexts in which it has lived its socially charged life; all words and forms are populated by intentions. (1981, p. 293)

The image of society he suggests is not one of a group of people who somehow “share” a single language—a vocabulary plus fixed (or True) grammar for its use—that serves as a neutral medium through which people transmit “meanings” among themselves. Instead, Bakhtin (cf. 1981, p. 326) refers to the multi-voicedness (heteroglossia), and indeed the multi- and vari-languagedness of social discourse. His is a society populated by persons, each of whom speaks her or his own language. Their decisions to see each other in this way switches them—like workers on the Tower of Babel—from assuming that their words have the same meaning for everyone, to believing that communication is something strived for but never attained. But would not chaos reign among people who see the world as multilanguaged? Such people would view everyone’s language as having its own integrity, making it no longer legitimate for them to correct each other for having spoken ungrammatically. (“Since I do not choose to implement the rules of your modality, you are not permitted to oppose my implementations as if they were in accordance with these rules.”) Despite this, there is no reason why groups of people might nonetheless decide to develop a common (and thus correctable) grammar to be used

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among themselves. They might even decide to extend their grammar beyond people’s speech to their actions, such that they would not only oppose each other’s ungrammatical speech but their “ungrammatical actions” as well. However, if these people view the grammar of their common language to be a matter of consensus and not one of unassailable Truth, group members gain the option of not choosing to implement this language at any time. (“If you do not choose to conform to our ways, we shall not oppose your decision.”) The image here is thus of what Wittgenstein referred to as “language games”—sets of normative rules to which “players” may optionally conform. In a multi-languaged society nonconformity is not a grammatical failing to be opposed, but evidence that someone is not a player in one’s language game. The natures of “play” and “truth” change fundamentally when one shifts from a mono-languaged to a mutli-languaged society. These changes are perhaps most evident when one contrasts the playfulness with which doctrinists tend to view scientific truth versus that with which scientists tend to view doctrinist Truth. Science is inherently multi-languaged. That is, it would be ungrammatical for a scientist to speak of “the” scientific understanding of anything. Every empirical phenomenon can be understood in accordance with a variety of theoretical languages. Is human behavior learned or is it genetically determined? Was man created from Eve’s rib or is he a genetically mutated ape? In taking such questions seriously, a scientist always remains noncommital. For example, “If one assumes that all human behavior is learned, how does one account for the asocial actions of autistic people, or for personality traits strongly predicted by people’s DNA,” and “If all human behavior is genetically determined, how does one account for differences in levels of violent crime among nations? Surely Americans’ genes do not make them more violent than Canadians.” And regarding the origins of man, a scientist might argue, “There is overwhelming empirical evidence that the human race developed over millennia via a process of genetic mutations. In contrast, beyond the words of someone who did not witness the event, there is virtually no empirical evidence to support the theory that a divine being intervened in history to create man in a single day. Despite this paucity of evidence, however, I am a scientist, and thus I remain open to any empirically verifiable theory. This is why I refuse to assert that your theory is False.” Of course, doctrinists never hesitate to assert the Truth of their perspective (and the Falsehood of all others), and to understand the scientist’s refusal as an admission that she or he is not permitted to oppose their True

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assertions. (“Even with all the tools of science, it remains impossible for you to disprove what we know to be True.”) The doctrinists’ playfulness here is in their Schadenfreude over the scientist’s plight—the impotence of her or his opposition when confronted with the Truth. Yet the scientist usually responds playfully to this playfulness—albeit via a smile that doctrinists characteristically misinterpret as that of a follower’s admission to having spoken ungrammatically. Scientists’ playfulness falls outside the understanding of a monolanguaged doctrinist. Although willing to politely choose to view the world in terms of the doctrinist’s theoretical language, scientists may (based on a lack of evidence consistent with its tenets) not choose to take it seriously. Scientists understand the doctrinist as presenting them with a false trichotomy: “Either you are a follower, who believes my theory to be True, an infidel, who believes it False, or an agnostic, who may someday become a follower.” Yet scientists are (as scientists) neither believers, disbelievers, nor potential converts; they are chronic nonbelievers, who always have the option of not choosing to implement any theory that lacks empirical support. Their playful smile does not reveal acquiescence, but their recognition of a dubious theory—a language they are disinclined to speak or act upon. Unlike the disbeliever who energetically adopts the followers’ language in an effort to prove them wrong (i.e., to point out inconsistencies in their grammar),2 the nonbeliever simply refuses to adopt the followers’ language. For example, imagine that a couple’s relationship has lasted for only a few weeks before one partner asks the other, “Will you marry me?” Possible responses include, “Yes,” “No,” “Maybe, but I need time to think about it,” and “I’d rather not think about it” (nonchoice). The point here is that in a multi-languaged world, there is always a fourth option of not choosing to implement an unacceptable grammar—an option vastly different from committing oneself in someone else’s terms. Although this someone offers you a language for interpreting the world, there is nothing keeping you from refusing to adopt this language. Or is there?

2 Despite popular references to “scientific proof,” scientists never refer to themselves as having proven a theory. At most, they will claim to have generated findings that empirically support one or more theories. A scientific proof is merely a logical derivation from a theory to an empirically testable hypothesis. This is why scientists never refer to a True theory, although they may assert that there is truly “evidence for” or “a derivation of ” a hypothesis.

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If the queen proposes marriage to one of her subjects, “Yes” may be the only response he is permitted to give. The thief may lose a hand for having valuables she was not permitted to possess. And millions may lose their lives in gas chambers for having an ethnic, genetic, or religious attribute that powerful doctrinists believe themselves not permitted not to oppose. In all these cases, it is ludicrous to think of the weaker party’s not choosing to “play along” with its fate. (“Okay, I’ll marry her. But in my heart, I have not chosen to be her prince.”) Nonetheless, such illustrations do make clear that there are no constraints on doctrinists’ opposition to things not permitted. A doctrinist will argue that people with a false consciousness must be forced to act in accordance with the sacred language. But if these people do not choose to implement this language, might this not be because the doctrinist is insufficiently persuasive or because the language itself may be less compelling to these people than some other language? When thrown into prison, Oscar Wilde is said to have quipped, “If this is the way Queen Victoria treats her criminals, she doesn’t deserve to have any.” Surely these words might be said of anyone who invites others to join them in speaking, writing, and enacting a language that allows them to experience the world in wonderful ways. If those who refuse this invitation are treated like criminals, then (in a multi-languaged world in which nonchoice is an option) one may eventually find oneself alone with one’s wondrous language and one’s hate. My invitation in this book has been to a language for experiencing, or reading, others in ways that may incite skepticism or wonder. Skeptics may choose not to implement the language, and may continue implementing Truth instead. Yet if in gaining new readings of themselves, nonskeptics see an element of Truth in this language, they will have sorely missed my point. Unlike the other four modalities, “the” fifth modality is not a secure ontological standpoint in accordance with which all “lesser” standpoints can be understood. Choice is neither relativism, nor even a restricted relativism according to which realities are four in number. It is simply another language game, neither True nor False but forever tentative. Even this “modality of modalities” requires the tentativeness of quotation marks around its definite article.

APPENDIX: A FORMALIZATION1 This appendix was written to allay concerns that this book’s theory is a nonstarter because such disparate theories as rational choice theory, functionalism, dramaturgy, and conflict theory are based on logically inconsistent premises, or axioms. The below formalization demonstrates that the theory is logically consistent, despite its openness to such a broad spectrum of human motivations. First-order logic is the theory formalization method used—a method popularized by researchers at the Applied Logic Laboratory in Amsterdam (Péli 1997, Kamps & Pólos 1999).2 The formalization’s predicates correspond to key theoretical concepts, and relations among these concepts are rendered using the logical operators “and” (ฎ), “or” (ฏ), “not” (¬), “if-then” (→), and “if and only if ” (↔), plus the quantifiers “there exists” (෪), and “for all” (෧). Each formal statement is preceded by an equivalent English sentence. Meaning postulate: Priority (e.g., regarding time and magnitude) is not commutative. That is, if x1 is prior to x2, then x2 is not prior to x1. ෧ x1 x2 ((x1 < x2) → ¬(x2 < x1)). Definition 1: A concept appears at a time if and only if it has at least one aspect, which like all its other aspects is sensed at that time. ෧ t c (Appears(t,c) ↔ (෪ a1 (AspectOf(a1,c) ฎ (෧ a2 (AspectOf(a2,c) → Sensed(t,a2)))))). Definition 2: A concept vacates at a time if and only if it has at least one aspect, which like all its other aspects is not sensed at that time. ෧ t c (Vacates(t,c) ↔ (෪ a1 (AspectOf(a1,c) ฎ (෧ a2 (AspectOf(a2,c) → ¬Sensed(t,a2)))))).

All theorems and lemmas have been verified, and all definitions and axioms found consistent using Otter 3.0.4, a public domain theorem prover developed at Argonne National Laboratories (http://www-unix.mcs.anl.gov/AR/otter/). Special acknowledgment should be extended to Gábor Péli, Ivar Vermeulen, and Jaap Kamps for their many hours selflessly invested in both verifying the formalization’s integrity and on improving its style. 2 Recently formalizers from the ALL have developed a nonmonotonic alternative to the first-order logic applied in this appendix (Hannan et al. in press). This alternative is appropriate when one wishes not to restrict the scope of some premises despite their mutual inconsistencies. In this case, first-order logic is the preferred method, given my (precisely opposite) interest in positing scope limitations in accordance with which four otherwise mutually inconsistent theories can be made consistent. 1

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Definition 3: A concept has a status-aspect at a time if and only if there is an aspect of the concept that when sensed the concept appeared more recently than it last vacated, and when not sensed it vacated more recently than it last appeared. ෧ t a c (StatusAspectOf(t,a,c) ↔ AspectOf(a,c) ฎ (Sensed(t,a) → (lastvacated(t,c) < lastappeared(t,c))) ฎ (¬Sensed(t,a) → (lastappeared(t,c) < lastvacated(t,c)))). Definition 4: A concept is known at a time if and only if at that time one of its aspects is its statusaspect. ෧ t c (Known(t,c) ↔ (෪ a (StatusAspectOf(t,a,c)))). Lemma 1: If a concept’s status-aspect is sensed, it does not vacate; if not sensed, it does not appear. ෧ t a c (StatusAspectOf(t,a,c) → ((Sensed(t,a) → ¬Vacates(t,c)) ฎ (¬Sensed(t,a) → ¬Appears(t,c)))). Axiom 1: A concept known at one time is known at all subsequent times. ෧ t1 t2 c Known(t2,c)).

((t1

<

t2)

ฎ

Known(t1,c)

→

Definition 5: A concept is ambiguous at a time if and only if it is known and neither appears nor vacates at that time. ෧ t c (Ambiguous(t,c) ↔ Known(t,c) ฎ ¬(Appears(t,c) ฏ Vacates(t,c))). Definition 6: A concept remains ambiguous from one time until another if and only if it is ambiguous at the first time and at all subsequent times prior to the second time. ෧ t1 t2 c (RemainAmbiguous(t1,t2,c) ↔ ((t1 < t2) ฎ Ambiguous(t1,c) ฎ (෧ t3 ((t1 < t3) ฎ (t3 < t2) → Ambiguous(t3,c))))). Axiom 2: If a concept remains ambiguous (i.e., neither appears nor vacates) from one time to and including another, there is no difference between the times in whether the concept’s last appearing was prior to its last vacating or vice versa.

appendix: a formalization

173

෧ t1 t2 c (RemainAmbiguous(t1,t2,c) ฎ Ambiguous(t2,c) (((lastvacated(t1,c) < lastappeared(t1,c)) (lastvacated(t2,c) < lastappeared(t2,c))) ((lastappeared(t1,c) < lastvacated(t1,c)) (lastappeared(t2,c) < lastvacated(t2,c))))).

→ ฎ ฏ ฎ

Definition 7: A concept “is” at a particular time if and only if it is known, does not vacate, and appeared more recently than it last vacated. ෧ t c (Is(t,c) ↔ (Known(t,c) ฎ ¬Vacates(t,c) (lastvacated(t,c) < lastappeared(t,c)))).

ฎ

Definition 8: A concept “is not” at a particular time if and only if it is known, does not appear, and vacated more recently than it last appeared. ෧ t c (IsNot(t,c) ↔ (Known(t,c) ฎ ¬Appears(t,c) ฎ (lastappeared(t,c) < lastvacated(t,c)))). Lemma 2: If a concept “is” at a time, remains ambiguous from that time until another, and does not vacate at the latter time, it “is” at the latter time. ෧ t1 t2 c ((Is(t1,c) ฎ RemainAmbiguous(t1,t2,c) ฎ ¬Vacates(t2,c)) → Is(t2,c)). Lemma 2a: If a concept “is not” at a time, remains ambiguous from that time until another, and does not appear at the latter time, it “is not” at the latter time. ෧ t1 t2 c ((IsNot(t1,c) ฎ RemainAmbiguous(t1,t2,c) ฎ ¬Appears(t2,c)) → IsNot(t2,c)). Definition 9: A concept’s existential status changes exclusively at the end of a period of time if and only if the concept remained ambiguous from the first time until the second, and the concept either “is” at the first but vacates at the second time, or it “is not” at the first but appears at the second time. ෧ t1 t2 c (ExistentialChange(t1,t2,c) ↔ (Remain Ambiguous(t1,t2,c) ฎ ((Is(t1,c) ฎ Vacates(t2,c)) ฏ (IsNot(t1,c) ฎ Appears(t2,c))))). Theorem 1: A concept never “is” and “is not” at the same time. ¬෪ t c (Is(t,c) ฎ IsNot(t,c)). Theorem 1a: If a concept neither “is” nor “is not” at a time, it is not known at the time.

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෧ t c (¬Is(t,c) ฎ ¬IsNot(t,c) → ¬Known(t,c)). Axiom 3: If reality is a system at a time, it is not a field at that time (and vice versa). ෧ t ((reality(t) field(t))).

=

system(t))

→

¬(reality(t)

=

Axiom 4: If a concept is known at a time, reality is either a system or a field at that time. ෧ t c (Known(t,c) → ((reality(t) = system(t)) ฏ (reality(t) = field(t)))). Definition 10: A concept is outside reality at a time if and only if it is known and either “is” when reality is a system or “is not” when reality is a field. ෧ t c (OutsideReality(t,c) ↔ (Known(t,c) ฎ ((Is(t,c) ฎ (reality(t) = system(t))) ฏ (IsNot(t,c) ฎ (reality(t) = field(t)))))). Definition 11: A sign is a concept that “is not” when reality is a system. ෧ t c (Sign(t,c) system(t))).

↔

IsNot(t,c)

ฎ

(reality(t)

=

Definition 12: A symbol is a concept that “is” when reality is a field. ෧ t c (Symbol(t,c) field(t))).

↔

Is(t,c)

ฎ

(reality(t)

=

Theorem 2: If at a time there is a known concept that vacates, then the concept either is a sign or is outside reality. ෧ t c (Known(t,c) ฎ Vacates(t,c) → (Sign(t,c) ฏ OutsideReality(t,c))). Theorem 2a: If at a time there is a known concept that appears, then the concept either is a symbol or is outside reality. ෧ t c (Known(t,c) ฎ Appears(t,c) → (Symbol(t,c) ฏ OutsideReality(t,c))). Definition 13: A thought is a concept that “is not” when reality is a field. ෧ t c (Thought(t,c) ↔ IsNot(t,c) ฎ (reality(t) = field(t))).

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175

Definition 14: A discretion is a concept that “is” when reality is a system. ෧ t c (Discretion(t,c) ↔ Is(t,c) ฎ (reality(t) = system(t))). Theorem 3: Every known concept is (exclusively, per Theorems 3a-d) either a symbol, a sign, a thought, or a discretion. ෧ t c (Known(t,c) → (Symbol(t,c) Thought(t,c) ฏ Discretion(t,c))).

ฏ

Sign(t,c)

ฏ

Theorem 3a: If a concept is a symbol at a time, it is neither a sign, a thought, nor a discretion at that time. ෧ t c (Symbol(t,c) → ¬(Sign(t,c) ฏ Thought(t,c) ฏ Discretion(t,c))). Theorem 3b: If a concept is a sign at a time, it is neither a symbol, a thought, nor a discretion at that time. ෧ t c (Sign(t,c) → ¬(Symbol(t,c) ฏ Thought(t,c) ฏ Discretion(t,c))). Theorem 3c: If a concept is a thought at a time, it is neither a symbol, a sign, nor a discretion at that time. ෧ t c (Thought(t,c) → ¬(Symbol(t,c) ฏ Sign(t,c) ฏ Discretion(t,c))). Theorem 3d: If a concept is a discretion at a time, it is neither a symbol, a sign, nor a thought at that time. ෧ t c (Discretion(t,c) → ¬(Symbol(t,c) ฏ Sign(t,c) ฏ Thought(t,c))). Definition 15: Reality remains a system from one time to another if and only if reality is a system at both times and at all times in between. ෧ t1 t2 (RemainSystem(t1,t2) ↔ ((t1 < t2) ฎ (reality(t1) = system(t1)) ฎ (reality(t2) = system(t2)) ฎ (෧ t3 ((t1 < t3) ฎ (t3 < t2) → (reality(t3) = system(t3)))))). Definition 16: Reality remains a field from one time to another if and only if reality is a field at both times and at all times in between.

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෧ t1 t2 (RemainField(t1,t2) ↔ ((t1 < t2) ฎ (reality(t1) = field(t1)) ฎ (reality(t2) = field(t2)) ฎ (෧ t3 ((t1 < t3) ฎ (t3 < t2) → (reality(t3) = field(t3)))))). Definition 17: There is a consistent reality from one time to another if and only if reality remains a system or remains a field from the one time to the other. ෧ t1 t2 (ConsistentReality(t1,t2) ↔ RemainSystem(t1,t2) ฏ RemainField(t1,t2)). Axiom 5: At a single time every ambiguous concept is either more or less ambiguous than every other ambiguous concept. ෧ t c1 c2 (¬(c1 = c2) ฎ Ambiguous(t,c1) ฎ Ambiguous(t,c2) → ((amb(t,c1) < amb(t,c2)) ฏ (amb (t,c2) < amb(t,c1)))). Definition 18: A concept is the most ambiguous at a time if and only if at the time it is known, ambiguous, and with no other concept more ambiguous than it. ෧ t c1 (MostAmbiguous(t,c1) ↔ (Known(t,c1) ฎ Ambiguous(t,c1) ฎ ¬(෪ c2 (¬(c1 = c2) ฎ Known(t,c2) ฎ Ambiguous(t,c2) ฎ (amb(t,c1) < amb(t,c2)))))). Definition 19: A concept is read from one time to another if and only if the concept is the most ambiguous one at the first time, and reality is consistent from the first time to the second, at which time the concept changes existential status. ෧ t1 t2 c (Read(t1,t2,c) ↔ MostAmbiguous(t,c1) ฎ ConsistentReality(t1,t2) ฎ ExistentialChange(t1,t2, c)). Theorem 4: If a concept is read from one time to another, it transforms (exclusively, as per Theorems 4a-d) from discretion to sign, from thought to symbol, from sign to discretion, or from symbol to thought. ෧ t1 t2 c (Read(t1,t2,c) → ((Discretion(t1,c) ฎ Sign(t2,c)) ฏ (Thought(t1,c) ฎ Symbol(t2,c)) ฏ (Sign(t1,c) ฎ Discretion(t2,c)) ฏ (Symbol(t1,c) ฎ Thought(t2,c)))). Theorem 4a: If while reading a concept it transforms from discretion to sign, it does not transform from

appendix: a formalization

177

thought to symbol, from sign to discretion, or from symbol to thought. ෧ t1 t2 c (Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ Discretion(t1,c) ฎ Sign (t2,c) → ¬((Thought(t1,c) ฎ Symbol(t2,c)) ฏ (Sign (t1,c) ฎ Discretion(t2,c)) ฏ (Symbol(t1,c) ฎ Thought (t2,c)))). Theorem 4b: If while reading a concept it transforms from thought to symbol, it does not transform from discretion to sign, from sign to discretion, or from symbol to thought. ෧ t1 t2 c (Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ Thought(t1,c) ฎ Symbol (t2,c) → ¬((Discretion(t1,c) ฎ Sign(t2,c)) ฏ (Sign (t1,c) ฎ Discretion(t2,c)) ฏ (Symbol(t1,c) ฎ Thought (t2,c)))). Theorem 4c: If while reading a concept it transforms from sign to discretion, it does not transform from discretion to sign, from thought to symbol, or from symbol to thought. ෧ t1 t2 c (Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ Sign(t1,c) ฎ Discretion(t2,c) → ¬((Discretion(t1,c) ฎ Sign(t2,c)) ฏ (Thought(t1,c) ฎ Symbol(t2,c)) ฏ (Symbol(t1,c) ฎ Thought(t2,c)))). Theorem 4d: If while reading a concept it transforms from symbol to thought, it does not transform from discretion to sign, from thought to symbol, or from sign to discretion. ෧ t1 t2 c (Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ Symbol(t1,c) ฎ Thought(t2,c) → ¬((Discretion(t1,c) ฎ Sign(t2,c)) ฏ (Thought(t1,c) ฎ Symbol(t2,c)) ฏ (Sign(t1,c) ฎ Discretion(t2,c)))). Definition 20: A concept is of (i.e., is attributed to) a person from one time until another if and only if the concept remains ambiguous during a consistent reality from the first time to the second. ෧ t1 t2 c (OfPerson(t1,t2,c) ↔ RemainAmbiguous(t1,t2,c) ฎ ConsistentReality(t1,t2)). Lemma 3: If a concept that is read is attributed to a person, the attribution does not last longer than the reading. ෧ t1 t2 t3 c (Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ OfPerson(t1,t3,c) → ¬(t2 < t3)). Definition 21: Agency is the reading of a person’s thought until it becomes a symbol.

178

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෧ t1 t2 c (Agency(t1,t2,c) ↔ Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ Thought(t1,c) ฎ OfPerson(t1,t2,c) ฎ Symbol(t2,c)). Definition 22: Collaboration is the reading of person’s discretion until it becomes a sign.

a

෧ t1 t2 c (Collaboration(t1,t2,c) ↔ Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ Discretion(t1,c) ฎ OfPerson(t1,t2,c) ฎ Sign(t2,c)). Definition 23: Personification is the reading of a person’s symbol unless it becomes a thought. ෧ t1 t2 c (Personification(t1,t2,c) ↔ Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ Symbol(t1,c) ฎ OfPerson(t1,t2,c) ฎ Thought(t2,c)). Definition 24: Fidelity is the reading of a person’s sign unless it becomes a discretion. ෧ t1 t2 c (Fidelity(t1,t2,c) ↔ Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ Sign(t1,c) ฎ OfPerson(t1,t2,c) ฎ Discretion(t2,c)). Theorem 5: Agency, collaboration, personification, and fidelity are the four (exclusive, as per Theorems 5a-d) forms of reading personhood. ෧ t1 t2 c (Read(t1,t2,c) ฎ OfPerson(t1,t2,c) → (Agency(t1,t2,c) ฏ Collaboration(t1,t2,c) ฏ Personification(t1,t2,c) ฏ Fidelity(t1,t2,c))). Theorem 5a: If personhood is read as agency, it is not read as collaboration, personification, or fidelity. ෧ t1 t2 c (Agency(t1,t2,c) → ¬(Collaboration(t1,t2,c) ฏ Personification(t1,t2,c) ฏ Fidelity(t1,t2,c))). Theorem 5b: If personhood is read as collaboration, it is not read as agency, personification, or fidelity. ෧ t1 t2 c (Collaboration(t1,t2,c) → ¬(Agency(t1,t2,c) ฏ Personification(t1,t2,c) ฏ Fidelity(t1,t2,c))). Theorem 5c: If personhood is read as personification, it is not read as agency, collaboration, or fidelity. ෧ t1 t2 c (Personification(t1,t2,c) → ¬(Agency(t1,t2,c) ฏ Collaboration(t1,t2,c) ฏ Fidelity(t1,t2,c))). Theorem 5d: If personhood is read as fidelity, it is not read as agency, collaboration, or personification. ෧ t1 t2 c (Fidelity(t1,t2,c) → ¬(Agency(t1,t2,c) ฏ Collaboration(t1,t2,c) ฏ Personification(t1,t2,c))).

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INDEX accepted, also see embodied, xiii, xv, xix–xxi, 1, 5–6, 10, 13–14, 17, 19, 24, 45–60, 64–66, 75, 78, 81, 83, 87, 97, 99, 101, 104, 107, 112–23, 126–37, 158–65 defined, xv achieved, also see verified, xiii, xv–xxiii, 4, 29, 36, 45, 48, 50–51, 54–56, 64–67, 71–87, 92–94, 102, 107–8, 117, 119, 125, 131, 157–161, 164 defined, xiii action, also see speech, xiii, xv–xxiii, 2–8, 14–15, 19, 23–25, 35, 38, 47–48, 50, 64–65, 83, 149 defined, xiii agent, xi–xxii, 2, 22, 25–26, 44–45, 51–59, 64–67, 70–87, 94, 98, 105–8, 114, 118, 125, 131–2, 148, 158–61 agency, xiii, 35–36, 44–45, 65, 72, 75, 82, 177–78 defined, 177 defined, xiii ambiguity, xi–xiv, xix–xxiii, 7–9, 27–32, 35, 38–48, 51–55, 58–65, 70, 72, 75–77, 81–84, 87, 90, 95–96, 99–107, 112, 115–17, 120, 129, 131, 135–45, 151–53, 158, 172–73, 176–77 defined, xiv, 172 reduction of, xi, xiii–xiv, xix–xx, 39–46, 51–55, 58–60, 63, 70, 72, 75, 81, 84, 86, 90, 99, 103–7, 112–15, 128–29, 136, 138–39, 143, 152–53 among doctrinists, 152–55 among essentialists, 129–31 among individualists, 84–86 among mutualists, 105–8 defined, xiii–xiv, 40–43 living organisms’ orientation, 42 amusement, xxiii, 23, 37, 57–58, 64–65, 116–21, 126–28, 131–35, 150, 163 answered, also see articulated, xiv–xx, 9, 45, 48–61, 64–6, 69, 89–109, 119, 125, 133, 153, 158–66 defined, xiv appears, also see vacates, xiii–xxiii, 2, 13, 23, 25, 28, 30, 33, 36–37, 40–46, 51,

54, 59–60, 70–71, 77, 81, 90, 107, 153, 155, 171–74 defined, xiv, 171 art shop, xi, 77, 96, 122, 146, 148 in Beijing, 122–26 in New York City, 77–81 in Rabat, 146–48 in the Netherlands, 96–101 articulated, also see answered, xiv, xvii–xix, xxii–xxiii, 6–7, 19–20, 32, 36, 45, 48–52, 55–57, 64, 66, 90–108, 149, 158–62 defined, xiv articulation, xviii, xxii, 6–7, 32, 36, 48, 52, 90, 97–99, 103–8, 158, 162 aspect, xiii–xxiii, 2, 27–31, 37, 40–48, 51, 54–61, 65, 83, 87, 101, 126, 171–72 defined, xiv authority, also see power, 6, 73, 134–41, 150–53, 163 defined, 138 Bible, 159 black swan, 1, 9–10, 16–18 Christianity, 134, 144 collaborator, xi–xxii, 22–26, 44–45, 51–61, 64, 66, 90–91, 94–108, 125, 153, 158, 161–62 collaboration, xiv, 35–36, 44–45, 65, 178 defined, 178 defined, xiv communicative action, 2–5, 8, 14–15, 19, 23, 35 concept, xiii–xxiii, 1–10, 16, 19, 21, 28–48, 51, 58, 63–64, 70, 74, 83, 87, 90, 121, 136, 171–77 defined, xiv nerby-concept, xix, 44–47, 63–65 defined, xix person-concept, xiii–xxiii, 44, 131 defined, xx conception, xiv–xv, xviii, xxii, 7, 10–21, 44, 139, 167 defined, xiv

188

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conceptualization, xiv–xv, xviii, xxii, 7, 10–22, 26, 33, 44 defined, xiv conflict, 24, 47, 136, 139–40, 143–44, 153, 155, 163, 171 contingency. See modal position conventional wisdom, 128, 131, 163 credibility-continuum, 15–16 deferred opposition, also see hate, 136–38, 142, 145, 155 retribution, 61, 133, 136–40, 146–56 defined, 136 democracy and wealth, 157–59 dharma, 121 différance, 6–7, 32 discourse, x–xi, xv, 2–21, 24, 32–33, 44, 47, 51, 54, 56, 66–67, 71, 77, 86, 93, 97–100, 123–26, 138, 146, 150, 155, 167 defined, xv, 14 discretion, also see thought, xiv–xvi, xxii–xxiii, 27, 34–37, 44, 47, 55, 175–78 defined, xv, 175 discursive position, also see modal position, x, xv–xxii, 3, 5–21, 28, 31, 43–44, 48, 50, 53–54, 74, 82, 93 defined, xv standards, 39, 56, 65–66, 72, 82, 86, 97 discursive space, 14–16 disdain, 115, 119–22, 129–31, 162 doctrinism, xi–xxii, 24, 26, 38, 48–53, 60–66, 119, 133–70 defined, xv embarrassment, x, 92, 126, 129, 131, 163 embodied, also see accepted, xiii–xxii, 37, 45, 48–52, 57–59, 64, 66, 111–34, 149–50, 158–66 defined, xv entropy vs. life, 42 episode, xi, xv, xviii–xxii, 48–50, 66–80, 83, 86–95, 98–100, 103, 108, 110, 113, 115, 118–21, 125, 131–41, 148, 155–57, 160, 163–66 defined, xv epistemology-continuum, 15–16 essentialism, xi–xxii, 21, 23, 26, 37, 48–53, 59, 63–66, 110–35, 140, 149–50, 158–66 defined, xv

examination system, imperial Chinese, 119 Excessiveness Rule, 61–62, 65, 148, 152, 155 existential status, also see “Is” and “Is Not”, xv–xxiii, 21, 28–34, 41, 44–47, 63–64, 131, 173, 176 expert, also see novice, xv–xvi, xix–xx, 13–19, 63–66, 73–74, 102–3 defined, xv fairness, xi, 51, 65, 71, 74, 81–89, 92, 101, 108, 160–61, 164 myth of, 81–84 false consciousness, 151–55, 163, 170 familiar, also see polite, xi–xvii, xx, 3–4, 48–54, 60, 67–71, 78–81, 86–99, 105, 108–13, 119, 122–24, 129, 132, 137–40, 146–48, 152, 155–60, 163, 165 defined, xx Feng Shui, 123–24 fidelity. See follower field, also see system, xvi–xxiii, 17, 27, 31–38, 44, 47–49, 66, 69, 81, 86, 107, 131, 174–76 defined, xvi follower, xi–xvii, xx–xxii, 22–26, 32, 44–45, 52–53, 59–66, 133–45, 148–59, 163, 169 defined, xvi fidelity, xvi, 25, 35–38, 44–45, 65, 178 defined, 178 Four Books, 37, 111–18, 121–22, 132 Gedankenexperiment, 39–40, 67 gezelligheid, 91–93, 108, 116 goal, xiii–xxii, 2, 22, 26, 36–40, 44–55, 63–67, 71–87, 92–93, 97, 102, 107, 112, 114, 117, 119, 125, 131, 157–60 defined, xvi grammar, x, xiv–xviii, xxi, 2, 6–12, 16, 20, 25, 33, 134, 166–9 defined, xvi Hanfu, 164 hate, 121, 136, 167, 170 heteroglossia, 167 hierarchy, 117–29 hinge, 5–12, 32, 39 honesty vs. fairness, 89–90 how a car works, 9

index implausibility, also see plausibility, xiv, xvii, xx, 41–42, 51–52, 55–57, 65, 90–91, 94–100, 103, 105, 108, 112–18, 124, 128, 131, 158, 161–62 defined, xx implemented, also see opposed, xv–xxiii, 37, 45, 48, 50, 52, 59–66, 110, 119, 133–64, 167–70 defined, xvii impossibility. See modal position individualism, xi, xiii, xvi–xxii, 22, 26, 36, 48–51, 63, 66–87, 97, 101–3, 112–13, 117, 129, 131, 149–50, 157–61, 164–66 defined, xvii inevitability. See modal position interaction, ix–xxiii, 23, 46–58, 64–68, 71–72, 75–81, 84, 90, 96–100, 105–8, 115, 118, 122–25, 132, 136, 145–49, 160, 163, 165 defined, xvii, 47, 149 interpreter, also see observer, xiv–xxi, 3, 44–45, 51–66, 90–109, 133–45, 148–54, 158–63, 166 defined, xvii “Is”, xiv–xxiii, 29–36, 41–47, 52, 63–64, 131 defined, xviii, 173 “Is Not”, xiii–xix, xxii–xxiii, 29–35, 41–47, 51, 63–64, 131 defined, xviii, 173 Islam, 134, 140 Judaism, 134, 144 keying, 5, 165–66 knowledge defined, 172 operational, xiv, xix, xxi, 8–12, 16–20, 44, 66, 101, 126, 150, 157 defined, xix relational, xiv–xv, xix, xxi, 8–20, 44, 66, 71, 83, 93, 111, 126–27, 134 defined, xxi language games, 168, 170 language of gestures, 110–11, 134 linguist, xxi, 16–17 loyalty, 61–62, 138, 155 marketplace, 32, 54–55, 72, 83–86 modal language. See modality modal logic, 49

189

modal narrative, xi–xii, xv–xx, 6, 47–53, 63–68, 71, 77, 80, 86, 90, 97–100, 103, 108, 122–25, 132, 146–49, 155, 158–67 defined, xviii subversion of, 160–64 modal position, also see discursive position, xv–xx, 48–49, 67 contingency, xv–xviii, xxi, 6, 49–52, 59, 66–67, 71, 84, 94, 105, 107, 119, 129, 153, 164 defined, xv defined, xviii impossibility, xvi–xxi, 14–15, 21, 29, 34, 49–53, 66–67, 84, 105, 128–31, 144, 155, 169 defined, xvii inevitability, xvi–xxi, 14–17, 49, 51, 60, 67, 73, 107 defined, xvii possibility, xii, xv–xxi, 4–8, 11, 13, 20–22, 26–30, 35–36, 46, 49–52, 63, 66–69, 73–74, 91, 103, 107, 131, 145, 153, 165, 169 defined, xx modality (or modal language), x–xviii, 39, 47–51, 63–67, 157–60, 165–67, 170 defined, xviii, 64–68 mutualism, xi–xxii, 22, 26, 36, 48–52, 57, 63–66, 88–111, 123, 126, 129, 158–66 defined, xviii myths, also see fairness, responsibility, naturalness, and righteousness, xi, 66, 81, 83, 89, 92, 101, 126, 128, 149–50 naturalness, xi, 52, 65–66, 88, 111, 118–21, 126–29, 159, 163 myth of, 126–29 need, ix, xiv–xxii, 15, 23, 28, 36, 44–58, 61–66, 75–76, 82, 88–109, 119, 123–126, 141, 150, 153, 158–64, 169 defined, xviii nerby, xix, 39–67 defined, xix noticeability, also see unnoticeability, x, xiii–xiv, xix–xxiii, 25, 28, 32, 38, 41–42, 51–55, 60–62, 65, 70–75, 78–87, 109, 112, 114, 118, 134–40, 143, 147, 151, 153, 156–63, 166 defined, xix

190

index

novice, also see expert, xvi–xix, 15–19, 66, 116 defined, xix observer, also see interpreter, xiii–xxi, 23, 31, 35, 40, 44–45, 51–59, 64, 66, 72–87, 92, 98, 107–8, 112–34, 150, 158, 162–65 defined, xix offense, 112–13, 119–24, 127–28, 132, 135, 146, 162 opposed, also see implemented, xiii–xxii, 27, 42–45, 48–53, 59–66, 119, 133–55, 158–70 defined, xvii person, x–xxiii, 1–6, 9, 12–25, 32–38, 44, 53, 58–59, 68–69, 74, 86, 90, 98, 101–5, 108–15, 119, 121, 126–28, 131–32, 142, 149, 155, 158–60, 164–67, 177–78 defined, xix persona, xi–xvii, xx–xxii, 22–26, 35, 44–45, 52–53, 57–59, 64, 66, 111–32, 141, 150, 152, 158, 162–64 defined, xx personification, xx, 35, 37, 44–45, 65, 178 defined, 178 personhood, 21–39 defined, 35 persuasion, 1–20 photons, 7–8 plausibility, also see implausibility, xiv, xvii, xx–xxi, 41–44, 52–53, 56–59, 65, 90, 97, 99, 105, 107, 114–19, 127–31, 158, 161–62 defined, xx playful, also see serious, xi, xv, xvii, xx–xxiii, 48–53, 58, 63, 67–68, 71–73, 77–80, 86–94, 97–100, 103, 108, 113, 115–24, 129–32, 141–50, 155, 165–70 defined, xxii polite, also see familiar, xi, xv–xx, xxiii, 37, 48–52, 60, 67–68, 71, 75–83, 86–87, 90, 93–100, 109, 113–15, 119–24, 127–35, 146–49, 153, 155, 164–66, 169 defined, xx possibility. See modal position power, also see authority, 22, 24, 60, 62, 73, 127, 137–39, 149–56

reading, x–xvii, xx–xxii, 5–8, 16, 21–22, 27–28, 31–40, 44–53, 56, 58, 63–68, 71–72, 76, 82–84, 93, 103, 128, 149, 165–66, 170, 176–78 defined, xxi, 176 reality, xv–xxiii, 23, 27, 31–38, 47–48, 64–67, 107, 131, 162, 170, 174–77 defined, xxi, 175 reflexive default, 86, 108, 132, 155 doctrinism, 155–56 essentialism, 132 individualism, 86–87 mutualism, 108–9 repentance, 138, 141–45, 150–55 resentment, also see deferred opposition, 137, 150–51, 155 responsibility, xi, 14, 34, 36, 52–53, 57, 65, 89–104, 108–11, 116 myth of, 101–5 retribution. See deferred opposition ridicule, xx, 37, 112–21, 124, 128, 135, 140, 162 righteousness, xi, 53, 65–66, 140, 149–51, 159 myth of, 149–52 role, xiv–xxii, 17, 44–49, 52–53, 57–59, 64–66, 81, 111–20, 124–28, 132, 141, 149–50, 158–59, 162–66 defined, xxi rule, xiv–xvii, xx–xxii, 17, 19, 24–25, 33, 44–49, 52–53, 59–66, 83, 89, 107, 119, 133–63, 166–68 defined, xxi Schadenfreude, also see deferred opposition, 145, 169 semiotics, 32 sensation, xiv, xxi, 6–7, 27–28 defined, xxi sensory experience, xiv, xix, xxii–xxiii, 1, 6–7, 10–12, 16, 19–20, 32, 48, 55 defined, xxii serious, also see playful, xi–xv, xviii–xxii, 23, 48–52, 67, 73–75, 78–83, 86–87, 90–94, 97–100, 103, 108–9, 112, 118–24, 131–32, 135–39, 146–48, 151, 160–65, 168–69 defined, xxii shame, 72, 92, 105, 126 shirked responsibilities, 104, 108 sign, also see symbol, xiv–xvi, xxii–xxiii, 27, 29, 32–37, 47, 174–78 defined, xxii, 33, 174 social security number, xxii

index sour grapes, 83, 86–87 special treatment, 101, 104–5 speech, also see action, xiii, xiv–xxiii, 3–6, 14, 21, 29, 47–50, 64–66, 118, 134, 157, 165–68 defined, xxii standards. See discursive position status-aspect defined, 28, 172 strategic action, 2, 4, 23 symbol, also see sign, xiv–xvi, xx–xxiii, 27, 32–37, 47, 61, 174–78 defined, xxii, 174 system, also see field, xv–xvii, xx–xxiii, 8, 17, 23–24, 27, 31–38, 44, 47–49, 56–57, 61, 63, 66, 88, 90, 101–7, 119, 126–27, 135, 160–64, 167, 174–76 defined, xvi table turning, 61, 151–55 THE book, 133–34, 137, 140, 144–45, 151, 153, 159, 163, 166 theodicy, 51–53 theory anti-essentialism, 21, 59 catastrophe, 27, 29, 119 conflict, 24, 171 dramaturgy, 37, 171 exchange, 22, 103 feminism, 24 Frankfurt School, 21, 54 functionalism, 23, 26, 36, 171 postmodernism, 6, 22 post-structuralism, 21 psychoanalysis, 22–23 rational choice, 22, 36, 171 risk, 21, 56, 104 social constructionism, 22, 63 subversive, 21 universalistic, 21, 25, 38 thermodynamics, 42

191

thought, also see discretion, xiii–xvi, xxii–xxiii, 4, 15, 19, 24, 27, 33–37, 40, 43–44, 47, 79, 83, 146, 148, 174–78 defined, xxiii, 34, 174 threshold, xxiii, 43, 70, 84, 90–91, 105, 114–15, 131, 137, 139, 141, 148, 151 affordability, 70, 84–85, 148 defined, xxiii excessiveness, 137–41, 148, 151, 154 maturity, 114–15, 130–31 preparedness, 90–91, 105–6 Tower of Babel, 167 trashcan, problem discarding, 29–33 understanding, ix–x, xiii, xxi, xxiii, 2, 4, 14, 19, 21, 26, 34, 38, 47, 66, 87, 95, 110, 115, 132–33, 136, 147, 159–60, 166–69 defined, xxiii unnoticeability, also see noticeability, x, xiii–xiv, xix–xxiii, 25, 28–29, 32, 41–44, 52–53, 59–62, 65, 70, 72, 81–84, 104, 109, 118–19, 134–47, 150–54, 158–63 defined, xix vacates, also see appears, xiv, xviii, xx, xxiii, 28, 30, 34, 36, 41–46, 51, 56, 60, 81, 90, 94, 101–2, 112, 128, 131, 136, 171–74 defined, xxiii, 171 validity claims, 2–5, 8, 10, 15 verified, also see achieved, xvi–xvii, xxiii, 2, 45, 48, 50–55, 59, 66–87, 92, 94, 98, 107, 114, 117, 131, 157–61, 168, 171 defined, xiii veterinarian, 16–17 worthiness, 56, 65

INTERNATIONAL COMPARATIVE SOCIAL STUDIES ISSN 1568-4474 In modern research, breaking boundaries between the different social sciences is becoming more and more popular. Discussions in which different disciplines are being invited to shed their light on such issues as migration, violence, urbanisation, trust and social capital are common in current academic discourse. Brill’s International Comparative Social Studies focuses on presenting the results of comparative research by anthropologists, sociologists, political scientists and other social scientists. 1. WILSON, H.T. Bureaucratic Representation. Civil Servants and the Future of Capitalist Democracies. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12194 3 2. RATH, J. Western Europe and its Islam. 2001. ISBN 90 04 12192 7 3. INAYATULLAH, S. Understanding Sarkar. The Indian Episteme, Macrohistory and Transformative Knowledge. 2002. ISBN 90 04 12193 5 (hardcover) ISBN 90 04 12842 5 (paperback) 4. GELISSEN, J. Worlds of Welfare, Worlds of Consent? Public Opinion on the Welfare State. 2002. ISBN 9004 12457 8 5. WILSON, H.T. Capitalism after Postmodernism. Neo-Conservatism, Legitimacy, and the Theory of Public Capital. 2002. ISBN 9004 12458 6 6. ROULLEAU-BERGER, L. Youth and Work in the Post-Industrial City of North America and Europe. With an Epilogue by Saskia Sassen. 2003. ISBN 9004 12533 7 7. AALBERG, T. Achieving Justice. Comparative Public Opinion on Income Distribution. 2003. ISBN 9004 12990 1 8. ARNASON, J.P. Civilizations in Dispute. Historical Questions and Theoretical Traditions. 2003. ISBN 9004 13282 1 9. FALZON, M.-A. Cosmopolitan Connections. The Sindhi diaspora, 1860-2000. 2004. ISBN 9004 14008 5 10. BEN-RAFAEL, E. and Y. STERNBERG (eds.), Comparing Modernities Pluralism Versus Homogenity. Essays in Homage to Shmuel N. Eisenstadt. 2005. ISBN 90 04 14407 2 11. DOUW, L. and K-b. CHAN (eds.), Conflict and Innovation. Joint Ventures in China. 2006. ISBN 90 04 15188 5 12. SMITH, J. With an Introduction by S.N. Eisenstadt. Europe and the Americas. State Formation, Capitalism and Civilizations in Atlantic Modernity. 2006. ISBN-13: 978 90 04 15229 8. ISBN-10: 90 04 15229 6. 13. BEN-RAFAEL, E., M. LYUBANSKY, O. GLÖCKNER, P. HARRIS, Y. ISRAEL, W. JASPER and J. SCHOEPS. Building a Diaspora. Russian Jews in Israel, Germany and the USA. 2006. ISBN-13: 978 90 04 15332 5. ISBN-10: 90 04 15332 2.

14. ARJOMAND S.A. (ed.),Constitutionalism and Political Reconstruction. 2007. ISBN-13: 978 90 04 15174 1. ISBN-10: 90 04 15174 5. 15. KWOK-BUN, C., J.W. WALLS and D. HAYWARD (eds.), East-West Identities. Globalization, Localization, and Hybridization. 2007. ISBN-13: 978 90 04 15169 7. ISBN-10: 90 04 15169 9. 16. MEULEMANN, H. (ed.), Social Capital in Europe: Similarity of Countries and Diversity of People? Multi-level Analyses of the European Social Survey 2002. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16362 1. 17. ROBERTS, C.W. “The” Fifth Modality: On Languages that Shape our Motivations and Cultures. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 16235 8.