3 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
is value, it has acquired the occult quality of being able to add value to itself. It brings forth living offspring, or. at the least, lays golden eggs.
Value, therefore, being the active factor in such a process, and assuming at one time the form of money, at another that of commodities, but through all these changes preserving itself and expanding, it requires some independent form, by means of which its identity may at any time be established. And this form it possesses only in the shape of money. It is under the form of money that value begins and ends, and begins again, every act of its own spontaneous generation. It began by being £100, it is now £110, and so on. But the money itself is only one of the two forms of value. Unless it takes the form of some commodity, it does not become capital. There is here no antagonism, as in the case of hoarding, between the money and commodities. The capitalist knows that all commodities, however scurvy they may look, or however badly they may smell, are in faith and in truth money, inwardly circumcised Jews, and what is more, a wonderful means whereby out of money to make more money.
In simple circulation, C—M—C. the value of commodities attained at the most a form independent of their use-values, i.e., the form of money; but that same value now in the circulation M—C—M, or the circulation of capital, suddenly presents itself as an independent substance, endowed with a motion of its own, passing through a life-process of its own, in which money and commodities are mere forms which it assumes and casts off in turn. Nay, more: instead of simply representing the relations of commodities, it enters now. so to say, into private relations with itself. It differentiates itself as original value from itself as
surplus-value; as the father differentiates himself from himself qua the son, yet both are one and of one age: for only by the surplus-value of £10 does the £100 origi. nally advanced become capital, and so soon as this1 takes place, so soon as the son, and by the son, the father, is begotten, so soon does their difference vanish, and they again become one. £110.
Value therefore now becomes value in process, money in process, and, as such, capital. It comes out of circulation, enters into it again, preserves and multiplies itself within its circuit, comes back out of it with expanded bulk, and begins the same round ever afresh. M—M', money which begets money, such is the description of Capital from the mouths of its first interpreters, the Mercantilists.
Buying in order to sell, or, more accurately, buying in order to sell dearer, M—C—M', appears certainly to be a form peculiar to one kind of capital alone, namely merchants' capital. But industrial capital loo is money, that is changed into commodities, and by the sale of these commodities, is re-converted into more money.
The events that take place outside the sphere of circulation, in the interval between the buying and selling, do not affect the form of this movement. Lastly, in the case of interest-bearing capital, the circulation M—C—M' appears abridged. We have its result without the intermediate stage, in the form M—M', "en style Iapidaire" so to say, money that is worth more money, value that is greater than itself.
M—C—M' is therefore in reality the general for- ' mula of capital as it appears prima facie within the sphere of circulation.
Emile Dürkheim (1858-1917)
•J *5
Emile Dürkheim
Key Concepts
a* Social facts Sg Social solidarity
□ Mechanical solidarity
□ Organic solidarity
II Anomie
SS Collective conscience
i! Ritual
55 Symbol
11 Collective representations
S3 Sacred and profane
There can be no society which does not feel the need of upholding and reaffirming at regular intetTals the collective sentiments and the collective ideas which makes its unity and its personality. Now this moral remaking cannot be achieved except by the means of reunions, assemblies and meetings where the individuals, being closely united to one another, reaffirm in common their common sentiments.
—Durkheim([19l2] 1995:474-75)
Discussion Questions
,  1. According to Marx's materialist conception of history, what is the relationship between property or : the divtsionof labor and consciousness? How might property relations and ideas prevent or promote social change?
■ ■ 2. Do-you think that truly communist societies : have existed? Can they exist? What are some of the ■features that such a society must have in order for it-to work?
3. What role does private property play in Marx's analysis of the inevitable communist revolution? In his emphasis on class, what factors might Marx have
overlooked when accounting for revolutionary.: . change or its absence? .
: 4, Has the proletariat, or working class, sunk: deeper and. deeper with the advance of industry as Marx suggested? Why or why not? How prevalent :s alienation, ,in contemporary'capitalist societies? Don't some people like their jobs? If so, have they been "fooled" somehow? Why or why not?
5.. Discuss the prevalence of the fetishism of commodities in contemporary capitalist.societies. What examples of commodity fetishism do you see in your own life and the lives of your family and friends? :
ave you ever been to a professional sports event in a stadium full of fans? Or gone to a religious service and taken communion, or to a concert and danced in the aisles (or maybe a mosh pit)? How did these experiences make you feel? What do they have in common? Is it possible to have this same type of experience if/when you are alone? How so or why not?
These are the sorts of issues that intrigued Emile Dürkheim. Above all, he sought to explain what held societies and social groups together—and how. In addressing these twin questions, Dürkheim studied a wide variety of phenomena—from suicide and crime, to aboriginal religious totems and symbols. He was especially concerned about how modern, industrial societies can be held together when people don't even know each other and when their experiences and social positions are so varied. In other words, how can social ties, the very basis for society, be maintained in such an increasingly individualistic world?
7S Si
FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Entile Dürkheim (IS5S-J9J7)
Yet. Dürkheim is an important figure in the history of sociology not only because of his provocative theories about social cohesion but also because he helped found the discipline of sociology. In contrast to some of the other figures whose works you will read in this book, Dürkheim sought to delineate, ^ both theoretically and methodologically, how sociology was different from existing schools of phi- . losophy and history (which also examined social issues). Before we discuss his ideas and work, however, let's look at his biography for, like Marx, Durkheim's personal experiences and historical situation deeply influenced his perception and description of the social world. !'-
*
II   A Biographical Sketch
Emile Dürkheim was bom in a small town in eastern France in 1858. In his youth he followed family    ;. tradition, studying Hebrew and the Talmud in order to become a rabbi. However, in his adolescence, | Dürkheim apparently rejected Judaism. Though he did not disdain traditional religion, as a child of the Enlightenment (see Chapter 1) he came to consider both Christianity and Judaism outmoded in t „■ modern world.
In 1879, Dürkheim entered France's most prestigious college, the Ecole Normale Superieure in Paris. k to study philosophy. However, by his third year, Dürkheim had become disenchanted with the high- f minded, literary humanities curriculum at the Normale. He decided to pursue sociology, which he viewed as eminently more scientific, democratic, and practical. Dürkheim still maintained his interest in complex philosophical questions, but he wanted to examine them through a "rational," "scientific" framework. His ; practical and scientific approach to central social issues would shape his ambition to use sociological i methods as a means for reconstituting the moral order of French society, which he saw decaying in the J aftermath of the French Revolution (Bellah 1973:xiii-xvi). Dürkheim was especially concerned about the abuse of power by political and military leaders, the increasing rates of divorce and suicide, and the rising anti-Semitism. It seemed to Dürkheim that social bonds and a sense of community had broken down and , social disorder had come to prevail.' |
Upon graduation from the Ecole Normale, Dürkheim began teaching in small lycees (state-run second- i ary schools) near Paris. In 1887, he married Louise Dreyfus, a woman from the Alsace region of France. In the same year, Dürkheim began his career as a professor at the University of Bordeaux, where he | quickly gained the reputation for being a committed and exciting teacher. Emile and Louise soon had two | children, Marie and Andre. f
Dürkheim was a serious and productive scholar. His first book, The Division of Labor in Society, which je was based on his doctoral dissertation, came out in 1893; his second, The Rules of Sociological Method, appeared just 2 years later. In 1897, Suicide, perhaps his most well-known work, was published. The next year, Dürkheim founded the journal L 'Aimee Sociologique, which was one of the first sociology journals  . j not only in France, but also in the world. L 'Awiee Sociologique was produced annually until the outbreak ofWorldWarlin 1914. |
lAs indicated in Chapter 1, France has gone through numerous violent changes in government since the French '| Revolution in 17S9. Between 1789 and 1S70, there had been three monarchies, two empires, and two republii culminating in the notorious reign of Napoleon III, who overthrew the democratic government and ruled France for 20 years. Though the French Revolution had brought a brief period of democracy, it also sparked a terrifying persecution of all those who disagreed with the revolutionary leaders. Some 17,000 revolutionaries were executed in the infamous Reign of Tenor, led by Maximilien Robespierre. Consequently, political and social divisions in France -\ intensified. French conservatives called for a return to monarchy and a more prominent role for the Catholic Church. In direct contrast, a growing, but still relatively small, class of urban workers demanded political rights and a secular rather than religious education. At the same time, capitalists called for individual rights and free markets, whik radical socialists advocated abolishing private property altogether.
In 1902, with his reputation as a leading social philosopher and scientist established, Dürkheim was offered a position at the prestigious Sorbonne University in Paris. As he had done previously at Bordeaux, Dürkheim quickly gained a large following at the Sorbonne. His education courses were compulsory for all students seeking teaching degrees in philosophy, history, literature, and languages. Dürkheim also became an important administrator at the Sorbonne, serving on numerous councils and committees (Lukes 1985:372).
Yet not everyone was enamored with either Durkheim's substantial power or his ideas. Durkheim's notion that any social "thing"—including religion—could be studied sociologically (i.e., scientifically) was particularly controversial, as was his adamant insistence on providing students a moral, but secular, education. (These two issues will be discussed farther below.) As Steven Lukes (1985:373), noted sociologist and Dürkheim scholar, remarked, "To friends he was a prophet and an apostle, but to enemies he was a secular pope."
Moreover, Dürkheim identified with some of the goals of socialism, but he was unwilling to commit himself politically. Dürkheim believed that sociologists should be committed to education, not political activism—his passion was for dispassionate, scientific research.
This apparent apoliticism, coupled with his focus on the moral constitution of societies (rather than conflict and revolution), has led some analysts to deem Dürkheim politically conservative. However, as the eminent sociologist Robert Bellah (1973:xviii) points out, "to try to force Dürkheim into the conservative side of some conservative/liberal dichotomy" is inappropriate. It ignores Durkheim's "lifelong preoccupation with orderly, continuous social change toward greater social justice" (ibid.:xvii). In addition, to consider Dürkheim politically conservative is also erroneous in light of how he was evaluated in his day. Dürkheim was viewed as a radical modernist and liberal, who, though respectful of religion, was most committed to rationality, science, and humanism. Dürkheim infuriated religious conservatives, who desired to replace democracy with a monarchy and strengthen the military. He also came under fire because he opposed instituting Catholic education as the basic curriculum.
Moreover, to label Dürkheim "conservative" ignores his role in the "Dreyfus affair." Alfred Dreyfus was a Jewish army colonel who was charged and convicted on false charges of spying for Germany. The charges against Dreyfus were rooted in anti-Semitism, which was growing in the 1890s, alongside France's military losses and economic dissatisfaction. Dürkheim was very active in the Ligue des droits de l'homme (League of the Rights of Men), which devoted itself to clearing Dreyfus of all charges.
Interestingly, Durkheim's assessment of the Dreyfus affair reflects his lifelong concern for the moral order of society. He saw the Dreyfus affair as symptomatic of a collective moral sickness, rather than merely anti-Semitism at the level of the individual. As Dürkheim (1899, as cited by Lukes I9S5) states,
When society undergoes suffering, it feels the need to find someone whom it can hold responsible for its sickness, on whom it can avenge its misfortunes; and those against whom public opinion already discriminates are naturally designated for this role. These are the pariahs who serve as expiatory victims. What confirms me in this interpretation is the way in which the result of Dreyfus's trial was greeted in 1894. There was a surge of joy in the boulevards. People celebrated as a triumph what should have been a cause of public mourning. At least they knew whom to blame for the economic troubles and mora! distress in which diey lived. The trouble came from the Jews. The charge had been officially proved. By this very fact alone, things already seemed lo be getting better and people felt consoled, (p. 345)
In 1912, Durkheim's culminating work, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, was published. Shortly after that World War I broke out, and Durkheim's life was thrown into turmoil. His son, Andre, was killed in battle, spiraling Dürkheim into a grief from which he never fully recovered. On October 7, 1916, as he was leaving a committee meeting at the Sorbonne, Dürkheim suffered a stroke. He spent the next year resting and seemed to have made much progress toward recovering. But on November 15, 1917, while in Fontainebleau where he had gone for peace and fresh air, Dürkheim died. He was 59 years old (ibid.:559).
80 11 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Emile Dürkheim (1S58-1917)
Ii   Intellectual Influences and Core Ideas
As indicated previously, Dürkheim wrote a number of books and articles on a vvide variety of topics. Nevertheless, there are two major themes that transcend all of Durkheim's work. First, Dürkheim sought to articulate the nature of society and, hence, his view of sociology as an academic discipline. Dürkheim argued that society was a supraindividual force existing independently of the actors who compose it. The task of sociology, then, is to analyze social facts—conditions and circumstances external to the individual that, nevertheless, determine one's course of action. Dürkheim argued that social facts can be ascertained by using collective data, such as suicide and divorce rates. In other words, through systematic collection of data, the patterns behind and within individual behavior can be uncovered. This emphasis on formal methods and objective data is what distinguished sociology from philosophy and put sociology "on the map" as a viable scientific discipline.
Auguste Comte (1798-1857): The Father of "Social Physics"
Born in southern France during a most turbulent period in French history, Auguste Comte was himself a turbulent figure. Though he excelled as a student, he had little patience for authority. Indeed, his obstinate temperament prevented him from completing his studies at the newly established École Polytechnic, Paris's elite university. Nevertheless, Comte was able to make a name for himself in the intellectual circlesof Paris. In 1817, he began working as a secretary and collaborator to Henri Saint-Simon. Their productive though fractious relationship came to an end seven years later in a dispute over assigning authorship to one of Comte's essays. Comte next set about developing his system of positivist philosophy while working in minor academic positions for meager wages. Beginning in 1926, Comte offered a series of private lectures in an effort to disseminate his views. Though attended by eminent thinkers, the grandiosity of histheoretical system led some to dismiss his ideas. Nevertheless, Comte continued undeterred, and from 1830 to 1842 he worked single-mindedly on his magnum opus, the six-volume Cows de philosophic positive. In the series, Comte not only outlines his "Law of Three Stages" discussed earlier, but also delineates the proper methods for his new science of "social physics" as well as its fundamental task—the study of social statics (order) and dynamics (progress). The work was well received in some scientific quarters, and Comte seemed poised to establish himself as a first-rate scholar. Unfortunately, his temperament again proved to be a hindrance to his success, both personal and professional. His troubled marriage ended soon after Cows was completed, and his petulance further alienated him from friends and colleagues while costing him a position at the École Comte's life took a turn for the better, however, when in 1844 he met and fell in love with Colthilde de Vaux. Their affair did not last long; Colthilde developed tuberculosis and died within a year of their first meeting. Comte dedicated the rest of his life to "his angel." In her memory he founded the Religion of Humanity for which he proclaimed himself the High Priest. The new Church was founded on the principle of universal love as Comte abandoned his earlier commitment to science and positivism. Until his death in 1857, Comte sought not supporters for his system of science but also converts to his Positive Church.
NOTE: This account of Comic's biography is based largely on Lewis Coser's (I 977) discussion in Masters of Sociological Thought.
The significance of Durkheim's position for the development of sociology as a distinct pursuit of knowledge cannot be overstated. As one of the first academics to hold a position in sociology, Dürkheim was on the cutting edge of the birth of the new discipline. Nevertheless, his conviction that society is sui generis (an objective reality that is irreducible to the individuals that compose it) and amenable to scientific investigation owes much to the work of Auguste Comte (1798-1857). Not only had Comte coined the term sociology in 1839; he also contended that the social world could be studied in as rational and scientific a way as physical scientists (chemists, physicists, biologists, etc.) study their respective domains. Moreover, Durkheim's comparative and historical methodology was in large measure a continuation of the approach advocated earlier by Comte.
A second major theme found in Durkheim's work is the issue of social solidarity, or the cohesion of social groups. As you will see. all of the selections in this chapter—from The Division of Labor in Society, Suicide. The Rules of Sociological Method, and 77ie Elementary Forms of Religious Life—explore the nature of the bonds that tie social groups and/or the individual to society. Dürkheim was especially concerned about modern societies where people often don't know their neighbors (let alone everyone in the larger community) or worship together and where people often hold jobs in impersonal companies and organizations. Dürkheim wondered how individuals could feel tied to one another in such an increasingly individualistic world. This issue was of utmost importance, for he maintained that without some semblance of solidarity and moral cohesion, society could not exist.
Herbert Spencer (1820-1903): Survival of the Fittest
Born in the English Midlands, Herbert Spencer's early years were shaped largely by his father and uncle. It was from these two men that Spencer received his education, an education that centered on math, physics, and chemistry. Moreover, it was from them that Spencer was exposed to the radical religious and social doctrines that would inform his staunch individualism. With little formal instruction in history, literature, and languages. Spencer conceded to the limits of his education and at the age of sixteen declined to attend university, opting instead to pursue a "practical" career as an engineer for the London and Birmingham Railway. Nevertheless, he would prove to be an avid student of, and a prolific writer on, a range of social and philosophical topics. With the completion of the railway in 1841, Spencer earned his living by writing essays for a number of radical journals. Of particular note is a series of letters he published through a dissenting paper. The Nonconformist. Titled "The Proper Sphere of Government," the letters are an early expression of Spencer's decidedly laissez-faire perspective. In them, Spencer argued that the role of government should be restricted solely to policing, while all other matters, including education, social welfare, and economic activities, should be left to the workings of the private sector. According to Spencer, government regulations interfere with the laws of human evolution which, if left unhampered, ensure the "survival of the fittest." It is not hard to see that Spencer's view of government still resonates with many American politicians and voters. Less sanguine, however, is the racism and sexism that was interjected into Spencer's argument. Following the logic of his view, those who don't survive, that is, succeed, are merely fulfilling their evolutionary destiny. To the extent that women and people of color are less "successful" than white men, their "failure" is deemed a product of their innate inferiority, Spencer ignored that both "success" and "failure" hinge not only on individual aptitude and effort but also on institutional and cultural dynamics that sustain a less than level playing field.
82 SS FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Emile Dürkheim (1858-1917) 55 S3
In his emphasis on the nature of solidarity in "traditional" and "modem" societies, Dürkheim again ; drew on Comte's work as well as that of the British sociologist Herbert Spencer (1S20-1903).: Both Comte and Spencer formulated an organic view of society to explain the developmental paths aloi which societies allegedly evolve. Such a view depicted society as a system of interrelated parts (religious institutions, the economy, government, the family) that work together to form a unitary, stable whole, analogous to how the parts of the human body (lungs, kidneys, brain) function interdependently to sustain its general well-being. Moreover, as the organism (society and the body) grows in size, it becomes increasingly complex, due to the differentiation of its parts. >
However. Dürkheim was only partly sympathetic to the organic, evolutionary models developed by '* Comte and Spencer. On one hand, Durkheim's insistence that social solidarity is rooted in shared mora! sentiments, and the sense of obligation they evoke, stems from Comte (and Jean-Jacques Rousseau as well). Likewise, his notion that the specialized division of labor characteristic of modern societies leads fi_ to greater interdependency and integration owes much to Comte (as well as Saint-Simon). Nevertheless, Dürkheim did not embrace Comte's assertion that all societies progress through a series of identifiable evolutionary stages. In particular, he dismissed Comte's "Law of Three Stages" wherein all societies—as well as individual intellectual development—are said to pass from a theological stage characterized by * "militaristic" communities led by priests, to a metaphysical stage organized according to "legalistic" principles and controlled by lawyers and clergy, and finally, to a positivist or scientific stage in which "industrial" societies are governed by technocrats and, of course, sociologists. ^
In terms of Spencer, Dürkheim was most influenced by Spencer's theory on the evolution of societies. According to Spencer, just as biological organisms become more differentiated as they grow and mature, so do small-scale, homogeneous communities become increasingly complex and diverse as a result of population growth. The individuals living in simple societies are minimally dependent upon one another for meeting their survival and that of the community as they each carry out similar tasks. As the size of the population increases, however, similarity and likeness is replaced by heterogeneity and a specialized division of labor. Individuals become interdependent upon one another as essential tasks are divided among the society's inhabitants. As a result, an individual's well-being becomes tied more and more to ** the general welfare of the larger society. Ensuring the functional integration of individuals now becomes the central issue for the survival of the society.
In this regard, Durkheim's perspective is compatible with that of Spencer. As discussed is later. ^ Dürkheim hypothesized that a different kind of solidarity was prevalent in modern, as opposed to smaller. : more traditional, societies. Durkheim's equation of traditional societies with "mechanical" solidarity and modern societies with "organic" solidarity (discussed on pp. 93-94) shares an affinity with Spencer's classification of societies as either "simple" or "compound."
However, the two theorists diverge on the crucial point of integration. Spencer saw society as composed of atomistic individuals each pursuing lines of self-interested conduct. In a classic expression of utilitarian philosophy, Spencer maintained that a stable, well-functioning social whole is the outgrowth ^ of individuals freely seeking to maximize their advantages. '
By contrast, Dürkheim (and Comte) took a far less utilitarian approach than Spencer. Dürkheim emphasized that society is not a result or aftereffect of individual conduct; rather, it exists prior to, and thus shapes, individual action. In other words, individual lines of conduct are the outgrowth of social arrangements, par- t, ticularly those connected to the developmental stage of the division of labor. Social integration, then, cannol be an unintended consequence of an aggregate of individuals pursuing their self-interest. Instead, it is rook, in a shared moral code, for only it can sustain a harmonious social order. And it is this moral code, along with the feelings of solidarity it generates, that forms the basis of all societies. Without the restraints imposed by a £ sense of moral obligation to others, the selfish pursuit of interests would destroy the social fabric.
!Durkheim was influenced by a number of scholars, not only Comte and Spencer. Some of the more important figures in developing his views were the French Enlightenment intellectuals Charles Montesquieu (1689-1775) and Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778), Henri de Saint-Simon (1760-1825). Charles Renouvier (1815-1903), and the German experimental psychologist Wilhem Wundt (1832-1920).
Duricheim's Theoretical Orientation 11
■\s discussed previously, Dürkheim was most concerned with analyzing "social facts": He sought to uncover the preexisting social conditions that shape the parameters for individual behavior. Consequently, Dürkheim can be said to take a predominantly collectivist approach to order (see Figures 3.1 and 3.2).
This approach is most readily apparent in Suicide. In this study. Dürkheim begins with one of the most seemingly individualistic, psychologically motivated acts there is—suicide—in order to illuminate the social and moral parameters behind and within this allegedly "individual" behavior. So, too. Durkheim's emphasis on collective conscience and collective representations indicates an interest in the collective level of society (see Figure 3.2). By collective conscience. Dürkheim means the "totality of beliefs and sentiments common to average citizens of the same society" that "forms a determinate system which has its own life" ([1893] 1984:38-39). In later work, Dürkheim used the term collective representations to refer to much the same thing. In any case, the point is Durkheim's main concern is not with the conscious or psy-: chological state of specific individuals but rather, with the collective beliefs and sentiments that exist "independent of the particular conditions in which individuals are placed; they pass on and it remains" (ibid.:80).
This leads us to one of the most common criticisms of Dürkheim. Because of his preoccupation with social facts and the collective conscience, it is often claimed that he overlooks the rote of the individual in producing and reproducing the social order. Dürkheim makes it seem as if we're just vessels for society's will. Yet, this criticism ignores two essential points. First, Dürkheim not only acknowledged individual autonomy; he also took it for granted as an inevitable condition of modern societies. Dürkheim sought to show how. in modern societies, increasing individuation could produce detrimental effects as individuals are often torn between competing normative prescriptions and rules. For instance, in Suicide, Dürkheim maintains that rather than rest comfortably on all-pervasive norms and values, "a thirst arises for novelties, unfamiliar pleasures, nameless sensations, all of which lose their savor once known . .. [but that] all these new sensations in their infinite quantity cannot form a solid foundation for happiness to support one in days of trial" ('[1897] 1951:256). To be sure, the criticism could still be made that Dürkheim ignores individual agency in "traditional" societies based on mechanical solidarity. In these societies, Dürkheim does in fact posit a lack of individual autonomy, perhaps reflecting the Enlightenment-driven, Eurocentric thinking of his day. (We discuss this issue more fully in the following text.)
Figure 3.1   Durkheim's Basic Theoretical Orientation
Nonrational
f
Mead t DÜRKHEIM
Simmel \
f\ Du Bois
i
Individual    ...^ ■■. ■ :_:-^______[_____, , ■■;       ^ Collective
.t Weber
I Gilman I Marx
Rational
84 3? FOUNDATIONS OF CLASS[CAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY Figure 3.2   Durkheim's Care Concepts j Nonrational
Emile Dürkheim (1858-1917) 3= 85
Individual
Anomie
Collective Conscience Collective Representations
sacred and profane Social Solidarity mechanical solidarity organic solidarity
Division of Labor
Collective
In this section, you will read selections from the four major books that Dürkheim published during his lifetime: The Division of Labor in Society (1893), The Rules of Sociological Method (1895), Suicide (1897), and The Elementary Forms of Religious Life (1912). We begin with excerpts from 77ie Rules of Sociological Method because, as you will see, it is here that Dürkheim first laid out his basic conceptualization of sociology as a discipline and delineated his concept of social facts. We then shift to The Division of Labor in Society, in which Dürkheim sets out the key concepts of mechanical and organic solidarity and collective conscience. This is followed by excerpts from Suicide, which is notable, first, in that it exemplifies Durkheim's distinctive approach to the study of the social world and-second, because it further delineates Durkheim's core concept of anomie. We conclude this chapter with excerpts from The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, which many theorists consider Durkheim's most theoretically significant work. In The Elementary Forms of Religious Life, Dürkheim takes an explicitly cultural turn, emphasizing the concepts of ritual and symbol, and the sacred and profane, and collective representations.
Introduction to The Rules of Sociological Method
Rational
Relatedly, to assert that his orientation was singularly collectivist overlooks Durkheim's assumption that collective life emerges in social interaction. For instance, a major part of his analysis of the elementary forms of religious life involved showing how mundane objects, such as lizards and plants, take on the sacredness of the totem (the symbol of the tribe) by virtue of individuals coming together to participate in ritual practices. Similarly, in his study of suicide, Dürkheim examined marriage and divorce rates not simply because he was fascinated by abstract, collective dimensions of social life but in order to uncover objective factors that measure the extent to which individuals are bound together in an increasingly individualistic world.
This leads us to the issue of action. Tn our view, Dürkheim is primarily nonrationalist in his orientation (see Figures 3.1 and 3.2); he focuses on how collective representations and moral sentiments are a motivating force, much more so than "rational" or strategic interests connected to economic or political institutions. Yet, it is important to point out that in emphasizing the external nature of social facts, Dürkheim also recognized that such facts are not confined to the realm of ideas or feelings but often possess a concrete reality as well. For instance, educational institutions and penal systems are also decisive for shaping the social order and individuals' actions within it. Thus, social facts are capable of exerting both a moral and an institutional force. In the end. however, Dürkheim stressed the nonrational aspect of social facts as suggested in his supposition that the penal system (courts, legal codes and their enforcement, etc.) ultimately rests on collective notions of morality, a complex symbolic system as to what is "right" and "wrong." This issue is discussed further in the next section in relationship to the specific selections you :. will read.
In The Rules of Sociological Method ([1895] 19ß6:xiii). Dürkheim makes at least three essential points. Dürkheim insists that (1) sociology is a distinct field of study and that (2) although the social sciences are distinct from the natural sciences, the methods of the latter can be applied to the former. In addition, Dürkheim maintains that (3) the social field is also distinct from the psychological realm. Thus, sociology is the study of social phenomena or "social facts," a very different enterprise from the study of an individual's own ideas or will.
Specifically, Dürkheim maintains that there are two different ways that social facts can be identified. First, social facts are "general throughout the extent of a given society" at a given stage in the evolution of that society (ibid.:xv,13). Second, albeit related, a social fact is marked by "any manner of action . . . capable of exercising over the individual exterior constraint" (ibid.). In other words, a "social fact" is recognized by the "coercive power which it exercises or is capable of exercising over individuals" (ibid.: 10). This does not mean that there are no "exceptions" to a social fact, but that it is potentially universal in the sense that, given specific conditions, it will be likely to emerge (ibid.:xv).
The "coercive power" of social facts brings us to a critical issue raised in The Rules of Sociological Method: crime. Dürkheim argues that crime is inevitable or "normal" in all societies because crime defines the moral boundaries of a society and. in doing so, communicates to its inhabitants the range of acceptable behaviors. For Dürkheim, crime is "normal" not because there will always be "bad" or "wicked" men and/or women in society (i.e., not for individualistic, psychological reasons, though those may well exist too). Rather, Dürkheim maintains, "A society exempt from [crime] is utterly impossible" because crime affirms and reaffirms the collective sentiments upon which it is founded and which are necessary for its existence (ibid.:67). In other words, "It is impossible for all to be alike . . . there cannot be a society in which the individuals do not differ more or less from the collective type" (ibid.:69,70). As a result, social mechanisms compelling conformity to existing or new laws inevitably appear. Indeed, Dürkheim maintains that even in a hypothetical "society of saints." a "perfect cloister of exemplary individuals," "faults" will appear, which will cause the same "scandal that the ordinary offense does in ordinary consciousnesses" (ibid.:6S,69). Crime is "indispensable to the normal evolution of morality and law" because the formation and reformation of the collective conscience is never complete (ibid.).
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Simply put, you cannot have a society without "crime" for the same reason that you cannot have a game without rules (i.e., you can do A, but not B) and consequences to rule violations (if you do B, this will happen). Thus, when children make up a new game, they devise both their own rules and consequences for rule infractions (e.g., you have to kick the ball between the tree and the mailbox; if the ball touches your hands, you're out). So, too, one could argue, society is like a game. There are rules (norms and laws), and there are consequences or punishments if you break those norms/rules (whether social ostracism or jail): and. most importantly, it is crime and punishment themselves that help clarify and reaffirm what the rules of the game are and thus the basis of society itself.
The Rules of Sociological Method (1895)
Emile Dürkheim
What Is a Social Fact?
Before inquiring into the method suited to the study of social facts, it is important to know which facts are commonly called "social." This information is all the more necessary since the designation "social" is used with little precision. It is currently employed for practically all phenomena generally diffused within society, however small their social interest. But on that basis, there are, as it were, no human events that may not be called social. Each individual drinks, sleeps, eats, reasons; and it is to society's interest that these functions be exercised in an orderly manner. If, then, all these facts are counted as "social" facts, sociology would have no subject matter exclusively its own, and its domain would be confused with that of biology and psychology.
But in reality there is in every society a certain group of phenomena which may be differentiated from those studied by the other natural sciences. When 1 fulfill my obligations as brother, husband, or citizen, when 1 execute my contracts, I perform duties which are defined, externally to myself and my acts, in law and in custom. Even if they conform to my own sentiments and I feel their reality subjectively, such reality is still objective, for 1 did not create them; I merely inherited them through my education. How many times it happens, moreover, that we are ignorant of the details of the obligations incumbent upon us. and that in order to acquaint ourselves with them we must consult die law and its authorized interpreters! Similarly, the church-member finds the beliefs and practices of his religious life ready-made at birth; their existence prior to his own implies their existence
outside of himself. The system of signs I use to express my thought, the system of currency I employ to pay my debts, the instruments of credit I utilize in my commercial relations, the practices followed in my profession, etc., function independently of my own use of them. And these statements can be repeated for each member of society. Here, then, are ways of acting, thinking, and feeling that present the noteworthy property of existing outside the individual consciousness.
These types of conduct or thought are not only external to the individual but are. moreover, endowed with coercive power, by virtue of which they impose themselves upon him, independent of his individual will. Of course, when 1 fully consent and conform to them, this constraint is felt only slightly, if at all, and is therefore unnecessary. But it is, nonetheless, an intrinsic characteristic of these facts, the proof thereof being that it asserts itself as soon as I attempt to resist it. If I attempt to violate the law, it reacts against me so as to prevent my act before its accomplishment, or to nullify my violation by restoring the damage, if it is accomplished and reparable, or to make me expiate it if it cannot be compensated for otherwise.
In the case of purely moral maxims; the public conscience exercises a check on every act which offends it by means of the surveillance it exercises over the conduct of citizens, and the appropriate penalties at its disposal. In many cases the constraint is less violent, but nevertheless it always exists. If I do not submit to the conventions of society, if in my dress I do not conform to the customs observed in my country and in my class, the ridicule I provoke, the social isolation in which 1 am
SOURCE: Reprinted with the permission of The Free Press, a Division of Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group from The Hilles of Sociological Method by Emile Dürkheim, translated by Sarah ASolovay and John H. Mueller. Edited by E. G. Catlin, Copyright © 1966 by Sarah A. Solovay, John H. Mueller, George E. G. Catlin. All rights reserved.
kept, produce, although in an attenuated form, the same effects as a punishment in the strict sense of the word. The constraint is nonetheless efficacious for being indirect. I am not obliged to speak French with my fellow-countrymen nor to use the legal currency, but I cannot possibly do otherwise. If I tried to escape this necessity, my attempt would fail miserably. As an industrialist, I am free to apply the technical methods of former centuries; but by doing so, I should invite certain ruin. Even when I free myself from these rules and violate them successfully, I am always compelled to struggle with them. When finally overcome, they make their constraining power sufficiently felt by the resistance they offer. The enterprises of all innovators, including successful ones, come up against resistance of this kind.
Here, then, is a category of facts with very distinctive characteristics: it consists of ways of acting, thinking, and feeling, external to the individual, and endowed with a power of coercion, by reason of which they control him. These ways of thinking could not be confused with biological phenomena, since they consist of representations and of actions; nor with psychological phenomena, which exist only in the individual consciousness and through it. They constitute, thus, a new variety of phenomena; and it is to them exclusively that the term "social" ought to be applied. And this term fits them quite well, for it is clear that, since their source is not in the individual, their substratum can be no other than society, either the political society as a whole or some one of the partial groups it includes, such as religious denominations, political, literary, and occupational associations, etc. On the other hand, this term "social" applies to them exclusively, for it has a distinct meaning only if it designates exclusively the phenomena which are not included in any of the categories of facts that have already been established and classified. These ways of thinking and acting therefore constitute the proper domain of sociology. It is true that, when we define them with this word "constraint," we risk shocking the zealous partisans of absolute individualism. For those who profess the complete autonomy of the individual, man's dignity is diminished whenever he is made to feel that he is not completely self-determinant. It is generally accepted today, however, that most of our ideas and our tendencies are not developed by ourselves but come to us from without. How can they become a part of us except by imposing Ihemselves upon us? This is the whole meaning of our definition. And it is generally accepted, moreover, that
social constraint is not necessarily incompatible with the individual personality.'
Since the examples that we have just cited (legal and moral regulations, religious faiths, financial systems, etc.) all consist of established beliefs and practices, one might be led to believe that social Tacts exist only where there is some social organization. But there are other facts without such crystallized form which have the same objectivity and the same ascendancy over the individual. These are called "social currents." Thus the great movements of enthusiasm, indignation, and pity in a crowd do not originate in any one of the particular individual consciousnesses. They come to each one of us from without and can carry us away in spite of ourselves. Of course, it may happen that, in abandoning myself to them unreservedly, I do not feel the pressure they exert upon me. But it is revealed as soon as I try to resist them. Let an individual attempt to oppose one of these collective manifestations, and the emotions that he denies will turn against him. Now, if this power of external coercion asserts itself so clearly in cases of resistance, it must exist also in the first-mentioned cases, although we are unconscious of it. We are then victims of the illusion of having ourselves created that which actually forced itself from without. If the complacency with which we permit ourselves to be carried along conceals the pressure undergone, nevertheless it does not abolish it. Thus, air is no less heavy because we do not detect its weight. So, even if we ourselves have spontaneously contributed to the production of the common emotion, the impression we have received differs markedly from that which we would have experienced if we had been alone. Also, once the crowd has dispersed, that is, once these social influences have ceased to act upon us and we are alone again, the emotions which have passed through the mind appear strange to us, and we no longer recognize them as ours. We realize that these feelings have been impressed upon us to a much greater extent than they were created by us. It may even happen that they horrify us. so much were they contrary to our nature. Thus, a group of individuals, most of whom are perfectly inoffensive, may. when gathered in a crowd, be drawn into acts of atrocity. And what we say of these transitory outbursts applies similarly to those more permanent currents of opinion on religious, political, literary, or artistic matters which are constantly being formed around us, whether in society as a whole or in more limited circles.
To confirm this definition of the social fact by a characteristic illustration from common experience, one
'We do not intend to imply, however, that all constraints arc normal. We shall return to this point later.
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need only observe the manner in which children are brought up. Considering the facts as they are and as they have always been, it becomes immediately evident that all education is a continuous effort to impose on the child ways of seeing. Feeling, and acting which he could not have arrived at spontaneously. From the very first hours of his life, we compel him to eat drink, and sleep at regular hours; we constrain him to cleanliness, calmness, and obedience; later we exert pressure upon him in order that he may learn proper consideration for others, respect for customs and conventions, the need for work, etc. If, in time, this constraint ceases to be felt, it is because it gradually gives rise to habits and to internal tendencies that render constraint unnecessary; but nevertheless it is not abolished, for it is still the source from which these habits were derived. It is true that, according to Spencer, a rational education ought to reject such methods, allowing the child to act in complete liberty; but as this pedagogic theory has never been applied by any known people, it must be accepted only as an expression of personal opinion, not as a fact which can contradict the aforementioned observations. What makes these facts particularly instructive is that the aim of education is, precisely, the socialization of the human being; the process of education, therefore, gives us in a nutshell the historical fashion in which the social being is constituted. This unremitting pressure to which the child is subjected is the very pressure of the social milieu which tends to fashion him in its own image, and of which parents and teachers are merely the representatives and intermediaries.
It follows that sociological phenomena cannot be defined by their universality. A thought which we find in every individual consciousness, a movement repeated by all individuals, is not thereby a social fact. If sociologists have been satisfied with defining them by this characteristic, it is because they confused them with what one might call their reincarnation in the individual. It is, however, the collective aspects of the beliefs, tendencies, and practices of a group that characterize truly social phenomena. As for the forms that the collective states assume when refracted in the individual, these are things of another sort. This duality is clearly demonstrated by the fact that these two orders of phenomena are frequently found dissociated from one another. Indeed, certain of these social manners of acting and thinking acquire, by reason of their repetition, a certain rigidity which on its own account crystallizes
them, so to speak, and isolates them from the particular events which reflect them. They thus acquire a body, a tangible form, and constitute a reality in their own right, quite distinct from the individual facts which produce it. Collective habits are inherent not only in the successive acts which they determine but, by a privilege of which we find no example in the biological realm, they are given permanent expression in a formula which is repeated from moutii to mouth, transmitted by education, and fixed even in writing. Such is the origin and nature of legal and moral rules, popular aphorisms and proverbs, articles of faith wherein religious or political groups condense their beliefs, standards of taste established by literary schools, etc. None of these can be found entirely reproduced in the applications made of them by individuals, since they can exist even without being actually applied.
No doubt, this dissociation does not always manifest itself with equal distinctness, but its obvious existence in the important and numerous cases just cited is sufficient to prove that the social fact is a thing distinct from its individual manifestations. Moreover, even when this dissociation is not immediately apparent, it may often be disclosed by certain devices of method. Such dissociation is indispensable if one wishes to separate social facts from their alloys in order to observe them in a state of purity. Currents of opinion, with an intensity varying according to the time and place, impel certain groups either to more marriages, for example, or to more suicides, or to a higher or lower birthrate, etc. These currents are plainly social facts. At first sight they seem inseparable from the forms they take in individual cases. But statistics furnish us with the means of isolating them. They are, in fact, represented with considerable exactness by the rates of births, marriages, and suicides, that is, by the number obtained by dividing the average annual total of marriages, births, suicides, by the number of persons whose ages lie within the range in which marriages, births, and suicides occur." Since each of these figures contains all the individual cases indiscriminately, the individual circumstances which may have had a share in the production of the phenomenon are neutralized and, consequently, do not contribute to its determination. The average, then, expresses a certain state of the group mind (Fame collective).
Such are social phenomena, when disentangled from all foreign matter. As for their individual manifestations, these are indeed, to a certain extent, social, since
"Suicides do not occur at every age, and they take place with varying intensity at the different ages in which they occur.
they partly reproduce a social model. Each of them also depends, and to a large extent, on the organopsycho-loaical constitution of the individual and on the particular circumstances in which he is placed. Thus they are not sociological phenomena in the strict sense of the word. They belong to two realms at once; one could call them sociopsychological. They interest the sociologist without constituting the immediate subject matter of sociology. There exist in the interior of organisms similar phenomena, compound in their nature, which form in their turn the subject matter of the "hybrid sciences," such as physiological chemistry, for example.
The objection may be raised that a phenomenon is collective only if it is common to all members of society, or at least to most of them—in other words, if it is truly general. This may be true; but it is general because it is collective (that is, more or less obligatory), and certainly not collective because general. It is a group condition repeated in the individual because imposed on him. It is to be found in each part because it exists in the whole, rather than in the whole because it exists in the parts. This becomes conspicuously evident in those beliefs and practices which are transmitted to us ready-made by previous generations; we receive and adopt them because, being both collective and ancient, they are invested with a particular authority that education has taught us to recognize and respect. It is, of course, true that a vast portion of our social culture is transmitted to us in this way; but even when the social fact is due in part to our direct collaboration, its nature is not different. A collective emotion which bursts forth suddenly and violently in a crowd does not express merely what all the individual sentiments had in common; it is something entirely different, as we have shown. It results from their being together, a product of the actions and reactions which take place between individual consciousnesses; and if each individual consciousness echoes the collective sentiment, it is by virtue of the special energy resident in its collective origin. If all hearts beat in unison, this is not the result of a spontaneous and pre-established harmony but rather because an identical force propels them In the same direction. Each is carried along by all.
We thus arrive at the point where we can formulate and delimit in a precise way the domain of sociology. It comprises only a limited group of phenomena. A social fact is to be recognized by the power of external coercion which it exercises or is capable of exercising over individuals, and the presence of this power may be recognized in its turn either by the existence of some specific sanction or by the resistance offered against every individual effort that tends to violate it. One can, however,
define it also by its diffusion within the group, provided that, in conformity with our previous remarks, one takes care to add as a second and essential characteristic that its own existence is independent of the individual forms it assumes in its diffusion. This last criterion is perhaps, in certain cases, easier to apply than the preceding one. In fact, the constraint is easy to ascertain when it expresses itself externally by some direct reaction of society, as is the case in law, morals, beliefs, customs, and even fashions. But when it is only indirect, like the constraint which an economic organization exercises, it cannot always be so easily detected. Generality combined with externality may, then, be easier to establish. Moreover, this second definition is but another form of the first; for if a mode of behavior whose existence is external to individual consciousnesses becomes general, this can only be brought about by its being imposed upon them.
But these several phenomena present the same characteristic by which we defined the others. These "ways of existing" are imposed on the individual precisely in the same fashion as the "ways of acting" of which we have spoken. Indeed, when we wish to know how a society is divided politically, of what these divisions themselves are composed, and how complete is the fusion existing between them, we shall not achieve our purpose by physical inspection and by geographical observations; for these phenomena are social, even when they have some basis in physical nature. It is only by a study of public law that a comprehension of this organization is possible, for it is this law that determines the organization, as it equally determines our domestic and civil relations. This political organization is, then, no less obligatory than the social facts mentioned above. If the population crowds into our cities instead of scattering into the country, this is due to a trend of public opinion, a collective drive that imposes this concentration upon the individuals. We can no more choose the style of our houses than of our clothing—at least, both are equally obligatory. The channels of communication prescribe the direction of internal migrations and commerce, etc., and even their extent. Consequently, at the very most, it should be necessary to add to the list of phenomena which we have enumerated as presenting the distinctive criterion of a social fact only one additional category, "ways of existing"; and, as this enumeration was not meant to be rigorously exhaustive, the addition would not be absolutely necessary.
Such an addition is perhaps not necessary, for these "ways of existing" are only crystallized "ways of acting." The political structure of a society is merely the way in which its component segments have become accustomed
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to live with one another. If their relations are traditionally intimate, the segments tend to fuse with one another, or, in the contrary case, to retain their identity. The type of habitation imposed upon us is merely the way in which our contemporaries and our ancestors have been accustomed to construct their houses. The methods of communication are merely the channels which the regular currents of commerce and migrations have dug, by flowing in the same direction. To be sure, if the phenomena of a structural character alone presented this performance, one might believe that they constituted a distinct species. A iegal regulation is an arrangement no less permanent than a type of architecture, and yet the regulation is a "physiological" fact. A simple moral maxim is assuredly somewhat more malleable, but it is much more rigid than a simple professional custom or a Fashion. There is thus a whole series of degrees without a break in continuity between the facts of the most articulated structure and those free currents of social life which are not yet definitely molded. The differences between them are, therefore, only differences in the degree of consolidation they present. Both are simply life, more or less crystallized. No doubt, it may be of some advantage to reserve the term "morphological" for those social facts which concern the social substratum, but only on condition of not overlooking the fact that they are of the same nature as the others. Our definition will then include the whole relevant range of facts if we say: A social fact is every way of acting, fixed or not, capable of exercising on the individual an external constraint; or again, every way of acting which is general throughout a given society, while at the same time existing in its own right independent of its individual manifestations.'" [. . . ]
The Normal and the Pathological
If there is any fact whose pathological character appears incontestable, that fact is crime. All criminologists are agreed on this point. Although they explain this pathology differently, they are unanimous in recognizing it.
But let us see if this problem does not demand a more extended consideration. . . .
Crime is present not only in the majority of societies of one particular species but in all societies of all types. There is no society that is not confronted with the problem of criminality. Its form changes; the acts thus characterized are not the same everywhere; but. everywhere and always, there have been men who have behaved in such a way as to draw upon themselves penal repression. If, in proportion as societies pass from the lower to the higher types, the rate of criminality, i.e., the relation between the yearly number of crimes and the population, tended to decline, it might be believed that crime, while still normal, is tending to lose this character of normality. But we have no reason to believe that such a regression is substantiated. Many facts would seem rather to indicate a movement in the opposite direction. From the beginning of the [nineteenth] century, statistics enable us to follow the course of criminality. It has everywhere increased. In France the increase is nearly 300 per cent. There is, then, no phenomenon that presents more indisputably all the symptoms of normality, since it appears closely connected with the conditions of all collective life. To make of crime a form of social morbidity would be to admit that morbidity is not something accidental, but, on the contrary, that in certain cases it grows out of the fundamental constitution of the living organism; it would result in wiping out all distinction between the physiological and the pathological. No doubt it is possible that crime itself will have abnormal forms, as, for example, when its rate is unusually high. This excess is, indeed, undoubtedly morbid in nature. What is normal, simply, is the existence of crimi nality, provided that it attains and does not exceed, for each social type, a certain level, which it is perhaps not impossible to fix in conformity with the preceding rules."'
Here we are, then, in the presence of a conclusion in appearance quite paradoxical. Let us make no mistake. To classify crime among the phenomena of normal sociology is not to say merely that it is an inevitable, although regrettable phenomenon, due to the incorrigible wickedness of men; it is to affirm that it is a factor in public health, an
"'This close connection between life and structure, organ and function, may be easily proved in sociology because between these two extreme terms there exists a whole series of immediately observable intermediate stages which show the bond between them. Biology is not in the same favorable position. But we may well believe that the inductions on this subject made by sociology are applicable to biology and that, in organisms as well as in societies, only differences in degree exist between these two orders of facts.
iTFrom the fact that crime is a phenomenon of normal sociology, it does not follow that the criminal is an individual normally constituted from the biological and psychological points of view. The two questions are independent of each other. This independence will be better understood when we have shown, later on, the difference between psychological and sociological facts.
integral part of all healthy societies. This result is, at first »lance, surprising enough to have puzzled even ourselves for a long time. Once this first surprise has been overcome, however, it is not difficult to find reasons explaining this normality and at the same time confirming it.
In the first place crime is normal because a society exempt from it is utterly impossible. Crime, we have shown elsewhere, consists of an act that offends certain very strong collective sentiments. In a society in which criminal acts are no longer committed, the sentiments they offend would have to be found without exception in all individual consciousnesses, and they must be found to exist with the same degree as sentiments contrary to them. Assuming that this condition could actually be realized, crime would not thereby disappear; it would only change its form, for the very cause which would thus dry up the sources of criminality would immediately open up new ones.
Indeed, for the collective sentiments which are protected by the penal law of a people at a specified moment of its history to take possession of the public conscience or for them to acquire a stronger hold where they have an insufficient grip, they must acquire an intensity greater than that which they had hitherto had. The community as a whole must experience them more vividly, for it can acquire from no other source the greater force necessary to control these individuals who formerly were the most refractory. . . .
Imagine a society of saints, a perfect cloister ofexem-plary individuals. Crimes, properly so called, will there be unknown; but faults which appear venial to the layman will create there the same scandal that the ordinary offense does in ordinary consciousnesses. If, then, this society has the power to judge and punish, it will define these acts as criminal and will treat them as such. For the same reason, the perfect and upright man judges his smallest failings with a severity that the majority reserve for acts more truly in the nature of an offense. Formerly, acts of violence against persons were more frequent than they are today, because respect for individual dignity was less strong. As this has increased, these crimes have become more rare; and also, many acts violating this sentiment have been introduced into die penal law which were not included there in primitive times.1'
In order to exhaust all the hypotheses logically possible, it will perhaps be asked why this unanimity does not extend to all collective sentiments without exception. Why should not even the most feeble sentiment gather
enough energy to prevent all dissent? The moral consciousness of the society would be present in its entirety in all the individuals, which a vitality sufficient to prevent all acts offending it—the purely conventional faults as well as the crimes. But a uniformity so universal and absolute is utterly impossible: for the immediate physical milieu in which each one of us is placed, the hereditary antecedents, and the social influences vary from one individual to the next, and consequently diversify consciousnesses. It is impossible for all to be alike, if only because each one has his own organism and that these organisms occupy different areas in space. That is why, even among the lower peoples, where individual originality is very little developed, it nevertheless does exist.
Thus, since there cannot be a society in which the individuals do not differ more or less from the collective type, it is also inevitable that, among these divergences, there are some with a criminal character. What confers this character upon them is not the intrinsic quality of a given act but that definition which the collective conscience lends them. If the collective conscience is stronger, if it has enough authority practically to suppress these divergences, it will also be more sensitive, more exacting: and, reacting against the slightest deviations with the energy it otherwise displays only against more considerable infractions, it will attribute to them the same gravity as formerly to crimes. In other words, it will designate them as criminal.
Crime is, then, necessary: it is bound up with the fundamental conditions of all social life, and by that very fact it is useful, because these conditions of which it is a part are themselves indispensable to the normal evolution of morality and law.
Indeed, it is no longer possible today to dispute the fact that law and morality vary from one social type to the next, nor that they change within the same type if the conditions of life are modified. But, in order that these transformations may be possible, the collective sentiments at the basis of morality must not be hostile to change, and consequently must have but moderate energy. If they were too strong, they would no longer be plastic. Every pattern is an obstacle to new patterns, to the extent that the first pattern is inflexible. The better a structure is articulated, the more it offers a healthy resistance to all modification; and this is equally true of functional, as of anatomical, organization. If there were no crimes, this condition could not have been fulfilled; for such a hypothesis presupposes that collective sentiments
"Calumny, insults, slander, fraud, etc.
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have arrived at a degree of intensity unexampled in history. Nothing is good indefinitely and to an unlimited extent. The authority which the moral conscience enjoys must not be excessive; otherwise no one would dare criticize it, and it would too easily congeal into an immutable form. To make progress, individual originality must be able to express itself. In order that the originality of the idealist whose dreams transcend his century may find expression, it is necessary that the originality of the criminal, who is below the level of his time, shall also be possible. One does not occur without the other.
Nor is this all. Aside from this indirect utility, it happens that crime itself plays a useful roie in this evolution. Crime implies not only that the way remains open to necessary changes but that in certain cases it directly prepares these changes. Where crime exists, collective sentiments are sufficiently flexible to take on a new form, and crime sometimes helps to determine the form they will take. How many times, indeed, it is only an anticipation of future morality—a step toward what will be! According to Athenian law, Socrates was a criminal, and his condemnation was no more than just. However, his crime, namely, the independence of his thought,
rendered a service not only to humanity but to his country. It served to prepare a new morality and faith which the Athenians needed, since the traditions by which they had lived until then were no longer in harmony with the current conditions of life. Nor is the case of Socrates unique: it is reproduced periodically in history, ft would never have been possible to establish the freedom of thought we now enjoy if the regulations prohibiting it had not been violated before being solemnly abrogated. At that time, however, the violation was a crime, since it was an offense against sentiments still very keen in the average conscience. And yet this crime was useful as a prelude to reforms which daily became more necessary. Liberal philosophy had as its precursors the heretics of all kinds who were justly punished by secular authorities during the entire course of the Middle Ages and until the eve of modern times.
From this point of view the fundamental facts of criminality present themselves to us in an entirely new light. Contrary to current ideas, the criminal no longer seems a totally unsociable being, a sort of parasitic element, a strange and inassimilable body, introduced into the midst of society.''1 On the contrary, he plays a definite role in social life. . ..
small, traditional societies. In these ''simple" societies, circumstances compel individuals to be aeneralists involved in the production and distribution of a variety of goods. Indeed, in small, traditional societies, specialization in one task to the exclusion of others is not possible because the society depends upon each individual providing a host of contributions to the group. For instance, men, women, and children are often all needed to pick crops at harvest time, and all partake in the harvest time celebrations as well.
Dürkheim argued that a significant social consequence of the shared work experience characteristic of traditional societies is a shared collective conscience. People in traditional societies tend to feel "one and the same," and it is this feeling of "oneness" that is integral in the maintenance of social order.
Yet, Dürkheim saw that in large, complex societies, this type of solidarity was waning. In large, modern societies, labor is specialized; people do not necessarily all engage in the same work or share the same ideas and beliefs. For Dürkheim, organic solidarity refers to a type of solidarity in which each person is interdependent
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. t"iii>ji|4,vii,U*'
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Photo 3,1a Durkheim maintained that different types of society exhibit different types of solidarity. Mechanical solidarity, based on likeness, is characteristic of small, traditional societies, such as this village in Namibia (Africa).
mfs________
"We have ourselves committed the error of speaking thus of the criminal, because of a failure to apply our rule (Division du travail social, pp. 395-96).
Introduction to The Division of Labor in Society
In Durkheim's first major work, The Division of Labor in Society (1893), which was based on his doctoral dissertation, Durkheim explains how the division of labor (or specialization of tasks) characteristic of modern societies affects individuals as well as society as a whole. As you may recall, this issue had been of utmost concern to Marx as well. Marx contended that modern, competitive capitalism, and the specialized division of labor that sustained it, resulted in alienation. In contrast, Durkheim argued that economic specialization was not necessarily "bad" for either the individual or the society as a whole. Instead, he argued that an extensive division of labor could exist without necessarily jeopardizing the moral cohesion of a society or the opportunity for individuals to realize their interests.
How is this possible? Durkheim argued that there were two basic types of solidarity: mechanical and organic.1 Mechanical solidarity is typified by feelings of likeness. Mechanical solidarity is rooted in everyone doing/feeling the same thing. Durkheim maintained that this type of solidarity is characteristic of
'Durkheim's distinction between mechanical and organic solidarity was developed, in part, as a critical response to the work of the German sociologist Ferdinand Tonnies. In his boot Gemeinschaft mid Geseltschafi, Tonnies argued that simpler, traditional societies (Gemeinschaft) were mere "organic" and beneficial to the formation of social bonds. In contrast to Tonnics's conservative orientation, Durkheim contended that complex, modem societies were, in fact, more "organic" and thus desirable by promoting individual liberties within a context of morally binding, shared social obligations.
Photo 3.1 b Organic solidarity, based on specialization, is characteristic of large, modern industrial societies, such as Brasilia (Brazil).
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with others, forming a complex web of cooperative associations. In such situations, solidarity (or a feeling of "oneness") comes not from each person believing/doing the same thing, but from cultivating individual differences and knowing that each is doing her part for the good of the whole. Thus, Dürkheim argued that the increasing specialization and individuation so readily apparent in modem industrial societies does not necessarily result in a decline in social stability or cohesion. Rather, the growth in a society's density (the number of people living in a community) and consequent increasingly specialized division of labor can result in simply a different type of social cohesion.
Significantly, however, Dürkheim maintained that organic solidarity does not automatically emerge in modern societies. Rather, it arises only when the division of labor is "spontaneous" or voluntary. States Dürkheim, "For the division of labor to produce solidarity, it is not sufficient, then, that each have his task; it is still necessary that this task be fitting to him" ([1893] 1984:375). Moreover, a "normal" division of labor exists only when the specialization of tasks is not exaggerated. If the division of labor is pushed too far, there is a danger for the individual to become "isolated in his special activity." In such cases, the division of labor becomes "a source of disintegration" for both the individual and society (ibid.). The individual "no longer feels the idea of common work being done by those who work side by side with him" (ibid.). Meanwhile, a rigid division of labor can lead to "the institution of classes and castes . . . [which] is often a source of dissension" (ibid.:374). Dürkheim used the term anomie (a lack of moral regulation) to describe the "patho-losical" consequences of an overly specialized division of labor. This is an important concept to which we will shortly return.
Most interestingly, then, it is not that Dürkheim ignores the potentially harmful aspects of the division of labor in modern societies; on the contrary, Dürkheim acknowledges that the division of labor is problematic when it is "forced" and/or pushed to an extreme. This position offers an important similarity as well as difference to that offered by Marx. As we noted previously, Marx saw both alienation and class conflict as inevitable (or "normal") in capitalist societies. By contrast, rather than seeing social conflict as a "normal" condition of capitalism, Dürkheim maintained that anomie results only in "abnormal" conditions of ove/specialization, when the rules of capitalism become too rigid and individuals are "forced" into a particular position in the division of labor.
The Division of Labor in Society (1893)
Emile Dürkheim
Introduction: The Problem
The division of labor is not of recent origin, but it was only at the end of the eighteenth century that social cognizance was taken of the principle, though, until then, unwitting submission had been rendered to it. To be sure, several thinkers from earliest times saw its importance;' but Adam Smith was the first to attempt a
theory of it. Moreover, he adopted this phrase that social science later lent to biology.
Nowadays, the phenomenon has developed so generally it is obvious to all. We need have no further illusions about the tendencies of modern industry; it advances steadily towards powerful machines, towards great concentrations of forces and capital, and consequently to the extreme division of labor. Occupations
are infinitely separated and specialized, not only inside the factories, but each product is itself a specialty dependent upon others. Adam Smith and John Stuart Mill still hoped that agriculture, at least, would be an exception to the rule, and they saw it as the last resort of small-scale industry. Although one must be careful not to generalize unduly in such matters, nevertheless it is hard to deny today that the principal branches of the agricultural industry are steadily being drawn into the general movement. Finally, business itself is ingeniously following and reflecting in all its shadings the infinite diversity of industrial enterprises; and, while this evolution is realizing itself with unpremeditated spontaneity, the economists, examining its causes and appreciating its results, far from condemning or opposing it, uphold it as necessary, They see in it the supreme law of human societies and the condition of their progress. But the division of labor is not peculiar to the economic world; we can observe its growing influence in the most varied Fields of society. The political, administrative, and judicial functions are growing more and more specialized. It is the same with the aesthetic and scientific functions. It is long since philosophy reigned as the science unique; it has been broken into a multitude of special disciplines each of which has its object, method, and though. "Men working in the sciences have become increasingly more specialized.""
Mechanical Solidarity
We are now in a position to come to a conclusion.
The totality of beliefs and sentiments common to average citizens of the same society forms a determinate system which has its own life; one may call it the collective or common conscience. No doubt, it has not a specific organ as a substratum; it is, by definition, diffuse in every reach of society. Nevertheless, it has specific characteristics which make it a distinct reality. It is, in effect, independent of the particular conditions in which individuals are placed; they pass on and it
remains. It is the same in the North and in the South, in great cities and in small, in different professions. Moreover, it does not change with each generation, but, on the contrary, it connects successive generations with one another. It is, thus, an entirely different thing from particular consciences, although it can be realized only through them. It is the psychical type of society, a type which has its properties, its conditions of existence, its mode of development, just as individual types, although in a different way. Thus understood, it has the right to be denoted by a special word. The one which we have just employed is not, it is true, without ambiguity. As the terms, collective and social, are often considered synonymous, one is inclined to believe that the collective conscience is the total social conscience, that is, extend it to include more than the psychic life of society, although, particularly in advanced societies, it is only a very restricted part. Judicial, governmental, scientific, industrial, in short, all special functions are of a psychic nature, since they consist in systems of representations and actions. They, however, are surely outside the common conscience. To avoid the confusion1" into which some have fallen, the best way would be to create a technical expression especially to designate the totality of social similitudes. However, since the use of a new word, when not absolutely necessary, is not without inconvenience, we shall employ the well-worn expression, collective or common conscience, but we shall always mean the strict sense in which we have taken it.
We can, then, to resume the preceding analysis, say that an act is criminal when it offends strong and defined states of the collective conscience.'1'
The statement of this proposition is not generally called into question, but it is ordinarily given a sense very different from that which it ought to convey. We take it as if it expressed, not the essential property of crime, but one of its repercussions. We well know that crime violates very pervasive and intense sentiments, but we believe that this pervasiveness and this intensity derive from the criminal character of the act, which consequently remains to be defined. We do not deny
SOURCE: Reprinted and edited with the permission of The Free Press, a Division of Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group from The Division of Labor in Society by Emile Dürkheim, translated by George Simpson. Copyright © 1947, 1964 by the Free Press. All rights reserved. 'Aristotle, Nichomachean Ethics, E, 1133a, 16.
"De Candolle, Histoire des Sciences et des Savants, 2nd ed„ p. 263.
"'The confusion is not without its dangers. Thus, we sometimes ask if the individual conscience varies as the collective conscience. It all depends upon the sense in which the word is taken. If it represents social likenesses, the variation is inverse, as we shall see. If it signifies the total psychic life of society, the relation is direct. It is thus necessary to distinguish them.
"We shall not consider the question whether the collective conscience is a conscience as is that of the individual. By this term, we simply signify the totality of social likenesses, without prejudging the category by which this system of phenomena ought to be defined.
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that every delict is universally reproved, but we take as agreed that the reprobation to which it is subjected results from its delictness. But we are hard put to say what this delictness consists of. In immorality which is particularly serious? I wish such were the case, but that is to reply to the question by putting one word in place of another, for it is precisely the problem to understand what this immorality is. and especially this particular immorality which society reproves by means of organized punishment and which constitutes criminality. It can evidently come only from one or several characteristics common to all criminological types. The only one which would satisfy' this condition is that opposition between a crime, whatever it is, and certain collective sentiments. It is, accordingly, this opposition which makes crime rather than being a derivative of crime. In other words, we must not say that an action shocks the common conscience because it is criminal, but rather that it is criminal because it shocks the common conscience. We do not reprove it because it is a crime, but it is a crime because we reprove it. As for the intrinsic nature of these sentiments, it is impossible to specify them. They have the most diverse objects and cannot be encompassed in a single formula. We can say that they relate neither to vital interests of society nor to a minimum of justice. All these definitions are inadequate. By this alone can we recognize it: a sentiment, whatever its origin and end, is found in all consciences with a certain degree of force and precision, and every action which violates it is a crime. Contemporary psychology is more and more reverting to the idea of Spinoza, according to which things are good because we like them, as against our liking them because they are good. What is primary is the tendency, the inclination; the pleasure and pain are only derivative facts. It is just so in social life. An act is socially bad because society disproves of it. But, it will be asked, are there not some collective sentiments which result from pleasure and pain which society feels from contact with their ends? No doubt, but they do not all have this origin. A great many, if not the larger part, come from other causes. Everything that leads activity to assume a definite form can give rise to habits, whence result tendencies which must be satisfied. Moreover, it is these latter tendencies which alone are truly fundamental. The others are only special forms and more determinate. Thus, to find charm in such and such an object, collective sensibility must already be constituted so as to be able to enjoy it. If the
corresponding sentiments are abolished, the most harmful act to society will not only be tolerated, but even honored and proposed as an example. Pleasure is incapable of creating an impulse out of whole cloth; it can only link those sentiments which exist to such and such a particular end, provided that the end be in accord with their original nature., . .
Organic Solidarity
Since negative solidarity does not produce any integration by itself, and since, moreover, there is nothing specific about it, we shall recognize only two kinds of positive solidarity which are distinguishable by the following qualities:
1. The first binds the individual directly to society without any intermediary. In the second, he depends upon society, because he depends upon the parts of which it is composed.
2. Society is not seen in the same aspect in the two cases. In the first, what we call society is a more or less organized totality of beliefs and sentiments common to all the members of the group: this is the collective type. On the other hand, the society in which we are solitary in the second instance is a system of different, special functions which definite relations unite. These two societies really make up only one. They are two aspects of one and the same reality, but none the less they must be distinguished.
3. From this second difference there arises another which helps us to characterize and name the two kinds of solidarity.
The first can be strong only if the ideas and tendencies common to all the members of the society are greater in number and intensity than those which pertain personally to each member. St is as much stronger as the excess is more considerable. But what makes our personality is how much of our own individual qualities we have, what distinguishes us from others. This solidarity can grow only in inverse ratio to personality. There are in each of us, as we have said, two consciences: one which is common to our group in its entirety, which, consequently, is not ourself, but society living and acting within us; the other, on the contrary.
represents that in us which is personal and distinct, that which makes us an individua!.' Solidarity which comes from likenesses is at its maximum when die collective conscience completely envelops our whole conscience and coincides in all points with it. But, at thai moment, our individuality is nil. It can be born only if the community takes smaller toll of us. There are, here, two contrary forces, one centripetal, tire other centrifugal, which cannot flourish at the same time. We cannot, at one and the same time, develop ourselves in two opposite senses. If we have a lively desire to drink and act for ourselves, we cannot be strongly inclined to think and act as others do. If our ideal is to present a singular and personal appearance, we do not want to resemble everybody else. Moreover, at die moment when this solidarity exercises its force, our personality vanishes, as our definition permits us to say, for we are no longer ourselves, but the collective life.
The social molecules which can be coherent in this way can act together only in the measure that they have no actions of their own, as the molecules of inorganic bodies. That is why we propose to call this type of solidarity mechanical. The term does not signify that it is produced by mechanical and artificial means. We call it that only by analogy to the cohesion which unites the elements of an inanimate body, as opposed to that which makes a unity out of the elements of a living body. What justifies this term is that the link which thus unites the individual to society is wholly analogous to that which attaches a thing to a person. The individual conscience, considered in this light, is a simple dependent upon the collective type and follows all of its movements, as the possessed object follows those of its owner. In societies where this type of solidarity is highly developed, the individual does not appear, as we shall see later. Individuality is something which the society possesses. Thus, in these social types, personal rights are not yet distinguished from real rights.
It is quite otherwise with the solidarity which the division of labor produces. Whereas the previous type implies that individuals resemble each other, this type presumes their difference. The first is possible only in so far as the individual personality is absorbed into the collective personality: the second is possible only if each one has a sphere of action which is peculiar to him; that is, a personality. It is necessary, then, that the collective conscience leave open a part of the individual conscience
in order that special functions may be established there, functions which it cannot regulate. The more this region is extended, the stronger is the cohesion which results from this solidarity. In effect, on the one hand, each one depends as much more strictly on society as labor is more divided: and, on the other, the activity of each is as much more personal as it is more specialized. Doubtless, as circumscribed as it is, it is never completely original. Even in the exercise of our occupation, we conform to usages, to practices which are common to our whole professional brotherhood. But, even in this instance, the yoke that we submit to is much less heavy than when society completely controls us, and it leaves much more place open for the free play of our initiative. Here, then, the individuality of all grows at the same time as that of its parts. Society becomes more capable of collective movement, at the same time that each of its elements has more freedom of movement. This solidarity resembles that which we observe among the higher animals. Each organ, in effect, has its special physiognomy, its autonomy. And, moreover, the unity of the organism is as great as the individuation of the parts is more marked. Because of this analogy, we propose to call die solidarity which is due to the division of labor, organic. .. .
The Causes
We can then formulate the following proposition: The division of labor varies in direct ratio with the volume and density of societies, and, if it progresses in a continuous manner in the course of social development, it is because societies become regularly denser and generally more voluminous.
At all times, it is true, it has been well understood that there was a relation between these two orders of fact, for, in order that functions be more specialized, there must be more co-operators, and they must be related to co-operate. But, ordinarily, this state of societies is seen only as the means by which the division of labor develops, and not as the cause of its development. The latter is made to depend upon individual aspirations toward well-being and happiness, which can be satisfied so much better as societies are more extensive and more condensed. The law we have just established is quite otherwise. We say, not that the growth and
"However, these two consciences are not in regions geographically distinct from us. but penetrate from all sides.
condensation of societies permit, but that they necessitate a greater division oflabor. It is not an instrument by which the latter is realized; it is its determining cause."
The Forced Division of Labor
It is not sufficient that there be rules, however, for sometimes the rules themselves are the cause of evil. This is what occurs in class-wars. The institution of classes and of castes constitutes an organization of the division of labor, and it is a strictly regulated organization, although it often is a source of dissension. The lower classes not being, or no longer being, satisfied with the role which has devolved upon them from custom or by law aspire to functions which are closed to them and seek to dispossess those who are exercising these functions. Thus civil wars arise which are due to the manner in which labor is distributed.
There is nothing similar to this in the organism. No doubt, during periods of crises, the different tissues war against one another and nourish themselves at the expense of others. But never does one cell or organ seek to usurp a role different from the one which it is filling. The reason for this is that each anatomic element automatically executes its purpose. Its constitution, its place in the organism, determines its vocation; its task is a consequence of its nature. It can badly acquit itself, but it cannot assume another's task unless the latter abandons it, as happens in the rare cases of substitution that we have spoken of. It is not so in societies. Here the possibility is greater. There is a greater distance between the hereditary dispositions of the individual and the social function he will fill. The first do not imply the second with such immediate necessity. This space, open to striving and deliberation, is also at the mercy of a multitude of causes which can make individual nature deviate from its normal direction and create a pathological state. Because this organization is more supple, it is also more delicate and
more accessible to change. Doubtless, we are not, from birth, predestined to some special position; but we do have tastes and aptitudes which limit our choice. If no care is taken of them, if they are ceaselessly disturbed by our daily occupations, we shall suffer and seek a way of putting an end to our suffering. But there is no other way out than to change the established order and to set up a new one. For the division of labor to produce solidarity, it is not sufficient, then, that each have : his task; it is still necessary that this task be fitting to him. Now, it is this condition which is not realized in the case we are examining. In effect, if the institution : of classes or castes sometimes gives rise to anxiety and pain instead of producing solidarity, this is because the distribution of social functions on which it rests does not respond, or rather no longer responds, to the distri- : bution of natural talents. ...
Conclusion
But not only does the division oflabor present the character by which we have defined morality; it more and more tends to become the essential condition of social solidarity. As we advance in the evolutionary scale, the ties which bind the individual to his family, to his native soil, to traditions which the past has given to him. to collective group usages, become loose. More mobile, he changes his environment more easily, leaves his people to go elsewhere to live a more autonomous existence, to . a greater extent forms his own ideas and sentiments. Of course, the whole common conscience does not, on this account, pass out of existence. At least there will always remain this cult of personality, of individual dignity of which we have just been speaking, and which, today, is the rallying-point of so many people. But how little a thing it is when one contemplates the ever increasing extent of social life, and, consequently, of individual consciences! For, as they become more voluminous, as intelligence becomes richer, activity more varied, in
"On this point, we can still rely on Comte as authority. "I must," he said "now indicate the progressive condensation of our species as a last general concurrent element in regulating the effective speed of the social movement. We can first easily recognize that this influence contributes a great deal, especially in origin, in determining a mare special division of human labor, necessarily incompatible with a small number of co-operators. Besides, by a most intimate and little known property, although still most important, such a condensation stimulates directly, in a very powerful manner, the most rapid development of social evolution, either in driving individuals to new efforts to assure themselves by more refined means of an existence which otherwise would become more difficult, or by obliging society with more stubborn and better concentrated energy to fight more stiffly against the more powerful effort of particular divergences. Willi one and the other, we see dial it is not a question here of the absolute increase of the number ofindividuals, but especially of their more intense concourse in a given space." Cours. IV, p. 455.
order for morality to remain constant, that is to say, in order for the individual to remain attached to the group with a force equal to that of yesterday, the ties which bind him to it must become stronger and more numerous. If, then, he formed no others than those which come from resemblances, the effacement of the segmental type would be accompanied by a systematic debasement of morality. Man would no longer be sufficiently obligated; he would no longer feel about and above him this salutary pressure of society which moderates his egoism and makes him a moral being. This is what gives moral value to the division oflabor. Through it. the individual becomes cognizant of his dependence upon society; from it come the forces which keep him in check and restrain him. In short, since the division of labor becomes the chief source of social solidarity, it becomes, at the same time, the foundation of the moral order.
We can then say that, in higher societies, our duty is not to spread our activity over a large surface, but to concentrate and specialize it. We must contract our horizon, choose a definite task and immerse ourselves in it completely, instead of trying to make ourselves a sort of creative masterpiece, quite complete, which contains its worth in itself and not in the services that it renders. Finally, this specialization ought to be pushed as far as the elevation of the social type, without assigning any other limit to it.™ No doubt, we ought so to work as to realize in ourselves the collective type as it exists, There are common sentiments, common ideas, without which, as has been said, one is not a man. The rale which orders us to specialize remains limited by the contrary rule. Our conclusion is not that it is good to press specialization as far as possible, but as far as necessary. As for the part that is to be played by these two opposing necessities, that is determined by experience and cannot be calculated a priori. It is enough for us to have shown that the second is not of a different nature from the first, but that it also is moral, and that, moreover, this duty becomes ever more important and pressing, because the general
qualities which are in question suffice less and less to socialize the individual. . . .
Let us first of ail remark that it is difficult to see why it would be more in keeping with the logic of human nature to develop superficially rather than profoundly. Why would a more extensive activity, but more dispersed, be superior to a more concentrated, but circumscribed, activity? Why would there be more dignity in being complete and mediocre, rather than in living a more specialized, but more intense life, particularly if it is thus possible for us to find what we have lost in this specialization, through our association with other beings who have what we lack and who complete us? We take off from the principle that man ought to realize his nature as man, to accomplish his due-/"ov -'pyov, as Aristotle said. But this nature does not remain constant throughout history: it is modified with societies. Among lower peoples, the proper duty of man is to resemble his companions, to realize in himself all the traits of the collective type which are then confounded, much more than today, with the human type. But, in more advanced societies, his nature is. in large part, to be an organ of society, and his proper duty, consequently, is to play his role as an organ.
Moreover, far from being trammelled by the progress of specialization, individual personality develops with the division oflabor.
To be a person is to be an autonomous source of action. Man acquires this quality only in so far as there is something in him which is his alone and which individualizes him, as he is something more than a simple incarnation of the generic type of his race and his group. It will be said that he is endowed with free will and that is enough to establish his personality. But although there may be some of this liberty in him, an object of so many discussions, it is not this metaphysical, impersonal, invariable attribute which can serve as the unique basis for concrete personality, which is empirical and variable with individuals. That could not be constituted by the wholly abstract power of choice between two opposites, but it is still necessary for this faculty to be exercised
j v"There is, however, probably another limit which we do not have to speak of since it concerns individual hygiene. It may be
' held that, in the light of our organico-psychic constitution, the division of labor cannot go beyond a certain limit without dis-
■ f- orders resulting. Without entering upon the question, let us straightaway say that the extreme specialization at which biological
'f functions have arrived does not seem favorable to this hypothesis. Moreover, in the very order of psychic and social functions,
'. has not the division of labor, in its historical development, been carried to the last stage in the relations of men and women?
Have not there been faculties completely lost by both? Why cannot the same phenomenon occur between individuals of the * same sex? Of course, it takes time for the organism to adapt itself to these changes, but we do not see why a day should come
when this adaptation would become impossible.
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towards ends and aims which are proper to the agent. In other words, the very materials of conscience must have a personal character. But we have seen in the second book of this work that this result is progressively produced as the division of labor progresses. The effacement of the segmental type, at the same time that it necessitates a very great specialization, partially lifts the individual conscience from the organic environment which supports it, as from the
social environment which envelops it, and, accordingly, because of this double emancipation, the individual becomes more of an independent factor in his own conduct. The division of labor itself contributes to this enfranchisement, for individual natures, while specializing, become more complex, and by that are in part freed from collective action and hereditary influences which can only enforce themselves upon simple, general things. . . .
Introduction to Suicide
Suicide (1897) is both a theoretical and methodological exemplar. In this famous study, Dürkheim examines a phenomenon that most people think of as an intensely individual act—suicide—and demonstrates its social (rather than psychological) roots. His method for doing this is to analyze rales of suicide between societies and historical periods and between different social groups within the same society. By linking the different suicide rates of particular societies and social groups to the specific characteristics ofthat society/social group, Dürkheim not only demonstrates that individual pathologies are rooted in social conditions; in addition, Dürkheim shows how sociologists can scientifically study social behavior. His innovative examination of suicide rates lent credibility to his conviction that sociology should be considered a viable scientific discipline.
Most importantly, Dürkheim argues that the places with the highest rates of alcoholism and mental illness are not the areas with the highest suicide rates (thereby undermining the notion that it is pathological psychological states that are solely determinative of the individual act of suicide). Rather, Dürkheim maintains that suicide rates are highest in moments when, and in places where, individuals lack social and moral regulation and/or integration. In addition, as in his first book. The Division of Labor in Society, in Suicide Dürkheim was particularly interested in delineating the fundamental differences between traditional and modern societies, Dürkheim sought to explain why suicide is rare in small, simple societies while much more frequent in modern, industrial ones. Parallel to his argument in The Division of Labor in Society, Dürkheim argues that traditional and modern societies differ not only in their rates of suicide but in the types of suicide that are prevalent as well.
Specifically, Dürkheim saw two main characteristics of modern, industrial society: There was (1) a lack of integration of the individual in the social group and (2) a lack of moral regulation. Dürkheim used the term egoism to refer to the lack of integration of the individual in the social group. He used the term anomie to refer to a lack of moral regulation. Dürkheim argued that both of these conditions— egoism and anomie—are "chronic" in modern, industrial society; and in extreme, pathological form, both egoism and anomie can result in suicide. Let's look at these two different, albeit intimately interrelated, conditions in turn.
For Dürkheim, egoistic suicide results from a pathological weakening of the bonds between the individual and the social group. This lack of integration is evident statistically, in that there are higher rates of suicide among single, divorced, and widowed persons than among married persons and in that there are higher rates of suicide among married persons without children than there are among married persons with children. Additionally, Dürkheim argued that egoism helps explain why suicide rates are higher among Protestants than Catholics or Jews: Protestantism emphasizes an individual relationship
with God, which means that the individual is less bound to the religious clergy and members of the congregation. Interestingly, then, Dürkheim maintains that it is not Catholic doctrine that inhibits the act of suicide; rather, it is Catholics' social and spiritual bonds, their association with the priests, nuns, and other lay members of the congregation, that deters them from this act. Protestant rates of suicide are higher because Protestants are more morally and spiritually isolated than the more communally oriented jews and Catholics.
Dürkheim saw an increase in egoistic suicide as a "natural" outgrowth of the individuation of modern, industrial societies. For instance, today it is quite common—especially in big cities—for people to live alone. By contrast, in many traditional societies, it is virtually unheard of for anyone to live by himself or herself. Children live with parents until they get married; parents move in with children (or vice versa) if a spouse dies; unmarried siblings live with either parents or brothers and sisters. As we noted, Dürkheim argued that in its extreme form, the type of social isolation found in modern societies can be literally fatal.
Intertwined with a decrease in social integration in modern, industrial societies is a decrease in moral integration. Dürkheim used the term anomie to refer to this lack of moral regulation. Anomie suicide is the pathological result of a lack of moral direction, when one feels morally adrift. Dürkheim viewed modern societies as "chronically" anomie or characterized by a lack of regulation of the individual by : the collective.
Thus, for instance, modern industrial societies are religiously pluralistic, whereby people are more able to freely choose among a variety of religious faiths—or to choose not to "believe" at all. Similarly, today, many people choose to "identify"—or not—with a specific part of their ethnic heritage. That we spend much time and energy searching for "identity"—I'm a punk! I'm Irish!—reflects a lack of moral regulation. To be sure, there are many wonderful benefits from this increasing individuation that contrasts significantly from small, traditional, homogeneous societies in which "who" you are is taken for granted. In small, closed, indigenous societies without so many (or any) options, where there is one religion, one ethnic group, your place in that society is a cultural given—a "place" that may be quite oppressive. Not surprisingly, then, Dürkheim asserts that suppressing individuation also can produce pathological consequences (this point is discussed later).
The lack of moral regulation in modem societies is especially prevalent in times of intense social and personal change. During such periods, the authority of the family, the church, and the community may be challenged or questioned, and without moral guidance and authority, individuals may feel like they have no moral anchor. The pursuit of individual desires and goals can overtake moral concerns. However, Dürkheim maintains that anomie can result not only from "bad" social change, such as losing one's job, or political crisis, but from "positive" social change as well. Consider, for instance, what happens when someone wins the lottery. Most people think that if they were to win the lottery, they would experience only joy and happiness. Indeed, some people buy lottery tickets thinking, "If I win the 'big one,' all my problems will be solved!" However, Dürkheim contends that sudden life-changing events can bring on a battery of social and personal issues that one might not expect.
First, after winning the lottery, one might suddenly find oneself confronted with weighty existential issues. Before the lottery, you may have simply worked—and worked hard—because you needed to earn a living. But now that you've won the lottery, you don't know what to do. By not having to work, you might start thinking about such things as the meaning of life that you had never thought about before. This feeling that you don't know "what to do" and "how to act" is a state of anomie.
In addition, you might start to wonder how much friends and family should get from your winnings. You might begin to feel like everyone just wants your money and that it is hard to tell who likes you and who just likes your newfound fame and fortune. You might feel like you can't talk to your friends about your dilemma, that no one in your previous social circle really "understands" you anymore. You may begin to find that you can't relate to the people from your old socioeconomic class, but that you can't relate to anyone in your new class either, Thus, the sudden change brought about by winning the lottery
102 S. FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Emile Dürkheim (1S5S-I917) 1% 103
can lead not only to feeling morally "anchorless" (anomie) but also socially alone (egoism). A most? extreme outcome of feeling this ; moral and social isolation would be' suicide.
As we noted previously, Dürkheim argued that traditional and modem societies are rooted in different social conditions. Compared to modern S societies, social regulation is irr.cn-sive in traditional societies, thus limit-ing the development of individuality, y In extreme form, such restrictions can J lead to altruistic suicide, where an-3 individual gives his life for the social ' group. According to Dürkheim, this is: the primary type of suicide that occurs : in small, traditional societies where individuation is minimal. The classic;! type of altruistic suicide was the Aztecs' practice of human sacrifice,;í in which a person was literally sacrificed for the moral or spiritual benefit of the group.1
Today many sociologists find fault with Durkheim's distinction between "modern" and "traditional" societies. This binary opposition seems to be a function of the Eurocentrism of his day: Social scientists tended to imagine that their societies were extremely "complex," while "traditional" societies were just "simple." Indeed, "traditional" and "modern" societies may have more in common than Dürkheim let -on. The degree of integration of the individual into the collective social group is a complex process rather than a permanent state. For instance, even though Dürkheim saw altruistic suicide as more prevalent in "primitive" societies, sadly, it is far from absent in "modern" societies as well. Not unlike 1 • the altruistic suicides in primitive societies, modern-day wars and suicide bombings are carried out on the premise that sacrificing one's life is necessary for the fight to preserve or attain a sacred way of life for the group as a whole. Nowhere are the similarities between these expressions of altruistic suicide (soldiers, suicide bombers, and "primitive" human sacrifice) more readily apparent than in the tragic case of the Japanese kamikaze pilots of World War II. Shockingly, kamikaze flights were a principal tactic of Japan in the last year of the war.2
Suicide: A Study in Sociology (1897)
■i
Photo 3.2   In a modern-day incident af altruistic suicide, a number of South Vietnamese Buddhist monks used seif-immolation to protest the persecution of the country's majority Buddhist population at the hands of the Catholic president, Mgo Dinh Diem. Here, Quang Due burns himself to death on a Saigon street, June 11, 1963.
'Dürkheim briefly mentioned another type of suicide prevalent in "primitive" societies—"fatalistic suicide." For Dürkheim, fatalistic suicide was rooted in hopelessness—the hopelessness of oppressed people, such as slaves, who had not even the slightest chance of changing their personal situation.
-In October 1944, some 1,200 kamikaze (which means "god-wind") plunged to their deaths in on attack on a U.S. naval fleet in the Leyte Gulf in the Philippines. Six months later, some 1,900 kamikaze dove !o their deaths in the battle of Okinawa, resulting in the death of more than 5,000 American sailors. Most of those involved were men in their teens or early 20s; they were said to have gone to their deaths "joyfully," having followed specific rituals of cleanliness, and equipped with books with uplifting thoughts to "transcend life and death" and "Be always pure-hearted and cheerful" (Daniel Ford, "Review of Kamikaze: Japan s Suicide Gods," by Albert Axell and Hideaki Kase, Wall Street Journal, September 10, 2002).
Emile Dürkheim
Anomtc Suicide
But society is not only something attracting the sentiments and activities of individuals with unequal force. It is also a power controlling them. There is a relation between the way this regulative action is performed and the social suicide-rate.
I
It is a well-known fact that economic crises have an aggravating effect on the suicidal tendency. . . .
In Vienna, in 1873 a financial crisis occurred which reached its height in 1874; the number of suicides immediately rose. From 141 in 1872, they rose to 153 in 1873 and 216 in 1874. The increase in 1874 is 53 per cent' above 1872 and 41 per cent above 1873. What proves this catastrophe to have been the sole cause of the increase is the special prominence of the increase when the crisis was acute, or during the first four months of 1874. From January 1 to April 30 there had been 48 suicides in 1871, 44 in 1872, 43 in 1873; there were 73 in 1874. The increase is 70 per cent." The same crisis occurring at the same time in Frankfurt-on-Main produced the same effects there. In the years before 1874, 22 suicides were committed annually on the average; in 1874 there were 32, or 45 per cent more. . . .
The famous crash is unforgotten which took place on the Pans Bourse during the winter of 1882. Its consequences were felt not only in Paris but throughout France. From 1874 to 1886 the average annual increase was only 2 per cent; in 1882 it was 7 per cent. Moreover, it was unequally distributed among the different times of year, occurring principally during the first three months or at the very time of the crash. Within these three months alone 59 per cent of the total rise occurred. So
distinctly is the rise the result of unusual circumstances that it not only is not encountered in 1881 but has disappeared in 1883, although on the whole the latter year had a few more suicides than the preceding one:
Annual Total
First Three Months :
<SŘ_ __ _ §r
6,741 7,213 (plus 7%) 7,267 1,589     ' 1,7-70 (plus :1:1 %>.■".■ :. 1,604
This relation is found not only in some exceptional cases, but is the rule. The number of bankruptcies is a barometer of adequate sensitivity, reflecting the variations of economic life. When they increase abruptly from year to year, some serious disturbance has certainly occurred. From 1845 to 1869 there were sudden rises, symptomatic of crises, on three occasions. While the annual increase in the number of bankruptcies during this period is 3.2 per cent, it is 26 per cent in 1847, 37 per cent in 1854 and 20 per cent in 1861. At these three moments, there is also to be observed an unusually rapid rise in the number of suicides. While the average annual increase during these 24 years was only 2 per cent, it was 17 per cent in 1847, 8 per cent in 1854 and 9 per cent in 1861.
But to what do these crises owe their influence? Is it because they increase poverty by causing public wealth to fluctuate? Is life more readily renounced as it becomes more difficult? The explanation is seductively simple; and it agrees with the popular idea of suicide. But it is contradicted by facts.
Actually, if voluntary deaths increased because life was becoming more difficult, they should diminish perceptibly as comfort increases. Now, although when the price of the most necessary foods rises excessively, suicides generally do the same, they are not found to
SOURCE: Reprinted with the permission of The Free Press, a Division of Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group from Suicide: A Study in Sociology by Emile Dürkheim, translated by John A. Spaulding and George Simpson. Edited by George Simpson. Copyright © 1951 by The Free Press. Copyright renewed © 1979 by The Free Press. All rights reserved.
'Dürkheim incorrectly gives this figure as 51 per cent.—Ed.
"In 1874 over 1S73.—-Ed.
104 SI FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Entile Dnrklwim (1858-1917) !1 105
fall below the average in the opposite case. In Prussia, in IS50 wheat was quoted at the lowest point it reached during the entire period of 1848-81; it was at 6.91 marks per 50 kilograms; yet at this very time suicides rose from 1,527 where they were in 1849 to 1,736, or an increase of 13 per cent, and continued to increase during the years 1851, 1852 and 1S53 although the cheap market held. In 1S58-59 a new fall took place; yet suicides rose from 2,03S in 1857 to 2,126 in 1858, and to 2,146 in 1859. From 1863 to 1866 prices which had reached 11.04 marks in 1861 fell progressively to 7.95 marks in 1864 and remained very reasonable for the whole period; suicides during the same time increased 17 per cent (2,112 in 1862, 2,485 in 1866).Mi Similar facts are observed in Bavaria. According to a curve constructed by Mayriv for the period 1835-61, the price of rye was lowest during the years 1857-58 and 1858-59; now suicides, which in 1857 numbered only 286, rose to 329 in 1858, to 387 in 1859. The same phenomenon had already occurred during the years 1848-50; at that time wheat had been very cheap in Bavaria as well as throughout Europe. Yet, in spite of a slight temporary drop due to political events, which we have mentioned, suicides remained at (lie same level. There were 217 in 1847, there were still 215 in 1848, and if they dropped for a moment to 189 in 1849, they rose again in 1850 and reached 250.
So far is the increase in poverty from causing the increase in suicide that even fortunate crises, the effect of which is abruptly to enhance a country's prosperity, affect suicide like economic disasters... .
The conquest of Rome by Victor-Emmanuel in 1870, by definitely forming the basis of Italian unity, was the starting point for the country of a process of growth which is making it one of the great powers of Europe. Trade and industry received a sharp stimulus from it and surprisingly rapid changes took place. Whereas in 1876, 4,459 steam boilers with a total of 54,000 horse-power were enough for industrial needs, the number of machines in 1887 was 9,983 and their horse-power of 167,000 was threefold more. Of course the amount of production rose proportionately during
the same time." Trade followed the same rising course: not only did the merchant marine, communications and transportation develop, but the number of persons an J things transported doubled." As this generally heightened activity caused an increase in salaries (an increasj of 35 per cent is estimated to have taken place from 187. to 18S9), the material comfort of workers rose, especial!. since the price of bread was falling at the same time."1 Finally, according to calculations by Bodio, private wealth rose from 45 and a half billions on the average during the period 1875-80 to 51 billions during the years 1880-85 and 54 billions and a half in 1885-907*'
Now, an unusual increase in the number of suicides is observed parallel with this collective renaissance. From 1866 to 1870 they were roughly stable; from 1871 to 1877 they increased 36 per cent. There were in
year
1867. which immediately followed victory, was
1864-70 ■ ■	;-.. 29 suicides per million-:.
1871 .	.;   31 suicides per million '
1872;V	■. .13 suicides'per.milliorr ■
1873 V.	.-:36-5uii;ides per million ■:.
1874.. :y	'::: 37 suicide* jrer million'
1375 .	--. .  34 suicides per million ;
1076 - :'\Y	.:. 365 sujcide'5 per million'
1877	7- 40.6 suicides per million;
And since then the movement has continued. The total figure, 1,139 in 1877, was 1,463 in 1889, a new increase of 28 per cent.
In Prussia the same phenomenon occurred on two occasions. In 1866 the kingdom received a first enlargement. It annexed several important provinces, while becoming the head of the Confederation of the North. Immediately this growth in glory and power was accompanied by a sudden rise in the number of suicides. There had been 123 suicides per million during the period 1856-60 per average year and only 122 during the years 1861-65. In the five years, 1866-70, in spite of the drop in 1870, the average rose to 133. The
'"See Starck, Verbrechen und Vergehen in Prettssen, Berlin, 1S84, p, 55. "Die Gesetzmässigkeit im Gesellschaftsleben, p. 345.
'See Fornasari di Verce, La criminalita e le vicende economiche d'llalia, Turin 1894 nn 7783 "Ibid., pp. 108-117.
"Ibid., pp. 86-104.
""The increase is less during the period 18S5-90 because of a financial crisis.
■that in which suicide achieved the highest point it had reached since 1816 (1 suicide per 5,432 inhabitants, while in 1864 there was only one case per 8,739). : On the morrow of the war of 1870 a new accession ;0f oood fortune took place. Germany was unified and placed entirely under Prussian hegemony. An enormous war indemnity added to the public wealth; commerce and industry made great strides. The development of suicide was never so rapid. From 1875 to 1886 it increased 90 per cent, from 3,278 cases to 6,212.
World expositions, when successful, are considered favorable events in the existence of a society. They stimulate business, bring more money into the country and are thought to increase public prosperity, especially in the city where they take place. Yet, quite possibly, they ultimately take their toll in a considerably higher number of suicides. Especially does this seem to have been true of the Exposition of 1878. The rise that year . was the highest occurring between 1874 and 1886. It was 8 per cent, that is, higher than the one caused by the crash of 1882. And what almost proves the Exposition to have been the cause of this increase is that 86 per cent of it took place precisely during the six months of the Exposition.
In 1889 things were not identical all over France. But quite possibly the Boulanger crisis neutralized the contrary effects of the Exposition by its depressive influence on the growth of suicides. Certainly at Paris, although the political feeling aroused must have had the same effect as in the rest of the country, things happened as in 1878. For the 7 months of the Exposition, suicides increased almost 10 per cent, 9.66 to be exact, while through the remainder of the year they were below what they had been in .1888 and what they afterwards were in 1890.
It may well be that but for the Boulanger influence the rise would have been greater.
The seven months of .-■the Exposition
The five other months
m
517 319
567 540
311
356
What proves still more conclusively that economic distress does not have the aggravating influence often attributed to it, is that it tends rather to produce the opposite effect. There is very little suicide in Ireland, where the peasantry leads so wretched a life. Poverty-stricken Calabria has almost no suicides; Spain has a tenth as many as France. Poverty may even be considered a protection. In the various French departments the more people there are who have independent means, the more numerous are suicides. . . .
If therefore industrial or financial crises increase suicides, this is not because they cause poverty, since crises of prosperity have the same result; it is because they are crises, that is, disturbances of the collective order.LX Every disturbance of equilibrium, even though it achieves greater comfort and a heightening of general vitality, is an impulse to voluntary death. Whenever serious readjustments take place in the social order, whetheror not due to a sudden growth or to an unexpected catastrophe, men are more inclined to self-destruction. How is this possible? How can something considered generally to improve existence serve to detach men from it?
II
No living being can be happy or even exist unless his needs are sufficiently proportioned to his means. In other words, if his needs require more than can be granted, or even merely something of a different sort, they will be under continual friction and can only function painfully. Movements incapable of production without pain tend not to be reproduced. Unsatisfied tendencies atrophy, and as the impulse to live is merely the result of all the rest, it is bound to weaken as the others relax.
In the animal, at least in a normal condition, this equilibrium is established with automatic spontaneity because the animal depends on purely material conditions. All the organism needs is that the supplies of substance and energy constantly employed in the vital process should be periodically renewed by equivalent quantities; that replacement be equivalent to use. When the void created by existence in its own resources is
"To prove that an increase in prosperity diminishes suicides, the attempt has been made to show that they become less when emigration, the escape-valve of poverty, is widely practiced (See Legoyt, pp. 257-259). But cases are numerous where parallelism instead oi'inverse proportions exist between the two. In Italy from 1 876 to 1890 the number of emigrants rose from 76 per 100,000 inhabitants lo 335. a figure itself exceeded between 1887 and 1SS9. At the same time suicides did not cease to grow in nnumbers.
Entile Dnrkheim (1858-1917) II 107
_____.        __.__,    j|^M.M^4_£fei _ _
■ill
From 48 to 43 From 3B to 31 From 30 to 24 From 23 to 18 From 17 to 13 From 12 to 8 From 7 to 3
J2ffiSteS/_I^MMi,',.s_L .
5
•    -'6 ■
- ...     .... 15   ., . ■
18
■    ■ 1G 10
127 ■73 69 59 ' 49 ■ 49 42
filled, the animal, satisfied, asks nothing further. Its power of reflection is not sufficiently developed to imagine other ends than those implicit in its physical nature. On the other hand, as the work demanded of each organ itself depends on the general state of vital energy and the needs of organic equilibrium, use is regulated in turn by replacement and the balance is automatic. The limits of one are those of the other; both are fundamental to the constitution of the existence in question, which cannot exceed them.
This is not the case with man, because most of his needs are not dependent on his body or not to the same degree. Strictly speaking, we may consider that the quantity of material supplies necessary to the physical maintenance of a human life is subject to computation, though this be less exact than in the preceding case and a wider margin left for the free combinations of the will; for beyond the indispensable minimum which satisfies nature when instinctive, a more awakened reflection suggests better conditions, seemingly desirable ends craving fulfillment. Such appetites, however, admittedly sooner or later reach a limit which they cannot pass. But bow determine the quantity of well-being, comfort or luxury legitimately to be craved by a human being? Nothing appears in man's organic nor in his psychological constitution which sets a limit to such tendencies. The functioning of individual life does not require them to cease at one point rather than at another; the proof being that they have constantly increased since the beginnings of history, receiving more and more complete satisfaction, yet with no weakening of average health. Above all, how establish their proper variation with different conditions of life, occupations, relative importance of services, etc.? In no society are they equally satisfied in the different stages of the social
hierarchy. Yet human nature is substantially the same among all men, in its essential qualities. It is not human nature which can assign the variable limits necessary to ■ our needs. They are thus unlimited so far as they depend on the individual alone. Irrespective of any external regulatory force, our capacity for feeling is in itself an insatiable and bottomless abyss.
But if nothing external can restrain this capacity, it can only be a source of torment to itself. Unlimited desires are insatiable by definition and insatiability is rightly considered a sign of morbidity. Being unlimited, they . constantly and infinitely surpass the means at their command: they cannot be quenched. Inextinguishable thirst is constantly renewed torture. It has been claimed, indeed, that human activity naturally aspires beyond assignable limits and sets itself unattainable goals. But how can such an undetermined state be any more reconciled with the conditions of mental life than with the demands of physical life? All man's pleasure in acting, moving and exerting himself implies the sense that his efforts are not in vain and that by walking he has advanced. However, one does not advance when one walks toward no goal, or—which is the same thing— when his goal is infinity. Since the distance between us and it is always the same, whatever road we take, we might as well have made the motions without progress from the spot. Even our glances behind and our feeling of pride at the distance covered can cause only deceptive satisfaction, since the remaining distance is not proportionately reduced. To pursue a goal which is by definition unattainable is to condemn oneself to a state of perpetual unhappiness. Of course, man may hope contrary to all reason, and hope has its pleasures even when unreasonable. It may sustain him for a time: but it cannot survive the repeated disappointments of experience indefinitely.
What more can the future offer him than the past, since Tie can never reach a tenable condition nor even approach the glimpsed ideal? Thus, the more one has. the more one ■"\vants. since satisfactions received only stimulate instead of filling needs. Shall action as such be considered agreeable? First, only on condition of blindness to its useless-ness. Secondly, for this pleasure to be felt and to temper and half veil the accompanying painful unrest, such unending motion must at least always be easy and unhampered. If it is interfered with only restlessness is left, with the lack of ease which it, itself, entails. But it would be a miracle if no insurmountable obstacle were never encountered. Our thread of life on these conditions is pretty thin, breakable at any instant.
To achieve any other result, the passions first must be limited. Only then can they be harmonized with the faculties and satisfied. But since the individual has no way of limiting them, this must be done by some force exterior to him. A regulative force must play the same role for moral needs which the organism plays for physical needs. This means that the force can only be moral. The awakening of conscience interrupted the state of equilibrium of the animal's dormant existence: only conscience, therefore, can furnish the means to re-establish it. Physical restraint would be ineffective; hearts cannot be touched by physio-chemical forces. So far as the appetites are not automatically restrained by physiological mechanisms, they can be halted only by a limit that they recognize as just. Men would never consent to restrict their desires if they felt justified in passing the assigned limit. But. for reasons given above, they cannot assign themselves this law of justice. So they must receive it from an authority which they respect, to which they yield spontaneously. Either directly and as a whole or through the agency of one of its organs, society alone can play this moderating role; for it is the only moral power superior to the individual, the authority of which he accepts. Ft alone has the power necessary to stipulate law and to set the point beyond which the passions must not go. Finally, it alone can estimate the reward to be prospectively offered to every class of human functionary, in the name of the common interest.
As a matter of fact, at every moment of history there is a dim perception, in the moral consciousness of societies, of the respective value of different social services, the relative reward due to each, and the consequent
degree of comfort appropriate on the average to workers in each occupation. The different functions are graded in public opinion and a certain coefficient of well-being assigned to each, according to its place in the hierarchy. According to accepted ideas, for example, a certain way of living is considered the upper limit to which a workman may aspire in his efforts to improve his existence, and there is another limit below which he is not willingly permitted to fall unless he has seriously bemeaned himself. Both differ for city and country workers, for the domestic servant and the day-laborer, for the business clerk and the official, etc. Likewise the man of wealth is reproved if he lives the life of a poor man, but also if he seeks the refinements of luxury overmuch. Economists may protest in vain; public feeling will always be scandalized if an individual spends too much wealth for wholly superfluous use, and it even seems that this severity relaxes only in times of moral disturbance.* A genuine regimen exists, therefore, although not always legally formulated, which fixes with relative precision the maximum degree of ease of living to which each social class may legitimately aspire. However, there is nothing immutable about such a scale. It changes with the increase or decrease of collective revenue and the changes occurring in the moral ideas of society. Thus what appears luxury to one period no longer does so to another; and the welt-being which for long periods was granted to a class only by exception and supererogation, finally appears strictly necessary and equitable.
Under this pressure, each in his sphere vaguely realizes the extreme limit set to his ambitions and aspires to nothing beyond. At least if he respects regulations and is docile to collective authority, that is, has a wholesome moral constitution, he feels that it is not well to ask more. Thus, an end and goal are set to the passions. Truly, there is nothing rigid nor absolute about such determination. The economic ideal assigned each class of citizens is itself confined to certain limits, within which the desires have free range. But it is not infinite. This relative limitation and the moderation it involves, make men contented with their lot while stimulating them moderately to improve it; and this average contentment causes the feeling of calm, active happiness, the pleasure in existing and living which characterizes health for societies as well as for individuals. Each person is then at least, generally speaking, in harmony with
"Actually, this is a purely moral reprobation and can hardly be judicially implemented. We do not consider any reestablishment of sumptuary laws desirable or even possible.
108
FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Emile Dürkheim (1858-1917) 5! i 09
his condition, and desires only what he may legitimately hope for as the normal reward of his activity. Besides, this does not condemn man to a sort ofimmobility. He may seek to give beauty to his life; but his attempts in this direction may fail without causing him to despair. For, loving what he has and not fixing his desire solely on what he lacks, his wishes and hopes may fail of what he has happened to aspire to, without his being wholly destitute. He has the essentials. The equilibrium of his happiness is secure because it is defined, and a few mishaps cannot disconcert him.
But it would be of little use for everyone to recognize the justice of the hierarchy of functions established by public opinion, if he did not also consider the distribution of these functions just. The workman is not in harmony with his social position if he is not convinced that he has his deserts. If he feels justified in occupying another, what he has would not satisfy him. So it is not enough for the average level of needs for each social condition to be regulated by public opinion, but another, more precise rule, must fix the way in which these conditions are open to individuals. There is no society in which such regulation does not exist. It varies with times and places. Once it regarded birth as the almost exclusive principle of social classification; today it recognizes no other inherent inequality than hereditary fortune and merit. But in all these various forms its object is unchanged. It is also only possible, everywhere, as a restriction upon individuals imposed by superior authority, that is, by collective authority. For it can be established only by requiring of one or another group of men, usually of all, sacrifices and concessions in the name of the public interest.
Some, to be sure, have thought that this moral pressure would become unnecessary if men's economic circumstances were only no longer determined by heredity. If inheritance were abolished, the argument runs, if everyone began life with equal resources and if the competitive struggle were fought out on a basis of perfect equality, no one could think its results unjust. Each would instinctively feel that things are as they should be.
Truly, the nearer this ideal equality were approached, the less social restraint will be necessary. But it is only a matter of degree. One sort of heredity will always exist, that of natural talent. Intelligence, taste, scientific, artistic, literary or industrial ability, courage and manual dexterity are gifts received by each of us at birth, as the heir to wealth receives his capital or as the nobleman formerly received his title and function. A moral discipline will therefore still be required to make those less
favored by nature accept the lesser advantages which they owe to the chance of birth. Shall it be demanded that all have an equal share and that no advantage be given those more useful and deserving? But then there would have to be a discipline far stronger to make Uiese accept a treatment merely equal to that of the mediocre and incapable.
But like the one first mentioned, this discipline can be useful only if considered just by the peoples subject to it. When it is maintained only by custom and force, peace and harmony are illusory; the spirit of unrest and discontent are latent; appetites superficially restrained are ready to revolt. This happened in Rome and Greece when the faiths underlying the old organization of the patricians and plebeians were shaken, and in our modern societies when aristocratic prejudices began to lose their old ascendancy. But this state of upheaval is exceptional; it occurs only when society is passing through some abnormal crisis. In normal conditions the collec-. tive order is regarded as just by the great majority of persons. Therefore, when we say that an authority is necessary to impose this order on individuals, we certainly do not mean that violence is the only means of establishing it. Since this regulation is meant to restrain individual passions, it must come from a power which dominates individuals; but this power must also be obeyed through respect, not fear.
It is not true, that human activity can be released from all restraint. Nothing in the world can enjoy such a privilege. All existence being a part of the universe is relative to the remainder; its nature and method of manifestation accordingly depend not only on itself but on other beings, who consequently restrain and regulate it. Here there are only differences of degree and form between the mineral realm and the thinking person. Man's characteristic privilege is that the bond he accepts is not physical but moral; that is, social. He is governed not by a material environment brutally imposed on him, but by a conscience superior to his own, the superiority of which he feels. Because the greater, better part of his existence transcends the body, he escapes the body's yoke, but is subject to that of society.
But when society is disturbed by some painful crisis or by beneficent but abrupt transitions, it is momentarily incapable of exercising this influence; thence come the sudden rises in the curve of suicides which we have pointed out above.
In the case of economic disasters, indeed, something like a declassification occurs which suddenly casts certain individuals into a lower state than their previous
{ 0„ei Then they must reduce their requirements, restrain
I [j^jf needs, learn greater self-control. All the advan-
• tages °f socia' influence are lost so far as they are con-
I cerned; their moral education has to be recommenced.
I But society cannot adjust them instantaneously to this
i new life and teach them to practice the increased self-
'' repression to which they are unaccustomed. So they are
1 not adjusted to the condition forced on them, and its
very prospect is intolerable; hence the suffering which "i detaches them from a reduced existence even before
l they have made trial of it.
| It is the same if the source of the crisis is an abrupt
| growth of power and wealth. Then, truly, as the condi-
I tions of life are changed, the standard according to which
t needs were regulated can no longer remain the same; for < it varies with social resources, since it largely determines
!■ the share of each class of producers. The scale is upset;
but a new scale cannot be immediately improvised. Time j is required for the public conscience to reclassify men
f-' and things. So long as the social forces thus freed have
j not regained equilibrium, their respective values are
T unknown and so all regulation is lacking for a time. The J limits are unknown between the possible and the impos-| sible, what is just and what is unjust, legitimate claims { and hopes and those which are immoderate. Consequently.
? there is no restraint upon aspirations. If the disturbance is profound, it affects even the principles controlling the distribution of men among various occupations. Since the relations between various parts of society are necessarily modified, the ideas expressing these relations must change. Some particular class especially favored by the - > crisis is no longer resigned to its former lot, and, on the other hand, the example of its greater good fortune arouses all sorts of jealousy below and about it. Appetites, not being controlled by a public opinion become disoriented, no longer recognize the limits proper to them. Besides, they are at the same time seized by a sort of natural erethism simply by the greater intensity of public | life. With increased prosperity desires increase. At the
j very moment when traditional rules have lost their | authority, the richer prize offered these appetites stimu-4> lates them and makes them more exigent and impatient ! of control. The state of de-regulation or anomy is thus
! further heightened by passions being less disciplined,
t        precisely when they need more disciplining.
But then their very demands make fulfillment impos-1        sible. Overweening ambition always exceeds the results obtained, great as they may be, since there is no warning i        to pause here. Nothing gives satisfaction and all this agitation is uninterruptedly maintained without appeasement.
Above all, since this race for an unattainable goal can give no other pleasure but that of the race itself, if it is one, once it is interrupted the participants are left empty-handed. At the same time the struggle grows more violent and painful, both from being less controlled and because competition is greater. All classes contend among themselves because no established classification any longer exists. Effort grows, just when it becomes less productive. How could the desire to live not be weakened under such conditions?
This explanation is confirmed by the remarkable immunity of poor countries. Poverty protects against suicide because it is a restraint in itself. No matter how one acts, desires have to depend upon resources to some extent; actual possessions are partly the criterion of those aspired to. So the less one has the less he is tempted to extend the range of his needs indefinitely. Lack of power, compelling moderation, accustoms men to it, while nothing excites envy if no one has superfluity. Wealth, on the other hand, by the power it bestows, deceives us into believing that we depend on ourselves only. Reducing the resistance we encounter from objects, it suggests the possibility of unlimited success against them. The less limited one feels, the more intolerable all limitation appears. Not without reason, therefore, have so many religions dwelt on the advantages and moral value of poverty. It is actually the best school for teaching self-restraint. Forcing us to constant self-discipline, it prepares us to accept collective discipline with equanimity, while wealth, exalting the individual, may always arouse the spirit of rebellion which is the very source of immorality. This, of course, is no reason why humanity should not improve its material condition. But though the moral danger involved in every growth of prosperity is not irremediable, it should not be forgotten.
Ill
If anomy never appeared except, as in the above instances, in intermittent spurts and acute crisis, it might cause the social suicide-rate to vary from time to time, but it would not be a regular, constant factor. In one sphere of social life, however—the sphere of trade and industry—it is actually in a chronic state.
For a whole century, economic progress has mainly consisted in freeing industrial relations from all regulation. Until very recently, it was the function of a whole system of moral forces to exert this discipline. First, the influence of religion was felt alike by workers and masters,
110 11 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
EntileDurklmm (1858-1917) Si 111
the poor and the rich. It consoled the former and taught them contentment with their lot by informing them of the providential nature of the social order, that the share of each class was assigned by God himself, and by holding out the hope for just compensation in a world to come in return for the inequalities of this world. It governed the latter, recalling that worldly interests are not man's entire lot. that they must be subordinate to other and higher interests, and that they should therefore not be pursued without rule or measure. Temporal power, in turn, restrained the scope of economic functions by its supremacy over them and by the relatively subordinate role it assigned them. Finally, within the business world proper, the occupational groups by regulating salaries, the price of products and production itself indirectly fixed the average level of income on which needs are partially based by the very force of circumstances. However, we do not mean to propose this organization as a model. Clearly it would be inadequate to existing societies without great changes. What we stress is its existence, the fact of its useful influence, and that nothing today has come to take its place.
Actually, religion has lost most of its power. And government, instead of regulating economic life, has become its tool and servant. The most opposite schools, orthodox economists and extreme socialists, unite to reduce government to the role of a more or less passive intermediary among the various social functions. The former wish to make it simply the guardian of individual contracts; the latter leave it the task of doing the collective bookkeeping, that is, of recording the demands of consumers, transmitting them to producers, inventorying the total revenue and distributing it according to a fixed formula. But both refuse it any power to subordinate other social organs to itself and to make them converge toward one dominant aim. On both sides nations are declared to have the single or chief purpose of achieving industrial prosperity; such is the implication of the dogma of economic materialism, the basis of both apparently opposed systems. And as these theories merely express the state of opinion, industry, instead of being still regarded as a means to an end transcending itself, has become the supreme end of individuals and societies alike. Thereupon the appetites thus excited have become freed of any limiting authority. By sanctifying them, so to speak, this apotheosis of well-being has placed them above all human law. Their restraint seems like a sort of sacrilege. For this reason, even the purely utilitarian regulation of them exercised by the industrial world itself through the medium of occupational groups has been unable to persist. Ultimately, this
liberation of desires has been made worse by the very development of industry and the almost infinite extension of the market. So long as the producer could gain his profits only in his immediate neighborhood, the restricted amount of possible gain could not much over-excite ambition. Now that he may assume to have almost the entire world as his customer, how could pas- -sions accept their former confinement in the face of such limitless prospects'?
Such is the source of the excitement predominating in..: this part of society, and which has thence extended to the other parts. There, the state of crisis and anomy is constant and, so to speak, normal. From top to bottom of the : ladder, greed is aroused without knowing where to find ultimate foothold. Nodiing can calm it, since its goal is"' far beyond all It can attain. Reality seems valueless by comparison with the dreams of fevered imaginations; -reality is therefore abandoned, but so too is possibility abandoned when it in turn becomes reality. A thirst-arises for novelties, unfamiliar pleasures, nameless sensations, all of which lose their savor once known; Henceforth one has no strength to endure the least reverse. The whole fever subsides and the sterility of all. the tumult is apparent, and it is seen that all these new sensations in their infinite quantity cannot form a solid foundation of happiness to support one during days of", trial. The wise man, knowing how to enjoy achieved results without having constantly to replace them with others, finds in them an attachment to life in the hour of difficulty. But the man who has always pinned all his hopes on the ftiture and lived with his eyes fixed upon it, has nothing in the past as a comfort against the present's afflictions, for the past was nothing to him but a series : of hastily experienced stages. What blinded him to himself was his expectation always to find further on the happiness he had so far missed. Now he is stopped in his : tracks; from now on nothing remains behind or ahead of him to fix his gaze upon. Weariness alone, moreover, is enough to bring disillusionment, for he cannot in the end escape the futility of an endless pursuit.
We may even wonder if this moral state is not princi- ; pally what makes economic catastrophes of our day so fertile in suicides. In societies where a man is subjected to a healthy discipline, he submits more readily to the : blows of chance. The necessary effort for sustaining a little more discomfort costs him relatively little, since he is used to discomfort and constraint. But when every constraint is hateful in itself, how can closer constraint not seem intolerable? There is no tendency to resignation in the feverish impatience of men's lives. When there is no other aim but to outstrip constantly the point arrived
at how painful to be thrown back! Now this very lack of organization characterizing our economic condition throws the door wide to every sort of adventure. Since pagination is hungry for novelty, and ungoverned, it oropes a!; random. Setbacks necessarily increase with risks and thus crises multiply, just when they are becoming more destructive.
Yet these dispositions are so inbred that society has urown to accept them and is accustomed to think them normal. It is everlastingly repeated that it is man's nature to be eternally dissatisfied, constantly to advance, without relief or rest, toward an indefinite goal. The longing for infinity is daily represented as a mark of moral distinction, whereas it can only appear within unregulated Consciences which elevate to a rule the lack of rule from which they suffer. The doctrine of the most ruthless and swift progress has become an article of faith. But other theories appear parallel with those praising the advantages of instability, which, generalizing the situation that gives them birth, declare life evil, claim that it is richer in grief than in pleasure and that it attracts men only by false claims. Since this disorder is greatest in the economic world, it has most victims there.
Industrial and commercial functions are really among the occupations which furnish the greatest number of suicides (see Table XXIV). Almost on a level with the liberal professions, they sometimes surpass them; they are especially more afflicted than agriculture, where the old regulative forces still make their appearance felt most and where the fever of business has least penetrated. Here is best called what was once the general constitution of the economic order. And the divergence would be yet greater if, among the suicides of industry, employers were distinguished from workmen, for the former are probably most stricken by the state of anomy. The enormous rate of those with independent means (720 per million) sufficiently shows that the possessors of most comfort suffer most. Everything that enforces subordination attenuates the effects of this state. At least the horizon of the lower classes is limited by those above them, and for this same reason their desires are more modest. Those who have only empty space above them are almost inevitably lost in it, if no force restrains them.
Anomy, therefore, is a regular and specific factor in suicide in our modem societies; one of the springs from which the annual contingent feeds. So we have here a new type to distinguish from the others. It differs from them in its dependence, not on the way in which individuals are
attached to society, but on how it regulates them. Egoistic suicide results from man's no longer finding a basis for existence in life; altruistic suicide, because this basis for existence appears to man situated beyond life itself. The third sort of suicide, the existence of which has just been shown, results from man's activity's lacking regulation and his consequent sufferings. By virtue of its origin we shall assign this last variety the name of anomic suicide.
Certainly, this and egoistic suicide have kindred ties. Both spring from society's insufficient presence in individuals. But the sphere of its absence is not the same in both cases. In egoistic suicide it is deficient in truly collective activity, thus depriving the latter of object and meaning. In anomic suicide, society's influence is lacking in the basically individual passions, thus leaving them without a check-rein. In spite of their relationship, therefore, the two types are independent of each other. We may offer society everything social in us, and still be unable to control our desires; one may live in an anomic state without being egoistic, and vice versa. These two sorts of suicide therefore do not draw their chief recruits from the same social environments; one has its principal field among intellectual careers, the world of thought—the other, the industrial or commercial world.
IV
But economic anomy is not the only anomy which may give rise to suicide.
The suicides occurring at the crisis of widowhood, of which we have already spoken"' are really due to domestic anomy resulting from the death of husband or wife. A family catastrophe occurs which affects the survivor. He is not adapted to the new situation in which he finds himself and accordingly offers less resistance to suicide.
But another variety of anomic suicide should draw greater attention, both because it is more chronic and because it will serve to illustrate the nature and functions of marriage.
In the Annates de demographic 'Internationale (September 1882), Bertillon published a remarkable study of divorce, in which he proved the following proposition: throughout Europe the number of suicides varies with that of divorces and separations [Table XXV illustrates such variations]. . ..
*'See above, Book II, Ch. 3.
É
112 51 FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Émile Dürkheim (1858-1917) 1! 113
Table XXIV   Suicides per Million Persons of Different Occupations
			^^91		
France (187a-87)t	440	-	340 ;	240	300 f
Switzerland (1876) '	664	1,514	577	304	558 f
Italy (1866-76)	277	152.6	80.4 '	26.7	61B* :
Prussia (1883-90)	754	;t	456	; 315	832 *
Bavaria (1884-91)	465	lillsilIllísSílä	369 ;	153	454       _ \
Belgium (1886-90)	421		160	160	100 [
Württemberg (1873-78)	273		190	206	
Saxony (1878)		341.59§		71.17	t
'When statistics distinguish several different sorts of liberal occupation, we show as a specimen the one in which the suicide-rate is highest. Trom 1S26 to 1880 economic functions seem less affected (see Compte-rendu of iSSO); but were occupational statistics very accurate? :This figure is reached only by men of letters.
^Figure represents Trade, Transportation, and Industry combined for Saxony. Ed.
Individual Forms of the Different Types of Suicide
One result now stands out prominently from our investigation: namely, that there are not one but various forms of suicide. Of course, suicide is always the act of a man who prefers death to life. But the causes determining him are not of the same sort in all cases: they are even sometimes mutually opposed. Now, such difference in causes must reappear in their effects. We may therefore be sure that there are several sorts of suicide which are distinct in quality from one another. But the certainty that these differences exist is not enough; we need to observe them directly and know of what they consist. We need to see the characteristics of special suicides grouped in distinct classes corresponding to the types just distinguished. Thus we would follow the various currents which generate suicide from their social origins to their individual manifestations.
This morphological classification, which was hardly possible at the commencement of this study, may be undertaken now that an aetiological classification forms its basis. Indeed, we only need to start with the three kinds of factors which we have just assigned to suicide
and discover whether the distinctive properties it assumes in manifesting itself among individual persons ■ may be derived from them, and if so, how. Of course* not all the peculiarities which suicide may present can be deduced in this fashion; for some may exist which depend solely on the person's own nature. Each victim of suicide gives his act a personal stamp which ■:■ expresses his temperament, the special conditions in which he is involved, and which, consequently, cannot be explained by the social and general causes of the phenomenon. But these causes in turn must stamp the suicides they determine with a shade all their own. a special mark expressive of them. This collective mark we must find.
To be sure, this can be done only approximately. We are not in a position to describe methodically all the suicides daily committed by men or committed in the course of history. We can only emphasize the most general and striking characteristics without even having an objective criterion for making the selection. Moreover, we can only proceed deductively in relating them to the respective causes from which they seem to spring. All that we can do is to show their logical implication, though the reasoning may not always be able to receive experimental confirmation. We do not forget that a deduction uncontrolled by
it
Tabic XXV   Comparison of European States from the Point of View of Both Divorce and Suicide
	tL&L!'J\&-;-i'"l=- T3;i'		
"l Lounm" Where Divorce anclSepa-ation Ars .tare .................			
Norway	0.54	(1875-80)-	73
Russia	1.6	(1871-77)	30
-England and Wales	1.3	(1871-79)	68
Scotland		(1871-81)	ŕ|í;;:|H|.ä';:; jlSISKí
Italy	3.05	(1871-73)	31
Finland	3.9 '	(1875-79)	30.8
Averages	2.07		46.5
II. Countries Where Divorce and Separation Are of Average Frequency			
Bavaria	5.0 '	(1881)	, '90.5
Belgium	5.1 ~	(1871-80)	68.5
Holland	-    - " : :.   6.0 : '  _    ' : '      -■ ■	(1871-80)	. 35.5
Sweden	6.4	(1871-80)	81
Baden .	6.5	(1874-79) .	: 156.6
France	7,5	(1871-79)	: 150
Wnrttemberg	84	(1876-73)	162.4
Prussia			: 133
Averages	6.4		109.6
111. Countries Where Divorce and Separation Are Frequent			
Kingdom of Saxony	26.9	(1876-80)	299
Denmark	38	(1871-80)	258
Switzerland:.......	47	(1876-80)	216 i
Averages	373		257
experiment is always questionable. Yet this research is far from being useless, even with these reservations. Even though it may be considered only a method of illustrating the preceding results by examples, it would still have the worth of giving them a more concrete character by connecting them more closely with the data of sense-perception and with the details of daily experience. It will also introduce some little distinctiveness into this mass of facts usually lumped together as though varying only by shades, though there are striking differences among
them. Suicide is like mental alienation. For the popular mind the latter consists in a single state, always identical, capable only of superficial differentiation according to circumstances. For the alienist, on the contrary, the word denotes many nosological types. Every suicide is, likewise, ordinarily considered a victim of melancholy whose life has become a burden to him. Actually, the acts by which a man renounces life belong to different species, of wholly different moral and social significance.
FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Emile Dürkheim (1B58-1917) IS 115
Introduction to The Elementary Forms of Religious Life
In his final and most theoretically acclaimed book. The Elementary Forms of Religious Life (1912), Dürkheim sought to explain the way the moral realm worked by focusing on religion. Dürkheim saw religious ceremonies not merely as a celebration of supernatural deities, but as a worshipping of social life itself, such that as long as there are societies, there will be religion (Robertson 1970:13).
In other words, for Dürkheim, social life—whether in traditional or modern society—is inherently religious,:: for "religious force is nothing other than the collective and anonymous force" of society ([1912] 1995:210). The ■■ worship of transcendent gods or spirits and the respect and awe accorded to their power is in actuality the worship of the social group and die force it exerts over the individual. No matter how "simple" or "complex" the society, religion is thus a "system of ideas with which die individuals represent to themselves the society of which they are members, and the obscure but intimate relations which they have with it... for it is an eternal : truth that outside of us titere exists something greater than us. with which we enter into communion" (ibid. 257). . For Durldteim, this outside power, this "something greater" is society.
In saying that social life is inherently religious, Dürkheim defined religion in a very broad way. For . Dürkheim, "religion" does not mean solely "churchly" or institutional things; rather, religion is a system ; of symbols and rituals about the sacred that is practiced by a community of believers. This definition of . religion is often called "functionalist" rather than "substantive" because it emphasizes not the substantive content of religion, such as particular rituals or doctrines (e.g., baptisms or bar mitzvahs, or belief in an afterlife, higher beings, etc.), but the social function of religion.
For Dürkheim, the primary function of religion is to encode the system of relations of the group (Eliade and Couliano 1991:2). It focuses and reaffirms the collective sentiments and ideas that hold the group together. Religious practices, accordingly, serve to bind participants together in celebration of the society (Robertson 1970:15). As Dürkheim ([1912] 1995) states.
There can be no society which does not feel the need of upholding and reaffirming at regular intervals the collective sentiments and the collective ideas which makes its unity and its personality. Now this moral remaking cannot be achieved except by the means of reunions, assemblies and meetings where the individuals, being closely united to one another, reaffirm in common their common sentiments, (p. 429)
This communal function of religion is carried out through the dual processes of ritualization and sym-bolization. A ritual is a highly routinized act, such as taking communion. As the name reveals, the ■ Christian ritual of communion not only commemorates an historical event in the life of Jesus; it also represents participation in the unity ("communion") of believers (McGuire 1997:187). Most interestingly, because they are practices (not beliefs or values), rituals can unite a social group regardless of individual differences in beliefs or strength of convictions. It is the common experience and focus that binds the participants together (see Photos 3.3a and 3.3b).
This is why, for Dürkheim, there is no essential difference between "religious" and "secular" ritual acts. "Let us pray" (an opening moment in a religious service) and "Let us stand for the national anthem" (an opening moment of a baseball game) are both ritual acts that bond the individual to a community. In exactly the same way, Dürkheim suggested that there is no essential difference between religious holidays, such as Passover or Christmas, and secular holidays, such as Independence Day or Thanksgiving. Both are collective celebrations of identity and community (see Edles 2002:27-30).
As noted above, in addition to ritual practices, there is another important means through which the communal function of religion is achieved: symbolization. A symbol is something that stands for something else. It is a representation that calls up collective ideas and meanings. Thus, for instance, die "cross" is a marker that symbolizes Christian spirituality and/or tradition. Wearing a cross on a necklace often means that one is a Christian. It identifies the wearer as a member of a specific religious community and/or specific shared ideas (e.g., a religious tradition in which Jesus Christ is understood as the son of God). Most importantly, symbols such as the cross are capable of calling up and reaffirming shared meaning and the feeling of community in
Photo 3.3a  Congregation Taking Communion at a Catholic Church
between periodic ritual acts (such as rejjgj0us celebrations and weekly church services). As Dürkheim ([1912] 1995:232) states, "Without symbols, social sentiments could have only a precarious existence."
In The Elementary Forms of Religions Life, Dürkheim explains . that symbols are classified as fundamentally sacred or profane. The säcred refers to the extraordinary, that which is set apart from and "above and beyond" the everyday world. In direct contrast to the sacred realm, is the realm of the everyday world of the mundane or routine, or die profane. Most importantly, objects are intrinsically neither sacred nor profane; rather, their meaning or classification is continually produced and reproduced (and/or altered) in collective processes of ritualization and symbolization. Thus, for instance, lighting a candle can either be a relatively mundane task to enhance one's dinner table or it can be a sacred act, as in the case of the Jewish ritual of lighting a candle to commemorate the Sabbath (McGuire 1997:17). In the latter context, this act denotes a sacred moment as well as celebration. This points to the central function of the distinction between the sacred and the profane. It imposes an orderly system on the inherently untidy experience of living (Gamson 1998:141). Thus, for instance, ritual practices (e.g., standing for the national anthem or lighting a candle to commemorate the Sabbath) transform a profane moment into a sacred moment; while sacred sites (churches, mosques, synagogues) differentiate "routine" places from those that compel attitudes of awe and inspiration. The symbolic plasticity of time and space
is especially apparent in the way devout Muslims (who often must pray in everyday, mundane settings in order to fulfil] their religious duties) carry out the frequent prayers required by their religion. They lay down a (sacred) prayer carpet in their office or living room, thereby enabling them to convert a profane time and space into a sacred time and space. This temporal and spatial reordering transforms the profane realm of work or home into a spiritual, sacred domain. Such acts, and countless outers, help order and organize our experience o f the world by carving it into that which is extraordinary or sacred and that which is unremarkable or profane.
TS'
ft j
•So
Photo 3.3b   Fans at Sporting Event Doing "the Wave" Bath church goers and sports Fans engage in communal ritual acts. As Durkheim ([1912] 1995:262) states, "It is by uttering the same cry, pronouncing the same word, or performing the same gesture in regard to some object that they became and feel themselves to be in unison."
iis " FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Emile Dürkheim (1858-1917) Ig 117
The Elementary Forms of Religious Life (1912)
Emile Dürkheim
Origins of These Beliefs
It is obviously not out of the sensations which the things serving as totems are able to arouse in the mind; we have shown that these things are frequently insignificant. The lizard, the caterpillar, the rat, the ant, the frog, the turkey, the bream-fish, the plum-tree, the cockatoo, etc., to cite only those names which appear frequently in the lists of Australian totems, are not of a nature to produce upon men these great and strong impressions which in a way resemble religious emotions and which impress a sacred character upon the objects they create. It is true that this is not the case with the stars and the great atmospheric phenomena, which have, on the contrary, all that is necessary to strike the imagination forcibly; but as a matter of fact, these serve only very exceptionally as totems. It is even probable that they were very slow in taking this office. So it is not the intrinsic nature of the thing whose name the clan bears that marked it out to become the object of a cult. Also, if the sentiments which it inspired were really the determining cause of the totemic rites and beliefs, it would be the pre-eminently sacred thing; the animals or plants employed as totems would play an eminent part in the religious life. But we know that the centre of the cult is actually elsewhere. It is the figurative representations of this plant or animal and the totemic emblems and symbols of every sort, which have the greatest sanctity; so it is in them that is found the source of that religious nature, of which the real objects represented by these emblems receive only a reflection.
Thus the totem is before all a symbol, a material expression of something else. But of what?
From the analysis to which we have been giving our attention, it is evident that it expresses and symbolizes two different sorts of things. In the first place, it is the outward and visible form of what we have called the totemic principle or god. But it is also the symbol of the determined society called the clan. It is its flag; it is the sign by which each clan distinguishes itself from
the others, the visible mark of its personality, a mark borne by everything which is a part of the clan under any title whatsoever, men, beasts or things. So if it is at once the symbol of the god and of the society, is that not because the god and the society are only one? How could the emblem of the group have been able to become the figure of this quasi-divinity, if the group and the divinity were two distinct realities? The god of the clan, the totemic principle, can therefore be nothing else than the clan itself, personified and represented to the imagination under the visible form of the animal or vegetable which serves as totem.
But how has this apotheosis been possible, and how did it happen to take place in this fashion?
II
In a general way, it is unquestionable that a society has all that is necessary to arouse the sensation of the divine in minds, merely by the power that it has over them; for to its members it is what a god is to his worshippers. In fact, a god is, first of all, a being whom men think of as superior to themselves, and upon whom they feel that they depend. Whether it be a conscious personality, such as Zeus or Jahveh, or merely abstract forces such as those in play in totemism, the worshipper, in the one case as in the other, believes himself held to certain manners of acting which are imposed upon him by the nature of the sacred principle with which he feels that he is in communion. Now society also gives us the sensation of a perpetual dependence. Since it has a nature which is peculiar to itself and different from our individual nature, it pursues ends which are likewise special to it; but, as it cannot attain them except through our intermediacy, it imperiously demands our aid. It requires that, forgetful of our own interest, we make ourselves its servitors, and it submits us to every sort of inconvenience, privation
and sacrifice, without which social life would be impossible. It is because of this that at every instant we are oblised to submit ourselves to rules of conduct and of thought which we have neither made nor desired, and which are sometimes even contrary to our most fundamental inclinations and instincts.
Even if society were unable to obtain these concessions and sacrifices from us except by a material constraint, it might awaken in us only the idea of a physical force to which we must give way of necessity, instead of that of a moral power such as religious adore. But as a matter of fact, the empire which it holds over consciences is due much less to the physical supremacy of which it has the privilege than to the moral authority with which it is invested. If we yield to its orders, it is not merely because it is strong enough to triumph over our resistance; it is primarily because it is the object of a venerable respect.
We say that an object, whether individual or collective, inspires respect when the representation expressing it in the mind is gifted with such a force that it automatically causes or inhibits actions, without regard for any consideration relative to their useful or injurious effects. When we obey somebody because of the moral authority which we recognize in him, we follow out his opinions, not because they seem wise, but because a certain sort of physical energy is imminent in the idea that we form of this person, which conquers our will and inclines it in the indicated direction. Respect is the emotion which we experience when we feel this interior and wholly spiritual pressure operating upon us. Then we are not determined by the advantages or inconveniences of the attitude which is prescribed or recommended to us; it is by the way in which we represent to ourselves the person recommending or prescribing it. This is why commands generally take a short, peremptory form leaving no place for hesitation; it is because, in so far as it is a command and goes by its own force, it excludes all idea of deliberation or calculation; it gets its efficacy from the intensity of the mental state in which it is placed. It is this intensity which creates what is called a moral ascendancy.
Now the ways of action to which society is strongly enough attached to impose them upon its members, are. by that very fact, marked with a distinctive sign provocative of respect. Since they are elaborated in common, the vigour with which they have been thought of by each particular mind is retained in ail the other minds, and reciprocally. The representations which express them within each of us have an intensity which no purely private states of consciousness could ever attain; for they have the strength of the innumerable individual representations which have served to form each of them. It is society who speaks through the mouths of those who affirm them in our presence; it is society whom we hear in hearing them; and the voice of all has an accent which that of one alone could never have.1 The very violence with which society reacts, by way of blame or material suppression, against every attempted dissidence, contributes to strengthening its empire by manifesting the common conviction through this burst of ardour" In a word, when something is the object of such a state of opinion, the representation which each individual has of it gains a power of action from its origins and the conditions in which it was born, which even those feel who do not submit themselves to it. It tends to repel the representations which contradict it, and it keeps them at a distance; on the other hand, it commands those acts which will realize it, and it does so, not by a material coercion or by the perspective of something of this sort, but by the simple radiation of the mental energy which it contains. It has an efficacy coming solely from its psychical properties, and it is by just this sign that moral authority is recognized. So opinion, primarily a social thing, is a source of authority, and it might even be asked whether all authority is not the daughter of opinion."1 It may be objected that science is often the antagonist of opinion, whose errors it combats and rectifies. But it cannot succeed in this task if it does not have sufficient authority, and it can obtain this authority only from opinion itself. If a people did not have faith in science, all the scientific demonstrations in the world would be without any influence whatsoever over their minds. Even to-day, if science happened to resist a very
'See our Division du travail social, 3rd ed., pp. 64 ff.
SOURCE: Reprinted with the permission of The Free Press, a Division of Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Group from The        f "Ibid 76
Elementar)' Forms-of Religious Life by Emile Dürkheim. Translated by Karen Fields. Copyright © 1995 by Karen E. Fields.       j " ^'
All rights reserved. I "This is the case at least with all moral authority recognized as such by the group as a whole.
118 i?. FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Emile Durkheim (IS5S-I917) li 119
strong current of public opinion, it would risk losing its credit there.il
Since it is in spiritual ways that social pressure exercises itself, it could not Tail to give men the idea that outside themselves there exist one or several powers, both moral and, at the same time, efficacious, upon which they depend. They must think of these powers, at least in part, as outside themselves, for these address them in a tone of command and sometimes even order them to do violence to their most natural inclinations. It is undoubtedly true that if they were able to see that these influences which they feel emanate from society, then the mythological system of interpretations would never be born. But social action follows ways that are too circuitous and obscure, and employs psychical mechanisms that are too complex to allow the ordinary observer to see when it comes. As long as scientific analysis does not come to teach it to them, men know well that they are acted upon, but they do not know by whom. So they must invent by themselves the idea of these powers with which they feel themselves in connection, and from that, we are able to catch a glimpse of the way by which they were led to represent them under forms that are really foreign to their nature and to transfigure them by thought.
But a god is not merely an authority upon whom we depend; it is a force upon which our strength relies. The man who has obeyed his god and who for this reason, believes the god is with him, approaches the world with confidence and with the feeling of an increased energy. Likewise, social action does not confine itself to demanding sacrifices, privations and efforts from us. For the collective force is not entirely outside of us; it does not act upon us wholly from without; but rather, since society cannot exist except in and through individual consciousness,1 this
force must also penetrate us and organize itself within us: it dius becomes an integral part of our being and by that very fact this is elevated and magnified.
There are occasions when this strengthening and vivifying action of society is especially apparent. In the midst of an assembly animated by a common passion, we become susceptible of acts and sentiments of which we are incapable when reduced to our own forces; and when the assembly is dissolved and when, finding ourselves alone again, we fall back to our ordinary level, we are then able to measure the height to which we have been raised above ourselves. History abounds in examples of this sort. It is enough to think of the night of the Fourth of August, 1789, when an assembly was suddenly led to an act of sacrifice and abnegation which each of its members had refused the day before, and at which they were all surprised the day after.1' This is why all parties political, economic or confessional, are careful to have periodical reunions where their members may revivify their common faith by manifesting it in common. To strengthen those sentiments which, if left to themselves, would soon weaken, it is sufficient to bring those who hold them together and to put them into closer and more active relations with one another. This is the explanation of the particular attitude of a man speaking to a crowd, at least if he has succeeded in entering into communion with it. His language has a grandiloquence that would be ridiculous in ordinary circumstances; his gestures show a certain domination; his very thought is impatient of all rules, and easily falls into all sorts of excesses. It is because he feels within him an abnormal over-supply of force which overflows and tries to burst out from him; sometimes he even has the feeling that he is dominated by a moral force which
"We hope that this analysis and those which follow will put an end to an inexact interpretation of our thought, from which more than one misunderstanding has resulted. Since we have made constraint the outward sign by which social facts can be the most easily recognized and distinguished from the facts of individual psychology, it has been assumed that according lo our opinion, physical constraint is the essential tiling for social life. As a matter of fact, we have never considered it more than the material and apparent
expression of an interior and profound fact which is wholly ideal; this is moral authority. The problem of sociology_if we can speak
of a sociological problem—consists in seeking, among the different forms of external constraint, the different sorts of moral authority corresponding to them and in discovering the causes which have determined these latter. The particular question which we are treatinE in this present work has as its principal object, the discover)' of the form under which that particular variety of moral authority which is inherent in all that is religious has been bom, and out of what elements it is made. It will be seen presently that even if we do make social pressure one of the distinctive characteristics of sociological phenomena, we do not mean to say that it is the only one. We shall show another aspect of the collective life, nearly opposite to the preceding one. but none tile less real.
"Of course this does not mean to say that the collective [conscience] does not have distinctive characteristics of its own (on this point, see Representations mdividuelies el representations collectives, in Revue de Metaphvsique et de Morale. 1S9S. pp. 273 ft"). "This is proved by the length and passionate character of die debates where a legal form was given to the resolutions made in a moment of collective enthusiasm. In the clergy as in the nobility, more than one person called this celebrated night the dupe's night, or, with Rivarol, the St. Bartholomew of the estates (see Stoll. Suggestion und Hvpimlismtis in de iollierpsvcholo^ie 2nd ed., p. 618, n. 2). " ' '
;s o-reater than he and of which he is only the interpreter. It is by this trait that we are able to recognize what has often been called the demon of oratorical inspiration, fvfow this exceptional increase of force is something Verv real: it comes to him from the very group which he addresses. The sentiments provoked by his words come back to him. but enlarged and amplified, and to this degree they strengthen his own sentiment. The passionate enereies he arouses re-echo within him and quicken his vita! tone. It is no longer a simple individual who speaks; it is a group incarnate and personified.
Besides these passing and intermittent states, there are other more durable ones, where this strengthening influence of society makes itself felt with greater consequences and frequently even with greater brilliancy. There are periods in history when, under the influence of some great collective shock, social interactions have become much more frequent and active. Men look for each other and assemble together more than ever. That general effervescence results which is characteristic of revolutionary or creative epochs. Now this greater activity results in a general stimulation of individual forces. Men see more and differently now than in norma! times. Changes are not merely of shades and degrees; men become different. The passions moving them are of such an intensity that uhey cannot be satisfied except by violent and unrestrained actions, actions of superhuman heroism or of bloody barbarism. This is what explains die Crusades,1" for example, or many of the scenes, either sublime or savage, of the French Revolution.1*' Under the influence of the general exaltation, we sec the most mediocre and inoffensive bourgeois become either a hero or a butcher." And so clearly are all these menial processes the ones that are also at the root of religion that the individuals themselves have often pictured the pressure before which they thus gave way in a distinctly religious form. The Crusaders believed that they felt God present in the midst of them, enjoining them to go to the conquest of the Holy Land: Joan of Arc believed that she obeyed celestial voices.1
But it is not only in exceptional circumstances that this stimulating action of society makes itself felt; there is not.
so to speak, a moment in our lives when some current of energy does not come to us from without. The man who has done his duty finds, in the manifestations of every sort expressing the sympathy, esteem or affection which his fellows have for him, a feeling of comfort, of which he does not ordinarily take account, but which sustains him, none the less. The sentiments which society has for him raise the sentiments which he has for himself. Because he is in moral harmony with his comrades, he has more confidence, courage and boldness in action, just like the believer who thinks that he feels the regard of his god turned graciously towards him. It thus produces, as it were, a perpetual sustenance of our moral nature. Since this varies with a multitude of external circumstances, as our relations with the groups about us are more or less active and as these groups themselves vary, we cannot fail to feel that this moral support depends upon an external cause; but we do not perceive where this cause is nor what it is. So we ordinarily think of it under the form of a moral power which, though immanent in us, represents within us something not ourselves: this is the moral conscience, of which, by the way, men have never made even a slightly distinct representation except by the aid of religious symbols.
In addition to these free forces which are constantly coming to renew our own, there are others which are fixed in the methods and traditions which we employ. We speak a language that we did not make; we use instruments that we did not invent; we invoke rights that we did not found; a treasury of knowledge is transmitted to each generation that it did not gather itself, etc. It is to society that we owe these varied benefits of civilization, and if we do not ordinarily see the source from which we get them, we at least know that they are not our own work. Now it is these things that give man his own place among tilings: a man is a man only because he is civilized. So he could not escape the feeling that outside of him there are active causes from which he gets the characteristic attributes of his nature and which, as benevolent powers, assist him, protect him and assure him of a privileged fate. And of course he must attribute to these powers a dignity corresponding to the great value of the good tilings he attributes to them."
it.
'"See Stoll. op. cil.. pp. 353 ""Ibid., pp. 619. 635. "Ibid., pp. 622 ff.
"The emotions of fear and sorrow are able to develop similarly and to become intensified under these same conditions. As we shall see, they correspond to quite another aspect of the religious life (Bk. Ill, ch. v).
"This is the other aspect of society which, while being imperative, appears at the same time to be good and gracious. It dominates us and assists us. If we have detined the social fact by ihc first of these characteristics rather than the second, it is because it is more readily observable, for it is translated into outward and visible signs; but we have never thought of denying the second (see our Regies de la Methods Sociologique, preface to the second edition, p. xx, n. 1).
120
FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Thus the environment in which we live seems to us to be peopled with forces that are at once imperious and helpful, august and gracious, and with which we have relations. Since they exercise over us a pressure of which we are conscious, we are forced to localize them outside ourselves, just as we do for the objective causes of our sensations. But the sentiments which they inspire in us differ in nature from those which we have for simple visible objects. As long as these latter are reduced to their empirical characteristics as shown in ordinary experience, and as long as the religious imagination has not metamorphosed them, we entertain for them no feeling which resembles respect, and they contain within them nothing that is able to raise us outside ourselves. Therefore, the representations which express them appear to us to be very different from those aroused in us by collective influences. The two fonn two distinct and separate mental states in our consciousness, just as do the two forms of life to which they correspond. Consequently, we get the impression that we are in relations with two distinct sorts of reality and that a sharply drawn line of demarcation separates them from each other: on the one hand is the world of profane things, on the other, that of sacred things.
Also, in the present day just as much as in the past, we see society constantly creating sacred things out of ordinary ones. If it happens to fall in love with a man and if it thinks it has found in him the principal aspirations that move it, as well as the means of satisfying them, this man will be raised above the others and, as it were, deified. Opinion will invest him with a majesty exactly analogous to that protecting the gods. This is what has happened to so many sovereigns in whom their age had faith: if they were not made gods, they were at least regarded as direct representatives of the deity. And the fact that it is society alone which is the author of these varieties of apotheosis, is evident since it frequently chances to consecrate men thus who have no right to it from their own merit. The simple deference inspired by men invested with high social functions is not different in nature from religious respect. It is expressed by the same movements: a man keeps at a distance from a high personage; he approaches him only with precautions; in
conversing with him, he uses other gestures and language than those used with ordinary mortals. The sentiment felt on these occasions is so closely related to the religious sentiment that many peoples have confounded the two. In order to explain the consideration accorded to princes, nobles and political chiefs, a sacred character has been attributed to them. In Melanesia and Polynesia, for example, it. is said that an influential man has maim, and that his influence is due to this mana.™ However, it is evident that his situation is due solely to the importance attributed to him by public opinion. Thus the moral power conferred by opinion and :l that with which sacred beings are invested are at bottom of a single origin and made up of the same elements. That is why a single word is able to designate the two.
In addition to men, society also consecrates things, especially ideas. If a belief is unanimously shared by a people, then, for the reason which we pointed out above, it is forbidden to touch it, that is to say, to deny it or to contest it. Now the prohibition of criticism is an :; interdiction like the others and proves the presence of.-, something sacred. Even to-day, howsoever great may.. be the liberty which we accord to others, a man who should totally deny progress or ridicule the human ideal to which modern societies are attached, would produce the effect of a sacrilege. There is at least one principle which those the most devoted to the free examination of everything tend to place above discussion and to regard as untouchable, that is to say, as sacred: this is the very principle of free examination.
This aptitude of society for setting itself up as a god or for creating gods was never more apparent than during the first years of the French Revolution. At this time, in fact, under the influence of the general enthusiasm, things purely laical by nature were transformed by public opinion into sacred things: these were the Fatherland, Liberty, Reason.™ A religion tended to become established which had its dogmas,1'" symbols,"' altars"' and feasts.31" It was to these spontaneous aspirations that the cult of Reason and the Supreme Being attempted to give a sort of official satisfaction. It is true that this religious renovation had only an ephemeral duration. But that was because the patriotic enthusiasm which at first transported the masses
!iiCodrineton, The Mekwesians, pp. 50, 103, 120. It is also generally thought that in the Polynesian languages, the word mana
primitively had the sense of authority (see Tregear, Maori Comparative Dictionary, s.v.).
'"See Albert Mathiez, Les origines des cubes rivohitionnaires (1789-1792).
"Ibid.. p. 24.
"Ibid.. pp. 29, 32.
"'Ibid., p. 30.
™Ibid.. p. 46.
soon relaxed."1" The cause being gone, the effect could not remain. But this experiment, though short-lived, keeps all its sociological interest. It remains true that in one determined case we have seen society and its essential ideas become, directly and with no transfiguration of any sort, the object of a veritable cult.
All these facts allow us to catch glimpses of how
■ the clan was able to awaken within its members the idea that outside of them there exist forces which dominate them and at the same time sustain them, that is to say in fine, religious forces: it is because there is no society with which the primitive is more directly and closely connected. The bonds uniting him to the tribe arc much more lax and more feebly felt. Although this is not at all strange or foreign to him, it is with the
: people of his own clan that he has the greatest number of things in common: it is the action of this group that he feels the most directly; so it is this also which, in preference to all others, should express itself in religious symbols.. . .
in
One can readily conceive how, when arrived at this state of exaltation, a man does not recognize himself any longer. Feeling himself dominated and carried away by some sort of an external power which makes him think and act differently than in normal times, he naturally has the impression of being himself no longer. It seems to him that he has become a new being: the decorations he puts on and the masks that cover his face and figure materially in this interior transformation, and to a still greater extent, they aid in determining its nature. And as at the same time all his companions feel themselves transformed in the same way and express this sentiment by their cries, their gestures and their general attitude, everything is just as though he really were transported into a special world, entirely different from the one where he ordinarily lives, and into an environment filled with exceptionally intense forces that take hold of him and metamorphose him. How could such experiences as these, especially when they are repeated every day for weeks, fail to leave In him the conviction that there really exist two heterogeneous and mutually incomparable worlds'? One is that where his daily life drags wearily along; but he cannot penetrate into the other without at once entering into relations with extraordinary powers
Entile Dürkheim (1858-1917) II 121
that excite him to the point of frenzy. The first is the profane world, the second, that of sacred things.
So it is in the midst of these effervescent social environments and out of this effervescence itself that the religious idea seems to be born. The theory that this is really its origin is confirmed by the fact that in Australia the really religious activity is almost entirely confined to the moments when these assemblies are held. To be sure, there is no people among whom the great solemnities of the cull are not more or less periodic: but in the more advanced societies, there is not, so to speak, a day when some prayer or offering is not addressed to the gods and some ritual act is not performed. But in Australia, on the contrary, apart from the celebrations of the clan and tribe, the time is nearly all filled with lay and profane occupations. Of course there are prohibitions that should be and are preserved even during these periods of temporal activity; it is never permissible to kill or eat freely of the totemic animal, at least in those parts where the interdiction has retained its original vigour; but almost no positive rites are then celebrated, and there are no ceremonies of any importance. These take place only in the midst of assembled groups. The religious life of the Australian passes through successive phases of complete lull and of superexcitation, and social life oscillates in the same rhythm. This puts clearly into evidence the bond uniting them to one another, but among the peoples called civilized, the relative continuity of the two blurs their relations. It might even be asked whether the violence ofthis contrast was not necessary to disengage the feeling of sacredness in its first form. By concentrating itself almost entirely in certain determined moments, the collective life has been able to attain its greatest intensity and efficacy, and consequently to give men a more active sentiment of the double existence they lead and of the double nature in which they participate....
Now the totem is the flag of the clan, [t is therefore natural that the impressions aroused by the clan in individual minds—impressions of dependence and of increased vitality—should fix themselves to the idea of the totem rather than that of the clan: for the clan is too complex a reality to be represented clearly in all its complex unity by such rudimentary intelligences. More than that, the primitive does not even see that these impressions come to him from the group. He does not know that the coming together of a number of men associated in the same life results in disengaging new energies,
"'"See Mathiez, La Theophilanthropie et la Culte décadaire, p. 36.
122 5! FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
Emile Ditrkheim (1858-1917) il 123
which transform each of them. All that he knows is that he is raised above himself and that he sees a different life from the one he ordinarily leads. However, he must connect these sensations to some external object as their cause. Now what does he see about him? On every side those things which appeal to his senses and strike his imagination are the numerous images of the totem. They are the waninga and the nurtunja, which are symbols of the sacred being. They are churinga and bull-roarers, upon which are generally carved combinations of lines having the same significance. They are the decorations covering the different parts of his body, which are totemic marks. How could this image, repeated everywhere and in all sorts of forms, fail to stand out with exceptional relief in his mind? Placed thus in the centre of the scene, it becomes representative. The sentiments experienced fix themselves upon it, for it is the only concrete object upon which they can fix themselves. It continues to bring them to mind and to evoke them even after the assembly has dissolved, for it survives the assembly, being carved upon the instruments of the cult, upon the sides of rocks, upon bucklers, etc. By it, the emotions experienced are perpetually sustained and revived. Everything happens just as if they inspired them directly. It is still more natural to attribute them to it for, since they are common to the group, they can be associated only with something that is equally common to ail. Now the totemic emblem is the only thing satisfying this condition. By definition, it is common to all. During the ceremony, it is the centre of ail regards. While generations change, it remains the same; it is the permanent element of the social life. So it is from it that those mysterious forces seem to emanate with which men feel that they are related, and thus they have been led to represent these forces under the form of the animate or inanimate being whose name the clan bears.
When this point is once established, we are in a position to understand all that is essential in the totemic beliefs.
Since religious force is nothing other than the collective and anonymous force of the clan, and since this can be represented in the mind only in the form of the totem, the totemic emblem is like the visible body of the god. Therefore, it is from it that those kindly and dreadful actions seem to emanate, which the cult seeks to provoke or prevent; consequently, it is to it that the cult is addressed. This is the explanation of why it holds the first place in the series of sacred things.
But the clan, like every other sort of society, can live only in and through the individual consciousnesses that compose it. So if religious force, in so far as it is conceived as incorporated in the totemic emblem, appears to be outside of the individuals and to be endowed with
a sort of transcendence over them, it, like the clan of: which it is the symbol, can be realized only in and through them; in this sense, it is imminent in them and they necessarily represent it as such. They feel it present and active within them, for it is this which raises them : to a superior life. This is why men have believed that they contain within them a principle comparable to the one residing in the totem, and consequently, why they have attributed a sacred character to themselves, but one less marked than that of the emblem. It is because the emblem is the pre-eminent source of the religious life; the man participates in it only indirectly, as he is well aware; he takes into account the fact that the force that transports him into the world of sacred things is not inherent in him, but comes to him from the outside....
But if this theory of totemism has enabled us to explain the most characteristic beliefs of this religion, it-. rests upon a fact not yet explained. When the idea of the totem, the emblem of the clan, is given, all the rest fol- . lows; but we must still investigate how this idea has been formed. This is a double question and may be subdivided as follows: What has led the clan to choose an emblem? and why have these emblems been borrowed from the animal and vegetable worlds, and particularly from the former?
That an emblem is useful as a rallying-centre for any sort of a group it is superfluous to point out. By expressing the social unity in a material form, it makes this more obvious to all, and for diat very reason the use of emblematic symbols must have spread quickly when once thought of. But more than that, this idea should spontaneously arise out of the conditions of common life; for the emblem is not merely a convenient process for clarifying the sentiment society has of itself: it also serves to create this sentiment; it is one of its constituent elements.
In fact, if left to themselves, individual consciousnesses are closed to each other; they can communicate only by means of signs which express their internal states. If the communication established between them is to become a real communion, that is to say, a fusion of all particular sentiments into one common sentiment, the signs expressing them must themselves be fused into one single and unique resultant. It is the appearance of this that informs individuals that they are in harmony and makes them conscious of their moral unity. It is by uttering the same cry, pronouncing the same word, or performing the same gesture in regard to some object that they become and feel themselves to be in unison. It is true that individual representations also cause reactions in the organism that are not without importance: however, they can be thought of apart from these physical reactions which accompany them or follow them.
but which do not constitute them. But it is quite another matter with collective representations. They presuppose that minds act and react upon one another; they arc the product of these actions and reactions which are themselves possible only through material intermediaries. These latter do not confine themselves to revealing the mental state with which they are associated; they aid in creating it. Individual minds cannot come in contact and communicate with each other except by coining out of themselves; but they cannot do this except by movements. So it is the homogeneity of these movements that gives the group consciousness of itself and consequently makes it exist. When this homogeneity is once established and these movements have once taken a stereotyped form, they serve to symbolize the corresponding representations. But they symbolize them only because they have aided in forming them.
Moreover, without symbols, social sentiments could have only a precarious existence. Though very strong as long as men are together and influence each other reciprocally, they exist only in the form of recollections after the assembly has ended, and when left to themselves, these become feebler and feebler; for since the group is now no longer present and active, individual temperaments easily regain the upper hand. The violent passions which may have been released in the heart of a crowd fall away and are extinguished when this is dissolved, and men ask themselves with astonishment how they could ever have been so carried away from their normal character. But if the movements by which these sentiments are expressed are connected with something that endures, the sentiments themselves become more durable. These other things are constantly bringing them to mind and arousing them; it is as though the cause which excited them in the first place continued to act. Thus these systems of emblems, which are necessary if society is to become conscious of itself, are no less indispensable for assuring the continuation of this consciousness.
So we must refrain from regarding these symbols as simple artifices, as sorts of labels attached to representations already made, in order to make them more manageable: they are an integral part of them. Even the fact that collective sentiments are thus attached to things completely foreign to them is not purely conventional: it illustrates under a conventional form a real characteristic of social facts, that is, their transcendence over individual minds. In fact, it is known that social phenomena are born, not in individuals, but in the group. Whatever part we may take in their origin, each of us receives them from without'"'1
So when we represent them to ourselves as emanating from a material object, we do not completely misunderstand their nature. Of course they do not come from the specific thing to which we connect them, but nevertheless, it is true that their origin is outside of us. If the moral force sustaining the believer does not come from the idol he adores or the emblem he venerates, still it is from outside of him, as he is well aware. The objectivity of its symbol only translates its eternalness.
Thus social life, in all its aspects and in every period of its history, is made possible only by a vast symbolism. The material emblems and figurative representations with which we are more especially concerned in our present study, are one form of this; but there are many others. Collective sentiments can just as well become incarnate in persons or formula;: some formula? are flags, while there are persons, either real or mythical, who are symbols____
Conclusion
As we have progressed, we have established the fact diat the fundamental categories of thought and consequently of science, are of religious origin. We have seen that the same is (rue for magic and consequently for the different processes which have issued from it. On the odier hand, it has long been known that up until a relatively advanced moment of evolution, moral and legal mles have been indistinguishable from ritual prescriptions. In summing up, then, it may be said diat nearly all the great social institutions have been bom in religion." Now in order that these principal aspects of the collective life may have commenced by being only varied aspects of the religious life, it is obviously necessary that the religious life be the eminent form and. as it were, the concentrated expression of the whole collective life. If religion has given birth to all that is essential in society, it is because the idea of society is the soul of religion.
Religious forces are therefore human forces, mora! forces. It is true that since collective sentiments can become conscious of themselves only by fixing themselves upon external objecls. they have not been able to take form without adopting some of their characteristics from other things: they have thus acquired a sort of physical nature; in this way they have come to mix themselves with the life of the material world, and then have considered themselves capable of explaining what passes there. But when they are considered only from uhis point of view and in this role, only their most superficial aspect is seen. In reality, the essential elements of which these collective sentiments are
"On this point see Regies de la mélhode sociologique, pp. 5 ff.
124 SJ FOUNDATIONS OF CLASSICAL SOCIOLOGICAL THEORY
made have been borrowed by the understanding, it ordinarily seems that they should have a human character only when they are conceived under human forms;"1 but even the most impersonal and the most anonymous are nothing else than objectified sentiments.
It is only by regarding religion from this angle that it is possible to see its real significance. If we stick closely to appearances, rites often give the effect of purely manual operations: they are anointings, washings, meals. To consecrate something, it is put in contact with a source of religious energy, just as to-day a body is put in contact with a source of heat or electricity to warm or electrize it; the two processes employed are not essentially different. Thus understood, religious technique seems to be a sort of mystic mechanics. But these material manoeuvres are only the external envelope under which the mental operations are hidden. Finally, there is no question of exercising a physical constraint upon blind and, incidentally, imaginary forces, but rather of reaching individual consciousnesses of giving them a direction and of disciplining them. It is sometimes said that inferior religions are materialistic. Such an expression is inexact. AH religions, even the crudest, are in a sense spiritualistic: for the powers they put in play are before all spiritual, and also their principal object is to act upon the moral life. Thus it is seen that whatever has been done in the name of religion cannot have been done in vain: for it is necessarily the society that did it, and it is humanity that has reaped the fruits. .. .
II
Thus there is something eternal in religion which is destined to survive all the particular symbols in which
religious thought has successively enveloped itself.: There can be no society which does not feel the need: of upholding and reaffirming at regular intervals the collective sentiments and the collective ideas which •■ make its unity and its personality. Now this moral remaking cannot be achieved except by the means of reunions, assemblies and meetings where the individuals, being closely united to one another, reaffirm in common their common sentiments; hence come ceremonies which do not differ from regular religious ceremonies, either in their object, the results which they-, produce, or the processes employed to attain these ■■ results. What essential difference is there between an :; assembly of Christians celebrating the principal dates-1' of the life of Christ, or of Jews remembering the exodus from Egypt or the promulgation of the decalogue, and a reunion of citizens commemorating the promul- ; gation of a new moral or legal system or some great : event in the national life?.. .
In summing up, then, we must say that society is not at all the illogical or a-logical, incoherent and fantastic being which it has too often been considered. Quite on the contrary, the collective consciousness is the highest -form of the psychic life, since it is the consciousness of the consciousnesses. Being placed outside of and above individual and local contingencies, it sees things only in their permanent and essential aspects, which it crystallizes into communicable ideas. At the same time that it sees from above, it sees farther; at every moment of time, it embraces all known reality; that is why it alone : can furnish the mind with the moulds which are applicable to the totality of things and which make it possible to think of them. It does not create these moulds -.; artificially; it finds them within itself; it does nothing but become conscious of them ...
Max Weber (1864-1920)
■i
iMi|i|S|BKi M
Max Weber
Key Concepts
SS Verstehen ii Ideal types SI Protestant ethic g Calling 11 Iron cage *" Rationalization SI Bureaucracy IS Authority 21 Charisma
S Class, status, and party
No one tow »>ho »w// live in ,1ns cage in the future, or whether a ,he end of ins < entireh ne>v prophets will .rise, or there will be a great rebirth of old ideasand deal. ***** wetted vacation embellished Wi,h a sort of convulsive self-importance. Forojthe las, age^ ZhZide/elopLnt it nught veil be tn.lv said: Specialists Wi,hou, spirt, sensuahsts MhM heatU rf» mdlitv imagines that i, has attained a level of civilization never before aclueved.
—Weber {[1904-05] 1958:182)
Discussion Questions
■ <■'.: 1. Define mechanical and organic'solidarity. Do these concepts help explain the division of labor in your family of origin? In your current (or most recent) place of employment? How so or why not? Be specific.
:-.2. Discuss Hie various types of suicide thatDiirkheim delineates using specific examples. To, what-extent do you agree or disagree with the notion that different types ~ of suicide prevail in "modem"' as opposed to "traditional" societies? Give concrete examples.
3. Define and compare and contrast Marx's concept of alienation and Durkheim's concept of anomie.
How exactly do these concepts overlap? How are they : -different? -
4. Discuss Durkheim's notion of collective conscience. Why is it. that is, how can it be, that the collective conscience.is no/just a "sum":..of individual consciousnesses? Use concrete examples to explain.- ■  ■■ . . -.-<  . ■
5. Discuss specific moments of collective effer- : vescence that you have experienced (e.g., concerts, church, etc.). What particular symbols and rituals were called up and used to arouse this social state?
I rom the course requirements necessary to earn your degree, to the paperwork and tests you must complete in order to receive your driver's license, to the record keeping and mass of files that JUL organize most every business enterprise, our everyday life is channeled in large measure through formalized, codified procedures. Indeed, in Western cultures few aspects of life have been untouched by the general tendency toward rationalization and the adoption of methodical practices. So, whether it's developing a long-term financial plan for one's business, following the advice written in sex manuals, or even planning for one's own death, little in modem life is left to chance. It was toward an examination of the causes and consequences of this "disenchantment" of everyday life that Max Weber's wide-ranging work crystallized. In this chapter, we explore Weber's study of this general trend in modern society as well as other aspects of his writings. But while Weber did not self-consciously set out to develop a unified theoretical model, making his intellectual path unlike that followed by both Marx and Dürkheim, it is this characteristic of his work that has made it a continual weilspring of inspiration for other scholars. Perhaps