François Dépelteau, Christopher Powell (Eds.) - Applying Relational Sociology - Relations, Networks, and Society (2013, Palgrave Macmillan US) PDF

Applying Relational Sociology
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Applying Relational Sociology
Relations, Networks, and Society
Edited by François Dépelteau and

Christopher Powell
APPLYING RELATIONAL SOCIOLOGY
Copyright © François Dépelteau and Christopher Powell, 2013.
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2013 978-1-137-37991-7
All rights reserved.
First published in 2013 by

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ISBN 978-1-349-47904-7 ISBN 978-1-137-40700-9 (eBook)

DOI 10.1057/9781137407009
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Applying relational sociology : relations, networks, and

society / edited by François Dépelteau and Christopher Powell.
pages cm
1. Intergroup relations. 2. Interpersonal relations. 3. Social
interaction. 4. Sociology. I. Dépelteau, François, 1963–
II. Powell, Christopher John, 1971–
HM716.A66 2013
301—dc23 2013026021
A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library.
Design by Integra Software Services
First edition: December 2013
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
C o n t e n ts
List of Figures and Tables vii
Notes on Contributors ix
Introduction xv
François Dépelteau and Christopher Powell
1 Relational Sociology and the Globalized Society 1

Pierpaolo Donati
2 Spatial Relationality and the Fallacies of Methodological

Nationalism: Theorizing Urban Space and Binational
Sociality in Jewish-Arab “Mixed Towns” 25
Daniel Monterescu
3 Survival Units as the Point of Departure for a Relational

Sociology 51
Lars Bo Kaspersen and Norman Gabriel
4 Human Transaction Mechanisms in Evolutionary

Niches—a Methodological Relationalist Standpoint 83
Osmo Kivinen and Tero Piiroinen
5 Bourdieu’s Relational Method in Theory and in

Practice: From Fields and Capitals to Networks and
Institutions (and Back Again) 101
John W. Mohr
6 Turning Points and the Space of Possibles: A Relational

Perspective on the Different Forms of Uncertainty 137
Harrison C. White, Frédéric C. Godart, and Matthias
Thiemann
7 Relational Power from Switching across Netdoms

through Reflexive and Indexical Language 155
Jorge Fontdevila and Harrison C. White
vi Contents
8 Social Relationships between Communication, Network

Structure, and Culture 181
Jan A. Fuhse
9 Connecting Network Methods to Social Science
Research: How to Parsimoniously Use Dyadic Measures
as Independent Variables 207
Heather E. Price
Index 227
L i s t o f Fi g u re s a n d Ta b l e s
Figures
1.1 The basic assumptions of modern, postmodern, and
trans-modern sociologies 13
1.2 The basic scheme of the constitution of an actor’s
(A) social identity in trans-modern society (e = ego;
a = alter) 13
1.3 The forms of social differentiation 18
2.1 Public signs of impossible love and hate: Failed
attempts to draw a swastika 27
2.2 Public signs of impossible love and hate: A declaration
of love—“Fuad Love OSNAT” 28
2.3 Relational spatiality: The socio-spatial configuration of
Jewish-Arab mixed towns 32
2.4 Population movements in Jaffa (1948 to date) 35
2.5 Jewish attempts to reclaim the mixed city 40
5.1 Bourdieu’s model of field space (After P. Bourdieu,
Distinction, figures 5 and 6, pp. 128 and 129.) 108
5.2 Lewin’s conception of hodological space (After
K. Lewin, Field Theory, figures 43 and 44, pp. 256 and
257.) (a) Positive central force-field; (b) Negative
central force-field 114
5.3 Mohr and Guerra-Pearson’s model of field space.
(After Mohr and Guerra-Pearson, “The duality of
Niche and form,” figures 1 and 2, pp. 332 and 338.) 123
6.1 Overview of the three disciplines: processes, valuation
orders, and forms of uncertainty 143
6.2 The interplay between ambage, ambiguity, and
contingency 149
8.1 Talcott Parsons’s general system of action 189
9.1 Configurations of cliques by number of members and
path length 221
viii L i s t o f Fi g u re s a n d Ta b l e s
Tables
Appendix A. Summary statistics 211
9.1 Correlation matrix of interpersonal
relationship measures 214
9.2 Twelve independent OLS regression models
of professional and social interactions at work 215
9.3 OLS regression models of professional and
social interactions at work using all 12
interpersonal network characteristics in each
model 216
9.4 Eigenvalues from the principal components
factor analysis 217
9.5 Factor loadings of the dyadic network
characteristics 218
9.6 OLS regression models of professional and
social interactions at work using all three
latent constructs of interpersonal network
characteristics in each model 222
N ot e s o n C o n t r i bu to r s
Pierpaolo Donati is Professor of Sociology at the University of

Bologna (Italy). As past-president of the Italian Sociological Associa-
tion, he has served as Counsellor of the Board of the IIS. As the editor
of the journal Sociologia e Politiche Sociali since its foundation, he has
directed many national and international surveys. He is known as the
“founding father” of the Italian “relational sociology,” which was first
advanced in 1983 and developed in 30 years into the book Relational
Sociology: A New Paradigm for the Social Sciences (Routledge 2011).
Jorge Fontdevila is Associate Professor of Sociology at California

State University, Fullerton. He received a PhD in Sociology with
distinction from Columbia University and an MA in Cultural Anthro-
pology from the University of Chicago. He has published in a range
of journals, including Sociological Theory, Poetics, REDES, Archives of
Sexual Behavior, Social Theory & Health, Journal of Urban Health,
American Journal of Public Health, Sex Roles, AIDS and Behavior,
Journal of Substance Abuse, Evaluation and Program Planning, Jour-
nal of Phonetics, Speech Communication, and Language and Speech.
Dr. Fontdevila has extensive experience conducting sociobehavioral
and prevention research among New York and Southern California
populations disproportionately affected by HIV. He also publishes
social theoretical research on the complex relationship between lin-
guistic meaning and social networks. In particular, he explores the
critical significance of language’s reflexive and indexical dimensions
to sustain and manage ambiguity in a contemporary world of rapidly
decoupling and polymerizing networks.
Jan Fuhse (1975) is currently a Heisenberg Fellow at the Institute

of Social and Political Sciences, Humboldt University of Berlin. He
has studied political science at Free University Berlin and Sociology
at Warwick University. His doctorate in sociology at the Universität
Stuttgart focused on the role of social networks in the Italian migrant
community in Germany. During a post-doc at Columbia University,
x N ot e s o n C o n t r i bu to r s
Fuhse worked with Harrison White, Charles Tilly, and Peter Bearman
on networks and inequality and on the theory of social networks.
Afterward, he taught political sociology as an assistant professor at
the University of Bielefeld and completed his Habilitation there in
October 2011. His research interests include the theory and method-
ology of social networks, interethnic relations, political sociology,
and sociological aspects of Science Fiction. His recent publications
include: “The Meaning Structure of Social Networks” (Sociological
Theory, 2009), “Tackling Connections, Structure, and Meaning in
Networks: Quantitative and Qualitative Methods in Sociological Net-
work Research” (with Sophie Muetzel, Quality & Quantity, 2011),
“Embedding the Stranger: Ethnic Categories and Cultural Differ-
ences in Social Networks” (Journal of Intercultural Studies, 2012),
and an edited volume (with Sophie Muetzel) on relational sociology
(in German, 2010).
Norman Gabriel is a sociologist who works in the Institute of

Education at Plymouth University. His research interests are in rela-
tional sociology, the sociology of early childhood, and the relation
between sociology and developmental psychology. Inspired by the
work of Norbert Elias, he is developing a distinctive, multidisciplinary
approach to early childhood, one that is relational, comparative, and
historical. He is currently writing a book on the Sociology of Early
Childhood, to be published by Sage in 2014, and co-editing a special
issue of The History of the Human Sciences (2014) from the papers pre-
sented at a very successful international conference on Norbert Elias
that was held in the Department of Political Science, University of
Copenhagen.
Frédéric C. Godart is Assistant Professor of Organizational Behavior

at INSEAD. He received a PhD in sociology from Columbia Uni-
versity, New York. His research interests include the structure and
dynamics of creative industries, the development of fashion as a sig-
nificant economic activity, and the antecedents of creativity. He is the
author of Unveiling Fashion: Business, Culture, and Identity in the Most
Glamorous Industry (Palgrave-Macmillan, 2012) as well as of several
peer-reviewed articles in leading academic journals such as Organi-
zation Science, Organization Studies, Annual Review of Sociology, and
Social Forces.
Lars Bo Kaspersen (b. 1961) is a professor at the University

of Copenhagen, Head of Department (Political Science). He has
N ot e s o n C o n t r i bu to r s xi
published widely on social theory and political sociology. He is the

author of several publications including Anthony Giddens – An Intro-
duction to a Social Theorist and co-editor of Classical and Modern
Social Theory. Kaspersen’s research areas are state formation processes
in Europe, the transformation of the welfare state, sociology of war,
social theory, and in particular relational theory. He is co-editing a
special issue of the journal History of Human Sciences about Norbert
Elias and the application of his figurational sociology. Moreover, he is
working on a book about Norbert Elias’s political sociology.
Osmo Kivinen has done his PhD in sociology and is a professor of

sociology of education at the University of Turku, Finland. He is also
director of the Research Unit for the Sociology of Education (RUSE)
and of the Research Laboratory of Strategic Action (RoSA). His list
of publications contains more than 300 titles. His research areas not
only cover sociology and the entire field of education, but also extend
to working life and to the field of high technology. A philosophical
and methodological focus is American classical pragmatism and its
further developments, for instance, methodological relationalism; also
productivity analyses of research belongs to his recent interests.
Matthias Thiemann is a junior professor for the Sociology of

Banking, Money and Finance at Goethe Universität in Frankfurt
(Germany). He holds a PhD from Columbia University (in New York)
and his interests lie at the cross-roads of economic sociology, social
theory, and social networks. He is the author of several peer-reviewed
articles in leading academic journals such as Review of International
Political Economy, Business and Politics, Competition and Change, as
well as Soziale Systeme.
John W. Mohr (PhD, Yale University) is a professor in the Depart-

ment of Sociology at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and
the director of the UCSB Social Science Survey Research Center. He
has been applying relational sociology to the study of institutional
discourse systems for a long while. An important focus of Mohr’s
work has been the study of institutional articulations as duality struc-
tures (e.g., with Vincent Duquenne in “The Duality of Culture and
Practice,” with Francesca Guerra-Pearson in “The Duality of Niche
and Form,” and with Ronald Breiger in “Institutional Logics from
the Aggregation of Organizational Networks”). Another focus has
been theorizing the measurement of meaning (e.g., in “Measuring
Meaning Structures,” with Harrison White in “How to Model an
xii N ot e s o n C o n t r i bu to r s
institution,” with Craig Rawlings in “Four Ways to Measure Cul-

ture,” and with Robin Wagner-Pacifici, Ronald Breiger, and Petko
Bogdanov in “Graphing the Grammar of Motives in U.S. National
Security Strategies”). Finally, in a new paper with Roger Friedland,
Henk Roose, and Paolo Gardinali, “An Institutional Logic for Love,”
Mohr and his colleagues are using MCA methods to measure how
institutional logics operate in intimate life.
Daniel Monterescu is an assistant professor of urban anthropology

and director of the PhD Program at the Department of Sociology and
Social Anthropology at the Central European University in Budapest.
He received his PhD in anthropology at the University of Chicago and
is a recipient of the Marie Curie Fellowship at the European Univer-
sity Institute, Florence. His main research projects analyze the Jewish
revival movement in Central European cities as well as ethnic rela-
tions in binational (mixed) towns in Israel/Palestine as part of a larger
project on identity, sociality, and gender relations in Mediterranean
Cities. He currently also studies wine cultures in Hungary, Italy,
and Israel through the concepts of terroir and territory. His previ-
ous projects include the construction of Arab masculinity and the
narration of life stories in Jaffa. His publications feature articles in Pub-
lic Culture, Constellations, Identities, International Journal of Middle
East Studies, and World Development and contributions to numerous
edited volumes in English, Arabic, and Hebrew. He is the author of
Twilight Nationalism: Tales of Traitorous Identities—a study of auto-
biographical narratives of elderly Palestinians and Jews in Jaffa (with
Haim Hazan, Van Leer Jerusalem Institute, 2011) and editor (with
Dan Rabinowitz) of Mixed Cities, Trapped Communities: Historical
Narratives, Spatial Dynamics and Gender Relations in Jewish-Arab
Mixed Towns in Israel/Palestine (Ashgate Publishing, 2007). His
monograph Gentrifying the Bride of Palestine on Jewish-Arab relations
in Jaffa is forthcoming with Indiana University Press.
Tero Piiroinen (b. 1974) works as a researcher at the Research Unit

for the Sociology of Education (RUSE), University of Turku, Finland.
He has just recently (November 2013) defended his D.Soc.Sc. the-
sis. His research interests include social theory, philosophy of social
science, philosophy of mind, and American pragmatism—specifically
in the sense of a Darwinian, process philosophical, transactional and
thus antidualistic, relationalist outlook, which also emphasizes the
pivotal role of social life and language in humanity and human
consciousness.
N ot e s o n C o n t r i bu to r s xiii
Heather Price is Senior Associate at Basis Policy Research and an

Affiliate of the Center for Research on Educational Opportunities
at the University of Notre Dame. She taught in Milwaukee Public
Schools for over 5 years before earning her MA in sociology at the
University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee and her PhD in sociology at
the University of Notre Dame. Her dissertation explores the social
resource role of faculty networks in schools and its relationship to
school community and school engagement among school staff and
students. In addition to her work in network analysis, school com-
munity, and school organization, her other research work focuses
on education policy and principal leadership. Price has published in
American Educational Research Journal, Educational Administration
Quarterly, Educational Policy, and Social Science Research.
Harrison C. White, who holds a PhD in Theoretical Physics from

the MIT and a PhD in Sociology from PrincetonUniversity, is the
Giddings Professor of Sociology at Columbia University, New York.
He is well known for his work on social network analysis and the
structure of production markets (Markets from Networks, Princeton
University Press, 2002). He has recently published (in 2008) a mas-
sive rewrite and extension of his book Identity and Control (first
published 1992).
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Introduction
François Dépelteau and Christopher

Powell
Many individuals are attracted by two social worldviews when they

see themselves as social animals. The voluntaristic thinkers see human
beings as autonomous individuals who are basically driven by their
own personal properties and forces. The deterministic ones perceive
individuals as being surrounded by external, constraining, or enabling
social entities (“the society,” “the system,” social structures, etc.) that
determine their opportunities throughout their life. These two world-
views have also been the background ontological assumptions of many
important theories in sociology.
The basic goal of relational sociology is to challenge these back-
ground assumptions. Sociologically speaking, it means that most
relational sociologists reject the ideas that individuals are isolated and
driven only or even mostly by internal properties, or that social phe-
nomena are “social things,” meaning external and constraining or
enabling forces that impose themselves on individual and collective
actors. With the exception of deterministic relational sociology, texts
in relational sociology usually start with a condemnation of objec-
tivism and subjectivism or determinism and voluntarism.1 Relational
sociology is an invitation to challenge social phenomena, to think in
terms of fluid social processes rather than isolated individuals or exter-
nal and solid social structures. Relational sociology tends to affirm or
show that so-called social structures, societies, or institutions are rela-
tions between social actors. Like the former prime minister of Great
Britain but for very different reasons, some relational sociologists even
claim that “there is no such a thing as a society” (which would exist
outside the individuals).
These ontological assumptions have epistemological consequences.
Overall, sooner or later, in one way or another, relational sociol-
ogy leads to observation of concrete and specific relations between
xvi Introduction
social actors, more than observations of relations between variables

for instance. For relational sociologists, “figurations,” “fields,” “net-
works,” or “social worlds” are made and reconstructed by relations
between actors. And these dynamic processes take various forms. The
universe of observation of relational sociologists is limited only by
the imagination of human beings as co-producers of social processes.
In other words, this universe is quasi-unlimited. Relational sociolo-
gists can study small and ephemeral networks like marijuana smokers,
“meso” processes such as social movements, or vast processes such as
the economic globalization. Furthermore, the approaches or theories
used by relational sociologists are diversified and more or less similar
or even compatible. Actor-network-theory, the figurational approach
of Elias, social network analysis, the late Bourdieu’s work, the formal-
ism of G. Simmel, some texts of Marx or Durkheim, (neo)Weberian
approaches, critical realism, symbolic interactionism, and many other
social scientists, theories, or approaches have been associated with rela-
tional sociology. Relational sociology also draws on varied influences
from philosophy and the natural scientists: Cassirer, Dewey, Einstein,
Merleau-Ponthy, and Whitehead, among others.
For now, relational sociology is something like a patchwork of
knowledge about social relations that are seen as dynamic, fluid pro-
cesses. But as this book shows, these dispersed relational studies
reveal some basic and interesting characteristics of our social universe.
Relational analysis might not necessarily or always lead to surprising
discoveries, but it can help to highlight some key features of our social
life with more efficiency than other approaches in social sciences. Rela-
tional sociology does not reveal new continents, but it does oblige us
to rethink our background assumptions about the social worlds in
which we live. In this sense, relational analysis is always “conceptual”
since it involves a re-casting of the basic terms of our perception, and
always “applied” since it invites us to use different modes of percep-
tion and orientation in this world. Some relational texts are just a little
bit more “applied” than others in that they focus on specific fields
of transaction (such as family, social movements, or globalization), or
because they put emphasis on specific conceptual and methodological
issues. It is these kinds of papers, comparatively applied but still also
rigorously and innovatively theoretical, that make up the contents of
this volume.
The first chapter is written by one of the first sociologists to use
the label relational sociology in the 1980s. Donati follows the prin-
ciple that it is all about relations. In short, by using some of the
basic concepts of M. Archer and relying on his own work, P. Donati
Introduction xvii
presents the processes of globalization as being made by “the mor-

phostasis/morphogenesis of social relations.” The “morphogenesis of
relations,” for instance, “is not seen as the result of the morphogenesis
of its individual components, but depends on the possibility of
differentiation of social relations in their own right—that is as emer-
gent phenomena with their own distinctive generative mechanisms.”2
In this relational logic, globalization cannot be seen as the cause of
social changes: it is an effect of the “generative mechanisms” that
produce “a relational order of reality.”
By focusing on “smaller”—but still complex—relations, relational
sociology can also be a powerful destroyer of simple myths or ide-
ologies. In the second chapter, D. Monterescu proposes an ethno-
graphic and historical research centered in Jaffa, where he posits
mixed towns as a political and theoretical challenge to the hegemonic
ethno-nationalist guiding principles of the Israeli state, which fails to
maintain homogeneous, segregated, and ethnically stable spaces. This
failure, Monterescu argues, results in the parallel existence of het-
eronomous spaces in these towns, which operate through multiple
and often contradictory logics of space, class, and nation. Analyzed
relationally, these spaces produce peculiar forms of quotidian social
relations between Palestinians and Israelis, enacting circumstantial
coalitions and local identities that challenge both Palestinian and
Jewish nationalisms. Overcoming the limitations of methodologi-
cal nationalism, which can only describe such spaces as historical
anomalies, this chapter outlines the contours of a dialectic theory of
socio-spatial relations in contested cities.
In Chapter 3, Kaspersen and Gabriel start with the opposition
made by Emirbayer between substantialism and relational sociology,
and then identify some problems of relational sociology, such as the
identification of the limits of the figurations we study. The authors
defend the thesis that the works of N. Elias can help us resolve some
of these problems, but not all of them. Kaspersen and Gabriel insist
on the importance of the Eliasian concept of “survival unit.” Again,
Elias is not presented as a perfect solution. In fact, the authors argue
that “by introducing other German thinkers such as G. W. F. Hegel
and C. von Clausewitz and incorporating some of their concepts into
Elias’s perspective a step toward a stronger relational sociology can be
developed.”
In Chapter 4, Kivinen and Piiroinen develop arguments for the
combination of their own “methodological relationalism” “with a
pragmatist (Deweyan) theory of action and a (Darwinian) concept of
evolutionary niches, aiming to promote the understanding of human
xviii Introduction
transaction mechanisms in their context.” Kivinen and Piiroinen take

their distance from Emirbayer and other relational sociologists who
establish the need for relational sociology on ontological challenges.
Their “methodological relationism” rejects any need for one social
ontology. They see relational research as being “problem driven”:
“There is no reason why the commencement of any empirical inquiry
should require one first to formulate a metaphysical conception of the
ultimate nature of its objects.” Following Dewey, they also propose
one form of pragmatism based on “organism—environment transac-
tions,” which reject any form of dualism one can find in other rela-
tional theories. They advocate as well for the adoption of a Darwinian
conception of niches in order to discover social mechanisms.
In Chapter 5, John Mohr deals with one of the most impor-
tant contemporary sociologists one can transact with: P. Bourdieu.
As Mohr reminds us, in his late work Bourdieu associated his the-
ory with relational sociology. This association makes sense since
Bourdieu rejected “substantialism,” which he identified with posi-
tivism. As Mohr wrote in an unpublished abstract of his chapter,
Bourdieu’s “theorization of relationism is both sophisticated and far-
reaching and it provides the foundation for many of his theoretical
constructs.” However, “Bourdieu’s actual research practice tends to
come up short, often reflecting the same sort of linear methodological
presuppositions which he has otherwise so eloquently dismissed.” The
critique of Mohr is inspired from the American network analytic tradi-
tion, and he insists on “two different elements of Bourdieu’s work, his
research on cultural capital and his work on the analysis of institutional
fields.”
By seeing social phenomena as fluid social processes rather than
solid “social things,” relational sociologists present the social uni-
verse as being particularly dynamic rather than being static. The next
chapter by White, Godart, and Thiemann offers a good example of
this type of perspective. “Identities,” they say, seek control in uncer-
tain environments. Relying on an analytical distinction between “net-
works of relations” and “networks of meanings,” the authors argue
that “turning points” happen when the “space of possibles” change
for each identities—“i.e. when at least one of the different forms of
uncertainty increases or decreases, giving the opportunity to identities
to modify their strategies or gamings.” In fact, White, Godart, and
Thiemann distinguish three forms of uncertainties: “Ambage is the
uncertainty referring to social relations and ambiguity the uncertainty
referring to meanings. Both relate to stochastic environments through
contingency, the third type of uncertainty.”
Introduction xix
Typically, in Chapter 7, Fontdevila and White place relational soci-

ology in between individualism and holism. They also see relations as
being fluid and dynamic. Citing White’s landmark work Identity and
Control, they reassert that the world is made of “complex striations,
long strings repeating as in a polymer goo, or in a mineral before
it hardens.” In this chapter, they argue that reflexivity and language
are crucial dimensions of relations in the contemporary world. But
these relations are not always consensual. The “language’s reflexive
and indexical dimensions” are fueled by inequalities and lead to “vari-
ous types of control and power mechanisms.” Once again, the authors
insist on the complexity of relations and how actors try to deal with
contingencies in reflexive and dynamic ways.
Then, in Chapter 8, J. Fuhse insists on the “interweaving of
network relations and culture.” For him, this should be the main con-
cern of relational sociology. In this sense, we should keep in mind
in our relational analysis that “social structures are always symbolic
constructions of expectations and thus filled with ‘culture.’” Fuhse
provides some basic theoretical principles leading to the methodolog-
ical integration of qualitative and quantitative methods for research
in social relationships. He discusses “alternative conceptions of the
basic building blocks of networks like actors, relations, and connec-
tions.” Then, he “sketches a communication theoretical account of
how social structures (like social relationships) emerge in the process
of communication.” He also “offers a theoretical account of social
relationships as bundles of expectation between two actors, or as rela-
tional definitions of the situation.” The notion of relational frame is
also “introduced to denote the cultural models used in relationships
to establish interpersonal expectations.” Finally, “the relation between
relational frames, the construction of identity, and network structure
is discussed.”
In the final chapter, the most methodological one of the book,
Heather Price raises some methodological issues related to the mea-
surement of social relationships. This text on “How to Parsimoniously
Use Dyadic Measures as Independent Variables” reflects the unde-
niable progress made by network analysts, especially the structural
analysts, in terms of developing techniques allowing the mapping of
social relations between individuals and groups. It also identifies some
methodological limits for this type of analysis. Indeed, after notic-
ing that most of the efficient methods measure the popularity of
actors in networks, Price mobilizes network survey data collected from
Indianapolis charter school staff members, and discusses method-
ological issues such as “multicollinearity, the PCF findings, and the
xx Introduction
resulting latent measures that surface from the PCF procedure,”

“identifying persons in an organization who seek out information,”
“who others go to for help,” and “who involve themselves with diverse
others.”
This volume has a companion, titled Conceptualizing Relational
Sociology: Ontological and Theoretical Issues. The distinction between
Conceptualizing Relational Sociology and the current volume, Apply-
ing Relational Sociology, is one of emphasis and nuance rather than
topic, as the chapters in both volumes address conceptual issues,
and both are oriented to applicability in sociological research and in
our everyday perceptions. Nevertheless, the chapters in Conceptual-
izing Relational Sociology have a slightly different flavor than those
in this volume. Contributions by S. Redshaw, K. Fish, C. McFarlane,
D. Kasper, C. Tsekeris, and C. Thorpe all address the intersections
or interconnections between relational sociology and one or another
body of sociological theory or social critique. These contributions
connect relational sociology with feminist thought, Marxism, animal
rights, Elias, and Bourdieu. Contributions by N. Crossley, M. Archer,
F. Dépelteau, and C. Powell speak directly to question of how,
precisely, we conceptualize social relations. If relational sociology is
centered on social relations, then the question “what are social rela-
tions?” has far-reaching implications. This volume concludes with a
brief essay by M. Emirbayer on the historical importance of relational
sociology “as fighting words”; this essay is both a reflection on the
past and a call to arms for the future. We hope that readers who find
the contributions in this volume exciting will be drawn to seek out its
companion.
Notes
1. See Dépelteau, F. “What Is the Direction of the ‘Relational Turn?’ ” in
Conceptualizing Relational Sociology: Ontological and Theoretical Issues,
(eds.) C. Powell and F. Dépelteau (New York: Palgrave) (2013).
2. The citations in this introduction come from the chapters published in
this book, except for the presentation of the chapter of J. Mohr.
Chapter 1
R e l at i o n a l S o c i o l o g y a n d t h e
Globalized Society
Pierpaolo Donati∗
Sociology and globalization

The basic thesis of this contribution consists in claiming that
globalization is bringing about a new “way of making society,”1 which
needs a new sociology to be better understood and explained. Current
sociology lacks a vision of how society can exceed itself.
To characterize globalization in terms of uncertainty, risk, and
liquidity, as is common to Bauman (1998), Beck (1998), and Giddens
(1999), does not significantly extend our knowledge because every
epochal crisis has always been accompanied by such “symptoms.”
Although these features are particularly pronounced today and are
structurally inherent in the emerging society, this does not alter the
fact that they are merely symptomatic.
Globalization and its features are not the “causes” of social change;
they are “effects.” The causes are the generative mechanisms that pro-
duce “a relational order of reality.” This is precisely the topic I want
to deal with.
The main sociological interpretations of globalization that can
currently be identified (globalization as the last phase of liberal cap-
italism; globalization as world interdependence or mondialization;
globalization as standardization of the Mind, or more simply, as cul-
tural homogenization; globalization as a step toward a single “world
social system”) consider globalization to be the fruit of modernity’s
2 P i e r pa o l o D o n at i
realization. For this reason, none are able to break free from a vision
of the past that prevents them from taking the qualitative epistemo-
logical leap now required to cope with the emergence of an after- or
trans-modern society.2
In order to make that leap and thus to take into account the
morphogenetic character of globalization and its transformations,
sociology has to be able to formulate a new general theory (“rela-
tional” in kind) that enables us to distinguish one form of society from
another. In particular, it should be able to specify in what respects
“global society” differs from all other forms of society—both past and
potential ones.
The call for a relational sociological theory emerges from within
this framework. Its aim is to avoid reductionism and, on the other
hand, to overcome the aporias and difficulties inherent in postmodern
theories, especially their imprisonment in what will later be discussed
as the complex of “lib/lab” thinking. The goal of a relational theory
is to show that society is made up of social relations with respect to
which human beings are both immanent and transcendent. So society
is still made by human beings, but increasingly it does not consist of
them, since it is made up more and more of social relations created
by human beings. Such an approach makes it possible to revitalize
the human dimension of doing sociology and, in parallel, of making
society, despite the apparent dehumanization of contemporary social
life (Donati, 2011a).
In this text I argue that globalization means the following: (1) there
has been an exponential increase in sociocultural variability on a
world scale, because all populations become more and more het-
erogeneous (“plural”) within and between themselves3 ; (2) such
increase in variability induces the emergence of new mechanisms
of selection and stabilization of social relations that are radically
different with both earlier and late modernity (i.e., a new social
morphogenesis).
My argument will touch on the following points. First of all, in the
second section of this chapter, I maintain that classical conceptions of
society cannot survive the impact of global society. To substantiate this
proposition, it will be argued that mainstream contemporary theories
are unable to understand and to explain many contemporary social
phenomena. In the third and fourth sections, it will be maintained
that, in order to understand these phenomena, it is first necessary to
redefine what makes society. Only then can we compare (in the fifth
section of this chapter) different societies and identify the features of
the new society.
R e l at i o n a l S o c i o l o g y & G l o b a l i z e d S o c i e t y 3
This argument is intended to show that a relational sociological

theory alone can understand and explain the specific type of society
that is emerging. The meta-theory to be presented is characterized by
a radically different way of conceiving what makes society and advances
a new representation of the social that is capable of capturing its object
more adequately (final section).
Globalization and Social Relations: Some

Unexpected Social Phenomena
Sociological theory cannot always provide plausible explanations
(or understandings) of social phenomena, unlike the natural sci-
ences. On some occasions its “explanations” are circular or consist
of mere tautologies. On others, not only is contemporary soci-
ological theory unable to explain certain phenomena, but it also
interprets them as irrational, unpredictable, or “perverse” effects.
This is because these phenomena apparently fail to comply with the
established explanations (the so-called laws) of modern sociological
theory.
Following are some examples of the phenomena that appear to be
“incomprehensible” to current sociology:
Example (a) Gesellschaft produces Gemeinschaft (association generates

community).
Most modern sociological theory is unable to explain how rela-
tions of Gesellschaft can give rise to relations of Gemeinschaft. I am
referring here to Ferdinand Toennies and Max Weber in particu-
lar, but most classical authors can be included, although not all of
them.4 Yet today we can observe several instances in which commu-
nity relations are generated by contractual relations, initially based
on instrumental rationality. This phenomenon takes place in firms,
network companies, and voluntary contractual associations (e.g., in
so-called time banks set up to regulate the exchange of time spent
by participants when offering services to one another). In a num-
ber of sectors, associations formed among unrelated individuals can
give rise to a community whose aims are not merely instrumental.
Can “modern” sociological theory account for this phenomenon?
So far, sociology has relied on explanations that appeal to a pendu-
lum effect or depend on the notion of a backlash between Gesellschaft
and Gemeinschaft. However, these cases defy such explanations
(Teubner, 2000).
Example (b) Religion re-enters the public sphere.

Modern sociological theory perceives religion as a phenomenon that
is progressively destined to be confined to people’s private lives. Yet
numerous empirical studies have revealed that in the West—and in
“advanced” modern societies in general—the religious dimension is
increasingly regarded as relevant (and rightly so) not only to the pri-
vate but also to the public sphere (Seligman, 2000). This phenomenon
clashes with the “laws” of modern sociological theory, specifically
those of progressive “disenchantment” or the inevitability of secular-
ization. A new postsecular public sphere emerges almost everywhere
(Donati, 2002).
Example (c) A new economy emerges in which labor is de-
rationalized.
Modern sociological theory sees labor as a service characterized by
a process of progressive rationalization and commodification—a phe-
nomenon related to the inexorable development of capitalist economy.
Yet in today’s labor market we witness the rise of labor practices that
seem to derationalize work. The post-fordist division of labor and the
corporations that operate on the basis of a “networking by project”
(Boltanski and Chiappello, 1999) are good examples. And so are those
practices that do not represent utopian aspirations, but constitute
the foundations for new forms of “social” or “civil” economies con-
ducted according to the principle of reciprocity instead of the profit
motive (Donati, 2001). How can modern sociological theory begin
to explain this?
Example (d) Free giving becomes a differentiated relation, which
supports new social and economic organizations.
According to most modern sociological theory, free giving is an
archaic and primitive form of economic exchange. However, today,
free giving represents a dynamic and diversified type of relationship
characterizing several “modern” social spheres. This is the case with
the redistribution of citizenship (Caillé, 1994) and within the spheres
of private, civil, or social economy (Donati, 2003). In particular,
free giving underlies a number of social and economic undertak-
ings, such as community, foundations, social cooperatives, voluntary
associations, social enterprises, cyber-commons, and civil foundations,
seeking to improve the efficiency and effectiveness of disinterested
behavior.
Example (e) Ethical markets arise in contradiction with the modern

paradigm of instrumental rationality.
In addition to free giving—as an outworking of social integration
that may also have economic value—we witness the rise of economies
that tend toward new forms of “ethical exchange” (fair trade,
“economies of communion,” economies based on social solidarity,
etc.) (Donati, 2003). The relational paradigm has already entered
modern economics (Sacco and Zamagni, 2002).
Example (f) The crisis of the nation-state citizenship is followed by the
rise of new forms of multiple citizenship and nonstate membership.
According to modern social theory, single, dual, and multiple citizen-
ship are rooted in the state, as is illustrated by the issue of passports.
Today we witness the rise of social citizenships that are not state based
and can be “multiplied” depending on the membership of nonstate
political communities, such as epistemic communities, supernational
communities (postnational forms of citizenship such as EU citizen-
ship), or cosmopolitan citizenship through the Internet. To my mind,
this process is bound to develop because the globalization of social
relations necessarily implies the multiple memberships of social actors
in associations that are increasingly differentiating themselves both
within and between nation-states (Preyer, 2000).
Example (g) New “virtual communities” appear.
According to modern social theory, communities are based on cultural
identity, whereas associations are based on interests. Yet today we
witness the emergence of societies that are based neither on iden-
tity nor on interests, but on virtual forms of communication (they
are “virtual tribes” according to Dell’Aquila, 1999), such as virtual
Internet communities (discussion groups, antiglobal websites, social
networks, etc.)—ones that may contribute somehow to the pursuit of
interests and identity but basically stem from other drives.
Example (h) The class-based conflict disappears and gives way to
conflicts over civil rights and ecological issues.
Social theory emphasizes the centrality of conflicts over social rewards
in modernity, as in the classic portrayal of class, status, and power strug-
gles. Increasingly, however, contemporary conflicts are centered on on
civil rights and ecological issues, encompassing both physical ecology
(concerned with the protection of the environment and of natural
resources) and human ecology (concerning human relations and in

particular intergenerational relations, etc.).
To repeat, the social theory of modernity could not predict these

phenomena and cannot adequately explain them. Other allegedly
“new” phenomena are the emergence of new forms of warfare and
terrorism, of new family models, of new approaches to risk, and of
new learning practices. For some, the mobilization of 130 million peo-
ple across the world, on February 15, 2003, who took to the streets
in protest against the war in Iraq, should be included among these
new social phenomena. Indubitably, international social movements
are innovative phenomena of great significance because they represent
the birth of a new world civil society. But are they really different from
and discontinuous with the paradigm of modernity?
In many respects, these movements can be seen as an extension
of the classic paradigm of the relations between civil society and
political society, now carried beyond the nation state. By contrast,
what were defined above as “new” phenomena (a–h) are genuinely
ground breaking because they cannot be assimilated to expressions of
modernizing processes or regarded as mere reactions to or effects of
capitalism. In short, the above examples cannot be understood as sim-
ple reactions to modernity or as its continuation, since they do not
conform to any of its “laws” or tendencies. It is intriguing that such
phenomena have emerged at the same time as processes of globaliza-
tion. Is this a coincidence or is there a causal relationship between
the two?
To consider these new phenomena simply as an effect of the world-
wide expansion of modern capitalism (Wallerstein, 1991) is reductive
and misleading. To regard these phenomena as only reactions to
the spread of capitalism, or as alternatives to capitalism, amounts
to explaining their existence in terms of capitalism and modernity.
Instead, my contention is that they are radically discontinuous with
modern society and with modern sociological theory, which are
homologous with each other.5
What Trans-Modern Social Phenomena Teach Us

It is maintained here that the common denominator of the examples
mentioned above is that they are all based on “creative relationships.”
These are such that neither action theories (based on methodological
individualism) nor system and structural theories (based on method-
ological holism) can possibly understand and explain. In order to
give a proper account of the above examples, we need a “theory of

emergent phenomena.”6
Action theories seek to explain these phenomena as the aggregate
result of some individual “subject” (e.g., Elster, 1984) or collective
“subject” (e.g., Touraine, 1978). Yet the phenomena listed above
clearly exceed and transcend the qualities of the subject—whether indi-
vidual or collective. Such phenomena are neither the sum nor the
product of factors pertaining to the subject. In order to understand
these phenomena as emergent ones, it is necessary to take into account
structural and interactional factors that are more complex than those
that can be conceptualized by action theory.
By contrast, structuralist theories and system theories explain these
unforeseen phenomena as resulting from social dynamics that are
independent of the intentions of the subject and operate in an imper-
sonal, functionalist fashion.7 However, this view is also one sided in
its exclusion of subjective factors (such as motivations and values)
and leads to unnecessarily contentious conclusions by according causal
powers to dubious social “forces.”
In fact, the vast majority of sociologists and sociological theo-
ries continue to oscillate between methodological individualism and
methodological holism, in the fruitless attempt to strike a balance
between the two. A few examples suffice. The work of Elster (1989)
is emblematic, with notion of rational choice being held to produce
collective norms. Even Boudon (1979), who claims adherence to
methodological individualism, resorts to holistic explanations in La
logique du social. Bauman (1998), who regards globalization as a
process that makes individuals more individualistic, more insecure,
and more disembedded, simultaneously points out the development
of new needs for community and thus attempts to counterbalance
individualism with collectivism. Finally, Giddens’s sociology (1999)
is a typical example of a sociological theory based on the conflation
between the two paradigms (Archer, 1995). As is well known, the so-
called Third Way he proposed in the wake of globalization has been
short lived. In brief, almost all self-professed sociologists have failed
to escape these paradigms. In general, they have moved toward some
combination of the two, which is what I characterize as the lib/lab
complex.
Thus, the theory that is currently architectonic in sociology is
one that holds some amalgam of methodological individualism and
methodological holism to be constitutive of the ambivalence that
makes for the social—and it regards this Janus-faced ambivalence
as inescapable. Ironically, the antinomy between individualism and
holism represents the hermeneutic circle par excellence; it appears that

no one can escape it.
I define this architectonic principle as the “lib/lab complex” of
sociology. “Lib” stands for the liberty pole (methodological individu-
alism) and “lab” stands for the systemic control pole (methodological
holism) (Donati, 2000). The “lib/lab complex” dates back to the very
beginning of sociology and was first introduced by Thomas Hobbes.
During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, this complex took
the form of the ambivalent relationship (portrayed variously) between
the “state of nature” and societas civilis sive politica and later took
the form of accentuating the ambivalence between market and state.
During the twentieth century it was re-theorized by Parsons, who
conceptualized it as the “Hobbesian problem of social order.” It was
re-introduced by Luhmann (1984, 1992) as the complex made up
of “system (lab) and environment (lib).” Other schools of sociologi-
cal thought conceptualized the “lib/lab complex” differently, a typical
example being the agency (lib) and structure (lab) debate of the 1990s.
The endurance of the “lib/lab” complex explains why the elision
of action theories and system theories nearly always results in the (cen-
tral) conflation of agency and structure (Archer, 1995). It also explains
why the functionalist approach is currently faced with a brutal choice:
either to dissolve into paradigm of communication that holds social
relations to be a “non-concept” (as in Luhmann’s case) or to con-
cede its own failure (when discarding the neo-functionalist approach,
as with Alexander, 1996).
Functionalism remains the infrastructure of modernity’s char-
acteristic mode of thought, despite being incapable of engag-
ing with “emergent phenomena.” Parsonsian and neo-Parsonsian
functionalism alike are grounded in an institutional individualism that,
allied with a systems theory approach, contradicts the notion of vol-
untarism in social action. In empirical terms, this discourse means that
contemporary sociological theory is also based on the “lib/lab com-
plex,” because its descriptions of society are always cast in terms of
some compromise between the state and the market as the driving
force of the social system. The result is that it can deal with innovation
(res novae) only from within the symbolic code of modernity.8
What all these reformulations have failed to rectify is the original
sin of thinking that society is characterized by the essence (the inmost
kernel, the cultural pattern) of modernity, which entails the negation
of the relational character of social relations. Yet it is precisely when the
Hobbesian model of social order is becoming exhausted that we leave
modernity and enter a new historical phase.
If the emerging phenomena—examples (a–h), which have already

been introduced—share something in common, that “something”
consists in the two following features.
(1) These phenomena stem from the “latency sphere” of society;

instead of following the lib/lab value scheme, they introduce new
criteria or cultural codes that valorize social relations.
(2) Such emergent phenomena, diffused through new means of
communication, are ones that sociological theory hesitates to
accept as being completely novel—both to epistemology and in
practice. Yet they are of a kind that modifies their own epistemo-
logical foundations and the more general assumptions upon which
these rest. They do so by changing the meaning of traditional
concepts and the possibility of using them.
It seems to be the case that these novel characteristics are linked to

globalization, however globalization is defined.9 They are related to
globalization, although they are not its direct and immediate results
but the outcome of a more complex series of factors. The forces
that modify society are not merely a reaction to globalization and
its most notorious characteristics: capitalism and commodification.
Instead, they are also generative mechanisms that themselves result
from morphogenetic processes. The problem with mainstream con-
temporary sociological theory is that it is unable to appreciate the
morphogenesis undergone by social relationships. My argument is that
this “blindness” is the result of the lib/lab code. What remains to be
understood is why social theory remains imprisoned by this code.
In the light of the AGIL diagram (in its relational and post-
Parsonsian reformulation: see Donati, 2000), the elaboration of these
new social relations stems from the zone of latency (L), through the
interaction between its transcendental values and society’s instrumen-
tal means of adaptation. Spreading out from there, the norms of social
integration are reshaped and then modify the lib/lab apparatuses of
government and governance. This can be illustrated by reference to
the earlier example of Gesellschaft producing Gemeinschaft. In the case
of a time bank, what changes most of all is the way in which the time
devoted to social relations is valued intrinsically, that is, an “internal
good” whose external expression is as a cultural pattern (L): time
becomes less and less a “currency” of exchange and is transformed
into an expression of interpersonal relations (entailing an historico-
relational dimension of time). Although the people involved make use
of a “bank” (A), their exchange rules (I) are not based on monetary
exchange but on an enlarged system of reciprocity—which, in turn,

means that the bank’s management is also regulated by cultural criteria
(L) rather than by any version of the lib/lab scheme (G).
What is wrong with current theories? As has already been
emphasized, current sociology depends on categories derived from
modernity and therefore fails to appreciate newly emergent phenom-
ena. As a result, these theories fail to recognize the morphogenesis of
interpersonal relations as the effect of globalization. This transforma-
tion means that all the newly emergent phenomena share a different
logic, guided by a different symbolic code. This is no longer a hege-
monic logic, unlike the monism of nineteenth- and twentieth-century
ideology and religion, which stood in a zero-sum relationship to each
other. Instead, it is plural in kind and irreducible ad unum. These
phenomena also share a cybernetics that is no longer mechanicistic (as
in Parsons’s AGIL scheme) and no longer involves a second order
reflexivity (as in Luhmann’s scheme), but a relational cybernetics that
goes beyond Parsons and Luhmann.
The decreasing marginal utility of functionalism (which parallels
the declining marginal utility of the capitalist components of glob-
alization) mirrors the emerging new needs of a “supra-functional
latency.”10 Illustrative examples include substituting the concept of
the person (as individual-in-relation) for modernity’s notion of the
mere (abstract, casual) “individual” and replacing modernist seman-
tics, based on the opposition between equality and inequality, with
the distinction between identity and difference, thus pointing to a
new logic of social inclusion (Donati, 2002/2003). Failure to rec-
ognize the emergent phenomena under discussion means that their
interpretation tends to oscillate between a defensive and obsolete posi-
tion (positivism) and a paranoid position, which typifies theories of
deconstruction (see Teubner, 2001). Both positivist and anti-positivist
theories—however different in their approach—deny reality. How can
this denial be avoided?
Redefining “What Makes Society”

Each civilization (and within it, each historical period) has its own
specific way of conferring meaning (legitimacy), which shapes the reg-
ulative forms governing social relations. This configuration is homo-
geneous in each society, at a given historical time, and makes it unique.
In short, each civilization distinguishes itself from all others by its
manner of “making society.”11 In ancient Egypt under the Pharaohs,
all social relations were subordinated to the overarching theocracy of
the God-Pharaoh. In ancient Greece, the polis displayed a configura-

tion derived from regulative principles dialogically established in the
agora. In ancient Rome, power was stratified on the basis of belonging
to the judicial and political state apparatus. In medieval Christendom
it can be seen in the relation of society to transcendence—the lat-
ter expressed, though not fully encompassed, by the Gospel—that
rendered all social relationships contingent (in a double sense: con-
tingent as “dependent upon” and as “possible in a different mode”).
In the Islamic umma (the community of believers), it lies in the rela-
tion between each individual and the Koranic law (sharìa), interpreted
as the “tribal” response to all the issues of everyday life. In the Protes-
tant world, characterized by capitalist modernization, it can be seen
in the interpretation of the individual’s earthly success as a sign of
divine election. These are all examples of “typical” ways of “making
society” that are associated with an “ideal-typical” relational pattern
characteristic of that civilization.
What follows is a brief summary of how we can reformulate this task
of why and how a society “makes itself” sui generis through the emer-
gence of a new relational pattern, which then serves to characterize
it. To begin with, figure 1.1 distinguishes three groups of socio-
logical theories: (1) classical modern sociologies (dominant in the
nineteenth and first half of the twentieth centuries); (2) postmodern
sociologies (developing toward the end of the twentieth century); and
(3) trans-modern sociologies (now being elaborated).
(1) The classical sociology of modernity represented society by anal-

ogy with the natural and the historical world, that is, as any
number of social structures or systems, in competition with each
other for evolutionary success. The corresponding conceptualiza-
tion of society is guided by analogical reasoning, and its symbolic
terminology is largely based on the identity principle (A = A). This
form of sociology seeks “laws,” determinants and stable, regular
connections within a Darwinian evolutionary framework. It pre-
supposes that different forms of society compete and survive only
if they are able to adapt successfully to the surrounding environ-
ment. A concrete example of this type of conceptualization is the
family, theorized in various distinctive social forms, with the aim
of identifying an optimal form for the survival of society. The her-
itage of the classical approach reached its climacteric in the work
of Parsons.
(2) In postmodern sociologies, evolution is not “finalistically” ori-
ented; it does not have to achieve the best possible form of
adaptation; to a large extent its development and its forms are

contingent and accidental. Such sociologies put an end to the
idea of “constant progress,” which dominated the first phase of
modernity. The evolution of society is conceptualized as permu-
tations upon a symbolic code within which any identity is (i.e., is
made/makes itself) the negation of everything that is other-than-
itself [A = non (non-A)]. Despite employing a formula that is
ideologically charged—via the influence of “negative” liberalism,
in which freedom is defined as “freedom from” bonds and con-
straints, forgetting positive freedom as “an opportunity for”—it is
claimed that any ideological element has been eliminated. Instead,
refuge is sought in autopoiesis and self-referentiality. The social
is everything that constitutes itself through the negation of that
which is nonsocial. Thus, society “makes itself” by negating all
that is different from itself. This is a formula for total indetermi-
nacy. Thus, postmodern sociology represents the family as a form
that is plastic and thus given to unpredictable relations between
genders and generations.
(3) Trans-modern sociologies have to seek a new identity for soci-
ety that does not rely on classical or postmodern categories. The
symbolic code on which identity is built is relational [A = r
(A, non-A)] (where r = relation). Identity is defined in relation
to the other—be it by relations of separation, exchange, com-
bination, or fusion. The key point here is that this formula can
also indicate the conditions for the realization of new, positive
possibilities, ones that are morphogenetic in the sense of being
re-constitutive.
Within this framework, society is conceptualized as a network, though

not a network of objects or of individuals, but as a network of rela-
tions. Each node of the network represents a social order (conceived as
a combination of established relational links). The basic formula is the
following (figure 1.2): every agent/actor/social system/social sphere
(= ego, internally constituted by different relational configurations
of means-intentions-norms-values = MINV) shapes its social iden-
tity through interactions with the other agent/actor/system/social
sphere (= alter, internally structured in terms of its own MINV
complex). The interaction between ego and alter is regulated by
HIAG relations (based on four dimensions: heteronomy, instrumen-
tality, autonomy, and gratuity = HIAG), which are different for ego
and alter.
13
Three Representation Symbolic Main methodological Mode of concep-

paradigms of the social code tools and schemes tualization of the
world “social”
(1) Modern The social world A = A Binary and ideal-typical By analogy with
(classical) as a formation of (principle of concepts nature (the
sociology social structures, identity) Pattern variables social is
defining and Parsonsian AGIL homologous to
distinguishing organic nature
themselves insofar as it is
through the product of
evolutionary human beings
competition as bio-psycho-
sociocultural
units)
(2) Post-modern One world A = non System/ environment By negation of
sociology society (society (non-A) scheme (A/non- A) nature (the
becomes Second-order cybernetics “natural”
one self - character of the
differentiating social is
system instead replaced by
of being symbolic
constituted by constructionism,
different treating
societies in transcendence
competition with and humanity as
one another and metaphoric)
differentiating
both within and
between them)
(3) A plurality of A=r Society as a network of The social as a
Trans-modern “relationally (A, non-A) relations articulated in relational and
(global) possible” social social systems morphogenetic
sociology worlds (non- General scheme: sui generis
predetermined) reality
(embracing
A r structural,
non-A cultural, and
agential
morphogenesis)
Figure 1.1 The basic assumptions of modern, postmodern, and trans-modern

sociologies
(HIAG)e
A= (MINV)e r' (MINV)a r"
(HIAG)a
Figure 1.2 The basic scheme of the constitution of an actor’s (A) social identity in
trans-modern society (e = ego; a = alter)
Let us read figure 1.2. The figure simply says that an actor’s social
relations are managed by ego’s self, and therefore are based upon his
or her own internal reflexivity, but self-reflexivity is a complex process
of relating oneself to the other (alter). Here I include the theorem
of “double contingency” in social interaction and Max Weber’s def-
inition of what a social relation is. But also Edith Stein’s studies on
empathy. Action, as an “external” relation, is made up of a stuff that
is elaborated in the internal conversation (as you think of it) of ego,
taking into account the other’s MINV and his or her HIAG, since
they are part of the definition of the situation by ego (and therefore
must be taken into consideration by ego when he or she redefines—
in a reflexive way—his or her MINV and HIAG). Each agent/actor
(A), be it individual or collective, is relationally constituted internally
by his/her personal reflexivity (internal conversation within the ego-
alter relation, r ) and operates relationally with the outer world (other
agent/actors, systems, or sectors of society) by practicing his/her rela-
tional reflexivity on the external relation r . The internal relations (r )
(operating within A and conceived of as system of action), as well
as the external relations r , can involve conflict, separation, and dis-
tancing or complementarity and reciprocity, in any of their possible
combinations.
The example of the family is again useful here. In this frame-
work, the family is no longer considered—as in classic sociology—to
be a well-defined structure, a model, or an ideal type. Nor is it
considered—as in postmodern sociology—to be an indeterminate
system. Rather, trans-modern sociologies consider the family in “rela-
tional” terms, that is, as a form allowing for a variety of different
relations of reciprocity between genders and generations. These are
elaborated through morphogenetic processes that valorize the ele-
ments constitutive of relations between genders and generations. The
family, like society, operates according to the A = r (A, non-A)
code. Families present a non-predetermined plurality of social systems
(worlds) that are “relationally possible,” that is, pertain to the family
as a sui generis reality (a sui generis is social relation, with no functional
equivalent).
Paralleling the different ways in which the social system (e.g., the
family) has been conceptualized, the human dimension of what is
social varies. (1) Within the framework of classic sociology, the human
dimension of the social is treated as analogous to organic nature.
(2) In postmodern sociology, the human dimension of the social is
metaphorical, and is defined through negation of what is “natural.”
(3) In trans-modern sociology, the human dimension of the social is
relational; that is, it lies within the relationship and originates from
relationships: to be human means to exist in a social relation, in the
tension between solitude and being with others. To the extent that
society becomes more and more complex (“globalized”), social rela-
tions increase their importance as constitutive of what is human within
the social. The main reason for this is that social relations become
more and more crucial to the development of what is human in
the person—from his/her original (presocial) self, to the way he/she
becomes an agent, then a corporate “we,” and finally, an individual
actor who is not only reflexive in himself/herself but also “relationally
reflexive.”12
The Globalization of Social Relations and

Sociological Theory
Around the mid-twentieth century, Parsons (1961) devised a power-
ful theory of social change, which could be called the functionalist
theory of social evolution (Alexander, 1983). However, today it has
become increasingly evident that the Parsonian approach is unable
to capture the phenomena associated with the global era. There is
a vast literature on this subject, which can barely be touched upon
here. Instead, the following comments merely underline the main
reasons why the functionalist theory of social change has failed. These
comments do not point to the fact that it is conservative, as many
have—erroneously—maintained, nor that it is too rigid and unable to
accommodate ambivalence, deviance, or antisocial behavior. Its fail-
ure can rather be attributed to the fact that the Parsonian theory of
social change is not relational enough and, more specifically, that it does
not envisage a relational morphogenesis such as that emerging from the
processes of globalization.13
What Parsons’s theory is able to capture is globalization as a process
in which the driving force derives from the subsystem of adaptation
(A; i.e., economy) to affect all other subsystems (G, I, L). Certainly,
the process of globalization relies upon the circulation of generalized
means of exchange, and because of this the function of adaptation is
modified through the symbolic contributions to the other (noneco-
nomic) subsystems. Most crucially, Parsonsian theory relies upon the
existence of a latent value system (L) that is also dispersed through-
out the social system without restriction. However, it is precisely these
prerequisites that are lacking in the global era. The phenomena men-
tioned above could not be foreseen by Parsons’s theory of social
change, yet demonstrate the following: (1) the central value system
(effectively the L of AGIL) of modernity can no longer be upheld

and (2) its attempted generalization (both symbolic and functional)
encounters obstacles that cannot be surmounted.
What changes society manifests itself firstly in the latent sphere of
society (the L of any social relation/system/actor); it is re-elaborated
there and subsequently spreads out and influences A, G, and I. The
internal crisis of each of the functional spheres of society, and in par-
ticular of the economic capitalist market (A), the political system (G),
and the institutions of social integration (I) derives from the rela-
tional dimension of culture (L). In particular, the present crisis of what
I term the lib/lab complex (i.e., the rule of society guided by compro-
mise between market and state) is because the symbolic codes of the
market and the state (money and power) alienate people from the
relational character of their life, and thus colonize civil society with-
out achieving any real success in terms of social cohesion and cultural
integration.
It follows that the “globalization of relations,” within the newly
emerging society, itself needs re-formulating “globally” (within the
AGIL scheme) as a result of three processes:
(1) An intensified interaction among the internal components of

action (MINV);
(2) The increase in external interchanges (HIAG) (affecting each
type of relation: for instance, work/nonwork, family/nonfamily,
citizenship/noncitizenship, etc.);
(3) The transcendence of the newly formed relations over the former
ones.
The emerging society is genuinely trans-modern because it no longer

follows the dominant distinctions of modernity. The key terms of
contemporary society have changed and given way to a new “sym-
bolic order.” Modernity’s slogans were “linear and limitless progress,”
“exploitation of the environment” (in Faustian spirit), society as a
“dialectic between state and civil society,” and politics confined to
“constitutionalism within the nation state.” Conversely, the mottos of
trans-modernity are “sustainable and limited development,” “human
ecology,” society conceived as “network of networks,” “multicultural
society,” and “politicization of the private domain.”
Furthermore, each symbolic code (money, power, influence,
value-commitment) has undergone a threefold process of intensified
interaction—internal, external, and transcendental—with emergent
consequences. As a result, time and space categories have become
social relations. Simultaneously, social relations themselves, previously

regulated by the generalized symbolic means of exchange, have been
transformed by a relational dynamics (cf. 2.3) that consists of: (1) a
plurality of meanings, which is more than mere structural differen-
tiation within symbolic universalism; (2) relational cybernetics; and
(3) hyper-functionality (rather than functional specialization) of mean-
ing. These three transformations have redefined “L” as “other” than
the “L” of modernity (in sociology and in society). This “other” does
not stand for contingency (“what can be always otherwise,” as in
Luhmann), but is a “relationally possible other.”
These are the referents of “globalized” social relations. They occur
when social relations become atemporal, non-spatial, abstract, and sys-
temic, rather than interpersonal or face-to-face, and take place in a
virtual reality (i.e., where they are “virtually real”), rather than in a
reality experienced as concrete and situated. In consequence, global
society is more unstable and chaotic than all past forms of soci-
ety. Global society consists of a set of possibilities that have to be
“relationally” selected.
“Real” society responds to contingency on the basis of its specific
needs and in relation to its own goals. It achieves this by activating the
properties of globalization that are necessary to these ends (thus link-
ing needs to responses or solutions). However, globalization and the
attendant escalation of the function of adaptation (“A”) at the macro-
social level is not exercised by the entirety of the social system. For
example, when perceived needs are local, the global dimension affects
local responses but, at the same time, it derives its form and meaning
from the local setting, giving rise to the so-called glocal (Mander and
Goldsmith, 1996).
Global Society Requires a New Theory of

Social Differentiation
A sociological theory that is appropriate to the processes of glob-
alization has as its testing ground the ability to capture the
morphostasis/morphogenesis of relations, and not only the mor-
phostasis/morphogenesis of structures, culture, and agency. The
morphogenesis of relations is not the result of the morphogenesis of
its individual components, but depends on the possibility of differ-
entiation of social relations in their own right—that is, as emergent
phenomena with their own distinctive generative mechanisms.
This leads on to the theory of social differentiation. The three
well-known forms of social differentiation (segmentary, stratified, and
Segmentary Segmentary differentiation Tribe or clan membership

(tribal)
morphostasis
Stratified (status) Stratified differentiation Membership of closed social
morphostasis strata (status)
Functional Functional differentiation Membership according to
morphogenesis functional performance and
organization
Relational Relational differentiation Membership based on
morphogenesis (according to which “parts” of participation in social
society are not specialized in networks that have a
a functional manner, but relate suprafunctional meaning and
to each other by networking) no functional equivalence
Figure 1.3 The forms of social differentiation
functional) must be integrated with a fourth type: relational differen-

tiation (see figure 1.3). The latter constitutes a new “social logic” that
is completely foreign to those who follow the Luhmannian scheme of
social differentiation.
Relational differentiation is distinct from segmentary differentia-
tion because it is open (i.e., based upon intersecting circles and not
upon closed/concentric circles as the segmentary differentiation),
voluntary (not ascriptive), and morphogenetic (not morphostatic).
It differs also from the stratified differentiation because it is not
constrained by a hierarchy of status roles. It is different from the func-
tional differentiation insofar as the social process does not happen in
order to provide more specialized and efficient performances, but in
order to create suprafunctional relations between the agents/actors or
“parts” involved. These relations are a sui generis reality that has no
functional equivalents.
The emergence of relational differentiated social forms is apparent
in the creation of networking organizations that substitute function-
driven organizations. As a matter of fact, relational differentiation
corresponds to the relational morphogenesis inherent in the era of
globalization.
An example of how one can apply figure 1.3 to social reality is
given by referring to the family/work reconciliation issues. The mea-
sures that are introduced in most advanced countries in order to
balance family life and work time, not to mention the target of achiev-
ing equality of opportunities between men and women, represent
new forms of arranging the differentiation of family care and work
performances. In trying to do that, new differentiated relations are
generated between the family and the work place, with repercussions
within both of them. Why is such a form of social differentiation
new? My answer is: because it operates through devices that are not
functional as they were in the industrial division of labor, when the
family and the work place were supposed to meet an increasing sep-
aration and specialization. The reconciliation policies are bound to
create new exchange structures that redefine the poles of the rela-
tion by changing the space in between them. This space must be built
up on its own qualities and properties; it substitutes the old primary
networks (where the grandparents and other community agents took
care of family matters) and must take its peculiar “constitution” (recall
the “civil constitutions” envisaged by Teubner (2000) as recognition
and implementation of new human rights). In other words, the two
subsystems (family and work) do not specialize by self-reference or
autopoiesis, but through a new relationality between them. Instead of
re-entering their internal distinctions, they operate through a relation
of reciprocity, where self and etero-referentiality are implied together.
Instead of behaving according to a functional symbolic code, they
behave (or try to behave) according to a relational symbolic code.
They negotiate their internal needs in the intermediary (relational)
space between them. Other stakeholders can come into the game.
This is what happens in what we call social governance through the co-
ordination of many public and private networking institutions, when
social policies have to pursue the new “civil welfare” beyond the old
industrial and bureaucratic (lib/lab) welfare state.
At the beginning of the modern age, Spinoza wrote: “omnis
determinatio est negatio” (every determination is a denial). On the
threshold of the trans-modern era and of global sociology, we could
rewrite this as “omnis determinatio est relatio” (every determination is
a relation).
Globalization is not the complete “erosion” of all social ascrip-
tion, despite modernity’s consistent emphasis upon achievement.
Globalization is not a process of individualization carrying on ad
infinitum. Modernity’s functional differentiation has reached its limits
and with these comes the realization that neither is the extrapolation
of its premises unlimited (as Parsons fundamentally believed). Many
social phenomena seem to demonstrate that functional differentiation
cannot continue as the leading form of social differentiation.
Globalization means the emergence of a pluralized world that pro-
ceeds through a relational differentiation of the universal. This new
way of managing complexity becomes possible on the assumption that
every distinction consists of a relation (not a negation). Global society
does not need to separate and to manage social differentiation and

social integration in the same way as did modernity (i.e., by oscillating
between the two poles of the lib/lab complex). Global society oper-
ates through relational inclusion, rather than through the (functional)
dialectic of freedom and control.
The new, emergent network society (Castells, 1996) derives from
a network of “local” societies that are no longer defined accord-
ing to a territorial principle, but on the basis of the symbolic and
communicative codes that regulate them. This form of society can be
defined as “relational” because it interlaces local societies and global
society, giving rise to contexts for living where what is crucial is the
quality of the relational patterns prevailing in the social spheres that
constitute these contexts. In that way, the relational society is char-
acterized by a form of social differentiation that is increasingly less
determined by the pure (or abstract) form typical of modernity, that
is, by functional differentiation. The human constituents of society
can no longer be interpreted in organic terms, as in “old Europe”
(against which Luhmann launched his polemics), nor by employing
a postmodern metaphor (Derrida’s différand). Rather, the relational
meaning of human action fully acknowledges the power to translate
itself into social forms as yet unknown.
Consequently, the theory of society should be formulated as the
theory of those social forms that express what it is to be human,
although society is not exclusively made up of that which is human.
To me, this is what relational sociology is all about.
Notes
∗
Professor of Sociology, Department of Sociology, University of Bologna,
Italy. E-mail address: pierpaolo.donatiunibo.it
1. By “way of making society” I mean a sui generis style of configur-
ing social institutions through associative and dissociative processes
acted relationally by agents/actors in a given arena of (positively or
negatively) significant others.
2. In this paper, the adjective “modern” is referred to the industrial
society and the rise and apogee of the nation-state, and to those
sociologies which were developed along with them. “Postmodern”
is referred to the late modern society which turns back on itself,
becomes “its own theme” (i.e. reflexive modernization) and to
those sociologies which radicalize the contingencies generated by
modernity, going beyond the antithesis between determinism and rel-
ativism by endorsing the latter. “After or trans-modern” refers to a
new (globalized) configuration of society which is supposed to be an

emergent effect of the latest modernization processes. The potential
for the new social forms does not necessarily follow any evolution-
ary scheme. I call this emergent (morphogenetic) society after- or
trans- (not post) modern since it is generated by discontinuities which
radically override the continuities with modernity.
3. As Blau and Schwartz (1984, pp. 40–41) have claimed, when such an
historical process happens, there appears an inherent paradox: “this
is the paradox: structural differentiation and individual differentia-
tion have opposite effects on social relation,” i.e., the more society
increases its lines of differentiation (for instance in terms of multicul-
turalism on a world scale), the more individual differences decrease
within in-groups, and heterogeneity promotes intergroup relations.
“The very differences that inhibit social relations also promote them”
(ivi: 40). But, contrary to Blau and Schwartz’s theory, which states
that this processes confirm the tenets of structural-functional sociol-
ogy, I will argue that globalization is causing the emergence of a new
kind of social differentiation, which I call “relational differentiation.”
Blau and Schwartz, as many other scholars, do not see social emer-
gence properly since they do not consider the mediation of personal
and social reflexivity (Donati, 2011b) within the process of structural
elaboration.
4. The reason why I put them (let us say: from Marx to Parsons) under
the same label (i.e., classical modern authors) lies in the fact that
they have in common the idea that what is modern is equal to “free-
ing” (immunizing) the individuals from ascriptive relations and from
pre-given social relations in general (since they conceive of such rela-
tions as equal to oppressive and constraining “ties”: see Esposito,
2002). Of course, thinkers such as Marx, Durkheim, Weber, Simmel,
Pareto, Parsons, Elias, and so on highlight different aspects of how
modernization does it (Donati, 1991, Chapter 1).
5. The homology I am referring to is well explained in the book edited
by Turner (1990).
6. See Donati 1991, chapters 1 and 3.
7. In this connection, see Blau and Schwartz (1984), Hedström and
Swedberg (1998).
8. In the words of H. M. Johnson (1973, p. 208): “In its latest expres-
sion, Parsons’ general theory of action is a generalization of economic
theory.”
9. Held and McGrew (2000) provide an extensive range of definitions of
globalization, although they fail to conceptualize them and compare
them within a consistent theoretical framework.
10. The concept of supra-functional latency refers to the latent sphere of
society (“L” in the revised relational AGIL scheme), when it operates
not in order to maintain the existing cultural pattern of society (as
Parsons claims), but to give a new cultural meaning to social actions

and relations, a meaning that cannot be reduced to a discrete number
of functions and has no functional equivalents in the existing system.
11. Technically speaking, each society is characterized by a Gaussian redis-
tribution of the specific ways of “making social relations,” which are
qualitatively and quantitatively different from the others.
12. Drawing on Archer (2000, 2007), I have developed the sociological
theory of reflexivity with reference to social relations, and not only
within the “subject” (be it individual or corporate), by elaborating
the concept of “relational reflexivity” (see Donati, 2011b).
13. For more details on relational morphogenesis, see chapter 11
“Morphogenesis and Social Networks,” in M.S. Archer (ed.), Social
Morphogenesis (New York: Springer), 1983: 205–231.
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Chapter 2
S pat i a l R e l at i o n a l i t y a n d t h e
Fa l l a c i e s o f M e t h o d o l o g i c a l
N at i o n a l i s m : T h e o r i z i n g U r b a n
S pa c e a n d B i n at i o n a l S o c i a l i t y
i n J e w i s h - A r a b “ M i x e d To w n s ”
Daniel Monterescu
“Me or him”—
Thus begins the war. But it
Ends with an awkward encounter:
“Me and him”
Mahmoud Darwish, State of Siege (2002, p. 62)
Awkward Encounters? The Conundrum

of Palestinian-Israeli Urban Mix
Now more than ever, Palestinian-Israeli relations seem like a zero-
sum game. Indeed, for more than a century Jewish and Palestinian
national movements have been struggling to establish their collec-
tive identities as separate autochthonous “nations” with respective
distinct cultural histories and so were they analyzed by sociologists,
anthropologists, and historians. Reproducing theoretical teleologies
and paradigmatic “groupism” (Brubaker, 2002), both critical and
26 Da n i e l M o n t e re s c u
conservative scholarship have conceptualized these projects of nation-

building as antagonistic processes defined only by the negation and
exclusion of the other (Gur-Ze’ev and Pappé, 2003; Kana’neh, 2002;
Massad, 2005; Rotbard, 2005; Yiftachel and Yacobi, 2003).
Implicated in this struggle for recognition and exceptionalism,
however, under Ottoman, British, and later Israeli rule, Zionist set-
tlers and Arab inhabitants interacted in a complex, multivaried web
of relations. This included, on the one hand, land purchase, dispos-
session, and territorial feuds, and on the other hand, commercial
partnerships, class-based coalitions, residential mix, and municipal
cooperation. Rather than a unidimensional conflict between primor-
dial, self-contained, and largely monolithic entities, the two groups
and their identities ipso facto constituted each other in a relational
dialectic of negation and recognition, authenticity and mimicry, seg-
regation and mix (Monterescu and Rabinowitz, 2007). Historically
and analytically, therefore, the Palestinian-Arab and the Jewish-Zionist
political collectivities and cultural projects not only opposed each other,
but at the same time created each other, albeit in obvious asymmetrical
positions of power (Portugali, 1993). The relations of mutual deter-
mination and the history of contact between these communities have
often been rendered invisible in Palestinian-Israeli studies (Lockman,
1996; Stein and Swedenburg, 2004).1
The mutually constitutive relations and cultural encounter between
the rival ethno-national groups and individual actors have been most
acutely marked in ethnically mixed urban centers, such as Haifa, Jaffa,
Lydda, Ramle, and Acre, where both Jews and Palestinian-Arabs have
been sharing one living space and competing over limited resources.2
In these cities, out of a condition of forced coexistence, a border-
zone thus emerged, which brought to the fore, on the one hand,
the paradox of Palestinian citizens in a fundamentally Jewish state,
while simultaneously suggesting, by the very spatial and social real-
ization of “mixed-ness,” the potential imaginary of its solution. This
twilight area and intercultural “contact zone” (Pratt, 1999) is the ana-
lytical territory this chapter explores. The mixed city of Jaffa, which
has been historically central for the development of both Palestinian
and Jewish urban nationalism, will serve as my ethnographic point of
departure.
The highly politicized encounter between Jewish and Palestinian
individuals and social worlds—which Darwish qualifies as “awkward”
(chapter-opening epigraph)—can be literally read from various public
representations that cover Jaffa’s city walls. The two graffitis I pho-
tographed in 2003 and 2007, three to seven years after the break-out
S pat i a l R e l at i o n a l i t y 27
Figure 2.1 Public signs of impossible love and hate: Failed attempts to draw a
swastika
of the al-Aqsa Intifada, point to the persistence of a deeply rooted

structure of ambivalence (see figure 2.1). On the one hand, a series
of five misguided swastikas on a side street in one of Jaffa’s mixed
neighborhoods expresses clear frustration and anger, but in a pat-
tern of graphic mimesis that lacks the cultural knowledge required
to draw the historical sign accurately and thus to convey the message
efficiently. The result is an indeterminate signifier, which exposes the
drawer’s confusion as much as it attempts to relay an ideologically
coherent statement. On the other hand, a graffiti that reads in English
“Fuad Love OSNAT” (sic) celebrates a romantic relationship between
a Palestinian man and a Jewish woman on the walls of a mosque,
recently renovated by the Islamic Movement. However, here too the
explicit choice to express their love in English, namely in a foreign
and “neutral” language, while insisting on exposing it to the public in
what might be perceived as a controversial location, reveals a similar
position of incongruity (figure 2.2).
While these graphic representations express opposing emotions
and diverging political positionalities, which spring from a collective
sense of identity crisis in the Jewish and Palestinian communities alike
(Shaqr, 1996), they all share a semiotic failure in conveying a clear
Figure 2.2 Public signs of impossible love and hate: A declaration of love—“Fuad
Love OSNAT”
message and thus problematize exclusivist narratives of identity and

place. Such examples, I argue, are representative of more general
practices and interpretations—they will later serve to exemplify the
problematic and paradoxical nature of the socio-spatial regime that
I term spatial heteronomy and stranger sociality in Jaffa.
How should these paradoxical representations and the social world
that enabled them be understood? Addressing a similar problem in a
different context, Ann Stoler calls to “recoup the inconsistencies of
these narratives” (Stoler, 1992, p. 183). For Stoler, such an endeavor
must address the following questions: “how do we ethnographi-
cally read these stories and write a history that retains the allusive,
incomplete nature of colonial knowledge? How do we represent the
incoherence rather than write over it with a neater story we wish
to tell?” (Ibid., p. 154). The methodological task that Jewish-Arab
sociality and urban mix challenge us to undertake calls for mak-
ing sense of such political inconsistencies and cultural reciprocities,
without losing sight of the constant unequal power relations at play
between these collectivities.
In line with Stoler’s call to retain incoherence and repre-
sent ambivalence, this chapter begins with a recognition that
Jewish-Arab mixed towns have long been sites of opposing as well as
complementary cultural and social processes. To decipher these pro-

cesses I propose to focus on interactions and relationships, which have
not been overdetermined by national identities and state ideologies.
The argument I put forth is thus not a liberal argument of multicul-
tural peaceful coexistence nor is it an argument of urban ethnocracy
as total exclusion (Yiftachel and Yacobi, 2003). Within this theoretical
context I would like to suggest a third alternative that perceives Jaffa
as a relational field in which nationalism and urbanism, identity and
place, are simultaneously contested and confirmed in everyday interac-
tions (Brubaker, 1996, 2006; Emirbayer, 1997). Following analyses of
urban spatiality (Lefebvre, 1991, 1996) and postcoloniality (Comaroff
and Comaroff, 2001; Mbembé, 2003), my argument focuses on the
systemic complexity that embeds the “political” in the “social” and
implicates nation and class in intricate and contradictory ways. This
approach enables a reading of Georg Simmel’s theory of the stranger
(1971) that is based on the principle of relationality. Outlining a rela-
tional theory of sociality and spatiality, I offer a reading of the urban,
national, and class scales of position and action that produce Jewish
spaces within Arab spaces and Arab spaces within Jewish ones, rather
than one ethnically homogenous urban space or two divided parts
(as in Jerusalem).
Relational Sociology versus Methodological

Nationalism
While social scientists have been increasingly sensitive to the ide-
ological and analytic reification of the category of the nation-state
(Abrams, 1988 [1977]; Appadurai, 2000; Beck, 2003; Brubaker,
1996; Wimmer and Glick-Schiller, 2002), Mustafa Emirbayer (1997)
has powerfully framed the critique of “methodological nationalism”3
within a much broader alternative theoretical perspective, which he
termed “relationalism.” Following a long list of social theorists from
Simmel and Elias through Maffesoli and Bourdieu, “relational theo-
rists reject the notion that one can posit discrete, pre-given units such
as the individual, class, minority, state, nation or society as ultimate
starting points of sociological analysis” (Ibid., p. 287). Proposing
a profound reformulation of social science’s basic concepts such as
power, society, and culture, the theoretical implications of the rela-
tional approach are far reaching. Thus, Strathern ingenuously leads
us out of the conceptual cul de sac of the reified notions of “indi-
vidual” and “society” “imagined as conceptually distinct from the
relations that bring them together” (Strathern, 1988, p. 13). And
as Brubaker (1996) shows from an institutionalist perspective, the

concept of the nation-state changes and instead of signifying a nat-
urally bounded, integrated, sovereign entity, it designates a figuration
of power, namely a complex inter- and intra-organizational network
or, in short, a relational field. Moreover, in light of this interpretive
paradigm, a revisionary conceptualization of the colonial encounter
makes visible, as Albert Memmi has noted, the dialectic “enchaîne-
ment” between the colonizer and the colonized that produces in
the process multiple intentionalities, identifications, and alienations
(Memmi, 1985). When looked up close, the colonial frontier emerges
not as a site of unidirectional zero-sum conflict but rather as “a
place in which the unfolding sociolegal and political histories” of
both dominators and dominated, center and periphery, “met—there
to be made, reciprocally, in relation to each other” (Comaroff and
Comaroff, 1997, p. 403). Similarly, from this perspective, the city
can be viewed not as a container of ethnic “communities,” but a
site of production, mediation, and transaction and a locus of dialectic
relationship between form, function, and structure (Lefebvre, 1996),
that is, between social processes and urban things (Harvey, 1997).
The same reconceptualization, I argue, applies for urban space and
minority/majority relations between ethnic groups in Israel.
In the historiography of Israel/Palestine, ideologically motivated
and methodologically nationalist scholarship has laid the basis for the
model of the “dual society” (Shamir, 2000). Institutional sociologists
such as Eisenstadt have posited the existence of two essentially separate
societies from an approach that “has rendered their mutually consti-
tutive impact virtually invisible, tended to downplay intracommunal
divisions, and focused attention on episodes of violent conflict, implic-
itly assumed to be the sole normal form of interaction” (Lockman,
1996, p. 12). Equating societies in general with nation-state societies,
and seeing states and their national ideologies as the cornerstones
of social-scientific analysis, methodological nationalism has been the
ruling paradigm in Israel/Palestine. This methodological stance is a
deep-rooted epistemological position that cuts across the spectrum
of both Palestinian and Israeli political viewpoints and operates by
fixating social agents as independent oppositional actors (settlers vs.
natives, colonizers vs. colonized). Under its spell, urban scholars
have conceptualized social relations and cityscapes in mixed towns
in dualistic terms, either as historical anomalies or as segregated
ghettos (Soffer, 2004; Yiftachel and Yacobi, 2003; Zureik, 1979).
The standard narrative of this approach is premised on a function-
alist convergence of variables, which result in systemic geopolitical
effects. Thus, for neo-conservative geographer Soffer (2004), Israel’s

wealth combined with structural demographic disadvantages vis-à-vis
the growing Palestinian population will eventually result in its anni-
hilation, unless drastic measures are taken to ensure Jewish majority
and “decrease” (read transfer) the Palestinian population between the
Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea. Conversely, the critical the-
ory of ethnocracy (Yiftachel and Yacobi, 2003) postulates a systemic
effort on behalf of the Israeli state toward ethnic discrimination, dom-
ination, and subordination of its Palestinian citizens, which hinges
on the territorial segregation between the two populations. Concep-
tualizing nationalism as a top-down and state-centric process, both
theories turn a blind eye to the unresolved tensions among the con-
stitutive elements of the urban socio-spatial order (ethno-nationalism,
capitalist logic, and modern governance), as well as to the quotidian
relations between majority and minority groups in Israel.
In mixed towns, the analytic limitations of methodological nation-
alism can be summed up as follows: (1) It reifies urban configurations
as dualistic “structures” and overlooks social practice. Consequently it
conceptualizes spaces as disjoint and homogenous ethnic territoriali-
ties. (2) It reduces social actors to predetermined ethnonatinal roles by
overstating the power of the state and nationalist ideologies. Down-
playing cross-communal coalitions and mixed sociality, it overlooks
the tensions among urban capitalism, ethnic regimes, city planning,
and local governance. (3) It essentializes cities as metonymic cultural
representations of the nation, thus dismissing the internal complexity
and potential change of urban imaginaries.
Outline of a Theory of Urban–Ethnic Mix in

Israel/Palestine
In line with the first principles of relational sociology (Dépelteau,
2008, p. 52), the proposed theorization of ethnic–urban mix seeks
to de-reify the problem of binatinal sociality by outlining a tripartite
model of spatial relationality. Adapting Lefebvre’s triadic theoriza-
tion of the production of space to the generalized study of sociality
and spatiality in mixed towns, the following model consist of three
propositions of a sociological theory, which counter the prevail-
ing reification of urban space as an ethnically bounded territory
(figure 2.3). Ethnically mixed towns are thus characterized as (1) rami-
fied spatial configurations composed of diverging urban logics (spatial
heteronomy) that reciprocally (2) instantiate and reproduce simultane-
ous patterns of proximity and distance vis-à-vis self and other (stranger
Stranger sociality: Implicate relations;

forced coexistence; social fragmentation;
low social capital;
neighborhood contact hypothesis;
ambivalent subject-positions
Liv
ed
Spatial heteronomy:
St
y
om
ra
No correspondence
ng
on
between space and
er
er
ed Cultural indeterminacy:
et
iv
So
Identity. Unresolved
lH
rce
cia
Pe
ia Contesting narratives;
tensions among Mixed Town
at
lit
lack of a definition of
Sp
y
capital accumulation,
Cultural Indeterminacy the urban situation
ethnic control,
urban governance
Conceiv
ed
Figure 2.3 Relational spatiality: The socio-spatial configuration of Jewish-Arab mixed

towns
sociality), which in turn (3) further perpetuates in the urban imag-

ination a collective pattern of semiotic ambivalence and unsettled
contestation over space and identity (cultural indeterminacy). Rather
than a linear stream of causation, however, these factors form a cyclical
trialectic whose mutual interactions drive the social processes I ana-
lyze. Thus, informed by Soja’s conceptualization of three moments
of socio-spatiality (1996), I propose to view these triadic concepts as,
respectively spatial, social, and symbolic forms, which pattern social
relations and concrete interactions between individuals, groups, state
institutions, and NGOs in everyday life.
Proposition 1. Spatial Heteronomy: Mixed towns are the socio-spatial

product of unresolved tensions between diverging urban logics, which
decouple space from identity.
Ethnically mixed towns emerged out of the hybrid superposition

of the old Ottoman sectarian urban regime and the new national,
modernizing, and capitalist order (both Palestinian and Zionist).
Reconfigured as a new city-form, the mixed town was in fact a frag-
mented amalgam of Ottoman, British, Palestinian, and Israeli urban
legacies (AlSayyad, 2001; Monterescu and Rabinowitz, 2007). In the
Ottoman city, urban spaces were predicated on the logic of religious
communalism (Braude and Lewis, 1982). The late nineteenth cen-
tury, however, saw the old millet-based social order gradually dissolve,
as a new form of public space emerged, which was exceedingly

informed by a new national—rather than denominational—awareness.
Resonating with an ever-growing logic of nationalism, ethnonational
competition between Jews and Arabs was clearly feeding an exclu-
sionary demand for spatial segregation. Following the 1917 Balfour
Declaration, the violent clashes of 1921 and 1929 and the Arab Revolt
of 1936, escalating ethnoterritorial conflict, saw explicit remodeling of
urban space as a bifurcated nationalized place. The struggle over land
and identity reached its climax in the 1948 war with the occupation
of these towns and their official designation as “Israeli cities” with a
residual Arab minority.
As an integral product of these intertwined urban histories and pro-
cesses of “creative destruction” (Harvey, 1991), Jaffa has long been
a city of acute social contradictions. As a binational “contact zone”
(Pratt, 1999), Jaffa constantly reproduces different forms of urban
mix—Arabs and Jews, veteran residents and newcomers, Mizrahim
and Ashkenazim, rich and poor. It encompasses a heterogeneous vari-
ety of historical neighborhoods alongside new residential quarters
often built on the ruins of previously demolished Arab houses. Jaffa
is physically located at the center of the metropolis but in fact inhab-
its its margins. For its working-class Palestinian and Jewish residents,
its recent comeback to the center of public attention with the advent
of neoliberal restructuring and gentrification is a mixed blessing as it
jeopardizes their “right the city” (Lefebvre, 1996).
A major port town, Jaffa was Palestine’s main gateway through
which the Jewish and then Zionist settlers entered the land. How-
ever, as early as the 1930s, Tel-Aviv, which started in 1909 as
Jaffa’s “Jewish garden suburb,” was overshadowing Jaffa, economi-
cally and demographically. The power balance capsized in 1948, when
Jaffa was conquered by Israeli forces and emptied of most of its
Palestinian inhabitants. In the 1950s Jaffa was officially incorporated
into the municipal jurisdiction of Tel-Aviv—its mother-city-turned-
rival—a move that rendered it the chronically dilapidated south side
of the “White City,” perpetuating an economic and political depen-
dence on Tel-Aviv and cultural otherness from it. This radical urban
transformation turned Jaffa from an Arab city with a Jewish minority
of 30 percent (35,000 Jews out of a total population of 110,000 in
1947), which today has become a mixed city with a Palestinian
minority of 30 percent (15,000 out of 45,000 in 2000). Since
1948, it has been perceived as simultaneously a postcolonial city (by
Jews) and a still-colonial city (by Arabs). Currently Jaffa houses het-
erogenous populations of diverse backgrounds and class positions: a
15,000-strong Arab community, a 30,000-strong Jewish population

made up of veteran residents, a thousand well-to-do gentrifiers, as
well as foreign workers and Palestinian collaborators relocated from
the West Bank and Gaza.
For the Palestinian residents of Jaffa, the 1948 nakba remains
the key structuring event of the bleak recent history of their town.
That war, which truncated the course of normal urbanization of most
Palestinian towns, sealed Arab Jaffa’s fate as well. With over 90 per-
cent of the Palestinian inhabitants who had lived in Jaffa prior to
1948 in exile, the early years of Israeli statehood saw the final trans-
formation of Jaffa from an Arab to a predominantly Jewish town
(Morris, 1987). Jaffa—the former Arab metropolis, also known as the
“Bride of Palestine”—was transformed because of Jewish mass immi-
gration from Europe and because the Middle East people settled in
the emptied city.4 The century-long relationship between Jaffa and
Tel-Aviv thus reflects a tension between assimilation and distinction,
cultural integration and spatial separation—a dialectical conflict that
still shapes Jaffa’s identity.
The cultural logic of urban mix in contemporary Jaffa is a product
of these dramatic demographic dynamics. The spatial history of Jaffa
unfolded from post-war loss and chaos on the part of Palestinians,
through waves of newly arrived Jewish immigrants, three decades
of disinvestment, and, since the mid 1980s, a surge of neo-liberal
urban renewal. These processes are represented in the map depicted
in figure 2.4., where population movement includes five chronological
phases:
● The 1948 war and its aftermath: the exodus of 95 percent of Jaffa’s
Palestinian residents.
● 1948–1960: Jaffa becomes a crowded and vibrant immigrant city.
● 1960–1985: Disinvestment and demolition as part of the Urban
Renewal Plan and the (re)invention of the Old City as an Israeli
artists’ colony.
● 1985–2000: The Municipality’s policy change and the promotion
of gentrification.
● October 2000 to date: Al-Aqsa Intifada and the struggle against
gentrification.
Two points emerging from the demographic and spatial history

of Jaffa are worth noting here. First is that the urban space in
Jaffa has always been characterized by constant motion and demo-
graphic instability. Second, these dynamics have been dominated by
The Old City
Jerusalem Blvd.
‘Ajami &
Jabaliyye
Legend:
1. The exodus of the Arab population in 1948.
2. The influx of Jewish immigrants after the war.
3. The movement of the Jewish inhabitants from West Jaffa
toward the new neighborhoods in the 60s.
4. The entry of Jewish gentrifyers in the 90s.
5. The movement of Arab residents from Ajami toward
the Jerusalem Blvd.
Figure 2.4 Population movements in Jaffa (1948 to date)
inherent institutional and socio-political contradictions, rendering a

unified definition of the ethnic and class-based urban situation quite
impossible.
Such demographic processes, geographic intermixing, and plan-
ning policies—some designed and others unintended—created Jewish
spaces within Arab ones and Palestinian spaces within Israeli ones. As a
result, Jaffa’s spatial logic is characterized by an absence of clear cor-
respondence between national–ethnic boundaries and spatial ones.
Put differently, in mixed towns space and identity are decoupled.
This urban regime that I propose to term “heteronomous space”
can be defined as a paradoxical terrain whereby constituent parts
follow divergent, sometimes mutually contradictory, organizing prin-

ciples.5 Borrowed from Friedrich Meinecke’s work on medieval pre-
national territoriality, which allowed for simultaneous and overlapping
identifications (Meinecke, 1970), the concept of spatial heteronomy
(cf. Foucault, 1986; Ruggie, 1993) captures the “anomaly” of mixed
towns in relation to the ostensibly clear-cut ethnonational logic of the
nation-state.
The logic of heteronomy describes spatial systems, whereby parts
are subject to divergent modes of growth, behavior, and develop-
ment. In Jaffa, spatial fragmentation is such that within an area not
larger than two square miles, one finds seven totally different forms
of spatial organization: (1) Old Jaffa (a.k.a. the “Artists’ Colony”);
(2) the proletarian housing projects built in the 1960–1970s for Jews;
(3) the Al-Nuzha/Jerusalem Boulevard mixed lower-income neigh-
borhoods; (4) the Palestinian neighborhoods of ‘Ajami and Jabilyye;
(5) the new gated communities such as Andromeda Hill; (6) individ-
ual gentrifiers’ houses in ‘Ajami; and finally, (7) Palestinian enclaves
such as Byarat Dakke, where kin-based communities remained in the
old orange groves. The high density of heteronomous space is perhaps
unique to Jaffa. Its principles, however, are common in other mixed
towns as well.
Let me briefly summarize my argument about heteronomy and the
spatial logic of the nation-state. Methodological nationalism is pred-
icated on the convergence of boundary-making mechanisms, which
produce in concert ethnically segregated spaces (Yiftachel and Yacobi,
2003). Conversely, I argue, spatial heteronomy stems out precisely of
the unresolved tensions between three main “engines” of urban order:
(a) the logic of capital accumulation (through incomplete gentrifica-
tion); (b) the evolution of modern governance (through unsuccessful
urban planning); and (c) the drive for ethnic and national control
(through demographic intermixing). Thus, rather than taking the dis-
jointed, essentializing, and exclusionary territorialities fetishized by
states and urban governance systems in ethnonational regimes at face
value, the notion of spatial heteronomy questions models premised on
such dichotomies. The concept, however, suggests not a denational-
ization of nation-based citizenship (as some writers on globalization
were suggesting) but an internal, binational challenge to it from
within the “contact zone” (Pratt, 1999). This new geography, far from
being overdetermined by national identities and state ideologies, oper-
ates through quotidian spaces of interaction and transaction, which
enfold nation and class, both within and between ethnic communities.
Proposition 2. Stranger Sociality: Mixed towns simultaneously pro-

duce and problematize the co-presence of ethnic others, resulting in
circumstantial coalitions between rival communities and pragmatic
transaction between individuals.
Urban heteronomy is a product of dialectic relations between soci-

ety and space, which disrupt the taken-for-granted correspondence
between social boundaries and spatial divisions. On the one hand,
throughout the years, social processes such as immigration, forced
relocation, and demographic interpermeation have recreated unre-
solved spatial facts on the ground. Thus under social conditions
of unintended coexistence, the mixed town remained a residual
binational anomaly, which points to the limits of the Judaization plan.
The unique demographic makeup of these cities constituted a prob-
lematic reality that cannot be analytically exhausted by unidimensional
dichotomies, such as Palestinian natives versus Jewish colonizers.
Conversely, spatial processes, such as Urban Renewal Plan, and gen-
trification reproduced an unprecedented urban complexity that only
exacerbates the political implications of the Jewish-Arab encounter.
Far from fostering peaceful harmony or any form of unproblem-
atic coexistence, the main defining characteristic of the heteronomous
living space is its systemic instability and incoherence. This feature
of mixed towns is characteristic of a larger systemic divisiveness in
both Jewish and Palestinian societies, whose main expression is the
fragmentation of the political system. Bereft of the power to impose
effective social control and urban order, the state often views these
spaces as pockets of anarchy, whereas for the local residents, the
present situation allows no mass mobilization (as organized by the
Communist Party until the 1980s), progressive class alliances, or even
non-factional voluntary organizing within the local communities.
Structurally, therefore, the institutional-cum-spatial force field in
mixed towns lacks a clear center of power—an instability that pushes
each faction to develop particularistic politics around local issues “dis-
sociated from anything beyond themselves” (Comaroff and Comaroff,
2001, p. 322; Jameson, 1991, p. 47). Thus the Jewish gentrifiers and
the Municipality emphasize the need for law enforcement without
adequately handling the systemic failures, which are the reasons for
crime and disorder in the first place. Similarly, the Islamic Council
caters to the sectarian interests of the Muslim community without
involving the Christian population. This breakup of solidarity net-
works and mobilization patterns and the subsequent crystallization
around particularistic identities, known in social theory as “identity

politics” (Calhoun, 1994), produces a regime of pragmatic transaction
and ad hoc exchange between Palestinian and Jewish actors.
Under such conditions, the decentralized urban regime in Jaffa
gives rise to unexpected circumstantial coalitions between Palestinians
and Israelis, private and public agents—all promoting particularis-
tic interests that further disrupt an inclusive definition of the urban
situation. Thus, for instance, in the 2008 municipal elections the
Yafa List consisted of a Jewish-Arab coalition between Palestinian
and gentrifier candidates. Nevertheless, the same left-wing gentri-
fiers insistently refuse to enroll their children to an experimental
bi-lingual school, due to the significant proportion of Arab pupils in
it. Similarly, the Andromeda Hill exclusive gated community (www.
andromeda.co.il) was facilitated through an ad hoc coalition between
the Greek-Orthodox Patriarch (the landowner), a Jewish-Canadian
entrepreneur, Tel-Aviv’s municipality, and potential residents—all
joining forces at the expense of the weak Palestinian community
(Monterescu, 2009). At the same time, however, the escalating
struggle over gentrification triggers new forms of social action and
legal activism. Creating yet another coalition between Jewish and
Palestinian activists and NGOs a new discourse of urban rights calls to
institute an inclusive redefinition of citizenship tailored for the “city
of all its citizens.”
The intersecting webs of affiliation, mobilization and identification
call into question the principle of common belonging, which orga-
nizes the symbolic codes of the urban community and determines who
is the “other” existing outside it and who is the “stranger” located on
its boundaries (Simmel, 1955). The fragmented composition of ethnic
communities in Jaffa and the embedded existence of mixed neigh-
borhoods for over 60 years, problematize the politicized distinctions
between “us” and “them,” “here” and “there,” familiarity and other-
ness. It undermines the spatial ordering of the world, and creates, in
Bauman’s terms, a city of “strangers” (1991, p. 60).
National minorities and cultural “strangers” are first and foremost
products of the modern state’s exclusionary logic, which is predicated
on the perpetuation of collective alterities (Isin, 2002). However this
is by no means a direct causal corollary of their spatial or structural
position in society but rather a culturally mediated product of politi-
cal interpretation and symbolic action. For the Palestinian citizens of
Israel this logic corners them as a “trapped minority” between the
Israeli state and the Palestinian nation (Rabinowitz, 2001). Comple-
menting Bauman’s argument, “strangeness” can thus be understood
as a conceptual borderland between communities, categories and

cultures, and the mixed town—as a space that produces and inhabits
instances of “strangeness.”6 However, strangeness cannot be reduced
to a classification principle of the nation-state with respect to a national
minority. Rather, in Jaffa it functions as the basis for social inter-
action and transaction. In other words, the relationship underlying
“sociation” in Jaffa is neither one of friendship, nor of enmity, but
a complicated synthesis of both (Simmel, 1955). The designation of
Jaffa as a city of strangers enables us to understand daily phenom-
ena and paradoxes that are otherwise obscured by “methodological
nationalism” (such as mixed marriages, counter-hegemonic personal
narratives, criminal networks and binational activism). To be sure,
the problem of strangeness is perceived by local communities as
a crisis of identity and political representation. A local intellectual
summed up this predicament: “Jaffa is an identity without com-
munity. People in Jaffa are stuck—it’s a broken society that cannot
pull itself together . . . Jaffa is called Umm al-Gharib, the ‘Mother of
the Stranger,’ and people are indeed stranger to each other. Almost
nothing brings them together.”
A city of strangers, Jaffa’s unique profile is predicated on the miti-
gating effect of cultural and functional proximity between rival social
types. Under conditions of political ambivalence, communal frag-
mentation, and low social capital, the pragmatics of exchange and
utilitarian transaction is tied to the paradoxical co-presence of relevant
and agentive strangers. From this relational perspective, the mixed
urban space can be fruitfully seen as an “enabling environment,”
which produces cultural practices, social dispositions, and circumstan-
tial coalitions, otherwise impossible in mono-national cities by virtue
of ethnic monitoring and spatial segregation.
Proposition 3. Cultural Indeterminacy: Mixed towns point to the failure

of nationalist mediation in forming a hegemonic narrative sequence of
identity and locality. Instead, the indeterminate definition of the urban
situation opens up alternative spaces of binational agency.
Despite its convoluted complexity, the contested terrain of the mixed

city is not without sociological sense. The symbolic management
of space thus frames the organization of physical space (spatial
heteronomy) and provides meaning and signification to the practices
of social space (stranger sociality). Under conditions of systemic con-
flict, the three moments of social action—spatiality-sociality-culture—
coexist in a pattern of mutual constitution. While the “generative
Figure 2.5 Jewish attempts to reclaim the mixed city
order” of nationalism (Portugali, 1993) certainly looms large in mixed

towns it is by no means reducible to the dualist causal determination
of domination and resistance subscribed by methodological nation-
alism. Stating that “Jaffo [sic.] is the Jewish City Too,” a graffiti in
a mixed neighborhood (figure 2.5) shows that the debate over the
identity of the city is far from being resolved. Indeed, since 1948,
recurrent attempts to establish a definition of the urban situation that
unequivocally positions the city as either Jewish or Arab point to
the failure in sustaining a viable identity, cleansed of ambiguity. With
no communal hegemony to speak of, the fringe quality of ethnically
mixed urbanism renders the cultural management of space a dialogic
battleground.
The Palestinian image of Jaffa emerges in a striking structure of dis-
sipation through mythical language. The discourse of pre-1948 Arab
Jaffa gives the city three nicknames that position it within a geocul-
tural field of meaning. The first nickname “The Bride of Palestine”
(‘Arus Falastin) locates Jaffa in the national Arab space. The sec-
ond, the “Bride of the Sea” (‘Arus al-Bahr) locates Jaffa in the
Mediterranean space as a major port town. The third and less familiar
name, “the Mother of the Stranger” (Umm al-Gharib) was assigned
to Jaffa due to the liberal cosmopolitanism that had characterized it

as a flourishing city hosting labor migrants from the region. This triad
of names symbolized Jaffa’s status in the first part of the twentieth
century as a cultural and commercial national center. After 1948 this
image lost its anchor in reality and was transferred onto the mythical
plane.
At present, the Palestinian tropes of Jaffa exist within a differ-
ent triad of meaning—one which traps the fragmented community
between nostalgia, utopia, and estrangement. While terms like the
Bride of Palestine and the Bride of the Sea position Jaffa in a nos-
talgic, utopian space, current realities spell marginality and dismay.
Jaffa, the Mother of the Stranger, which once attracted Palestinians
from surrounding villages and beyond, is now experienced as a refuge
for a new type of “strangers”—poor foreign workers and, more
recently, Palestinian collaborators (‘umala) with the Israeli security
forces, transplanted from their homes in Gaza and settled in Jaffa.
Failing to make a firm claim over the city, Palestinian discourse
frames the problem of strangeness qua alienation as an existential cri-
sis (Shaqr, 1996). Thus, an aged Palestinian commented on Jaffa’s
current predicament: “Jaffa is the Mother of the Stranger (Umm al-
Gharib). It welcomes him [the Jewish stranger] and feeds him, while
it neglects its own sons and leaves them to starve” (Minns and Hijab,
1990, p. 156).
The Jewish image of the city, in turn, has been historically rooted
in an Orientalist discourse, chronically unable to come to terms with
Jaffa’s Janus-faced heritage as the indigenous alter ego of Tel-Aviv,
“the city that begat a state.” Vacillating between romantic historic-
ity and political violence, the image of Jaffa has posed a political and
hermeneutic challenge to the territorial project of urban Judaization,
which ultimately failed to define the identity of this “New-Old” city.
This failure results in a persistent pattern of semiotic ambivalence
which, from the Jewish-Israeli point of view, positions Jaffa both as
a source of identity and longing (in the Biblical distant past) as well
as a symbol of alterity and enmity (in the recent past)—an object of
desire and fear alike. Unable to reconcile this tension, both aspects
of this image have fueled a century-long dialectical conflict. Adding
to the representational facet is the lived experience of actual peo-
ple who were located in the newly Judaized city in the aftermath
of the 1948 war. Thus while Zionist institutions treated the annex-
ation and control of Palestinian urban space as a sign of historical
justice, ordinary Jews who had maintained business and social ties
with Palestinians and other Arabs in the region prior to 1948 were
more ambivalent. Reflecting upon the incongruities associated with
this rapid transformation, one observer wrote in 1949:
This New-Old Jewish city is like a sealed book—not only for most Israelis
living elsewhere, but also for those living in near-by Tel-Aviv and even for
many of the residents of Jaffa itself . . . Jaffa has already become an Israeli city
but not yet a Hebrew city . . . This is not the normal process of building a new
city. Here the empty shell—the houses themselves—were ready-made. What
was left to be done was to bring this ghost town back to life . . . Materially and
externally, Hebrew Jaffa is nothing but the legacy of Arab Jaffa prior to May
1948.
(The Jaffa Guide, 1949)
These discursive formations reconfigured the public space that

enabled, paradoxically since the October 2000 events, new political
claims for equal citizenship, binational cooperation and Palestinian
presence. The large-scale protest demonstrations staged by the
Palestinian citizens of Israel throughout the country in the first
two weeks of October 2000, now widely known as “the Octo-
ber Events,” did not bypass Jaffa. For a few days in early October
Palestinian youngsters marched the streets, destroying public sym-
bols and state institutions including banks, post offices and Jewish-
owned stores. These acts of violence had two opposing effects,
which express the ambivalent and dialectic nature of urban pro-
cesses in Jaffa. The first and immediate effect was the associa-
tion in pubic opinion of Jaffa and other ethnically mixed towns
with political violence, and thus overnight Jaffa lost its “charm”
for many gentrifiers. This upheaval resulted in the temporary ces-
sation of gentrification. Secondly, however, the very marking of
Jaffa as a space of political contestation further attracted to the
city various groups which have already expressed interest in Jewish-
Arab cooperation through actual residence in the city: individ-
ual leftists coming for ideological reasons to implement coexis-
tence on the ground, Jewish-Arab mixed couples who cannot find
their place in Tel-Aviv (Herzog, 2007), and political binational
groups directly engaged with the conflict, such as Re’ut-Sadaqa
(Friendship), Ta’ayush (Jewish-Arab Partnership) and the Zochrot
(Remembering) Association. While the October Events never brought
gentrification to a complete halt, they had the paradoxical effect
of triggering a political debate and activism, which sought to
address Palestinian exclusion and collective memory in a public and
direct way.
Conclusions: Escaping the Mythscape: Heteronomy,

Transaction, and the Disjointed Scales of
Mediation
Taking the first steps toward a relational model of binational sociality
and spatiality, this chapter seeks to link cultural, social, and spa-
tial constitutive processes in ethnically mixed towns. In terms of
spatial practices, it employs the concept of heteronomous space to
reveal intersecting spatial logics at work; socially, it highlights a
Simmelian configuration of strangeness as an expression of ambivalent
and non-dichotomous subject positions; for cultural representation,
it looks at the indeterminate image of the city for both Israeli-Jews
and Palestinians. More generally, I contend, an analytical vocabu-
lary, which emphasizes relationality can form the basis for a heuristic
theoretical model applicable for most ethnically mixed towns.
Focusing on socio-spatial relations, my argument (represented
in figure 2.3) has been that an indeterminate trialectic cycle exists
which relates social to spatial processes and vice versa. Spatial
heteronomy therefore enables stranger relations, and strangeness con-
stitutes heteronomy. One theoretical vector from the social to the
spatial begins with the mutually constitutive relations between the
Israeli and the Palestinian national movements. Following historian
Zachary Lockman (1996) and geographer Yuval Portugali (1993)
I argue that the two groups and their identities were constituted
in a series of dialectic oppositions and homologies which not only
opposed each other, but at the same time dialectically created each
other, in dynamic but constantly asymmetrical relations of power.
As inter-group relations play out on the ground, the mitigating fac-
tors associated with demographic intermixing, stranger sociality and
the blurring of ostensibly essentialist images corrupt any possibility for
mono-nationalist definitions of the urban situation. These processes,
compounded by unresolved ethnic relations, economic tensions and
public policies produce the cultural and political urban regime I call
“spatial heteronomy.”
Proceeding from the other end, I argue that spatial heteronomy
produces a sociality of stranger relations, which are patterned in
a framework of cultural indeterminacy. The combination of demo-
graphic interpermeation, unintended consequences of municipal poli-
cies, systemic spatial fragmentation and the failure on the part of
national definitions to define the full span of urban situations, corrupts
the correspondence between spatial boundaries (that would delimit
neighborhoods) and social boundaries (of a certain class or ethnicity).
Thus, rather than inhabiting segregated social worlds, spatial proxim-

ity keeps strangers, aliens and allies, within what Alfred Schutz terms
the “horizon of relevance” (1971)—a twilight zone of borderline
sociality whereby nobody is truly friend or enemy (Simmel, 1971).
Reformulated as a problem of mediation, binational urbanism
presents two axes of a contradiction between the city and the state.
One is vertical, mediating local, national and transnational/diasporic
strategies of mobilization and identification. The other horizontal
axis, illuminates the reciprocal workings of nationalism and class-based
forces.
Looking at the vertical axis first, we see that while the ideal typi-
cal model of the European nation-state and the logic of nationalism
had evolved in a structure of symbolic amplification (Sahlins, 2005),
predicated on the nationalizing of the local and the localizing of
the national and the increasing differentiation of national cultures
and spaces (Sahlins, 1989), cases such as Jaffa, where contradictions
between the national and the local are anything but resolved, pro-
foundly challenge this complementarity. Having failed to mobilize
support from the Palestinian Authority or, for that matter, from oth-
ers in the Arab World, Palestinians in Jaffa are too deeply implicated
with Israel and its institutions to aspire for a meaningful autonomous
Palestinian assertion of the collective self. Community organizing,
cultural practices and political behavior remain fragmented, exempli-
fying the tension between schismogenesis and homology (Bateson,
1972).
As for the horizontal axis, the mediation between nation and
class is best exemplified in action and reaction surrounding gentri-
fication. From a methodological nationalist perspective, one might
have expected a natural coalition between different groups of Jewish
residents in Jaffa on account of their shared national identity. In real-
ity, however, a deep (and deepening) social and ideological division
is apparent between Jewish residents, which clearly stems from class
and intra-Israeli ethnic cleavages. One counter-intuitive result of this
is that the residents’ association representing most Jewish gentrifiers
turns to the Palestinian community leaders for cooperation (only to
find that there as well their Ashkenazi and middle-class characteristics
set them apart).
My point in this essay has been to suggest that while urban social
theory, with Lefebvre (1996, p. 101), has defined the specificity of
the city as “a mediation among mediations”—containing the near
order and contained in the far order—certain types of cities, pace
Lefebvre, disrupt such mediation and assume their identity by the act
of disrupting. In the Israeli-Palestinian contested terrain, when vertical

governmental superimposition between city, state and nation fails, the
organizing logic which governs social relations in the mixed town
gives rise to a regime of pragmatic transaction and symbolic exchange
among entrepreneurs, state officials and common residents, Jews and
Arabs. In everyday life this crisis of representation dissipates a nation-
alist definition of the urban situation and enables institutional and
individual social actors to open the cultural “tool kit” of nationalism
and modify its hegemonic repertoire—its scripts, practices and sub-
jectivities (Alexander, 2004; Swidler, 1986). Cultural strangeness thus
inhabits the incongruent and heteronomous space between a regime
of mediation and a regime of exchange. In mixed towns, where social
control over collective identity is relatively weak, mediation works in
inverse proportion to transaction.
Distinguishing Jewish-Arab mixed towns as an understudied and
distinct phenomenon in Middle-Eastern history and urban sociol-
ogy, this article posits these cities as a challenge to the hegemonic
ethno-nationalist guiding principles of the Israeli state, which fails to
maintain homogeneous, segregated and ethnically-stable spaces. This
failure, I argue, results in the parallel existence of heteronomous spaces
in these towns which operate through multiple and often contra-
dictory logics of space, class and nation. Analyzed relationally, these
spaces produce peculiar forms of quotidian social relations between
Palestinians and Israelis, engendering counter-hegemonic local iden-
tities and social formations that challenge both Palestinian and Jewish
nationalisms.
Binational processes of border-crossing have largely gone unno-
ticed in studies of Israel/Palestine, a field dominated by “method-
ological nationalism” and its tendency to equate the nation-state with
society and political culture. While theoretically significant for reveal-
ing the dynamics of urban space and inter-ethnic relations, studies of
mixed towns can bear political significance as well. More than half a
century after the Nakba and a decade after the breakout of Intifadat
Al-Aqsa, the future of the Palestinian community in Israel remains an
open wound and a socio-political enigma. Genuinely trapped between
state and nation (Rabinowitz, 2001), between identification and alter-
ity and between past trauma and future normalization, mixed towns
represent the crucial need for Israelis and Palestinians to come to terms
with their mutual interdependency and relationality. This is perhaps
what Anton Shammas, the Palestinian writer who chose to write in
Hebrew, meant at the sobering epilogue of an essay tellingly titled
“The Morning After” (Shammas, 1995, p. 31):
There is no political solution to the problem of the Palestinian citizens of

Israel. There is only a cultural solution. Their political path to the warm
embrace of the Palestinian people was blocked, way back, because they came
in contact with one of the greatest blessings of this accursed century—the
ability to see the Other from close up, the advantage of bi-focal sight, the
privileges of bilingualism, the pleasure of trespassing the boundary between
two cultures. And a very personal recommendation—the future belongs to
mixed marriages.
Notes
1. The terms “Israeli” and “Palestinian” refer, respectively, to Jews who
are citizens of Israel and to Arab-Palestinians, who are also Israeli citi-
zens, and who are usually referred to, in Israeli research and media, as
“Israeli Arabs.” Arabs who remained in Israel following the establish-
ment of the state constituted 13 percent of the total Israeli population,
and now make up about 17 percent of the entire Israeli popula-
tion. Today, 10percent of the entire Palestinian population in Israel
(approximately 100,000) reside in mixed towns. However, despite
their population size, mixed towns occupy a disproportionately impor-
tant place in Israeli and Palestinian public discourse and national
imagination.
2. The term “mixed towns” refers to the pre-1948 Palestinian leading
and “modern” urban centers that were officially transformed from
Arab into Jewish cities during the first years of Israeli statehood. The
majority of the Palestinian population (95 percent) in Jaffa, Haifa,
Acre and Ramla, including most of the local elite strata, were forced
to leave during the hostilities of 1948. At the same time, Jewish mass
immigration from Europe and the Middle East poured into Israel and
settled in the emptied cities (Morris, 1987).
3. Drawing on Herminio Martins (1974, p. 276f.), Wimmer and Glick-
Schiller define methodological nationalism as “the assumption that
the nation/state/society is the natural social and political form of
the modern world” that establishes “national societies as the natu-
ral unit of analysis” (2002, pp. 301, 327f). Beck further points to
captivating power of this misled assumption, which allows national
categories to seep into sociological analysis: “Much of social science
assumes the coincidence of social boundaries with state boundaries,
believing that social action occurs primarily within and only secon-
darily across, these divisions . . . Methodological nationalism assumes
this normative claim as a socio-ontological given . . . . To some extent,
much of social-science is a prisoner of the nation-state” (Beck, 2003,
pp. 453–454).
4. The majority of Jaffa’s Palestinians left in April 1948, with only 3,500
(5 percent) remaining in the town. Jaffa today has a population
of ca. 65,000, of which 16,000 (24 percent) are Palestinians. The
internal composition of the Palestinian community in Jaffa is 70 per-
cent Muslims and 30 percent Christians (Tel-Aviv-Jaffa municipality
statistics).
5. Etymologically, heteronomy goes back to the Greek words for “other”
and “law.” Focusing on the problem of social and spatial order,
I maintain that heteronomy is distinguished theoretically from Michel
Foucault’s (Foucault, 1986, p. 22) ambiguous concept of heterotopia,
or “effectively realized utopia... a sort of place that lies outside all
places and yet is actually localizable.” This section and the concept of
heteronomy draw on John Ruggie’s (1993) genealogy of state bor-
ders and space in modernity. For the postcolonial manifestation of
heteronomy, see Mbembé (2003, p. 30).
6. The term “strangeness” (or strangerhood as it is sometimes referred
to in the literature) draws on a rich sociological and philosophical tra-
dition. Beginning with Simmel’s famous short essay “Der Fremde”
(1908) where it is conceptualized to describe an individual “social
type” which exhibits a “distinctive blend of closeness and remote-
ness, inside and outside” (Simmel, [1908] 1971, p. 149), through
Schutz’s phenomenological elaboration (1964), it was further devel-
oped by Zygmunt Bauman (1991), and Ulrich Beck (1996), who
generalized the concept to theorize a collective cultural condition that
is symptomatic of “high” modernity. In American sociology it preoc-
cupied some of the major figures in the field, notably Coser (1965),
Levine (1985), and most recently Alexander (2004). The latter is most
relevant to our analysis as it reframes strangeness from a truly rela-
tional and cultural perspective which has significant implications on
the sociology of urban nationalism and colonial encounters.
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Chapter 3
S u r v i va l U n i t s a s t h e P o i n t o f
D e pa r t u r e f o r a R e l at i o n a l
Sociology∗
Lars Bo Kaspersen and Norman Gabriel
E uropean social theory has always been characterized by different

dichotomous positions. Action-structure, subjectivism-objectivism,
and methodological individualism–methodological holism are con-
flicting positions that have been competing throughout the history
of European social theory. Each of these positions enables and con-
strains one’s framework for sociological analysis. With the rise of
modern sociological theory in the late nineteenth century, a more
explicit debate and contest between these different positions has taken
place. The “Methodenstreit” in Germany in the late nineteenth cen-
tury between historians and economists is one well-known example.
Almost a century later we had “die Positivismus Streit” in Germany
between critical rationalism (Karl Popper, Hans Albert) and the
Frankfurt School (Theodor W. Adorno, Jürgen Habermas) in 1961.
Another example is the conflict in sociology between Durkheimian
methodological holism and Weberian methodological individualism.
In almost any theoretical or methodological discussion, we have been
faced with the problem of these “two sociologies” (Dawe, 1970).
What position is to be preferred? What key concept is the most suit-
able to use as a point of departure? Action or structure, individual or
society? What sort of ontological status do we assign our concepts?
Do we only have individuals or is it plausible to speak about a society
sui generis?
52 Lars Bo Kaspersen and Norman Gabriel
These different perspectives and dichotomies have been debated

and contested for many years, but over the past two or three decades
a more consistent critique of these very dichotomies has devel-
oped. More recent social theorists such as Pierre Bourdieu, Niklas
Luhmann, Anthony Giddens, Jeffrey Alexander, Jürgen Habermas,
Nicos Mouzelis and Margaret Archer have all argued that social theory
is trapped in these dichotomies, and a more adequate set of analytic
tools can be developed only if we transcend these dichotomies. A more
careful reading of the history of social theory reveals, however, that a
number of thinkers for many years have argued in favor of an alterna-
tive position—a position we refer to here as relational social theory or
methodological relationalism. From G. W. F. Hegel to G. H. Mead,
C. Pierce, and later Bourdieu, we have a long tradition that stresses
the relational dimension as the key unit of analysis.
A sociologist who was particularly dedicated to the development
of a relational sociology throughout his whole career was Norbert
Elias (1897–1990). This chapter will explore some of the strengths
of Elias’s sociology. We will argue that in many respects Elias’s
figurational perspective is the most convincing contribution to a
relational sociology that overcomes many of the deficiencies we find
in various actor and structural approaches and to some extent in
other approaches to relational social theory. We shall also argue
that Elias does not overcome all the problems pointed out by crit-
ics of a relational perspective. We shall demonstrate, however, that
by introducing other German thinkers such as Hegel and C. von
Clausewitz and incorporating some of their concepts into Elias’s
perspective, a step towards a stronger relational sociology can be
developed.
The structure of the chapter is as follows: first we present the prob-
lem of substantialist sociology versus relational sociology. We take our
point of departure in Emirbayer’s (1997) article “Manifesto for a Rela-
tional Sociology.” He presents some of the key problems in social
theories that are embedded in substantialist thinking. His alternative
is a transaction perspective or a relational perspective. Emirbayer also
discusses the still unsolved problems and challenges faced by relational
thinking. After presenting the problem of relational thinking, we turn
to Elias’s version of relational or figurational sociology. Finally, we will
argue that Elias’s theory is a step forward but there are still some prob-
lems that need to be addressed. Consequently, we move on to address
these problems, which revolve around the issue of demarcation and
the concept of survival unit—the starting point for his sociological
analysis. We shall argue that his concept of survival unit is crucial for
S u r v i va l U n i t s 53
developing a relational sociology, but we also need to draw on some

of the key concepts found in the work of Hegel and Clausewitz.
Substantialist Sociology versus Relational

Sociology
In his article “Manifesto for a Relational Sociology,” Emirbayer
(1997) discusses various approaches to a conceptualization of the
social world. The majority of social scientists conceive the social
world as consisting “primarily in substances or in processes,” in
static “things,” or in “dynamic, unfolding relations” (Emirbayer,
1997, p. 281). A whole range of sociological theory is embedded
in rational-actor and norm-based models, functionalism, structuralism
and statistical “variable” analyses—all theories in which the entities are
seen as prior to relations. As Emirbayer points out, the alternative is a
relational perspective that depicts “the social” as dynamic, continuous,
and processual (Emirbayer, 1997, p. 281).
By referring to Dewey and Bentley (1949), Emirbayer distinguishes
between two substantialist approaches: the perspective of self-action
(rational choice, norm-following individuals, holistic theories, “struc-
turalisms”) and the perspective of inter-action (“variable-centred
approach,” survey research, and historical comparative analysis). Both
approaches start their social analysis by studying a predefined social
unit—an individual, an organization, or a society. These units have an
ontological status as real existing entities that act with capacities and
powers. They are never defined; they are assumed to be. In some ver-
sions of substantialist approaches, the units have a will, an identity, and
underlying interests. Even when they interact, they remain the same,
fixed, and independent of the existence of the other. The units gen-
erate action and interaction rather than being constituted in the very
process of interacting. The alternative to these substantialist positions
is again the transaction perspective or a relational perspective.
What can a relational perspective offer? According to Emirbayer,
there is a fundamental shift from pre-given units and their pre-given
attributed properties to a perspective in which “the very terms or
units involved in a transaction derive their meaning, significance,
and identity from the (changing) functional roles they play within
that transaction” (Emirbayer, 1997, p. 287). The transaction, or put
differently the relational process, becomes the point of departure
for the analysis. Emirbayer states that things “are not assumed as
independent existences present anterior to any relation, but . . . again
their whole being . . . first in and with the relations which are predi-
cated of them. Such ‘things’ are terms of relations, and as such can
never be ‘given’ in isolation but only in ideal community with each
other” (Cassirer, 1953, p. 36; quoted in Emirbayer, 1997, p. 287).
Emirbayer continues by saying that relational theorists reject that we
can posit discrete pre-given units such as individuals and society as
the point of departure for sociological analysis. Individuals, persons,
or organizations are inseparable from their relational context. They
are always embedded in social relations, and consequently, they are
not substances stepping into a relationship but are elements that are
articulated and constituted in social relations.
This shift of perspective has a number of implications. A rela-
tional perspective leads to a reconstruction of our key concepts such
as individual, person, agency, structure, power and society. The con-
cepts are no longer conceived as a pre-defined entity. They must be
redefined as relational concepts, which implies that they are consti-
tuted in a process of “structuration.” In other words, a concept such
as society is dissolved from being conceived as an “autonomous, inter-
nally organized, self-sustaining ‘system’ with naturally bounded, inte-
grated, sovereign entities as national states or countries” (Emirbayer,
1997, p. 294) to “a diversity of intersecting networks of social inter-
action” (Mann, 1986, p. 16). Emirbayer agrees with Mann’s critique
of the concept of society, and his alternative approach is to replace
society with the notion of societies that are constituted as “multiple
overlapping and intersecting sociospatial networks of power” (Mann,
1986, p. 1). According to Mann, societies are neither unitary social
systems nor totalities.1 Mann accepts that occasionally we can observe
some more stable form of interactions of power networks in a given
social space—these more regularized processes of interactions can be
seen as a “society.” Underneath, however, “human beings are tun-
nelling ahead to achieve their goals, forming new networks, extending
old ones, and emerging most clearly into our view with rival config-
urations of one or more of the principal power networks” (Mann,
1986, p. 16).
A corollary of this theoretical and methodological shift implies that
our concepts need to be redefined as relational concepts and processes,
and it becomes more difficult to begin an analysis. How do we demar-
cate our unit of study? How do we apply our concepts? If there is
no longer a clearly demarcated entity such as society that hitherto has
provided us with a framework for our analysis, how do we know how
to “draw lines across relational webs possessing no clearcut natural
boundaries” (Emirbayer, 1997, p. 303)? To put it differently, how
do we demarcate a figuration (Elias)? How do we demarcate a field

(Bourdieu)? Emirbayer is quite right in raising this as a major problem
for methodological relationalism. As we shall argue, however, Elias has
an answer to this problem that some readers and critics of Elias have
tended to overlook.
As Emirbayer points out, the problem of boundary setting also
raises some ontological questions (Emirbayer, 1997, p. 304). If we
can demarcate a set of social relations—a matrix of transactions in
Emirbayer’s terminology—with borders, how does one characterize
what is inside the boundary? What sort of ontological status do we
give this “entity”? Do we regard it as a “substance,” an “entity,” or
a “thing”?2 By moving to a relational perspective, we might inad-
vertently end up in the position we attempted to avoid. We accept
the criticism of “substantialist social theory” and we approve a shift
towards a relational perspective. We also agree with Emirbayer that in
most relational social theory there are a couple of unaddressed prob-
lems concerning the demarcation of social relations and the problem
of the primary unit or “entity.” These two problems are addressed by
a prominent relational thinker—Norbert Elias—but surprisingly he is
only briefly mentioned by Emirbayer. We will argue that Elias’s con-
cept of survival units, conceived as a processual structure—or in Elias’s
terminology a figuration—is a sophisticated answer to the problems
raised by Emirbayer. Elias carefully develops the concept of survival
unit or more precisely the relationship between survival units as a
point of departure for his relational sociology. Later in the chapter we
shall attempt to strengthen Elias’s approach by introducing a Hegelian
notion of recognition. We shall argue that the survival unit should be
seen as a figuration that does not exist prior to the processes in which it
is always involved. These very processes in a social relationship define
and constitute this very “entity.” It cannot be conceived outside its
relational context.
Elias’s Version of Methodological Relationalism:

Figurational Sociology
Relational social theory can be found in the works of Georg W. F.
Hegel, Karl Marx, Karl Mannheim, George H. Mead, Ferdinand
Saussure, Claude Lévi-Strauss, Louis Althusser, Michel Foucault,
and Pierre Bourdieu. However, one of the most consistent rela-
tional thinkers is Norbert Elias. In order to develop his figurational
and relational sociology, Elias makes two claims: (1) the only the-
oretically sustainable point of departure for a relational sociology
is to study human beings and human societies in a relational per-

spective. This claim is justified by a number of arguments, among
others his critique of methodological-individualism, methodological
holism, individual-society categories, and the homo clausus perspec-
tive. (2) The other important assumption that Elias makes concerns
the key social relation—survival units in a relational perspective.
In other words, the first social relation to be studied is not the single
individual or a man–woman (family) or man–nature (subject–object)
relation. The first unit of analysis is the relational binding of human
beings in social groups. In the first order we find the relation between
survival units (“state”–“state”). In the second order we find relations
between families and individuals within each of the survival units.
Before we go deeper into Elias’s relational thinking, we shall
briefly point to some of his intellectual sources. When it comes to
his relational thinking, Karl Mannheim played an important role.
Mannheim criticized, just as Elias did later on, various dualisms
in philosophy and social theory (subjectivism-objectivism, action-
structure, individualism-holism), scientism, reductionism, reification,
and economism (Kilminster, 1993, p. 85). Mannheim spoke in favor
of structured processes, a continuum from more subjective to more
objective knowledge, and the relation between interaction and inter-
dependence (Kilminster, 1993, p. 85). Mannheim’s response to these
problems was relationalism. He argued that human knowledge is
rooted in the existence of competing and co-existing human groups.
In other words, human beings are always embedded in compet-
ing groups. This conflictual, relational perspective was to a large
extent taken over by Elias. Crucial to Mannheim was the notion
of Seinsverbundenheit (existential boundedness) (Kilminster, 1993,
p. 88), which bears resemblance to Elias’s understanding of human
beings born into and always existing in survival units. It is clear that
Elias’s “figurational conception of interdependency in antagonism”
comes close to Mannheim’s perspective. According to Kilminster,
Mannheim and Elias have a shared view of relationism that is distinc-
tive because it is situated within the flux of the historical processes.
It is impossible to stand outside historical processes (Kilminster,
1993, p. 90).
Another source of inspiration can be traced to Georg Simmel, who
was to a large extent also a relational thinker. Simmel argues that
society is
nothing but immediate interactions that occur among men constantly every
minute, but that have become crystallized as permanent fields, as autonomous
phenomena. As they crystallize, they attain their own existence and their own
laws, and may even confront or oppose spontaneous interaction itself. At the
same time, society, as its life is constantly being realized, always signifies that
individuals are connected by mutual influence and determination . . . Society
merely is the name for a number of individuals, connected by interaction. It is
because of their interaction that they are a unit—just a system of bodily masses
is a unit whose reciprocal effects wholly determine their mutual behaviour.
(Simmel, 1964[1908], pp. 9–10)
The quotation demonstrates that Simmel also made an attempt to

develop a relational approach to the study of social life. An attempt
to delineate certain groups of interactions into a field can be seen as a
very preliminary notion of figuration. This concept will be explained
in more detail in the next section.
A third influential thinker is E. Cassirer. As we have shown above,
Emirbayer also drew attention to Cassirer’s work and his relational
perspective. Without any doubt Cassirer influenced Elias, but Elias
always found this form of relationalism more philosophical than
sociological.3 Elias states that in contrast to Cassirer, he became a
sociologist “dealing with real events, such as power struggles between
human groups, such as cycles of violence or with long-term social
processes such as state formation processes, of knowledge growth, of
urbanization, of population growth and of dozens of other processes,
now in the centre of process sociology, its theory, its empirical work
and its practical applications” (Kilminster and Wouters, 1995, p. 101).
In other words, a relational perspective must be historical, process
orientated, and sociological.
Simmel, Cassirer, Mannheim, and possibly others are used by Elias
to bring an alternative to other forms of sociology dominating in the
first part of the twentieth century such as Marxism, functionalism,
phenomenology, Weberian theories of social action, and Durkheimian
sociology. By opposing the latter theories and by using Mannheim,
Simmel, and others, Elias develops an alternative, more relational
position. Let us turn to Elias’s version of relationalism.
From Homo Clausus to Figurations: Elias’s

Version of Relational Sociology
Elias was very critical of most of the key concepts in social theory
such as individual, society, power, structure, action, interaction,
and others. He developed an alternative vocabulary with concepts
such as figuration, power-ratio, process, habitus, network, web,
interdependence, and others. Throughout his work Elias gave a

strong critique of various dichotomous positions such as method-
ological individualism–methodological holism, action-structure, and
subjectivism-objectivism. As an example we can mention his devastat-
ing critique of Weber’s notion of the individual and his methodologi-
cal individualism (Elias, 2012a, pp. 111–113). The human individual
is regarded as a homo clausus—a closed box. The individual is like
a “completely self-reliant adult, forming no relationships and stand-
ing quite alone” (Elias, 2012a, p. 114). In “On the Process of
Civilization” he writes,
The conception of the individual as homo clausus, a little world in himself who
ultimately exists quite independently of the great world outside, determines
the image of human beings in general. Every other human being is likewise
seen as a homo clausus; his core, his being, his true self appears likewise as
something divided within him by an invisible wall from everything outside,
including every other human being.
(Elias, 2012b, p. 515)
Elias’s response to this problem of the closed individual is again stated

in “On the Process of Civilization”:
The image of the human being as a “closed personality” is here replaced

by the image of the human being as an “open personality” who possesses
a greater or lesser degree of relative (but never absolute and total) autonomy
vis-à-vis other people and who is, in fact, fundamentally oriented towards
and dependent on other people throughout his or her life. The network of
interdependencies among human beings is what binds them together. Such
interdependencies are the nexus of what is here called the figuration, a struc-
ture of mutually oriented and dependent people. Since people are more or
less dependent on each other first by nature and then through social learning,
through education, socialization, and socially generated reciprocal needs, they
exist, one might venture to say, only as pluralities, only in figurations.
(Elias, 2012b, p. 525)
In other words, Elias responds with the innovative concept

of figuration. The concept of figuration is also an attack on and a
replacement for other concepts such as actor, society, and system as
long as these concepts retain their character as substantives and refer
to isolated objects in a state of rest (Elias, 2012a, p.113). The con-
cept of system is furthermore criticized for indicating harmony and
integration. Systems tend to overemphasize the harmonious aspect of
human relationships, ignoring conflicts. It originates in the notion of
organism and the idea of equilibriums and harmony. Power is another

concept that is reconceptualized from a reified concept to a relational
concept. Most often power is conceived as a substance, an object
that can be possessed. Elias prefers to discuss power as power-ratios.
According to van Krieken, this is also an attempt to transcend another
dichotomy—the problem of freedom and determinism. From Elias’s
discussion of homo clausus it is clear that no human being can pos-
sess absolute autonomy or freedom (van Krieken, 1998, pp. 55–57).
Autonomy and freedom have to be seen in relation to the web of
interdependencies in which human beings always find themselves.
We always find ourselves caught up in a figuration that provides us
with opportunities and constraints. In order to properly understand
our constraints and opportunities, we must understand “the shifting
balances of tensions” or power-ratios.
The concept of figuration is a theoretical conceptualization of
interdependent human beings. Human beings are always embedded
and situated into these figurations, which take different forms and
contain different power-ratios between people situated in a given
figuration. A figuration is always dynamic and changes all the time as a
consequence of unplanned processes, unintended consequences, and
purposeful and planned activities. These processes are constrained and
facilitated by the presence of different forms of habitus (personality
structure), which, again, is formed by the figuration itself. In “On the
Process of Civilization” Elias states:
[F]rom the interweaving of countless individual interests and intentions—

whether tending in the same direction or in divergent and hostile directions—
something comes into being that was not planned and intended by any of
these individuals, yet has emerged nevertheless from their intentions and
actions. And really this is the whole secret of social figurations, their com-
pelling dynamics, their structural regularities, their process character and their
development; this is the secret of sociogenesis and of relational dynamics.
(Elias, 2012b, p. 346–47)
The key elements in Elias’s version of a relational sociology can

be summarized as an understanding of social life as the planned
and unplanned, intended and unintended, outcomes of human pur-
poseful action. Human beings are social beings always embedded in
figurations, interdependent webs and networks that are always mov-
ing, changing, and developing. In other words, Elias focuses on
relations, processes, and changes in figurations rather than on static
structures and states.
So far we have provided a brief presentation to Elias’s relational

sociology and his key concept of figuration. We now need to ask if
Elias overcomes some of the main problems in relational sociology.
Does he, for example, avoid substantialism? One could think that he
does make assumptions about human beings, which can be seen as a
substantialist position. As an example we can ask the question: why
do humans bond? Is it a human attribute? Is it a property located
in each and every individual? We will argue that Elias does not fall
into the substantialist trap. He develops a consistent and relational
framework. He discusses affective bonds and in his critique of Parsons
he emphasizes that it is often forgotten “that each person’s striving
for gratification is directed towards other people from the very out-
set. Nor is gratification itself derived entirely from one’s own body—it
depends a great deal on other people too. Indeed this is one of the uni-
versal interdependencies which bind people together” (Elias, 2012a,
p. 130). Does the notion of gratification save Elias from falling into
the substantialist—homo clausus—trap? We think it does. It is not a
feature attributed to the human individual—a drive. It has some affin-
ity with Hegel’s notion of recognition and Bourdieu’s notion of social
honour. Gratification, recognition and social honour are properties
of social relations. None of these concepts has any meaning outside
a social relation. The mutual process of gratification or a constant
struggle of recognition makes sure that figurations are very dynamic
and fluid.
The next question concerns the uniqueness of Elias’s relational
sociology. As several scholars have pointed out, most elements of
Elias’s sociological relationalism can be found elsewhere, for exam-
ple, in Dewey’s and Bentley’s work (van Krieken, 1998, pp. 75–76).
Although this is accurate, we find Elias’s synthesis of various posi-
tions developed in opposition to mainstream sociology quite unique.
His consistent attempt to rethink all sociological categories from a
relational point of view always seems to be innovative. However, all
these perspective are not entirely absent from other classical and con-
temporary sociological approaches. His important contribution is, in
our opinion, his concept of survival unit and his overall relational
approach.
Survival Unit as the Key Figuration

In his discussion of figurations and human interdependencies, Elias
asks the question, why are human beings bonded together? Human
beings are always bonded to each other; they always live in
interweaving social relations and can never be seen as isolated closed
entities. Elias discusses various affective and sexual bonds as important,

but he does not reduce human bonding to sexual or emotional needs
(Elias, 2012a, pp.129–132). Subsequently, he argues that besides
interpersonal bonds, people are connected by symbols to larger units,
“to coats of arms, to flags and to emotionally-charged concepts”
(Elias, 2012a, p. 132). These forms of emotional bonds are no less
important than interpersonal bonds.
Combined in many ways with other less personal types of bond, they underlie
the extended “I-and-We” image that hitherto has always seemed indispensable
in binding together not only small tribes but large social units like nation
states encompassing many millions of people. People’s attachment to such
large social units is often as intense as their attachment to a person they love.
The individual who has formed such a bond will be as deeply affected when
the social unit to which he is devoted is conquered or destroyed, debased or
humiliated, as when a beloved person dies.
(Elias, 2012a, p. 133)
Elias is very much aware that social theory in the twentieth century
has been prone to stress the I-identity development (Elias, 2010a,
p. 160). This has been particularly emphasized by theories based
upon the individual or in recent years, processes of individualization.
Social theory has neglected that larger units, most often states, have
been an object of common identification. Elias raises the important
question, “Why do emotional bonds to state-societies—which nowa-
days are nation-states—take priority over bonds to other figurations?”
(Elias, 192012a, p. 133).4 Can we interpret this question in a direc-
tion in which we can carefully suggest that Elias is arguing that
some figurations in some situations are more important than others?
In What is Sociology?, Elias characterizes these various figurations that
at different stages in human history “have bound individuals to them
by this type of predominating emotional bond” (Elias, 2012a, p. 133).
Elias argues that a common feature of these figurations is their
attempt to exercise “comparatively strict control over the use of
physical violence in relationships between their members” (Elias,
2012a, p. 133). Moreover, he continues that these figurations have
accepted—at times even encouraged—“their members to use physical
violence against non-members.” This has a positive function for the
“we-I balance.” A “we” is generated in this process. These figurations
knit “people together for common purposes—the common defence
of their lives, the survival of their group in the face of attacks by
other groups and, for a variety of reasons, attacks in common on other
groups.”
He continues, and we quote in length:
Thus the primary function of such an alliance is either physically to wipe out
other people or to protect its own members from being physically wiped out.
Since the potential of such units for attack is inseparable from their poten-
tial for defence, they may be called “attack-and-defence units” or “survival
units.” At the present stage of social development they take the form of
nation-states. In the future they may be amalgamations of several former
nation-states. In the past they were represented by city-states or the inhab-
itants of a stronghold. Size and structure vary: the function remains the same.
At every stage of development, wherever people have been bound and inte-
grated into units for attack and defence, this bond has been stressed above
all others. This survival function, involving the use of physical force against
others, creates interdependencies of a particular kind. It plays a part in the
figurations people form, perhaps no greater but also no more negligible than
‘occupational’ bonds. Though it cannot be reduced to “economic” functions,
neither is it separable from them.
(Elias, 2012a, p. 134.)
This figuration is a particular kind. It is a political bond because it

revolves around the organisation of attack and defense. It cannot,
however, be separated from economics. It initially may seem that
Elias is suggesting that survival units and occupational groups are
figurations at the same level. This might be the case from the point of
view of the individual embedded in an occupational group or a survival
unit. There is, however, an important difference, one that can be seen
if we turn our attention to another part of Elias’s writings where he
discusses the concept of community. Here Elias criticizes the “vague-
ness” of technical terms that are used in sociology and anthropology
to explain the way people are linked to one another:
Many of these terms suffer from a characteristic sociological disease: they are
shrouded in a voluntaristic twilight. They blur the distinction between human
bonds that can be made and unmade at will by those concerned, and human
bonds which cannot be made and unmade at will by those concerned . . . More
recent examples are concepts like “role,” “interaction” and the ubiquitous
“human relations.” Their use can easily give the impression that the central
task of sociology is to study how individual people act or behave when they
make contact or form relations with each other. The implications appear to
be that human beings are always free to act, to interact, to form relationships
as they like. In actual fact their ability to do this is limited, and sociolog-
ical studies are very much concerned with the problem of how limited it
is and why.
(Elias, 2008a, p. 129)
Here Elias points not only to a crucial element of human bonding

but also to the demarcation of figurations. Do we find a figuration in
which we are embedded neither by will nor by decision but by des-

tiny and fate? Yes, one particular form of figuration—the figuration
Elias denotes as a “survival unit.” Whether we like it or not we are
all born into a survival unit. It is a fact that human beings can-
not escape. We are not members by decision, volition, or consent.
It is in a Hegelian sense a community of fate. We cannot overcome
this fact. We might dream about being born free, autonomous, or
in a world society, but the way social life is organized and prob-
ably has been organized for several millions of years is through a
structure of demarcated survival units. Since we all are born into
such a structure, survival units are figurations with some form of
primacy.
Another reason why they take on the role as the “primary” or key
figuration in Elias’s relational sociology is their high degree of rel-
ative autonomy, which no other figurations have. Of course, these
figurations are also interdependent with other figurations, but they
have an autonomy to the extent they can “fulfil effectively for their
members their function as self-reliant and self-regulating defence and
survival units” (Elias, 2008a, p. 135). Their high, relative auton-
omy consists in their ability to defend and survive. As long as a
unit can defend its own domain of sovereignty (whether this is a
territory, hunting fields, or seaways), it can be argued that it has
autonomy. If no other unit can encroach upon your domain of
sovereignty, you are autonomous. When no figuration exists with
the ability to conquer you, you are as autonomous as one can
be. This is a crucial difference between survival units and other
figurations such as families or companies. Families or companies can
very rarely protect themselves from internal and external enemies.5
Moreover, they are dependent on a legal framework to operate. This
framework—whether it is codified law or custom law—can be pro-
vided and upheld only by the survival unit. In this respect, the
family and the company are not autonomous entities. Their exis-
tence is in the last instance dependent on the autonomy of the
survival unit. As long as the survival unit is capable of preventing
external enemies from encroaching upon its domain of sovereignty,
there will be freedom and autonomy for families, individuals, and
businesses.
Apart from the defense and survival function that gives this
figuration some form of autonomy, another characteristic of a survival
unit is its level of integration. A survival unit—a village state or a
nation-state—represents the highest level of integration in social life at
a given time (Elias, 2008a, pp. 135–136). The survival unit—whether
a village state or a nation-state—has a centre. This centre is the knot

in the figuration. The very centre can take different forms. It can
consist of old men in a village, the wealthiest burghers in a town,
the king and the court, or a government. This centre is the locus
of decision-making—a locus which provides the survival unit with an
actor dimension. The survival unit gives some form of agency to Elias’s
relational theory. The survival unit can be seen as an actor because an
actor is “a locus of decision and action, where the action is in some
sense a consequence of the actor’s decisions . . . reference to an actor
always involves some reference to definite means of reaching and for-
mulating decisions, definite means of action, and some links between
the two” (Hindess, 1986, p. 115). Consequently, the survival unit has
ends and interests that go beyond any single class, family, company,
community, or individual within the survival unit.
When a centre becomes particularly strong, as we see in late Renais-
sance Europe, with the new court society a monopolization process
can develop with larger, stronger, and more territorially demarcated
survival units. This process is interdependent with increasing differ-
entiation, and the level of integration moves to a higher level. The
centre—the court society—becomes in some respect the knot in the
figuration—a knot from which integration is streaming out and struc-
tured around. The very character and structure of the court society
in several European countries paved the way for a strong centraliza-
tion and territorialization of these survival units. These processes are
self-perpetuating and the centre becomes an even stronger integrating
force.
Elias is emphasising the key role of the states (survival units) and the
problem of violence. On several occasions Elias carefully argues that a
survival unit has a double function—defense and attack and economic
reproduction of its population—in other words, a political as well as
an economic function (Elias, 2012a). This political and economic rela-
tionship is closely tied. We can see that he gives primacy to the survival
unit as the key figuration. In Involvement and Detachment he tends to
argue that the violent aspect of the survival unit is in the last instance
the key dimension of the survival unit. In a discussion of the Cold War,
the bipolar world, and the social dynamics between two super pow-
ers, the United States and the USSR, Elias emphasizes how this social
dynamic creates competitive pressures, which continually change and
moves these states. Moreover, he argues that the violence potential of
states is the key means to maintain and improve the position of a state
in a system of states.
Nothing is more characteristic of the structure of inter-state relations than this

fact. It indicates that human beings, at the level of inter-state relations, are still
bound to each other at the primeval level. Like animals in the wilderness of
a jungle, like tribal groups in humanity’s early days, like states throughout
history, so the states of today are bound to each other in such a way that
sheer physical force and cunning are, in the last resort, the decisive factors in their
relationships (italics by authors). No one can prevent a physically stronger state
from lording it over weaker states, except another state which is its match in
terms of physical force. If another such state exists, the two experience one
another, with great regularity, as rivals, each trying to prevent the other from
attaining hegemonial power within the whole field. Thus, unless a state is
checked by another state that is militarily its equal, there is nothing to prevent
its leaders and the people who form it from threatening, exploiting, invading
and enslaving, driving out or killing the inhabitants of another state, if they are
so minded.
(Elias, 2007a, pp. 139–140)
This inter-state dynamic is simultaneously a life-and-death struggle

including the use or threat of the means of violence. It is a contest
without rules, but it is not chaotic (Elias, 2012a, pp. 71–76). The
global figuration consists of many different forms of survival units that
are all interdependent by the very fact that they co-exist and compete
with each other in a struggle for survival. In the very struggle for sur-
vival, an order emerges. This struggle between two survival units is
“a primal contest”—whether it is about prestige or scarce resources,
they are dependent on each other. Every step taken by each of the two
parties is carefully watched by the other. As enemies they perform a
function for each other, and each move of one survival unit determines
the move of the other survival unit and vice versa. A process of recip-
rocal action takes place. The struggle of survival creates a dynamic
relationship with crucial implications for the figurational relations
within states. “The internal arrangement in each group are determined
to a greater or lesser extent by what each group thinks the other
might do next” (Elias, 2012a, p. 72). In other words, the pressure
and the struggle for survival compel each survival unit to produce the
requisite material foundations for its survival. This interdependence
exists as a precondition for and as an outcome of the relationship
between various survival units, influencing the internal structure of
survival units. In modern terms the organization and structure of a
society is to a large extent determined by the intensity of the strug-
gles between states. The character and organization of internal social
structures (societal structures) is a function of external structures:
Their function for each other is in the last resort based on the compulsion they
exert over each other by reason of their interdependence. It is not possible
to explain the actions, plans and aims of either of the two groups if they
are conceptualized as the freely chosen decisions, plans and aims of each
group considered on its own, independently of the other group. They can be
explained only if one takes into account the compelling forces the groups exert
upon each other by reason of their interdependence, their bilateral function
for each other as enemies.
(Elias, 2012a, p. 72)
The crucial difference between inter-state and the intra-state rela-

tions is the presence and use of the means of violence. Elias draws
upon Weber in his conceptualization of the survival unit since he
clarifies that the use of violence is an ever-present threat and the nor-
mal instrument of last resort in inter-state relations. As an instrument
to put extreme pressure on someone else, violence has almost been
eliminated from normal relations within states. According to Elias,
this is
not only indicative of the fundamental difference between the structure of

human relationships within states and that of the relationships between states.
It also means that human beings, particularly in the more effectively con-
trolled and pacified industrial states, live, as it were, simultaneously at two
levels whose structure is not only different, but in some respects contradic-
tory. Correspondingly, they live with two different and contradictory codes
of conduct. At one level it is strictly forbidden to assail violently and to kill
people; at another, preparation for, and the use of, violence in relations with
other humans is demanded as a duty.
(Elias, 2007a, p. 145)
Elias points out that there is a clear difference between figurations

called survival units, which are interrelated in a state system, and
those to be found at the intra-state level such as families, com-
panies and voluntary associations. The existence of monopolies of
the means of violence within states and the non-existence of such
monopolies at the inter-state level explain clear differences in social
structure. A given state-society—a network of functionally interde-
pendent human beings—has a structure of its own. They are bound to
each other in specific figurations whose dynamics have a constraining
and compelling influence on those who form them:
The existence of a monopoly of physical force within states and its non-
existence in the relationships between states is an example of the firmness
of the structure which interdependent human beings form with one another.
It also shows the far-reaching effects which these structures have on those
who form them.
(Elias, 2007a, p. 143)
Elias is well aware that survival units take on different forms in differ-
ent periods in history. Or rather, as he prefers to put it, they express
different levels of interdependence and differentiation and a different
level of integration in different phases of the development of soci-
etal structures. Thus, he speaks about village states as one form of
figuration that is characterized by a much less differentiated society
and has to rely on its own resources. Another and more “advanced”
form of figuration serving the same defence and survival purpose is
the nation-state, but due to the much more differentiated character
and higher level of interdependence, it has to organize the fulfilment
of these functions entirely differently. He does not develop an entire
“typology,” but mentions different forms of survival units. He argues
that human populations have always been divided into survival units
of one kind or another. Over time they have grown in size, from small
bands, tribes, city-states, village-states to modern large-scale states and
nation-states (Elias, 2009, pp. 109–114).
Let us summarize this part of the argument so far: Elias is in favor
of a relational sociology. This relational perspective is based on the
concept of figuration, which explains that all social life is embedded
in interdependent and interweaving social relations. By conceiving
all social life in a figurational perspective—perennial interdependency
between social units and human beings—we might start wonder-
ing where we should start our sociological analysis. Do we find any
figuration with some primacy? Usually, methodological relationalism
has a problem of demarcation. How can we demarcate a figuration?
How can we delineate and determine our “unit of analysis” if all social
life must be conceived as interdependent social relations? Is it possi-
ble to detect a demarcated figuration with autonomy? Yes, according
to Elias, one particular form of figuration takes on some primacy—
the survival unit. He provides am empirical and theoretical answer
to this question. Empirically we can observe that human beings have
always existed in survival units, and these survival units have rarely
been isolated without any contact to other survival units. In other
words, survival units always exist in a larger system of multiple survival
units.
His theoretical answer has four elements: first, the survival unit has
primacy compared to other figurations because a survival unit is the
figuration with the highest level of autonomy. No other figuration
stands above the survival unit. If a survival unit cannot prevent

a neighbouring survival unit from intervening into its domain of
sovereignty, thereby providing protection and generating material
resources such as food and shelter for its members, then it is no
longer a survival unit. A survival unit is only a survival unit as long
as it succeeds in preventing encroachment. In similar terms a mod-
ern form of survival unit—the state—is only a state if the state can
uphold its domain of sovereignty by securing its population from for-
eign intervention (either by cunning, alliances, or military defence).
The survival unit is the most important figuration but only as far
as it can defend itself. No other figuration has this high degree of
relative autonomy. Companies, cities, towns, trade unions, or multi-
national corporations are not as autonomous because they are all
dependent on a figuration superior to them—the survival unit. Only
the survival unit gives other figurations some form of freedom to
act and this freedom is entirely dependent on the autonomy of the
survival unit.
The second theoretical dimension concerns the character of the
survival unit as a particular form of figuration. We are born into a
survival unit whether we like it or not. It is our fate. A survival unit
is a “community of fate.” Whereas other figurations can in princi-
ple be joined by any social group or person, the survival unit is an
inescapable figuration. Whether we were born in Assyria in 2000 BC
or in Denmark or Scotland in 1961, we are born into a survival unit.
All other forms of categorization such as class, caste, nationality, and
ethnicity differ from time to time and place to place. These categories
are not “universals.” A survival unit is a universal—only its form varies.
Moreover, most of the time emotional bonds to survival units take
priority over bonds in other figurations.
The third part of our theoretical argument concerns the character
of the overall figuration in which the survival units are embedded—
in modern times the state system. This figuration might or might
not be normless—but it still creates an order in which the survival
unit emerges, consolidates, and declines. This figuration still has an
enormous impact on the emerging, internal social order. According
to Elias, the system of survival units should be conceived as a primal
contest. The contest takes place in an environment which at the outset
is not regulated by norms but neither is it anarchy or chaos. The inter-
dependent structure of the system and the relationship between the
survival units generates a particular order, but no norms can be uni-
laterally forced upon the members for a long period of time because
no survival unit can rule and sanction the system for ever. The system
might be hegemonic, but there is always a contest and struggle for

survival taking place, which prevents this system from developing
into one survival unit (see our later discussion on a global survival
unit).
The fourth part of our argument concerns the level of integration.
No matter what character and form the survival unit takes (feudal
castle, town, village state, nation-state, or empire), the survival unit
represents the highest level of integration in social life. This last ele-
ment again concerns the important difference between the survival
unit as a figuration and other figurations existing within the survival
unit (e.g., Amnesty International, the financial market, or transna-
tional corporations). A crucial difference is the problem of violence.
Survival units seem to have exercised comparatively strict control over
the use of physical violence in relationships between their members.
In different historical contexts, processes of monopolizations of the
means of violence have developed. Since survival units tend to monop-
olize the means of violence, other figurations need survival units to
protect them. Without protection and security it is hard for social life
to develop into stable figurations with the production of food and
shelter for their inhabitants. At least since the Neolithic Period and
the emergence of agricultural modes of production, physical protec-
tion of a domain has been crucial. The function of a survival unit
controlling the means of violence is that “it knits people together
for common purposes—the common defence of their lives, the sur-
vival of their group in the face of attacks by other groups and, for
a variety of reasons, attacks in common on other groups” (Elias,
2012a, p. 134).
The Survival Unit and the Problem of Demarcation

In the beginning of our chapter we referred to Emirbayer’s exposition
of methodological relationalism. He also raises some unsolved prob-
lems about a relational perspective. One of the key problems concerns
the boundaries of social relations. How do we know how to “draw
lines across relational webs possessing no clear-cut natural bound-
aries” (Emirbayer, 1997, p. 303). To put it differently, how do we
demarcate a figuration? Does Elias solve the problem of demarcation
as raised by Emirbayer? Elias has a good response, but it is only a
partial answer. We can observe survival units in relation to other sur-
vival units. Thus, there is a demarcated figuration with a primacy in
his theoretical perspective. But why is it demarcated? A part of Elias’s
response refers to our empirical observation of human history as a
process of interdependent survival units competing and co-existing.

New forms of survival units emerge and old forms decline. We can
observe that social life is organized around survival units, and they
are demarcated towards other units. Another part of his response is
embedded in his very theoretical perspective. By conceiving social life
as a web, a process of interdependent and interweaving social rela-
tionships, Elias in a subtle way offers an answer. He seems to adopt
a Hegelian logic. Demarcation arises out of the relationship, which
is a confrontation that generates identities and boundaries. Hegel
demonstrates that a state becomes a state when it appears in a social
relationship with another state. It is exactly in the very moment when
two or more states are interacting that they constitute each other as
states (Hegel, 1991).
The argument in favor of it being a social relation is illustrated with
the possessive pronoun “mine.” What is “mine” cannot be conceived
of without making a distinction between “mine” and “not mine.” This
distinction must necessarily be drawn externally by someone else.
In order to think the exclusion of others from what is “mine,” I there-

fore have to experience my own exclusion, and then laterally inverse the
relation.
(Boserup, 1986, p. 924)
Hegel explains exactly that the concept of state is unthinkable unless

we see a state as a part of a social relationship, vis-á-vis another state.
As an individual cannot become self-conscious and know that “I” is
me before “another” has recognized me—“I”—from the outside, so
Hegel clearly sees that a state can only become a state with a bounded
territory when the boundaries of this territory are drawn from out-
side. Elias follows the same kind of thinking by taking a relational
perspective and thereby stressing the importance of this very relation-
ship for survival units. In this relationship the boundaries are created
from “outside.” The survival units are demarcated by the “other” and
not by the members of the survival unit itself. Or in Hegel’s termi-
nology, the state has to be recognized by another state in order to be
a state:
Individuality, as exclusive being-for-itself, appears as the relation [of the state]

to other states, each of which is independent [selbsständig] in relation to the
others . . . (§322) . . . Without relations with other states, the state can no more
be an actual individual than an individual can be an actual person without a
relationship with other persons [see §322/Hegel’s note] (§331).
(Hegel, 1991, p. 359, §322:366–67, §331)
We have now clarified what determines one of the main characteristics

of the state: the boundaries. Hegel and Elias demonstrate that the bor-
ders are always made from outside. Their explanation, however, goes
deeper. The very relationship constitutes the states. This relationship,
which is analysed in detail in Hegel’s The Phenomenology of the Spirit,
has a very special character; it is a mutual struggle of recognition
between two entities—individuals—and it has a fundamental existen-
tial importance to these individuals: it is a life and death struggle
(Hegel, 1977 [1807], pp.187–188). Although the Hegelian struggle
of recognition is applied most often to the relationship between indi-
viduals, Hegel is also aware that it can be found at a state level (Hegel,
1991[1821]). He, however, cannot take us much further. By apply-
ing a relational approach, Elias, unlike other methodological relational
thinkers, provides us with an answer to the problem of demarcation.
It is, however, a partial answer.
The Unsolved Problem of Elias’s Relational

Thinking
The key figuration in social life is the survival unit. The survival unit
is a particular form of figuration organized in order to provide secu-
rity and the material foundation of life such as food and shelter. Every
human being is born into a survival unit, and it is a condition of exis-
tence for human beings. Survival units never exist in isolation. It is
always embedded in a web or system of more survival units. A survival
unit is a relational concept. It cannot be conceived outside a relation-
ship with other survival units. Survival units are constituted in their
very relationship to other survival units. A village state or a nation-
state is created from “outside.” Denmark was never the creation of the
Danes. It was constituted in a struggle of survival against Germany,
Sweden, Russia, Britain and other survival units. Consequently, the
boundaries of a survival unit are generated in a confrontation with
other survival units.6 The relationship between different survival units
is a key aspect in Elias’s relational analysis. This relationship can be
peaceful or conflict ridden, but in the last resort it can end up with
violent confrontation. Only the survival unit with the ability to defend
a domain of sovereignty will survive. This observation places Elias
among the few sociologists with an understanding of the role of war-
fare in social life. War and the survival unit are two constants in human
history.
Two interrelated problems remain unsolved by Elias. The first
problem concerns his explanation of why there still remains a web
of different survival units. The second problem concerns the implica-

tions of Elias’s long-term perspective—is humanity ultimately moving
towards only one survival unit? This question will be discussed in the
last section.
Let’s turn to the first problem. By taking a relational perspective,
Elias analyses the world as a network of many interdependent sur-
vival units, which today has become one global system of different
forms of competing and co-existing survival units. Why humanity is
divided into many survival units? Why is the global system a perma-
nent structure of survival units fighting a struggle for recognition and
autonomy? And why is this interdependent figuration continuing to
split up into a number of different survival units? Elias does provide a
partial answer to the question. He provides us with the notion of the
struggle for gratification and survival, and this notion enables us to
understand that it is in the relation—the struggle—between survival
units that constitutes the survival units. He shows that a survival unit
cannot develop from “within” and then enter the world, fully fledged.
We know from Hegel—and we are arguing that Elias is applying a
similar way of thinking about these problems—that in order to be a
state, a state must gain recognition from another state.
Elias also used the notion of “double-bind processes” to describe
the tensions that arise between survival units and to highlight the
influence of collective fantasies on relations between societies. States
that are caught up in double-bind processes often exaggerate threats.
Exposed to danger, they act on highly emotive images of reality, and
reinforce feelings of distrust and fear in others that can trap them all
in cycles that are hard to disrupt (Elias, 2007a). Elias argued that the
high fantasy content of national images can block the realistic assess-
ment of relationships between states. Similar responses are promoted
in others with the result that, collectively, they fail to make progress
in understanding how some of the key dynamics of specific events
might be brought under control. The resulting circularity binds peo-
ple more intensely to their “survival units,” which make it harder for
them to attain “reality-congruent” knowledge. They are so emotion-
ally involved in double-bind processes that a detached analysis of the
pressures they face escapes them. Elias argued that only non-partisan
sociological inquiry, the “detour of detachment,” could provide peo-
ple in societies with a fund of reality-congruent knowledge that could
be used to regulate unmastered processes. However, despite his inge-
nious commentary on the problem of involvement and detachment in
the relations between survival units (Linklater, 2011), we have to look
elsewhere in order to solve the problem of the struggle as an infinite
process and the world as a continuous process of the rise and demise
of competing survival units. Clausewitz’s concept of war can provide
an answer.
Clausewitz and the Superior Form of Defence

Clausewitz points out that there are two forms of fighting in war:
offensive and defensive. The defensive form of warfare (D) is, in
principle, always stronger than the offensive war (O), so (D > O),
which explains why wars stop (Clausewitz, 1986, Chapter 1, Book 1,
pp.15–16). The argument for the superiority of the defensive is rooted
in the condition that the offensive only possesses means that can be
freely mobilized (“the army”), whereas the defensive has not only
these but also its own defensive forces at its disposal. These forces
consist of a series of means that are only raised in consequence
of the progress of the offensive itself and can only be mobilized by this, such as
mountains and rivers, the resistance of the civilian population, and the support
from those countries that fear the future strength of a victorious attacker.
(Boserup, 1986, p. 921)7
Thus, the defensive part has the possibility of strategically combining

its bound and freely mobilized forces, whereas the offensive is only
capable of operating with freely mobilized forces in its strategy. The
superiority of the defensive is the most important reason why there
may be a real pause, and the length of the pause is conditioned by the
strength of the defensive. But during this pause,
the war is continued as a virtual war, for the action of war has ceased, it is
true, but the war “goes on” in a particular sense, viz., as an always present
possibility that is only not actual for as long as the conditions of the pause are
maintained. The pause is only a precarious, temporary balance, conditioned
by the forces keeping each other in check, and thus, therefore, even if the war
is only “virtual,” it imposes real claims on the two antagonists.
(Ibid., p. 15)
Had the defensive not been stronger than the offensive, history would
have looked very different. If the offensive principle of fighting had
been strongest, we would have witnessed an uninterrupted state of
war that would have been terminated only when the world was united
as one global state.8
Clausewitz’s concept of the pause opens up a new understand-
ing of peace as a pause based on the superiority of the defensive.
He demonstrates that the inequality of force between the defensive

and the offensive makes a “peace” possible during which societal and
state units may exist. Elias also discusses an asymmetrical power-ratio
between struggling survival units. However, the reason why the rela-
tionship between two survival units remains peaceful and rarely turns
into violence is not the relative strength of the two units. It is only
due to the superiority of the defense that can be provided either by
its own forces and geographical conditions or by membership with an
alliance.
To put it differently, Clausewitz demonstrates that wars come to
a halt—a pause—because the defensive way of fighting is in principle
superior. Consequently, no single survival unit can conquer all other
survival units. When the offensive and aggressive survival unit moves
forward, more and more resistance is gathered around the defensive
unit. Eventually, the aggressor will have to give up. If one aggressor
succeeds in conquering all other units, the new global survival unit will
split up straightaway because without any external force, there is no
energy and no “other” to tie it together.9 This explains why the world
continues to be a world consisting of many co-existing and competing
survival units.
The superiority of the defensive also explains why war is not taking
place all the time. It would have been a corollary of Elias’s perspective
on “elimination contests” and warring survival units. From a certain
point of view an implication of Elias’s perspective is a constant war
until a “winner” and global conqueror appears. On occasions Elias
knows that this cannot be the case,10 but only Clausewitz can pro-
vide a full explanation. The concept of the pause is an important
contribution to Elias’s discussion on survival units and their strug-
gle for survival and gratification. During the pause a genuine mutual
recognition can take place and peace occurs, but it is a very pre-
carious one, since the possibility of war is ever present. In other
words, because the survival units in a struggle are unequal (the defen-
sive side > the offensive side) a pause (peace) can occur. The pause
expresses a mutual recognition between two survival units. Mutual
recognition and respect for the other is only sustained and main-
tained by the ability of the survival unit to defend itself. Thus, the
defining aspect of the survival unit is its ability to defend its domain of
sovereignty.
Consequently, the figuration of survival units is a structure of rela-
tions of self-defending and self-conscious survival units. The survival
unit is not only associated with modern states. It is used more broadly
to refer to the self-defending unit by which all human life is organized.
In other words, it is important to notice that the concept of survival

unit in this context is not a “state apparatus,” but a whole unity that
includes other figurations. It is not, however, a unity constituted by its
internal elements. According to Clausewitz, “war is the continuation
of politics by other means.” As we mentioned before, Elias argues that
violence cannot be separated from economics, because the survival
unit is a political and economic figuration at the same time. However,
both Clausewitz and Elias elucidate the necessity of the means of vio-
lence for a survival unit. Violence and military means can become the
ultimate ratio of a state. Here we also find an affinity with Max Weber,
Carl Schmitt, and Karl von Clausewitz.
Elias has demonstrated that the mutual struggle of survival that
constitutes survival units is a political relationship, but at the extreme
this struggle involves the possibility of war. We have argued that by
applying some theoretical concepts from Hegel and Clausewitz to
Elias’s relational perspective a stronger theory emerges, one based on
the concept of a figuration consisting of a web of competing survival
units. This web should be seen as a processual structure which divides
into further interdependent survival units.
The Global Survival Unit—toward a Global State?

The second problem should be seen in relation to the first and con-
cerns the outcome of the struggle between competing survival units.
A central theme in Elias’s later writings is the overall trend over
thousands of years of human history towards the establishment of
an ever-larger territorial concentration of power, along with associ-
ated pressures on people to become better attuned to each other
and to widen “the scope of emotional identification” within a new
“survival unit” (see De Swaan, 1995; Mennell, 1990). The civilizing
process helped to explain how changing conceptions of civilized con-
duct bound people together in modern political communities. But
does this necessarily mean that humanity will end up as one global
survival unit?
Elias’s analysis in the civilizing process focuses on changes in the
socio-psychological processes of people who have become bound
together in long webs of social interconnectedness. Three concepts in
this analysis are important for understanding the relationship between
violence and civilization in modern states-system and in earlier survival
units. The first concept—the “scope of emotional identification”—was
used to explain changes in the habitus of those who are caught up in
the same civilizing process. But this scope did not extend indefinitely.
Distinctions between the “established and the outsiders” survived in

the societies involved (Elias and Scotson, 2008b): identification with
some was intertwined with “disidentification” with others (de Swaan,
1997).
The second concept—the We/I balance—highlights the different
structures of we-feeling or emotional identification with other people.
The relationship between “individuals” and “society” does not have
the same form in all societies where there are strong elements of we-
feeling. This concept of the “We/I balance” is designed to enable
sociologists to compare different societies in a long-term perspec-
tive. The third concept—“social standards of self-restraint”—refers to
the processes by which people in their infancy must learn about the
standards of self-control. They must exercise control over violent ten-
dencies: people are not born with in-built self-restraints that are part
of their “nature”—but with a species-specific, biological capacity to
conform to the social standards of self-restraint of their group. This
allows them to attune their behavior to each other and to incorporate
those standards in their personalities so that they can exercise an inner
compulsion (Elias, 2007b, p. 124).
However, longer webs of social and economic interconnectedness
often provoke hostile reactions as groups respond to threats to their
power and status. Rivalries between states do not end with increas-
ing interdependence. There is no guarantee that a global civilizing
process marked by increasing pacification and higher levels of emo-
tional identification between peoples would eventually result in one
survival unit. Our argument is that a relational perspective excludes
the presence of only one survival unit because that very relationship
constitutes and defines the survival unit. Without at least two conflict-
ing survival units, it does not make any sense to describe these units as
survival units. They are defined by the very struggle of survival against
one another. In Hegelian terms a survival unit always needs another to
recognize you. Without “the other,” recognition is not possible. The
German legal and political theorist Carl Schmitt (1888–1985) agrees
with the Hegelian idea that the very struggle between two entities
constitutes this relationship and their two identities. He says,
[T]he political entity presupposes the real existence of an enemy and therefore
coexistence with another political entity. As long as a state exists, there will
thus always be in the world more than just one state. A world state which
embraces the entire globe and all of humanity cannot exist. The political world
is a pluriverse, not a universe . . .. The political entity cannot by its very nature
be universal in the sense of embracing all of humanity and the entire world.
(Schmitt, 1976, p. 53)
According to Schmitt the world is a pluriverse and this is an important

consequence of Elias’s theory. As a thought experiment we can imag-
ine one survival unit incorporating the others and turning into one
unit. This will, however, only last a brief moment. Like a nuclear atom
turning into a fission process, the global survival unit will split up in
many new units and again become a pluriverse—only external struggle
and pressure will provide the energy and compelling power to create
an internal social order. When the external pressure has gone, nothing
can tie the internal elements together, and the unit will divide into a
multiple of new and smaller units.
Concluding Remarks
In this chapter we have argued that Elias has made an important con-
tribution to a very coherent relational sociology. He overcomes some
of the major deficiencies usually found in relational perspectives and
therefore addresses the problem of boundary setting in social relations
by developing the concept of survival unit. This is a figuration (exist-
ing in a larger figuration consisting of at least two but often more
survival units) related to other survival units and through that very
relation is constituted and generates its demarcation from other units.
The survival unit is a key part of Elias’s relational perspective and his
sociological analysis. This figuration has a high degree of primacy. It is
“a matrix” of social relations with some form of demarcation and is
the key organizing principle of social life.
By taking his point of departure in the relations between survival
units, Elias explains why they possess a high degree of relative auton-
omy and therefore are the primary figurations for sociological analysis.
They are constituted in a struggle of survival. Without an authority
above and without any other entity that can subject the survival unit
to its decisions, only the survival unit is an independent social unit.
Any figurations must be regarded as more dependent figurations. The
status of armies, people, companies, or cities is dependent on a survival
unit. (When we find a city with the ability to defend it and prevent any
other city or state from intervening, such a city must be defined as a
survival unit.)
Elias does not fully explain, however, why the world has not turned
into one survival unit. Why do we find survival units in a constant
struggle against each other? Why is this process continuing and not
ending with just one survival unit left in the world? Clausewitz pro-
vides the answer by his observation of the superiority of the defensive
form of fighting. When two survival units confront each other in a war,
the defensive part will in principle always be stronger. In the long run
the offensive part cannot continue its movement forward and the war
will come to a halt—a pause. In the pause the survival units co-exist
more peacefully, but one movement from either side can be inter-
preted as an aggression from the other side and a new war can start.
Thus we find world history as a continuous struggle of survival with
winners and losers. The outcome is a world figuration with many or
few survival units struggling but never with one survival unit left as
the only one.
Another possible criticism against Elias’s relational perspective con-
cerns the beginning and establishment of a figuration with competing
and co-existing survival units. Often students ask about the origin
of the figuration, but as Elias himself replied, there is no beginning
and no end. Relational theory can never explain the origin of rela-
tional structures, but it can more convincingly analyse and explain
developments, stability, and changes in figurations over time.
Notes
∗
This is a different and longer version of an argument we first presented in
Sociological Review 56(3) (August 2008): 370–387.
1. It is interesting that Emirbayer refers to Mann’s theory of social
power. He might be able to argue that Mann rethinks the notion
of society in a more relational perspective. Mann, however, remains
deeply embedded in a substantialist approach because his theoretical
point of departure are human beings who are “restless, purposive, and
rational, striving to increase their enjoyment of the good things of life
and capable of choosing and pursuing appropriate means for doing
so” (Mann, 1986, p. 4) The human being is a pre-given entity with
a fixed set of properties and attributes—exactly what Emirbayer and
other including Elias warned us against.
2. We find the same problem in discourse analysis. Having defined a dis-
course and having selected or observed a discourse one runs into the
same problem. Is a discourse “an entity, a thing, a substance”? What
kind of ontological status do we describe to a discourse? Can we avoid
this question?
3. For a further discussion of this critique see Kilminster & Wouters
(1995)
4. He points out that at other stages of social development these
figurations were towns, villages or tribes—but today it is states.
5. These figurations are most often dependent on protection and con-
ditions of existence provided by the survival unit—in modern terms
a state. Previously we find examples of companies with this ability to
defend themselves and provide their own conditions of existence such

as the Dutch East India Company—in Elias’s terms this company can
almost be considered as a survival unit!
6. Elias is fully aware that boundaries can take different forms from loose
geographical frontiers to city walls and modern territorial nation-state
borders.
7. This and the following quotations from Boserup’s article “Staten,
samfundet og krigen hos Clausewitz” are translated from the Danish
version of the text. However, it is also available in a German edition
(1990) “Krieg, Staat und Frieden. Eine Weiterführung der Gedanken
von Clausewitz,” in Die Zukunft des Friedens in Europa—Politische
und Militärische Voraussetzungen, (ed.) Carl Friedrich von Weizäcker
(München/Wien: Carl Hanser Verlag).
8. It is important to emphasize that the principle of the superiority of
the defensive as a form of fighting does not mean that specific wars
are not won by the offensive. It is always possible for a state to pos-
sess so much superior power that the antagonist can do nothing. The
defensive war may be too weak and use its means in an inefficient way.
But this does not alter the notion that “the defensive is, in principle,
superior as a form of war” (Boserup, 1986, p. 918).
9. Elias is fully aware of this problem of the necessity of external pressure.
10. He comments as follows, “The figuration of humanity, it seems to
me, offers scarcely any chance of global pacification in by far the most
frequent traditional form: the subjugation of formerly independent
and often hostile groups by the monopoly-like military supremacy
of a single group. . . . But the network of humanity is stretched too
widely, and the number of states large and small that are accustomed
to independence is too considerable, to give a single state or a single
group of states any real chance of establishing a lasting military-
economic hegemony over the whole of humanity” (Elias, 2010b,
p. 134).
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University College Dublin Press [Collected Works, vol. 6]).
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Chapter 4
H u m a n Tr a n s ac t i o n
M e c h a n i s m s i n E vo lu t i o n a ry
Niches—a Methodological
R e l at i o n a l i s t S t a n d p o i n t
O s m o K i v i n e n a n d Te r o P i i r o i n e n
There is a great variety of relationalisms on offer for social scien-

tists these days (see, e.g., Archer, 1995; Bourdieu and Wacquant,
1992; Dépelteau, 2008; Emirbayer, 1997; Fuchs, 2001; Kivinen and
Piiroinen, 2006; Powell, 2007; Tilly, 2001). Some of the most inter-
esting ones of them share an anti-dualistic vein of thought that can
be traced back to John Dewey (e.g., [1920] 1988a, pp. 187–198;
[1925–1927] 1988c, pp. 355–356) and Norbert Elias (e.g., 1978,
pp. 14–16, pp. 113 ff., 2000, pp. 468 ff.), where society and indi-
viduals are not juxtaposed as fixed, separate sui generis entities, but
are rather conceived as parts or aspects of one and the same relational
process of social life.1 Ontological or metaphysical relationalisms claim
that reality is ultimately relational no matter how we might find it best
to describe it, whereas non-metaphysical versions of relationalism stick
to methodological or instrumentalist tools.
For some years now we have been promoting a version of
methodological relationalism that embodies the pragmatist attitude
of “sociologizing philosophy” (understanding all knowledge, includ-
ing knowledge presented under the label of philosophical ontology,
as a social affair), as opposed to the realist attitude of “philosophiz-
ing sociology” (engaging in philosophical under-laboring intended to
84 Osmo Kivinen and Tero Piiroinen
provide the ontological foundations for social sciences) (see Kivinen

and Piiroinen, 2006, also 2004, 2007, 2012). In the present chapter
we join this methodological relationalism of ours with a pragmatist
(Deweyan) theory of action and a (Darwinian) concept of evo-
lutionary niches, aiming to promote the understanding of human
transaction mechanisms in their context.
Pragmatist Methodological Relationalism

without Metaphysical Conjectures
Methodological relationalism is a tool of social inquiry in an instru-
mentalist vein of thinking where no metaphysical revelations regarding
the ultimate nature of social reality, relational or otherwise, are han-
kered for. Some realist relationalists accuse instrumentalists of “onto-
logical cowardice” (Vandenberghe, 1999, p. 40), but from our point
of view it is just wisdom to avoid ontology. To provide social scientific
research with useful conceptual tools, one does not need to pronounce
beforehand—before any inquiry—the ultimate nature of social world
beyond what can be studied scientifically, thus nailing down the onto-
logical furniture. There is no reason why the commencement of any
empirical inquiry should require one to first formulate a metaphysical
conception of the ultimate nature of its objects.
Indeed, we prefer to view social scientific research (like all inquiry)
as “problem driven”: it comes down to purpose-oriented case stud-
ies aimed at solving specific, well-defined research problems arising in
some specific (social) context of action, time, and place. And from that
point of view, research need not be “theory driven”; it needs no meta-
physically ontological theory to getting research settings formulated
and following them through (Somers, 1998; see also Dewey [1938]
1991, pp. 481–505; Kivinen and Piiroinen, 2006).
It is against this backdrop of methodological relationalism that
we read, for instance, the pragmatist relationalist John Dewey (e.g.,
[1922] 1983, [1925–1927] 1988c, [1938] 1991; Dewey and Bentley,
[1949] 1991)—drawing from his methodological insights and instru-
mentalist philosophy of (social) science, and from his theory of action,
but leaving aside his process ontology. Likewise, we would like to
read Mustafa Emirbayer’s (1997) rather Deweyan “Manifesto for a
Relational Sociology”—where he announced that sociologists are no
longer to think of the social world as consisting “primarily in sub-
stances . . . in static ‘things’ ” but rather as “processes . . . dynamic,
unfolding relations” (p. 281)—more as a draft of methodological
guidelines for analyzing some of the most important conceptual
H u m a n Tr a n s ac t i o n M e c h a n i s m s 85
tools to be used in sociology, and not as a metaphysical declaration.

Unfortunately, Emirbayer (1997, pp. 282 ff.) in fact says his mani-
festo is an explication of relational ontology and has nothing much to
do with epistemology—a move that adds not to the methodological
relevance of his relationalism, because relational ontology is neither
necessary nor sufficient for relational methodology. Indeed, there
are also some dichotomy-embracing forms of relational ontology,
such as Margaret Archer’s (1995), suggesting not methodological
relationalism but “analytical dualism”—which has been duly criticized
by, for instance, Dépelteau (2008), from an anti-dualistic relationalist
perspective.
Spiking it with a Deweyan theory of action (see Dewey [1922]
1983, pp. 15–53) as we do, our methodological relationalism implies
a pragmatist point of view on knowledge and inquiry, one overcom-
ing subject–object dualism (as well as, by the same token, many other
dualisms such as mind–body, consciousness–world, individual–society,
theory–practice, ends–means, etc.). Unlike the age-old “mind-first”
approaches giving the pride of place to individual choices, Deweyan
pragmatism refuses to explain action as springing from a self-sufficient
subject’s innate mental life causing the body to move and interact with
the external objects completely independent of the subject. Rather, we
begin with the idea that organisms can live only in continuous trans-
actions with their environment, conceptualized in terms of habits of
action. “Whatever else organic life is or is not,” Dewey [1938] (1991)
reminds us, “it is a process of activity that involves an environment.
It is a transaction extending beyond the spatial limits of the organism.”
(p. 32.) Organism–environment transactions are best understood rela-
tionally, and as mutually constituting so that the inquirer will have no
reason to try and conceive organisms as they might be independently
of transactions, any more than reason to imagine how the environ-
ment “really is” independently of the organisms whose environment
it is. That is, in order to understand transactions we need no philo-
sophical dualisms—of course one can make “the familiar common
sense distinction of organism and environment,” but no “philosoph-
ical interpretation” should be read into it, according to Dewey; it
would be a serious mistake indeed if it were “supposed that organism
and environment are ‘given’ as independent things and interaction is a
third independent thing which finally intervenes.” No one is denying
that there is a “world” independent of us, “but this world is envi-
ronment only as it enters directly and indirectly into life-functions”
(p. 40). And this understanding certainly affects our notion of what
knowledge is and what (social) inquiry and research are all about.
On Mechanisms
It has been said that (social) mechanisms are the Holy Grail of (social)
science; arguably, the concept of mechanisms has by and large replaced
the concept of laws (see, e.g., Machamer, Darden and Craver, 2000;
Hedström and Ylikoski, 2010). Of course, social mechanisms can and
have been interpreted in a variety of ways, including some more or
less realist ways, but here we understand them in the methodological
relationalist’s sense as tools for explanation and prediction by means of
which interesting chains of events can be conceptualized and picked
out as the causes and effects relevant to the solving of the whatever
research problem is at hand.
According to Peter Hedström and Petri Ylikoski (2010), mecha-
nism schemes provide us with “how-possible explanations” of events,
explicating how certain activities and relations produce them as their
effects. Thus, mechanisms are to be approached through their effects,
as mechanisms for something. Of course, precision and clarity should
be the catchwords here—both in setting and delineating the research
questions intended to be answered and in explicating the mechanism
schemes used in answering them: the plausibility of the scheme must
be unequivocally checkable in the light of the relevant empirical data
(see Hedström and Ylikoski, 2010, pp. 50–54, 58, 63).
More specifically, Hedström and Ylikoski (2010) themselves advo-
cate structural individualism, “according to which all social facts,
their structure and change, are in principle explicable in terms of
individuals, their properties, actions, and relations to one another”
(p. 60). Now, certainly, the fact that structural individualism accepts
the explanatory importance of relations between individuals is a
step forward as compared to pure methodological individualism,
but is it still encouraging us to try and translate the social world
into entities called “the individuals” making choices, and is some-
what at risk of psychologizing social life, explaining choices chiefly
in the “DBO” terms of the desires, beliefs, and opportunities of
the individuals? We are afraid that putting emphasis on individuals’
“mind-first” choices like that is a less-than-optimal methodological
strategy for sociology. Instead of psychologizing and rationalizing
them, actions are much better understood as aspects of social life
in a community of human beings constantly transacting with their
environment.
We avoid the idea of “micro-foundation” insofar as it implies that
social life is to be thought of in terms of levels and some of those
levels are to be reduced to others. That vein of thinking does not
help adopting a standpoint that opens up a long enough evolutionary

timeframe for the inquirers to fully understand all the relevant actions
and events producing the whatever problems of social life they are
trying to solve through inquiry.
Even though it is certainly possible to construct a great variety of
mechanism schemes for different social scientific purposes, some of
these schemes will turn out much more plausible and useful than oth-
ers in a given case study (supposing that the case is sufficiently strictly
delineated, as it should be), in solving the particular problems the
case study is designed to solve,2 and we suggest that the most fruitful
conceptual frameworks for picking out the most important mecha-
nism schemes in social sciences must in fact respect—more or less
explicitly—the idea of Darwinian evolution and the very long time-
frame that comes with it, as well as the recent specification of that
vein of thinking saying that human evolution in particular takes place
in niches of social action. Indeed, that is the logical way to go for
us who wish to avoid unnecessary psychologizing in sociology: let us
focus on the evolutionary mechanisms of human transactions in their
evolutionary niches of social action.
On Constructing Evolutionary Niches

of Social Action
The concept of niche construction has been much discussed in recent
years. Adopted from evolutionary biology, it means basically two
things. First, organisms and populations of organisms lead their lives
(more or less successfully) and evolve generation after generation in
their ecological niches. These niches determine what features and
habits of action are useful or downright necessary to the organisms’
coping with their environment and which are less useful or even dis-
advantageous. Second, and this is the insight that is often missed by
the traditional or “standard account” of Darwinian evolution, also the
living organisms transacting with the niches constantly change those
niches over time through their actions, change their local environ-
ments, and thereby also change the selective pressures the niche exerts
on them (see Odling-Smee, Laland and Feldman, 2003; Laland and
Sterelny, 2006; also see, e.g., Dennett, 1995; Kivinen and Piiroinen,
2012).
There are plenty of examples of living organisms constructing
niches in nature: beavers build dams, spiders weave webs, and many
animals hide and store food and build nests or dig burrows; even the
relatively immobile plants in their transactions with the environment
change the chemical composition of their surroundings, air humidity,

and perhaps the structure of the soil around them; and even the
microscopic life forms such as bacteria affect their organic and inor-
ganic environments, thereby making it more or less likely for various
other life forms to succeed in that environment (see Odling-Smee
et al., 2003). Human life, in its context of communities, culture,
language use, technologies, and institutions, most evidently offers a
particularly rich source of examples of different kinds of niches where
different habits, ideas, concepts, and other tools of action will work
more or less aptly.
A proper evolutionary explanation aiming to pick out the most rel-
evant causal mechanisms should pay attention to how the actions of
organisms have changed and keep changing their habitat so that it now
favors and will likely favor in the future certain features and (habits of)
actions rather than some others. And understanding social action and
its mechanisms needs an evolutionary viewpoint—it requires extend-
ing the timeline back far enough to really account for the historical
development of the thing at issue.
What we want to argue for here is an explicit connection between
methodological relationalism, pragmatist concept of action, and
the idea of evolutionary niche construction (see also Kivinen and
Piiroinen, 2012). In fact, it is hard to imagine a niche-construction
theorist not being at least implicitly a relationalist (conceiving organ-
isms in relation to certain aspects of their environment and concep-
tualizing the most relevant parts of the environment in relation to
given organisms), or a relationalist thinker not having at least some
sort of an intuitive grasp of the idea of niche construction. Indeed,
although Dewey did not use the term, he was clearly speaking of niche
construction when he wrote:
[A]t least in the more complex organisms, the activity of search involves mod-
ification of the old environment, if only by a change in the connection of the
organism with it. Ability to make and retain a changed mode of adaptation in
response to new conditions is the source of that more extensive development
called organic evolution. Of human organisms it is especially true that activi-
ties carried on for satisfying needs so change the environment that new needs
arise which demand still further change in the activities of the organism by
which they are satisfied; and so on in potentially endless chain.
(Dewey [1938] 1991, p. 35)
Dewey ([1922] 1983, [1925–1927] 1988c) understood that in the

human case the relevant environment is most crucially a social and
symbolic environment of communities and institutions, which is con-

tinuously shaped or reconstructed by generation after generation
of people through their habitual actions. More recently, this vein
of thinking has led some theorists to refer to the continuous evo-
lutionary processes of human beings and their cultural niches as
“coevolution” (Durham, 1991), and quite a few thinkers nowadays
emphasize how important it is to grasp this concept, because it is
the peculiarities of these coevolutionary processes that produced our
human uniqueness—language, consciousness, and highly organized
forms of social life or institutions, the whole “behavioral modernity”
of H. sapiens—everything that separates us from all other species (see,
e.g., Deacon, 1997; Donald, 2001; Richerson and Boyd, 2005; Buller,
2005; Clark, 2006; Sterelny, 2007, 2011; Bickerton, 2009; Laland,
Odling-Smee and Myles, 2010; Kendal, Tehrani and Odling-Smee,
2011; Kivinen and Piiroinen, 2012).
All life, and therefore also all human life, is explicable by appeal
to evolutionary mechanisms whereby settled habits take form from
amidst random variation and are tested in the local environment—
that is, at the core of the Darwinian statistical selection processes,
which classical American pragmatists embraced in the late nineteenth
century, leading the way toward a Darwinian revolution in thinking, as
Robert Brandom (2004, pp. 3–5) emphasizes. And habits of action, in
turn, constitute (the practices of) the sociocultural niche and change
it unceasingly, thereby changing the context in which they and future
habits of action will be weighed. The habits found most nonviable in
a particular niche will tend to die out, disappear from the process of
social life (and by disappearing, again slightly change the way that that
niche is).
This understanding fits together with relationalist sociology per-
fectly, because it effectively dispels all dualistic viewpoints on this
matter: human action in its social niche is to be understood as a
continuous process of transactions where both the niche of social
life and its human actors are what they are only in living and
dynamically changing relations to one another. Thus, for us, niche-
construction relationalism is just about the very opposite of dichoto-
mous thinking and deep dualisms (Kivinen and Piiroinen, 2012;
cf. also Laland, Odling-Smee and Gilbert, 2008, p. 553; Kendal
et al., 2011, p. 790). Small wonder then that a number of tradi-
tional relationalists’ conceptual tools and mechanisms may well be
rephrased in niche-construction terms. For instance, Randall Collins’s
(1998) “interaction ritual chains,” “emotional energy,” and “limited
attention space” of intellectual communities are conceptualizations of

the observed dynamics of (certain aspects of) the niche of social life
in academic fields. Likewise, Pierre Bourdieu’s concepts of “habitus,”
“fields,” and forms of “capital” may be taken as paradigm examples
of conceptualizations of the dynamics of people trying to adapt to
and make their way in niches of social life where they succeed or
fail in accordance with jointly created standards, while at the same
time also contributing to the upholding or changing of those stan-
dards and the very frameworks, the fields of social life (see, e.g.,
Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992).3 And also Norbert Elias’s (1978,
2000) “social figurations of people” may be seen as kinds of niches
providing support and means of life for their member individuals,
as well as systems of meanings and standards for actions, all the
while being affected and changed by the individuals participating
in them.
Elias’s figurations may be particularly relevant from an evolutionary
perspective, because they provide shelter and security, nourishment,
and other vital material conditions for life; Lars Bo Kaspersen and
Norman Gabriel (2008) have recently picked out Eliasian “survival
unit” figurations as especially important in relational sociology, sug-
gesting that they offer social analysts clear-cut criteria for demarcating
the most relevant figurations of social life process. Elias (2000) as well
as Dewey (MW 14) understood that humans need other people by
their very nature—and that this leaves no room for any strict dualism
between individual and society. No man is an island, a “homo clausus,”
no one is such an altogether self-reliant “little world in himself,”
existing independently of the world outside. People are “oriented
towards and dependent on other people throughout . . . life”; there is
this whole network of interdependencies among them from the birth,
intensified by socialization, social learning, and education, connecting
them to each other insofar as they are human beings at all, a net-
work binding them together in figurations, which of course change
all the time due to the dynamics of planned and unplanned processes,
intended and unintended consequences, within the great process of
social life (Elias, 2000, p. 472, pp. 481–482).
An important part in all of this is played by language, which
is clearly the tool that has made us what we are today, arguably
the maker of everything distinctively human. In fact, there are
some very important lessons that adopting a relationalist, evolution-
ary perspective can teach us about social inquiry and methodology,
which can be seen quite clearly if we consider the case of linguistic
evolution.
Language Evolution in the Niche

of Human Social Action
Relationalists, then, have for quite some time now been rather well
aware of the fact that human life is best conceived in its social
(evolutionary) context, which in turn is best conceived as a process
ongoing in niches of social action constantly constructed and recon-
structed by the people involved. Relationalists grasp this, but social
scientists in general could be more aware of it than they presently
are, and that might just turn out to benefit the social scientific
methodology, we argue.
Now, as said, proper evolutionary explanations extend the time-
line back far enough to account for the chains of events that are the
causes and effects relevant for the historical development of the thing
at issue. This important point is hard to grasp for those realist repre-
sentationalists who remain stuck with their subject–object dualism and
build their inquiries on a foundation of ontological understanding of
the ultimate true nature of the object. The case of language exem-
plifies this nicely: Cartesian thinkers such as Noam Chomsky start
with the age-old idea of subject’s innate mental states representing
the world’s objects and deduce from this that language must be a sort
of channel for voicing pre-linguistic thoughts; thus they even deny
that language is most essentially a tool of communicating actions (see
Chomsky, 2002, p. 76, 79, 86). But that way of thinking does not
fare well in the face of empirical data. In order to understand lan-
guage (and all distinctively human characteristics related to it), we
need to understand the mechanisms of language evolution, and these
can be understood only against the backdrop of the relevant evolu-
tionary niche of social action (see Deacon, 1997; Bickerton, 2009;
Kivinen and Piiroinen, 2012). Language is indeed a tool for commu-
nicating actions and evolved rather slowly in a niche of hominid social
action: there never was a linguistic Big Bang, but rather the evolu-
tion of language was a result of many chains of events going on in
an environmental niche favorable to proto-language and then to lan-
guage for a period of at least a few hundred thousand, perhaps even
a couple million, years (Deacon, 1997; Lieberman, 1998; Bickerton,
2009).
Moreover, it was language that—only quite recently—gave rise to
what we can call (human) “mental life.” It did this by offering people
the means of describing and communicating to themselves as well as to
others what they are thinking of, “the intentional stance,” as Dennett
(1987) calls it, the standpoint from where people can understand,
explain, and predict their own as well as other people’s actions by

means of linguistic descriptions referring to beliefs and attitudes and
such. So the evolution of social action, language, and consciousness
is to be explained “outside in”: first there was social action, then lan-
guage emerged as a very special kind of tool for better communicating
and coordinating that action, and only then there could be something
that we call consciousness. All this cannot be properly explained in
Chomskian terms, “inside out,” starting with the brain producing
consciousness, then consciousness inventing this new outlet of lan-
guage, and finally using that tool to create the social world. That sort
of mind-first, psychologizing, and indeed inherently dualistic expla-
nations have no grounding in the evolutionary data; the evolution of
language is to be explained by the peculiarities of the hominid niche
of social life in communities where the first handful of proto-symbols,
a proto-language, appeared—and not so much by, say, brain devel-
opments or genetic mutations, as Chomsky and other subject–object
dualists suppose (see Deacon, 1997; Bickerton, 2009; Kivinen and
Piiroinen, 2012). In understanding humanity we do not need evo-
lutionary brain science or evolutionary psychology much; rather, we
need evolutionary sociology, which takes into account the niche of
social life, because the unit of selection in language evolution is not
individual but group.
The key issue is the chain of events of a group of hominids trans-
acting with their environment that created the unique socio-ecological
circumstances (the uniqueness of which is indicated by the very fact
that no other species has come even close to evolving anything like
language skills, that language is very much an either/or matter and
an anomaly in nature (Deacon, 1997, pp. 28–34) that made the evo-
lution of language possible. Now, unfortunately, there is no telling
for certain what the most significant features of the socio-ecological
niche where language first appeared were, because there is scarcely
any direct evidence of the origins of language: language leaves no fos-
sil traces. To be sure, the experts of human evolution have made some
good educated guesses about this, hypotheses about the evolution-
ary conditions that might explain why the earliest (proto-)languages
were crucially beneficial for a certain kind of hominid community
at one point (e.g., Deacon, 1997, pp. 385 ff.; Bickerton, 2009,
pp. 157–168), but there is really no way to pick out just one of those
accounts as the right one. Nevertheless, the point remains: “in evolu-
tion, the niche will tell you what to do” (Bickerton, 2009, p. 161),
so whatever the exact features of the socio-ecological niche where lan-
guage evolved, it had to manifest some such selective pressures that
made the first proto-symbols vitally important for the group’s sur-
vival right from the beginning. And there can be no doubt that these
pressures had to do with communicating and coordinating actions
(Kivinen and Piiroinen, 2012).
This is why the relevant unit of selection in language evolution
is indeed group. Linguistic and earlier proto-linguistic expressions
and language as a whole have been weighed useful in the success of
groups that made use of them, and the groups that have been able
to make the best use of them have been more likely to survive in cer-
tain types of environmental conditions. That is the gist of the issue,
and only then may you turn to the specifics of why proto-language
might have been (so crucially) useful for a particular kind of group
at a particular point in time, in particular circumstances. You might
then consider the fact that, a couple of million years ago, a climate
change turned parts of African rain forests into savanna, thus putting
new kinds of survival pressures on the weak and slow, but handy and
relatively clever, group animals that the early hominids were. Food
and shelter were not as easily secured in the savanna as in the forest,
and this probably contributed to the evolution of hominids toward
Homo erectus and its ability to run and the ability to use hands skill-
fully in manipulating objects, and above all it created a compelling
need for improved communication; a group could out-compete other
groups in the ecological niche of savanna by being able to coordinate
actions better by way of communicating better with each other. Obvi-
ously, improved communication would have been an important asset
as regards scavenging and then hunting more efficiently, taking better
coordinated defensive actions against external threats, improving the
group’s internal relations, and creating social learning environments
where the tricks of tool manufacturing and tool use can be shared
and taught more efficiently (cf. also, e.g., Bickerton, 2009; Deacon,
1997; Mayr, 2001, pp. 233 ff.; Sterelny, 2011; Kivinen and Piiroinen,
2012).
Methodological Implications: Linguistic

Consciousness and Scientific Knowledge
A niche-construction view enables us to understand how and why lan-
guage, since it evolved, became not just an integral feature of the
environment where our success is now measured but also an indis-
pensable tool that we use in constructing a variety of cognitive and
other niches (see, e.g., Clark, 2006). Language truly became the
“tool of tools” that “makes the difference between brute and man,”
as Dewey ([1925] 1988b, p. 134) put it. It is a tool of thinking

as well as communicating actions and it ties us together with our
communities (see Kivinen and Piiroinen, 2007). Understood in a
Deweyan–Wittgensteinian–Rortian vein, words are deeds that allow us
to create a relational network of descriptions and re-descriptions inter-
woven with our peculiar kind of organism–environment transactions
and thereby with the relational sociocultural world of social action.
Thus, language helps us cope with our environment today more than
ever, it ties us together with our symbolic world—not by turning the
world “transparent” for us, as some representationalist realists may
think, but by allowing us to tell stories about our own personal and
our community’s history, allowing us to draft narratives of who we
are and what we believe, to thereby go on re-describing and reinter-
preting ourselves and everything else in the world (see, e.g., Gargani,
2011).
As far as we know, only humans have symbolically charged commu-
nication communities where words have meaning, and since language
does not simply “express” thoughts but rather enables them, makes
one conscious of what one is conscious of, these communication com-
munities also give rise to the human consciousness and mental life (see,
e.g., Dewey [1925] 1988b, pp. 134–135). Linguistic descriptions
are the only way to actually become consciously aware of meaning-
ful thoughts; although other complex animals also may be said to
have feelings, “they do not know they have them” (Dewey [1925]
1988b, p. 198). Our propositional human knowledge of anything
is indeed different from all the other kinds of organic knowing-how
that other animals—and also humans for the most part of their daily
routines—rely on in coping with the world. Propositional knowledge
depends on symbol systems and may thus be distinguished from even
the most skillful (niche-construction exemplifying) forms of coping
with the world. You can say that we know how to do this or that
by means of our habits, just as “a bird knows how to build a nest
and a spider to weave a web. But after all, this practical work done
by habit and instinct in securing prompt and exact adjustment to
the environment is not knowledge, except by courtesy.” Or, if we
choose to call that habitual knowing-how “knowledge,” then we need
another name for all the linguistic and propositional “knowledge of
and about things, knowledge that things are thus and so, knowledge
that involves reflection and conscious appreciation” (Dewey [1922]
1983, pp. 124–125).
As such a tool of propositional knowledge and conscious thought,
linguistic and other symbol systems, are indispensable instruments
of inquiry and scientific research; when we investigate human life, it

allows us to do so from the intentional stance, explaining some actions
as springing from what people want and believe. So an improved
understanding of language—an understanding taking into account
the evolutionary origins and function of language as a communica-
tion device enhancing the coordination of actions in a group—will
no doubt improve our understanding of what inquiry and social sci-
ence are all about. It helps us keep in mind, among other things, that
linguistic knowledge has never disengaged itself with action. Language
is a tool of communicating about actions, so the things we commu-
nicate, to others or to ourselves, are always action related. In the
case of inquiry we communicate about problems people are facing
in their actions, and we communicate questions concerning the solv-
ing of those problems. It has proven very useful in the history of our
species; other animals may also be able to solve some of the prob-
lems they face in their actions, but symbol systems and our habits of
using such systems have proved tremendously more powerful tools of
problem-solving than the habits of other animals.
Another point of fundamental methodological import is just the
very inescapably social nature of language and thus consciousness and
propositional knowledge it provides us with; how inseparably tied it all
is to the social contexts (niches) we live in. This again is linked to the
relationality of language, and hence to relationalism: as words gain
meanings relationally within networks of words, in language-using
social practices, with respect to the ways they are used, and all this is
entangled with a variety of activities, there is no question of language
and hence human inquiry being thoroughly relational matters. Any-
thing that we can communicate and think about or form propositional
knowledge of is necessarily relational to other things (Kivinen and
Piiroinen, 2007, p. 100). A methodologically relationalist approach
takes account of this and understands social scientific knowledge as
a thoroughly relational tool for solving problems of relational social
action.
It is by means of linguistic descriptions that we pick out interest-
ing relations and mechanisms from the stream of social life, and one
of the tools that could prove useful in that work is the concept of
niche; it helps us formulate the kind of middle range theories where
of key importance is the social environment and situations therein—
or, in a word, groups, not individuals. For the human evolution, or
the evolution of humanity, has taken place in groups, and has been
all about groups for many hundreds of thousands of years. Indeed,
you could say that this fact is where the ineradicable importance of
sociology stems from, why we will always need sociology in under-

standing humanity. And it is arguably more important today than
it ever was: the sociology of mind and appreciation of the impor-
tance of the linguistic niche of social life allows us to understand
among other things how and why and to what extent the human con-
sciousness has actually changed so dramatically recently, during the
past thousand, or even 100, years. Those changes can be explained
by the fact that the tremendous changes in the social niches of
action where our habits work; indeed, groups have changed, net-
working widely across time and space, and accordingly there has
come to be a huge variety of new kinds of group identities set-
tling in human brains (not so much “chosen” by the individual).
Also, the propositional knowledge and ideas people have at their dis-
posal have been revolutionized during the past century or even the
past few decades by Internet and portable communication devices.
So the human consciousness has changed accordingly, because it con-
stantly changes in the organism–environment transactions. And that
should better be explained from outside in, because the brain has
not changed all that much for 200,000 years. We believe that in
explaining human consciousness more will be contributed by a new
kind of evolutionary sociology than has been by recent evolutionary
psychology—inasmuch as sociology takes into account the hugely sig-
nificant niches of social life in various kinds of groups and explains
individuals in that context.
Notes
1. There are certainly some relationalists who do not accept anti-dualism
and rather uphold versions of dualism; for example, Margaret Archer’s
(1995) relational ontology embodies in effect just a form of Society—
Individual dualism where each side of the dichotomy is supposed
to have its own peculiar essence. What makes Archer’s ontology
relational is then just that, according to her, those essences are
relational—and thereby “emergent.” But definitely much more com-
mon among relationalists is the view that, as Elias (1978, pp. 125 ff.)
puts it, “society” is a concept for referring to the social life of mutu-
ally dependent people in the plural and “individual” is a concept for
referring to that same social life of mutually dependent people in the
singular.
2. Research work is not about drilling into the ultimate conceptualization-
independent nature of Reality, but problem driven and thus also
(actor’s) standpoint-dependent answering to research questions.
There is thus no need for grandiose declarations of having reached
the ultimately right mechanisms behind a given event; the “de-

ontologized” nature of methodological relationalism rather suggests
some sort of methodological pluralism (see Van Bouwel and Weber,
2008). What one picks out as significant mechanisms will only be seen
as such from a particular actor’s point of view and “is not written
into the physical system itself” (Putnam, 1990, p. 87; see also James
[1880] 1979, pp. 163–166). However, in no sense does this imply
any extreme relativism. Whatever works, works, but not just anything
will work in a given case study, from a particular actor’s point of view,
in solving such and such specific, action-related problems.
3. Bourdieu also occasionally used the term “methodological relation-
alism” (see Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992, pp. 15 ff.), but in a
significantly different sense than the present authors (see Kivinen and
Piiroinen, 2006).
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Chapter 5
B o u r d i e u ’s R e l at i o n a l M e t h o d
in Theory and in Practice:
Fr o m Fi e l d s a n d C a p i ta l s to
Networks and Institutions
(and Back Again)1
J o h n W. M o h r
One of Pierre Bourdieu’s key meta-theoretical assertions is that

sociologists should embrace a relational rather than a substantialist
approach. On the first page of Practical Reason, Bourdieu describes
“what I believe to be most essential in my work” (1998, p. vii) by
pointing to two fundamental qualities, a specific philosophy of action
(articulated in his inter-related suite of concepts—field, habitus, and
capital) and a particular philosophy of science “that one could call
relational in that it accords primacy to relations” (p. vii). Bourdieu
explains, “I refer here . . . to the opposition suggested by Ernst Cassirer
between ‘substantial concepts’ and ‘functional or relational con-
cepts’ ” (p. 3).2 According to Bourdieu, a substantialist approach
privileges things rather than relations and, as such, has a tendency to
reify the social order, to essentialize social phenomena, and to embody
a positivist orientation to social research. In contrast, Bourdieu holds
up the ideal of a relational analysis. A key tenet of Bourdieu’s
relationalism is that objects under investigation are seen in context,
as a part of a whole. Their meaningfulness is determined not by the
characteristic properties, attributes, or essences of the thing itself, but
102 J o h n W. M o h r
rather with reference to the field of objects, practices, or activities

within which they are embedded.
In this chapter I argue that Bourdieu’s conception of relational
analysis is important for the following three reasons: (1) it promotes
structuralist styles of interpretation, (2) it emphasizes the interpre-
tative character of institutional life, and (3) it provides a powerful
theoretical framework for analyzing institutional dualities (Breiger,
2000, 2009b; Mohr and White, 2008) by tracing out the logic of
systems of articulation linking cultural forms and social positions.
I also argue that Bourdieu’s theory is better than his practice. Here
I focus on how Bourdieu operationalizes his relational theory. I argue
that though his methods are, in certain respects, exemplary, his uses
of them are sometimes quite limited. They are exemplary when they
are aggressively relational and dualistic (by which I mean that they
map relations within domains as well as relations across domains),
but they are limited by being ultimately too thoroughly grounded in
the methodological habitus of mainstream social science that Andrew
Abbott (1988) calls “General Linear Reality.”
My main argument here is that, ironically, Bourdieu did not achieve
the very methodological turn that he himself had so persuasively
demanded of us because he continued to view his own data from
within the framework of an overly deterministic linear logic (or, to
employ a more French descriptor, we might say of Bourdieu that
he held to a “determined in the last instance” style of linearity).
While a linear (or perhaps one might also say, a “dimensional,”
or, with Cassirer, a “functional”) analytic lens has many utilities, it
may not be as well suited to analyzing the kinds of social and cul-
tural processes that Bourdieu’s theory of relational sociology brings
to the fore. As an alternative, I propose that we begin to think
about more topological styles of measuring relationality in institu-
tional fields, and I point specifically to the styles of analysis that
have been developed by network scholars (and, implicitly I think,
embraced by the new institutionalists as well). This then opens us
up once again to more general questions about field space and
so, along with Martin (2003), we find ourselves looking beyond
Bourdieu’s theories of cultural fields to ask some basic questions
about field theory itself. What exactly is a field? How does a field
work? How shall we measure and analyze field space? For help with
this, I revisit Kurt Lewin’s original work on field theory in social
psychology. I trace some intellectual lineages that link Lewin to con-
temporary field theories, and I close with an example from one of
my own papers where my co-author and I try to devise a more
B o u r d i e u ’s R e l at i o n a l M e t h o d 103
explicitly topological style of mapping the relational logic of a cultural

field.
Bourdieu’s Relational Analysis in Theory

In recent years, Bourdieu’s concept of relational sociology and the
coupled notions of field, habitus, and the various forms of capital
have been receiving a great deal of attention from scholars, some
of whom share his basic interest in building a theory of fields or
in developing a relationally based form of social science. A num-
ber of these commentaries provide rich and detailed accounts of
Bourdieu’s theory, his empirical work, and the possible extensions or
applications of his ideas to new areas of research (e.g., Breiger, 2000;
Calhoun, LiPume and Postone, 1993; Emirbayer and Williams, 2005;
Emirbayer and Johnson, 2008; Martin, 2003; Mische, 2011; Somers,
1994; Swartz, 1997; White, 1992, 2008). In this chapter I want to
consider Bourdieu’s contribution from a different perspective. I want
to first highlight what I think are some very important and broad
implications of Bourdieu’s embrace of relationalism and then I want to
suggest some ways in which I think he did not carry his relationalism
far enough. But first, we need to review Bourdieu’s understanding of
the concept.
Although he takes the construct and the philosophical program
from Cassirer, Bourdieu’s embrace of a relational as opposed to
a substantialist mode of analysis also reflects his debt to French
structuralism.3 As he recounts in his autobiography (Bourdieu, 2008),
during his training, Bourdieu (like other young French social scientists
of the era) was powerfully influenced by Lévi-Strauss and the emer-
gence of structuralism. This meant that, from an early stage, Bourdieu
was deeply grounded in Saussure’s core insight—“the principle that
language is purely relational” (Caws, 1988, p. 59). As Peter Caws
reminds us, this was also “THE BASIC IDEA that underlay the struc-
turalist movement” (p. 59). This revolutionary principle comes along
with a list of other familiar Saussurean notions including—“the asso-
ciation between the signifier and the signified is arbitrary . . . Language
is a system of perceived differences . . . The chief characteristic of the
phoneme is simply that it is different from all the other phonemes—
what it is in itself is a matter of comparative indifference” (p. 72).
More generally, Caws defines structuralism as a “philosophical view
according to which the reality of objects of the human or social sci-
ences is relational rather than substantial” (p. 1). He writes, a defining
feature of structuralism is that “(i)t generates a critical method that
consists of inquiring into and specifying the sets of relations (or struc-
tures) that constitute these objects or into which they enter, and of
identifying and analyzing groups of such objects whose members are
structural transformations of one another” (p. 1). This means that in
addition to his reading of Cassirer (as a young student of philoso-
phy), Bourdieu was also trained as a young social scientist to think in
terms of Saussure’s theory of meanings—that they are arbitrary and
that they emerge out of relational systems of similarity and difference.
This is the first important implication of Bourdieu’s relationalism that
I want to highlight, that it invokes a structuralist theory of meaning
that challenges the way that we (as empirical social scientists) have
tended to think about (and study) meanings.
These early structuralist roots have other consequences for
Bourdieu’s project as well. A second implication is that Bourdieu
always includes the analysis of cultural meanings in his studies (what-
ever the substantive topic), insisting that sociological research be inter-
pretatively (e.g., hermeneutically) grounded. Institutions, according
to Bourdieu, can be (and indeed, must be) read like a language (and
vice versa). Moreover, Bourdieu’s propensity to embrace a structuralist
theory of interpretation ultimately shapes the style of social scientific
practice that he adopts. One virtue of structuralism as a tradition
is that meanings have been treated as data to be studied in accor-
dance with a set of formal procedures. Bourdieu is committed to a
data-oriented (quantitative) social science (and indeed, for my taste,
it is precisely this combination of an ongoing and reflexive theoretical
stance with a relentlessly empirical and data-oriented research program
that makes his work particularly appealing). But he is also driven by
his conception of relational sociology to treat cultural forms as objects
for empirical analysis.4 The legacies of structuralism and relationalism
mixed together with Bourdieu’s effort to use conventional social sci-
entific methodologies that eventually led him to develop his own
approach to studying institutional life as meaningfully constituted
social and cultural fields.
However, it also needs to be said that Bourdieu is not a struc-
turalist in any simple sense of the term. Structuralism, as it was
worked through by Lévi-Strauss, Lacan, and Barthes (for example),
had certain critical flaws. Probably the most damaging of these is what
might be termed the “infinite textuality of social life.” Here is where
Derrida and the post-structuralists settled in with a devastating impact.
To paraphrase, wherever a meaning can be deduced in the structuralist
sense through its location within a system of differences, so too can
a multitude of other differences be identified that leave the original
interpretation seemingly arbitrary and imprecise. Certainty of inter-

pretation is by this logic a hegemonic effort of imposing one difference
as primary over and against others. The epistemological implications
of this are necessarily complicated for any sociological project that
privileges interpretation while also simultaneously hoping to advance
a more scientific style of humanistic investigation.
While post-structuralism swept over Europe and eventually across
the humanities and parts of the social sciences in the United States as
well, Bourdieu refused to make that turn. Instead, building upon his
fieldwork in Algeria, he came to develop a theoretical approach to cul-
ture that was premised on a “theory of practice” (1977). Bourdieu’s
practice theory provides a brilliant description of how social science
can (and must) confront the complex duality of agency and institution
that lies at the core of human experience, but the implications for soci-
ological practice are also profound. Practice theory can also provide a
critical grounding for empirical social science, and construct a bar-
rier against the infinite textuality of the world. If meanings are always
and invariably embedded within domains of practical activity then this
implies that to know something is to know it from the perspective
of its locatedness within a material and sensual world. Meanings live
in the world because they derive from the practical materiality of the
world. For Bourdieu this is not just a key theoretical insight, it is also
a key methodological precept and I think the main practical maneuver
(in Bourdieu’s sense of practice) that allows him to slip the noose of
structuralist methodology. By anchoring his interpretative approach
in a theory of practice, Bourdieu provides a “practical” reason to see
how some meanings are more valid, more meaningful, more empir-
ically measurable than others. It is because they are linked through
forms of practice that any particular set of differences should be seen
as meaningful, and thus as being constitutive of a given discursive
form.5 In this maneuver, Bourdieu makes a major advance for our
conception of culture—as something that is fundamentally meaning-
ful, tactical, powerful, and omnipresent—but also (and critically) as
something that needs to be at the heart of formalist social scientific
practice as well.
This does not imply that Bourdieu presumes a determinacy of
the material over the ideal. Rather, for Bourdieu, the two domains
are mutually constitutive. Practices are equally dependent upon and
constituted by ways of knowing and understanding. To engage in
a practice is always to put in place a frame of understanding, a
set of ideas, a cultural text. Indeed, it is the intrinsic duality of
these two domains—of the cultural and the practical—that completes
Bourdieu’s transformation of a structuralist method of interpretation

into his own program for a relational sociology. It is not just that
features of institutional life are meaningful because they are consti-
tuted through systems of difference; they are meaningful because they
are implicated in forms of practice, and through that implication their
intrinsic institutionally specific differences are constituted. This then is
the third implication of Bourdieu’s embrace of relationalism for social
science to highlight, to paraphrase Bourdieu—if institutions are to be
read like a language, it is only by looking for them in the texts of
institutional practice that we will be able to crack the code.
Bourdieu’s Relational Analysis in Practice

Bourdieu is not simply an advocate for a relational analysis; he is an
accomplished practitioner. Indeed, it is in the doing of empirical work
that his most sophisticated meta-theoretical concerns have emerged.
Consider, for example, Bourdieu’s analysis of the relationship between
cultural capital and class structure. In a long series of works stretch-
ing back to the early 1960s, Bourdieu and his colleagues critiqued
the seemingly objective character of the French system of educational
stratification. For Bourdieu, the system is neither objective in the sense
of being universalistic and unbiased, nor objective in the Marxist sense
of being driven purely by the materiality of class hegemony. Rather
Bourdieu shows that the educational system is founded on an implicit
system of reward according to which those students who are able
to participate successfully within the refined nuances of elite culture
are accorded greater respect, intellectual resources, and institutional
success (Bourdieu and Passeron, 1977).
His work on cultural capital is an example of the way that Bourdieu
treats institutions as interpretative domains. It is meanings that are at
work here. The process by which students’ stock of cultural capital
is transmuted into institutional success relies on a communicative sys-
tem of understanding. Students share meaning with teachers and other
mentors. Important educational tasks are geared toward demonstra-
tions of the very sort of cultural refinement that a familiarity with the
form and content of high culture can provide. Moreover, aside from
the type of intellectual mastery that is involved, there is a far more
basic social process at work. Students with high levels of cultural cap-
ital are able to incite a common sense of identity and co-membership
with key institutional gatekeepers (DiMaggio and Mohr, 1985).
This is also a good example of how Bourdieu seeks to treat culture
and social structure as dually constituted. It is one’s orientation
toward culture that produces the objective outcomes of one’s educa-

tional success and future class trajectory. Thus, culture produces social
structure. But it is one’s class origin that creates the sorts of funda-
mental orientations and cultural habitus that shapes one’s stock of
cultural capital and determines one’s likelihood of success within this
institutional sphere. Social structure produces culture.
Now I want to turn to Bourdieu’s practice of research as embodied
in his techniques and theories of data gathering and analysis.6 Con-
sider, for example, the ways in which Bourdieu uses data in Distinction
(his book on class and taste in France). In figure 5.1 I have provided a
simplified sketch of one of that book’s most important sets of diagrams
(figures 5 and 6, pp. 128–129). Here Bourdieu is using an analysis of
(various different sets of) French survey data to demonstrate the artic-
ulations that link class positions and cultural tastes. Bourdieu explains
the plan for the diagram in this way:
One of the difficulties of sociological discourse lies in the fact that, like all
language, it unfolds in strictly linear fashion, whereas, to escape oversimpli-
fication and one-sidedness, one ought to be able to recall at every point the
whole network of relationships found there. That is why it has seemed useful
to present a diagram which has the property, as Saussure says, of being able
to “present simultaneous complications in several dimensions,” as a means of
grasping the correspondence between the structure of social space—whose
two fundamental dimensions correspond to the volume and composition of
the capital of the groups distributed within it—and the structure of the space
of the symbolic properties attached to those groups.
(1984, p. 126)
Here Bourdieu invokes Saussure while complaining of the need to

capture “the whole network of relationships.” He also describes the
need to understand the “correspondence” between the social space
and the symbolic space, a reference not only to his theoretical ambi-
tion of capturing the dualities of class and culture but also more
specifically to the method of correspondence analysis that Bourdieu
employed to analyze these data.7 As Bourdieu explains, “if I make
extensive use of correspondence analysis, in preference to multivariate
regression for instance, it is because correspondence analysis is a rela-
tional technique of data analysis whose philosophy corresponds exactly
to what, in my view, the reality of the social world is. It is a technique
which ‘thinks’ in terms of relation, as I try to do precisely with the
notion of field” (p. 96).
Ronald Breiger (2000, 2009b) has been a leader in terms of help-
ing us to better understand the formal assumptions of correspondence
Capital volume(+)
antique shops golf
opera higher education piano cocktails Renoir bridge
cruises books on art Dufy bridge
Professions
Industrialists
Warhol Boulez Higher-ed. Le Monde chess
Commercial employees
Tel Quel whisky hi-fi
teachers foreign languages
Private-sector tennis
Left-bank galleries Temps modernes flea market second home
executives
Chinese restaurant boat
Artistic producers water-skiing
political or philosophical essays
Bach mountains Engineers boulevard theatre
Kandinsky movie camera
Secondary Public-sector credit card
Brecht teachers
spas
executives
Ducchamp light grills Scrabble sailing Watteau
camping
Braque cycling holidays country swimmin Vivaldi air travel Utrillo
France-culture Romanesque Chches salad
champagne
Renault 16 mineral water
Cultural capital (+) Economic capital (+)
Economic capital (–) Cultural capital (–)
Social and
medical services
surfing yoga psychology Tchaikovsky Bizet
Ravel Alain Dclon L’Auto-Journal
Cultural ecology
jeans Art craftsmen and dealers
intermediaries ecology
photography Rhapsody in Blue Beatles
Small shopkeepers
ceramics Jacques Brel
Junior commercial
picnics
executives, secretaries
Sheila
Utrillo light opera
evening classes Primary teachers Technicians
Craftsmen
monuments folk danging Johnny Hallyday
library Junior administrative circus
executives Buffet sparkling white
wine
sewing Office workers Commercial employees
bicycle fishing
do-it-yourself Foreman beer
car maintenance
football
cooking Semi-skilled rugby
bacon
public dances Skilled workers
bread pasta
Unskilled
Farmers
Capital volume(–)
Figure 5.1 Bourdieu’s model of field space (After P. Bourdieu, Distinction, figures 5
and 6, pp. 128 and 129.)
analysis and its relationship to a whole series of other data analysis

techniques that share similar methodological ambitions. Breiger sum-
marizes, “The Correspondence Analysis (CA) of a matrix of relations
yields a decomposition of that matrix into the marginal effects
(i.e., functions of the one-variable distributions of actors into row

categories and into column categories) plus a set of dimensions that
account for the statistical association between the row categories
and the column categories” (Breiger, 2000, p. 97). As Breiger also
explains, the key issue is the notion of duality that Breiger defines as
the “co-constitution of elements at one level and relations at another
(higher or lower level of social action)” (2000, p. 92). In other
words, duality refers to the way in which one structure maps onto,
and indeed, constitutes the other (and vice versa). Breiger reminds us
that all across his research agenda, Bourdieu was concerned with map-
ping out these types of dualities. For example, Bourdieu uses “a table
cross-classifying major French corporate boards and their individual
members by their educational pedigrees; a table cross-classifying sub-
jects that would make a beautiful photograph by the occupation of
the people choosing each subject; and a table indicating as columns
the epithets (ranging from ‘lively’ and ‘cultivated’ to ‘flabby, nice,
puerile’, and worse) written in girls’ progress reports at an elite sec-
ondary school and, as rows, the girls’ fathers’ occupations” (Breiger,
2000, p. 93). The important point is that Bourdieu seeks to use his
methods to unveil how two discrete domains are articulated together
into a common (dually ordered) structure.
Figure 5.1 is thus a useful demonstration of Bourdieu’s effort to
practice what he preached and, for the most part, I would say that
his analysis succeeds brilliantly. The figure reveals the social location
of different groups (Bourdieu describes these as class fractions) that
are defined (and positioned) relationally vis-à-vis one another (net-
work like) within a space that is grounded by each group’s orientation
toward possession of high levels of cultural and economic capital. The
image is quite Saussurean in the sense that one can see that the mean-
ing of any cultural taste is both (in some sense) arbitrary and also given
its specific cultural meaning by its location within the pattern of simi-
larities and differences that define the overall system of cultural tastes.
Thus, following Bourdieu, we could paraphrase Saussure to say that
the chief characteristic of a cultural taste is simply that it is different
from all the other cultural tastes.
Notice that the figure captures duality because there is a mapping
of class locations and a mapping of cultural tastes superimposed in
the same measurement space. Just as with his work on education,
Bourdieu’s argument highlights the significance of duality—the ways
in which class and culture are mutually constitutive. One’s class loca-
tion is defined by one’s relationship to culture and one’s culture is
defined by one’s location in the social organization of class positions.
Thus, Bourdieu’s figure (figure 5.1) illustrates how his data practice
synchronizes with his theoretical vision.8
A defining feature of the figure is that it is constructed so that
the space is organized along two dimensions, a vertical dimension
representing the overall volume of capital (including both cultural
and economic capital, ranging from low to high) and a horizontal
dimension representing the overall composition of capital. This latter
dimension runs from a measure (on the left) of a high proportion of
cultural capital and a low proportion of economic capital to (on the
right) the inverse measure reflecting a low proportion of cultural cap-
ital and a high proportion of economic capital. This is the space that
is used to identify the social location of different groups (Bourdieu
describes these as class fractions). Industrialists and private sector exec-
utives are located toward the right side of the graph (because their
capital is largely economic) and toward the top (because they possess
a lot of capital). Artistic producers and professors (higher-ed. teachers)
are located at about the same point on the vertical dimension (because
they too have a lot of capital), but they are off to the far left because
their capital is largely composed of cultural (rather than economic)
resources.9
Finally, consider the more generalized concept of “field” that
Bourdieu develops. The basic arguments here are the same. Indeed,
it is easy to trace a clear line of development from Bourdieu’s early
work on educational stratification and cultural capital to his studies
of French lifestyles to the more generalized analyses of a wide array
of institutional fields. Though absent from his earlier writings, the
concept of the field is ubiquitous in most of Bourdieu’s later work
where he uses it as a way to more fully embody his broader notion of
a relational sociology. Bourdieu describes fields as being “relatively
autonomous social microcosms” corresponding to regions of insti-
tutional life. Examples include the field of art, academia, religion,
and law (Bourdieu, 1983, 1985, 1987, 1988, 1991). Each field is
defined by a set of social relationships (or social locations) that are
organized according to a shared understanding about the meaning of
what goes on inside the field or, as Bourdieu puts it, each field con-
sists of “spaces of objective relations that are the site of a logic and a
necessity” (Bourdieu and Wacquant, 1992, p. 97).
Here again, Bourdieu sees a duality of culture and practice. Accord-
ing to Bourdieu, one’s position within a field is determined by one’s
relationship to the system of meaning that is operating there (one’s
stock of field-specific capital). At the same time the system of meaning
that provides the foundation for the habitus of action within a field is
itself determined by individuals and groups who occupy positions that

enable them to shape and determine the character and contours of the
dominant meaning system within the field. Every field is a site within
which some type of capital operates and, thus, each field includes a
fundamental metric according to which any given individual (or group
or profession, or class fraction) can be assessed vis-à-vis others accord-
ing to their relative position within the field, which is a reflection of
their levels of possession of field-specific capital. It is this resource
and their facility with deploying it that determines their likelihood
of having power and success within a given institutional sphere. For
Bourdieu, fields are arenas of conflict. Individuals and groups struggle
for objective locations within the field that enables them to deter-
mine which meanings will be recognized as legitimate. Thus, “(t)he
juridical field is the site of a competition for monopoly of the right to
determine the law” (Bourdieu, 1987, p. 817).
Some Limitations of Bourdieu’s Practice

Bourdieu has many critics, and I am one. Unlike most critics, however,
my concern is less with Bourdieu’s theory (which I find to be enor-
mously impressive) but more with his practice. In other words, it is not
with his ambitions of building a relational sociology that I find fault,
but rather with his approach to operationalizing his theory and the
way he uses his data analysis methods. Of course, if we are to accept
Bourdieu’s argument about the duality of culture and practice, then it
is in some sense impossible to be critical of his method and not also
be critical of his theory at the same time and that will also be true in
this case. Nonetheless, it is the methodological part of his work that
I want to turn to now.
Let’s consider, for example, the model of social space depicted in
figure 5.1. As I’ve already noted, this model has a number of virtues.
It presumes that the institutional domain is an inherently meaningful
space. It invokes a structuralist method of interpretation by treating
the system of differences between social locations and social lifestyles
as a patterning of similarities and differences, and it captures the dual-
ity of culture and practice by locating class fractions according to
their cultural tastes at the same time that the meanings of cultural
tastes are defined by their appropriation and use by different class
fractions.10 However, there is also something constraining about this
model, and it has to do with the fact that similarities are always concep-
tualized as being defined by a linear relationship, a measure of some
other property of phenomena with respect to which the similarities
and differences are oriented; in this case, the orientation is defined

by two dimensions, one of capital volume and the other of capital
composition. I see at least two problems with this.
First, other cultural logics and orientations are simply absent from
this measurement space. All people, no matter who they are or where
they are, are assessed in accordance with their degree of possession
of the cultural styles and forms of knowledge that are employed by
the elite class fractions. While Bourdieu uses this metric quite self-
consciously as a way of highlighting how power is manifest within the
space, the conceptual demands are, I believe, ultimately too severe.
Other forms of cultural mastery, other styles of communicative knowl-
edge, and other caches of culturally specific skills are simply erased
from the model. And this leaves Bourdieu with an impoverished vision
of how cultural systems are organized. With Bourdieu it appears, as
they say, to be all cultural capital, all the way down.
This implies that the field is entirely driven by the logic of the
macro-level struggle over the defining dimensions of this space. It is
one’s orientation toward the dominant culture and one’s struggle
to locate oneself within their system of discourse that is seen to be
relevant. Other conflicts, other engagements, and, especially, other
more localized struggles over resources and positions are not taken
into account (or locatable) in this model. And yet empirical accounts
of organizational fields suggest that they are regularly interlaced with
localized battles and competitions, not only those that concern the
dominant forms of capital (Fligstein and McAdam, 2012). A more
complete theory of cultural fields will need to recognize that they may
be composed of multiple intersecting and competing styles of valua-
tion and that, indeed, there may be as much as or more creative action
in the nether-regions of a field than there is at the core (e.g., Hebdige,
1979).
These critiques of Bourdieu are not new. Others have made them
before (see, for example, Calhoun et al., 1993; de Certeau, 1984).
But again, my focus is not on the way in which Bourdieu’s con-
cepts (of cultural capital, fields, and relational analysis more generally)
have been specified, but on the ways in which his own habitus drove
him to think linearly when he might have instead become even more
thoroughly relational in his understanding and analysis of his data.11
What I propose is that we re-think Bourdieu’s concept of a mea-
surement space in terms of a nonlinear analytic framework and, in
the process, we go back to consider what Bourdieu’s theoretical con-
structs might look if they were framed within a different type of spatial
logic.12
Kurt Lewin’s Concept of Field Space

As a way to develop this argument I want to recall the work of Kurt
Lewin, one of the social sciences’ original field theorists.13 About the
time that Cassirer was publishing his early classic, Substanzbegriff und
Funktionsbegriff (Substance and Function, 1910), Kurt Lewin was
a young psychology student at the University of Berlin. He began
attending Cassirer’s lectures on the philosophy of science and these
left an indelible impression on him. After fighting in the war, Lewin
completed his PhD under the philosopher Stumpf and participated for
a number of years in the Berlin Gestalt psychology group, where his
colleagues Kohler and Koffka worked on studies of perceptual totality
(the preeminence of the whole over the parts) and the concept of the
“field” as an organizing principle (see Marrow, 1969; Mey, 1972).
Inspired by what he learned from the Gestalt theorists and
following Cassirer’s lead, Lewin adapted the concept of field space
from its origins in theoretical physics to his own research in social cog-
nition. Note that Lewin’s development of the field concept differed
from the approach of his Gestalt colleagues in several ways. Lewin
was more curious about human motivation and action than he was
about perception and more interested in how social situations affected
understanding than in how the mind itself functioned. These differ-
ences increased after Lewin left Hitler’s Germany in 1933, and took
a position as director of the Child Welfare Research Station at the
University of Iowa, where he began studying interaction in children’s
play (Deutsch and Krauss, 1965).
Lewin was both impressed by the complexity of the phenomena he
set out to study and convinced that a more methodologically rigorous
approach was needed. Following Cassirer, he turned to the natural
sciences for inspiration and found it in Einstein’s discussion of field
space as a “totality of coexisting facts which are conceived of as mutu-
ally interdependent” (Lewin, 1951, p. 240). Lewin began to use this
concept to construct models of an individual’s “life space,” which
he described as “the person and the psychological environment as it
exists for him” (Lewin, 1951, p. 57). These were early versions of
what we might call cognitive maps of individual’s choice situations.
They included “specific items as particular goals, stimuli, needs, social
relations, as well as more general characteristics of the field as the
atmosphere (for instance, the friendly, tense, or hostile atmosphere) or
the amount of freedom.” The definition was pragmatic. The life space
included within it “everything that affects behavior at a given time”
(p. 241).
A distinctive feature of Lewin’s concept of a field was the type of

mathematics that defined it. With Cassirer, Lewin was convinced that
life spaces were essentially relational systems.14 Objects in the life space
stood in particular relation to one another but their location could
not be defined in precise metric terms. Thus it was impossible to spec-
ify precise dimensions, linear measurements, or definable coordinate
systems within which objects could be located inside an individual’s
life space.
Topology theory, a branch of mathematics concerned with the
formal analysis of relational systems, provided Lewin with a rigor-
ous foundation for conceptualizing such a space. Mansfield describes
the essential features of topological mathematics with the following
example:
if a rubber doughnut is stretched and bent without tearing, the resulting

object always has a hole in it. The hole of a doughnut is thus an intrin-
sic qualitative property of the doughnut. In fact a rubber doughnut can be
stretched and bent without tearing into the shape of a coffee cup (the hole in
the doughnut forms the handle of the coffee cup). One would expect, there-
fore, that the intrinsic qualitative properties of a doughnut are identical to
those of a coffee cup. Indeed, a topologist has been described as a man who
doesn’t know the difference between a doughnut and a coffee cup
(Mansfield, 1963, p. 1).
Lewin employed topology theory to construct spatial models that

possessed neither metric extension nor dimensional orientation.
Rather, he thought of the life space as a collection of regions, each
of which represented a relevant element of the individual’s experience
(see figure 5.2). The “meaning” of each region was defined by its
location vis-à-vis the other regions within the life space. The individ-
ual, represented as a dimensionless “point-region” in the space, was
F E F
E
fP,V fP,V–
P P
A X V+ X
V–
D A D
B C B C
(a) (b)
Figure 5.2 Lewin’s conception of hodological space (After K. Lewin, Field Theory,
figures 43 and 44, pp. 256 and 257.) (a) Positive central force-field; (b) Negative central
force-field
seen as affected by objects (spatial subregions) that exerted positive

and negative forces.
Perceived goal objects have a “demand-character.” Food is “inviting”; it seems

to say “Come on.” Punishment is “repellent,” and things that lead to it seem
to “force us away.” Hence the goal objects themselves exert field-forces and
they are said to have either a positive or a negative valence.
(Allport, 1955, p. 152)
Behavior is caused by an individual’s “locomotion” through the field,

which is determined by tensions associated with various regional
boundaries, barriers, vectors, and fields of force.
Though he drew heavily upon topology theory, Lewin ultimately
found these mathematical conventions to be too constraining. In par-
ticular, he felt the need to be able to superimpose indicators of
direction, force, and distance traveled on top of the more purely
relational topological framework in order to capture the complex
dynamics of objects within his space. He called the resulting amalgam
“hodological space” and claimed that
this space permits us to speak in a mathematically precise manner of equality

and differences of direction, and of changes in distance, without presuppos-
ing the “measuring” of angles, directions, and distances, which is usually not
possible in a social-psychological field.
(1951, p. 151)
His attempt to represent complex social phenomena inside the param-

eters of hodological space was sometimes complicated and obscure.
But this was largely a result of his insistence on tackling the complexi-
ties of social existence in a fashion that was unfailingly concrete. Rather
than moving to higher levels of abstraction, Lewin insisted on staying
at the level of concrete situations, which he sought to represent in
relational terms. Everything that mattered was present and visible and
precisely located with respect to everything else in the field space.
Bourdieu may be the most important modern successor to Lewin’s
project in the sense that, like Lewin, Bourdieu has self-consciously
sought to construct and deploy a full-scale field theoretical framework
to manage the philosophical, methodological, and empirical problems
of social science. On the other hand, Bourdieu’s linkage to Lewin
is somewhat limited; he was not one of Lewin’s students and Lewin
was only one of a number of intellectual inspirations for Bourdieu’s
work.15 Nonetheless, Bourdieu’s research exemplifies all of the prin-
ciples enunciated by Lewin. Bourdieu is an eloquent advocate for
the necessity of seeing the duality of subjective and objective social
phenomena; he insists upon the importance of a “relational mode

of thinking,” the concept of “field” is central to his research, and
he consistently grounds his empirical work in formal measurement
and analysis. That said, there is not much of Lewin’s measurement
space (his hodological approach) in Bourdieu’s operationalization of
the concept of field. In a sense this is not very surprising. Hodological
space was an anachronistic and clumsy analytical tool to wield (oth-
ers did not take it up either). However, the limitations of hodological
space need not drive one to the style of linear measurement framework
that Bourdieu employs. This is because other developments, after
Lewin, point the way to a very different style of measuring space that
better preserves the topological orientation that was so foundational
to Lewin’s project.
Lewin had a significant impact on US social science even though
the hodological approach to field theory practically disappeared after
his death. Evidence of his influence is widely scattered. In psychol-
ogy, the idea of cognitive dissonance (an outgrowth of Lewin’s ideas
about the reduction of cognitive tension) was developed by his stu-
dent Leon Festinger (Deutsch and Krauss, 1965). In sociology Katz
and Lazarsfeld (1955) drew upon and popularized Lewin’s con-
cept of channels and gatekeepers in their book Personal Influence,16
and Richard Emerson’s work on exchange theory derives in part
from Lewin’s conceptualization of power.17 Arguably, the single most
important legacy of Lewin’s work, however, is the scientific subfield
known as social network analysis. Like Lewin’s field space, network
models are topological. Elements are defined relationally according
to the pattern of ties that exist between them. There is no metric
extension in this space (distance is calculated by the number of links
separating two nodes) and no dimensional orientation (for example,
up, down, right, and left are undefined).
While a number of intellectual antecedents to modern network the-
ory can be identified,18 Lewin’s early use of topological mathematics
was clearly one of the most significant.19 It was Lewin’s student Alex
Bavelas (1948) who developed some of the earliest mathematical for-
mulations for analyzing the network structure of groups by formaliz-
ing and extending Lewin’s (1938) concepts of centrality and distance
in hodological space. When Dorwin (Doc) Cartwright succeeded
Lewin as the director of the University of Michigan’s Research Center
for Group Dynamics, he initiated a collaboration with Frank Harary,
a mathematician, to evaluate the potential usefulness of “hodological
space” in research on social systems. Harary found that basic con-
cepts of the Lewin–Bavelas formalization were equivalent to those in
a young branch of mathematics known as “graph theory” (Harary

and Norman, 1953). This discovery put Lewin’s hodological space
in a broader intellectual context (Harary, Norman and Cartwright,
1965). It also stimulated the use of these models in research on
a variety of social phenomena including Bavelas’s (1950) work on
patterns of communication in task-oriented groups, Cartwright’s
(1959b) use of graph theory in organizational analysis, and French’s
(1956) formalization of the concept of balance in cognitive or social
structures.
From these early developments came a major stimulus to the estab-
lishment of the subfield of network analysis that, in the time since
then, has gone onto become one of the most important areas of mod-
ern social science. However, in spite of Bourdieu’s use of the idea
of a network as a methodological metaphor, he saw no value in the
modern field of social network analysis, which he criticized by saying
that for network scholars “the study of these underlying structures
has been sacrificed to the analysis of the particular linkages (between
agents or institutions) and flows (of information, resources, services,
etc.) through which they become visible—no doubt because uncov-
ering the structure requires that one put to work a relational mode
of thinking that is more difficult to translate into quantitative and
formalized data, save by way of correspondence analysis” (Bourdieu
and Wacquant, 1992, p. 114). In other words, for Bourdieu social
network methods appeared to be limited to capturing only flat, life-
less, one-dimensional expressions of social structure. And while it
is true that much of the early work of social network scholars was
limited in the ways that Bourdieu describes, it is also true that this
style of network analysis was soon joined by other streams of work
that saw much broader possibilities. For example, Harrison White
(1992), perhaps the most prominent network theorist in the field,
proposed a new “relational sociology” that sought to integrate the
use of network methods into a much broader framework of cultural
and social processes.20 Thus, in rejecting network analysis, Bourdieu
missed some critical opportunities that a more topological approach
to formal analysis might have been able to afford him.
Topological Space and the Concept of Field

in the New Institutionalism
One way to consider the possibility of how network ideas can be
combined with a more topological-style approach to field theory is
to examine the alternative model of field space that has grown up
in the institutional study of organizations.21 In this literature the term

“organizational field” is widely used. It emerged as the principal spatial
metaphor for the new institutional school of organizational analysts, a
group of scholars who sought to explain the character of markets and
industries by identifying the impact of taken-for-granted institutional
systems of ideas, rules, practices, and conventions. Most contempo-
rary usage of the term can be traced back to the agenda-setting article
by DiMaggio and Powell (1983) in which ideas of structure from the
networks literature were woven together with Bourdieu’s version of
field theory and Roland Warren’s (1967) own adaptation of Lewin’s
ideas to describe and define an organizational field.22 The resulting
construct provides a tool for analyzing markets and industries that
carries forward many of Lewin’s original ideas about how to study
social environments.
According to DiMaggio and Powell, an organizational field consists
of “those organizations that, in the aggregate, constitute a recog-
nized area of institutional life: key suppliers, resource and product
consumers, regulatory agencies, and other organizations that produce
similar services or products” (1983, p. 148). An important feature of
this definition is its concreteness. Much as Lewin considered the life
space to include “everything that affects behavior at a given time,” so
too do DiMaggio and Powell define an organizational field so as to
include every relevant organization. As they note in an early draft of
their essay, this is notably different than the ecologists’ approach to
organizational space because:
(u)nlike the organizational-population approach, which usually connotes a

set of organizations with the same formal purposes and treats organizations
that supply resources, purchase outputs, and regulate activities as the select-
ing environment, the field perspective rejects the often artificial distinction
between organization and environment and views these organizations as part
of the system to be analyzed.
(1982, p. 11)
Thus, just as Lewin insisted upon treating all objects within a defined
life space as being visible, concrete, and relationally located vis-à-vis
one another, so too do DiMaggio and Powell consider the field space
of a specific market or industry to consist of “the totality of relevant
actors” (DiMaggio and Powell, 1983, p. 148).
Also like Lewin, DiMaggio and Powell see this as being a relation-
ally defined space. Their use of concepts from the networks literature
is especially apparent here. DiMaggio and Powell invoke two network
ideas, the “connectivity” between organizations and the notion of
organizations standing in “structurally equivalent” positions, as part

of their discussion of why the concept of the field is the appropriate
way to understand organizational environments. Moreover, their most
important theoretical contributions, such as their arguments about
isomorphism, are also grounded in network imagery.
Isomorphism refers to processes that promote sameness in organi-
zations within a field. DiMaggio and Powell identify three field-level
processes that generate such changes, each evidence of a different
type of network interaction. Coercive isomorphism derives from “both
formal and informal pressures exerted on organizations by other orga-
nizations upon which they are dependent.” Normative isomorphism
focuses on field level channels through which personnel (especially
professional staff) flow between organizations. Mimetic isomorphism
concerns the process by which agents within organizations regard one
another, with successful organizations serving as models for others.
Thus, DiMaggio and Powell’s model of organizational fields is
strongly rooted in the social networks tradition that is itself built out
of a topological model of space. There are no coordinates, no dimen-
sional orientations, no up, no down, no regions defined by qualities
separate from the organizations contained within them. Instead they
describe organizational space as a communicative medium, a struc-
tured network through which ideas, symbolic gestures, and collective
norms flow along three different types of relational pathways. A field
with high structuration is one in which these communicative conduits
are extensive and effective and, as a consequence, the organizations
within the field demonstrate a high degree of similarity to one another.
Topological Space and the Duality of Culture

and Practice
Contrast the kinds of social processes that are suggested by Bourdieu’s
field model and that of the new institutionalists. For Bourdieu, field
space is describable in terms of specific (but abstract) dimensions,
and thus, one’s position in space is determined by the levels of those
abstract qualities that one possesses. All locations within Bourdieu’s
field space are thus (apparently) defined in accordance with these
abstract qualities. In practice, this means that all forms of interaction,
identification, contestation, and social conflict must be represented
in terms that reflect the hegemony of those who possess and define
field-specific cultural capital.
The field space of the new institutionalist, on the other hand,
focuses attention on how ideas about organizational success, critique,
and evaluation are developed, diffused, and determined as normative.

Many localized sites of conflict are imaginable and measurable within
this space. The field as a whole is describable in general terms (as pos-
sessing higher or lower levels of structuration), but particular locations
are defined not in terms of general linear dimensions but rather in
terms of localized patterns of contact, exchange, and competition.
This is not to say, however, that Bourdieu is wrong and the new
institutionalists are right. While the institutionalists’ measurement of
field space (built implicitly on a social network style of topological
space) strikes me as being more consistent with the theory of relational
analysis that Bourdieu has himself advocated, there are also some sig-
nificant limitations to how institutional approaches to field space were
originally constructed. As I will explain presently, I think that in their
initial endeavors, the new institutionalists lost the important thread of
analyzing the duality of meaning and social structure that is such a
defining characteristic of Bourdieu’s own work. And, importantly, this
type of duality was also very much present in Lewin’s original project.
Recall that Lewin was trying to understand (among other things)
the social psychology of human motivation. To properly represent
these types of problems, Lewin was convinced that both subjective and
objective factors had to be brought to bear. In other words, to explain
social behavior Lewin believed that it was necessary to understand
how objective features of the social world and individuals’ meaningful
representations of those phenomena were combined together within
the same relational field space. Indeed, Lewin believed that there was
an inherent duality between the two domains.23 In Lewin’s terms,
[O]ne can say that behavior and development depend upon the state of the
person and his environment, B = F (P, E). In this equation the person (P) and
his environment (E) have to be viewed as variables which are mutually depen-
dent on each other. In other words, to understand or to predict behavior,
the person and his environment have to be considered as one constellation of
interdependent factors.
(Lewin, 1951, pp. 239–240)
The question of how to analyze this interdependency within the

framework of an empirically rigorous and mathematically grounded
social science was the central question that Lewin pursued through-
out his career and a significant catalyst in promoting his turn to a
topologically defined measurement space.
But this component of Lewin’s work was abandoned by the early
network theorists who were grappling with difficult problems of mea-
surement leading them to focus exclusively on the relational properties
of social structure. Observable ties of activities, “who has lunch with

whom” types of relational measures, became more the norm. Subjec-
tivity and agentic behavior came to be viewed as largely derivative
functions of network processes (Mohr and Rawlings, 2012). In a
sense, the return to a one-dimensional model of social action was the
cost that was paid for substituting the elegant framework of graph
theory for the relatively clumsy mathematics of hodological space.
More interesting perhaps is that in spite of a theoretical emphasis
on institutionally shared meanings, the new institutionalists were just
as shy about grounding the analysis of meaning inside their model
of field space. Similarities and differences in the structure of organi-
zations, their goal statements, their ideologies, and the practices that
they employ were measured and compared, but the ideas themselves,
the meanings that are embodied in these institutional rules and are
expressed by the homogeneous organizational structures, were absent
from these early efforts to model institutional fields.
Consider again DiMaggio and Powell’s (1983) description of the
structuration of an organizational field. The concept of structuration
is borrowed from Bourdieu by way of Giddens (1979), who uses the
term to describe the process by which social actions and social struc-
tures are mutually constituted. For Giddens this means that social
action, as derived from repertoires of practice, is constituted through
meaning. Meanings and practices are embedded within social struc-
tures that are in turn continually reproduced through action. It is
thus the connection between meaning and practice that transforms
the fluidity of actions into the stability of structures.
DiMaggio and Powell’s use of the concept of structuration reflects
their recognition that meanings and practices are co-constitutive.
Informational conduits don’t exist without the information that flows
through them nor does the informational flow exist without those
conduits. Yet, in their essay, DiMaggio and Powell define structura-
tion in a way that emphasizes structures and minimizes meaning.
They identify four components of structuration: (1) “an increase in
the extent of interaction among organizations in the field,” (2) “the
emergence of sharply defined interorganizational structures of domi-
nation and patterns of coalition,” (3) “an increase in the information
load with which organizations in a field must contend,” and (4) “the
development of a mutual awareness among participants in a set of
organizations that they are involved in a common enterprise” (1983,
p. 148). These definitions imply and have generally been interpreted
to mean that the structuration of an organizational field refers to an
increasing level of communicative connectivity. This shifts the focus
of research toward a concrete mapping out of the communicative

pathways through which meanings flow. Thus, much like the net-
work theorists who inspired them, DiMaggio and Powell’s embrace
of the concept of structuration shifts us away from meaning toward
structure.
This is emblematic of the way in which the concept of the field was
initially developed in new institutional theory. It is perhaps an irony
that the new institutionalists, who conditioned their project specifi-
cally on the assumption that myths and symbols mattered, ended up
developing a version of field theory that downplayed the analysis of
cultural content. One might say that although their theory points
to how the meaningfulness of field space matters, in its implemen-
tation, the new institutionalists focused on field space as a system
of communicative structures and it is actually these structures that
are then revealed through empirical analysis. Demonstration of the
homogenization of organizational structure was used to prove the
existence and efficacy of these communicative pathways while the con-
tent of meanings embedded inside these institutional objects were left
unexamined. The early new institutionalists thus created a kind of field
space that privileged the structures of communication, over the actual
meanings that flow through these structures, and we could thus sug-
gest that the same fault that Bourdieu found with respect to social
network studies applies with nearly equal force to the field spaces of
the early new institutionalists.
An Alternative Approach to Measuring Fields

Neither Bourdieu nor the early new institutionalists really got it right.
Bourdieu was correct insofar as he insisted on the construction of
models of field space that include at their very core, both meaning
and practice, subject and object, social structure and forms of inter-
pretation. But he was wrong in his presumption that to measure and
analyze these phenomena required a purely linear imagination. The
new institutionalists have a more pliable model of field space, built
on the model of a social network, that (I argue) is actually better
able to incorporate the kinds of genuinely relational sociology that
Bourdieu called for. However, just like network analysis, the tradi-
tional institutionalist model of the field lacks the integral combination
of meanings and social structures that is such an important part of
Bourdieu’s successful rethinking of traditional structuralism.
As a way to offer something other than mere critique, I will close
by showing one last diagram, this one taken from some of my own
2.5
Dispensary
2.0 Dietkitchen
1.5
DayNursery
Lodging
1.0
IndSchool
0.5 Shelter
Mission H.
0.0
Youthclub
–0.5 MR Assoc.
–1.0 Benevolent
SWrkBurcy
–1.5
Missionary
–2.0 Church
Other
–2.5
–2.5 –2.0 –1.5 –1.0 –0.5 0.0 0.5 1.0 1.5 2.0 2.5
Figure 5.3 Mohr and Guerra-Pearson’s model of field space. (After Mohr and
Guerra-Pearson, “The duality of Niche and form,” figures 1 and 2, pp. 332 and 338.)
work (Mohr and Guerra-Pearson, 2010) that was intended to map

out the organizational field of what we would today describe as the
social welfare sector as it existed at the turn of the nineteenth cen-
tury (see figure 5.3). This paper derives from a more recent stream
of scholarly work linking network methods to studies of culture (for
reviews, see Breiger, 2000, 2009a; DiMaggio, 2011; Mische, 2011;
Mohr, 1998, 2000; Mohr and White, 2008). The paper also draws
on the more modern program of scholarly work within institutional
theory (which has developed over roughly the same period of time)
concerning the study of what Friedland and Alford (1991) have called
“institutional logics.” According to Friedland and Alford’s definition,
an institutional logic is “a set of material practices and symbolic con-
structions” that provide the governing principles for a given field of
institutional activity (1991, p. 248). In contrast to the earlier pro-
gram of the new institutionalism, the institutional logics perspective is
aggressively hermeneutic and much of the empirical research that has
been pursued within this scholarly program has focused on identifying
and interpreting the ways in which culture matters for organizational
success (see Thornton and Ocasio, 2008; Friedland, 2009; Thornton,
Ocasio and Lounsbury, 2012).
In Mohr and Guerra-Pearson (2010) we sought to develop an alter-

native, more topological style of mapping an institutional field by
defining organizations as being similar and different to one another
with respect to how they locate themselves in what we describe as an
“institutional logic space.” We defined this as a “meaningfully ordered
set of understandings that are held, contested and enacted by partici-
pants within organizational fields regarding the institutional logic that
they understand to be in play there” (p. 358). To measure the logic
space we used data from organizational directories that captured a set
of “(ritualized) speech acts, authored by organizational agents who
both express a common framework of understanding (necessary to
participate successfully in a dialogic situation) and who also speak in
strategic ways regarding a preferred vision of the field, including their
perceived (or imagined or desired) location within it” (p. 322).
We code each organizational entry so as to assess whether the
organization’s self-description invokes any of 22 different technology
categories (T), 16 status distinctions (S), or 15 social problem types
(P). We do this by using a computer content analysis program ori-
ented toward paying attention to the semantic grammars that link
the terms together in natural language expressions. This produces
a square matrix where every organization is compared with every
other organization with respect to the types of TSP categories and
category combinations that the organization used to describe itself.
This matrix of similarities/differences is then processed, we use a
multidimensional scaling (MDS) program in this paper, to create a
mapping of organizational space like that presented as figure 5.3.
Here, any two organizations (each of which is represented as a small
circle in the figure) are located in the space as near to or far from each
other (in Euclidean distance) according to how similarly the two orga-
nizations describe themselves with regard to the TSP profiles. Notice
that one can (and many do) interpret an MDS model by projecting
dimensions across the space and in this regard there is really little dif-
ference between Bourdieu’s method and ours, but unlike Bourdieu
we did not seek to impose a unidimensional metric according to which
these systems of meanings need to be represented. Rather, more like
the style of network scholars and the new institutionalists (or, in this
case, ecologists), we are inclined to see the space as being topologi-
cally defined, as consisting of a series of localized interactions between
organizations that both share and openly contest the character of the
meanings that are appropriate for a given set of institutional tasks.24
In the paper we follow Miller McPherson’s (1983) ideas about how
to use measures of regionality (of nearness and farness in the Euclidean
representation of the logic space) as the means for mapping out the
“niche bases” for each of the different types of organizational forms
(these are listed in the legend to the right of the diagram and are also
indicated by the shadings of the different circles). In figure 5.3, these
niche measurements are represented by the rectangles superimposed
on the MDS map. The niche analysis allows us to then measure the
degree to which every organizational form is similar to (or different
from) every other organizational form by assessing the proportion of
their niche bases that overlap in the same region of logic space. We use
these overlaps to construct a set of directed graphs illustrating the
topology of the niche structure that we employ to track how different
organizational forms compete with one another across time. We focus
in particular on two organizational forms (settlement houses and sci-
entific charity society organizations) and the contentious battle that
was waged between the proponents of the two types of organizations
over the right to name and claim the meanings that define the institu-
tional logic of this field. Thus, like Bourdieu, we pay attention to the
contestations that develop over the definition of cultural meanings,
but unlike Bourdieu we are able to trace these types of contestations
by watching the way in which localized and regional topographies of
meanings and resources are negotiated by participants operating at
different locations within the organizational field.
Conclusion
In this chapter I have argued that Bourdieu’s theory of relational
analysis is an important and powerful contribution to sociology.
In particular I highlighted the way in which Bourdieu’s conception
of relationalism led him to focus on the study of cultural meanings,
on the study of relational patterns of similarities and differences con-
necting those meanings, and on the study of how those meanings
are dually articulated with systems of class and social structure. I also
argued that Bourdieu’s theory is better than his practice. While he
made undeniably important advances in terms of thinking about how
to measure social fields, his commitment to the use of a linear logic
for interpreting and understanding this field space is a problem pre-
cisely because it limits the ways in which a more fully relational analysis
could be conceived and carried out. By imposing the methodologi-
cal hegemony of linear dimensions on a topologically complex social
space, important social processes are lost. Specifically, the use of a lin-
ear interpretation as a way of representing the logic of fields tends to
subject all social interactions to the tyranny of a particular interactional
system, a logic in which the culture of the dominated class fractions

trumps all the rest.
I have sought to suggest that there are alternatives to this way
of measuring fields. I first highlighted Kurt Lewin’s approach to
field theory showing how he developed one of the first topologi-
cal models of social space. I then showed how his “hodological”
approach to space came to be transformed into modern network anal-
ysis and, eventually, into the concept of an “organizational” field by
the new institutionalists. I have also contended that a more topologi-
cal approach to the measurement of field space would be better suited
for modeling the kinds of institutional phenomena that Bourdieu has
set out to describe. However, I have also suggested that bringing
all of this together—relationality, duality, and topology—will require
the development of new ways of thinking about and measuring
social fields. This is (in part) because the extension of topologi-
cal measurement strategies to the study of organizational fields by
the new institutionalists was originally carried out in a fashion that
reflected the thin descriptions and unidimensional sensibilities of tra-
ditional social network analysts in such a way that Bourdieu’s ever so
important corrective to structuralist methods of interpretation—the
assertion that culture and practice, the social space, and the inter-
pretative space are mutually constitutive and dually ordered—was left
behind.
At the end of the chapter I gave an example from my own work that
seeks to measure a field in a manner that simultaneously seeks to pre-
serve relationality, duality, and topology. I want to emphasize that the
real issue under discussion here is habitus, not technology. Whether
we use multidimensional scaling analysis, which is an approach that
translates a complex matrix of similarities into a multidimensional set
of Euclidean linear distances, or we employ some version of the cor-
respondence analyses that Bourdieu used to analyze his data, the tools
are not the issue (or at least, not the whole issue). And, in fact,
as Ronald Breiger and his colleagues have now demonstrated in a
series of papers that have begun to radically reimagine the traditional
assumptions we make about the distinctions separating qualitative and
quantitative methods of analysis (Breiger, 2000, 2009b; Melamed,
Breiger and Schoen, 2013; Breiger and Melamed, in press), the dif-
ference that separate the American-style approaches to data analysis
(emphasizing regression models to compare the attributes of cases)
is, at its core, little different from the mathematical styles of analy-
sis that drive Bourdieu’s method of correspondence analysis. The real
issue has to do with how one imagines the research problem and the
possibilities for using the data. As Breiger (2009b) puts the matter, in
the end, “variables are constituted by the cases that comprise them, as
well as vice versa” (p. 254).
Finally, it would be wrong to leave the impression that I see
Bourdieu as an unrepentant substantialist. It would be far more accu-
rate to suggest that Bourdieu employed a modernist style of scientific
method of the sort that Cassirer described as “functional” in the sense
that it involved the replacement of specific and particularistic prop-
erties of things with an understanding of how these things can be
captured in terms of mathematical functions. As Cassirer writes, “the
world of sensible things . . . is not so much reproduced as transformed
and supplanted by an order of another sort” (p. 14). First, that order is
defined by mathematical functions: “Fixed properties are replaced by
universal rules that permit us to survey a total series of possible deter-
minations at a single glance” (pp. 22–23). But in the most modern of
sciences, even standard mathematical functions are too constraining
(too essentialist), and so a new logic emerges in science that is based
on pure relationality. In a sense then we might say that Bourdieu’s
project had moved beyond substantialism, but it had not yet arrived
at the fully relational approach to social analysis that he sought to
encourage us all to embrace.
Notes
1. This paper was originally drafted for an American Sociological Asso-
ciation session on “The Sociology of Pierre Bourdieu,” organized by
David Swartz (Washington D.C., 2000). It was revived, reinvigorated
and rewritten under the editorial advice of Kees van Rees and Hugo
Verdaasdonk a few years later and then finally revised again and pub-
lished here through the good efforts and editorial advice of François
Dépelteau and Christopher Powell. Thanks to each of these people
for their editorial help and encouragement. Thanks also to Michael
Bourgeois, Peter Cebon, Mustafa Emirbayer, Noah Friedkin, Roger
Friedland, Corinne Kirchner, Michael McQuarrie, José A. Rodríguez,
Marc Ventresca, and Elliot Weininger for helpful written comments on
some version of this essay. Special thanks to Natalie Mohr for drawing
the figures. Research on this paper has partially been supported by a
grant from the UCSB Institute for Social, Behavioral and Economic
Research. Contact info: mohr@soc.ucsb.edu.
2. The reference here is to Cassirer’s classic work Substance and Function
(1910) in which he lays out a neo-Kantian theory of the modern nat-
ural sciences. Mohr (2010) explains some of the connections between
Bourdieu and Cassirer.
3. Bourdieu writes, “The relational (rather than the more nar-

row ‘structuralist’) mode of thinking is, as Cassirer (1923)
demonstrated . . . the hallmark of modern science . . . ” (Bourdieu and
Wacquant, 1992, pp. 96–97). Caws (1988) provides a lucid discus-
sion of the connection between structuralism and Cassirer’s theory of
relationalism. See also Dosse (1997a and 1997b) and Mohr (2010).
4. Recall that Cassirer’s most classic work (1953, 1955, 1957) was con-
cerned with the study of cultural forms and that Lévi-Strauss devoted
much of his scholarly focus to the structural analysis of cultural myths
(e.g., 1983, etc.).
5. This is the key insight that is exploited by many contemporary “duality
studies of culture.” See, for example, Mohr and Duquenne (1997) or
Breiger (2000) for an explicit theorization of this point.
6. Mohr and Rawlings (2012) includes a discussion of alternative meth-
ods of cultural analysis that theorizes this topic much more fully.
7. It is also useful to notice that figures 5 & 6 are not actually the
result of a specific correspondence analysis. Bourdieu says, “the figures
presented here are not plane diagrams of correspondence analyses,
although various such analyses were drawn on in order to construct
them, and although a number of these are organized in accordance
with a similar structure” (1984, p. 126). Later in the book Bourdieu
does present some actual correspondence analysis results but none of
them have the two dimensional framework (the volume and compo-
sition of capital) that Bourdieu has used to organize these figures.
(Breiger (2000, footnote 1) has a discussion of the complicated his-
tory of figures 5 and 6). This does not mean, by the way, that
correspondence analysis was the wrong method to use. On the con-
trary, Bourdieu was right to embrace this approach. What it does
illustrate is how in his use of correspondence analysis, Bourdieu was
very focused on constructing linear representations of the theoretical
phenomena he was seeking to discover.
8. In Distinction, Bourdieu goes on to develop these ideas in great detail,
showing systematically, for example, the “fit” that exists between each
group’s (or each class fraction’s) cultural tastes and their location
within the broader system of social and economic stratification. There
are some potential contradictions in Bourdieu’s project as well. For
example, at the lower end of the class system, Bourdieu suggests that
cultural tastes are driven by what he describes as a “logic of necessity”
in which the “natural meaning” of these tastes may appear to trump
their more purely “semiotic” meanings. As I argue below, I think that
this is precisely the kind of contradiction that develops when one tries
to impose a linear logic on what may more properly be viewed as a
topologically ordered social space.
9. Mohr and DiMaggio (1995) sought to replicate Bourdieu’s field map-
ping project using a dataset sampling American high school students.
10. See Schweizer (1993) for a different (lattice) approach to the dual
mapping between social space and cultural goods.
11. Note that Lash (1993) makes a very similar complaint. Thanks to
Elliot Weininger for this observation.
12. Much of the ideas and some of the text in this next section of the
paper (on Lewin, network analysis and the new institutionalism) were
originally produced for an (as yet) unpublished essay entitled “Implicit
Terrains” (Mohr, 2005).
13. See Martin (2003) for a useful discussion of Lewin, Cassirer and field
theory. Mohr (2010) also discusses Lewin.
14. See Mustafa Emirbayer (1997) for an insightful discussion of
Cassirer’s influence.
15. Although Bourdieu did cite Lewin as an inspiration, especially in his
earlier work (Swartz, 1997, p. 123), Bourdieu himself says that it was
Ernst Cassirer who served as the most important influence on the
development of his commitment to a relational thinking (Bourdieu
and Wacquant, 1992, p. 97; Swartz, 1997, p. 61). But since Cassirer
also had a powerful impact on Lewin, it is hard to know to what
degree Bourdieu is borrowing from Lewin and how much the two are
building on Cassirer in parallel ways.
16. Juan Linz (personal communication, 1987) reports that Lewin’s ideas
had a profound impact on his cohort of graduate students in sociology
at Columbia during the 1950’s.
17. Many other examples can be pointed to; Harald Mey (1972) provides
an extensive catalogue. See also Cartwright (1959a).
18. Commentators on the origins of social network analysis cite many
different influences. In the 1930’s, Jacob Moreno, a psychia-
trist by training, developed “sociograms” for representing the
interpersonal structure of groups and, along with his co–author
Jennings began developing quantitative measures of network struc-
ture. British urban anthropologists such as J.A. Barnes and Elizabeth
Bott published influential work in the 1950s. In his early work,
Harrison White (1963) drew heavily upon the writings of the Lévi-
Strauss. Other psychologists, including the Gestalt theorist, Fritz
Heider, made important contributions in the 1940’s and 1950’s.
See Wasserman and Faust (1994) for a useful summary of these
issues.
19. My discussion of Lewin’s relationship to early network theory in this
paragraph draws extensively upon suggestions generously offered by
Dorwin (Doc) Cartwright (personal communication, 1996–1998),
a dear colleague of mine in the UC Santa Barbara Social Network
Seminar for many years.
20. Mohr and Rawlings (2012) give a more detailed account of this
change. See also DiMaggio (2011), Fuhse and Mützel (2011) and
Mische (2011).
21. Both Martin (2003) and Emirbayer and Johnson (2008) provide use-
ful assessments of the relationship between Bourdieu’s approach to
field theory and the developments of modern organizational analysis.
22. Although DiMaggio and Powell invoke the concept of field without
any explicit citations in the 1983 version of their article, an earlier
version of the paper (1982) lists both Bourdieu (1971) and Warren
(1967; Warren et al., 1974) as inspirations. Also cited are Howard
Aldrich and Albert Reiss’s (1976) article on community ecology as
well as Herman Turk’s (1970) work on organizational networks.
23. Lewin’s focus on relational dualities is not accidental. In Gestalt psy-
chology, a key issue had always been how to understand the dualistic
relationship between the conscious and the physiological components
of perception. As Lewin shifted his attention to problems in social
psychology, he turned this interest into a concern with the dualistic
relationship between self and society.
24. There are actually multiple conventions for interpreting MDS results.
For many, dimensional interpretations are preferred over more
regional assessment (e.g., clustering) of the MDS space. See, for exam-
ple, the papers collected in Shepard et.al., (1972). As I suggest below,
in some ways the preferences for linearity that I have drawn attention
to in this paper are as much about subjective orientation (habitus) as
they are about objective determinants of methodological procedures
(technology). (I thank Michael McQuarrie for pushing me hard to
address this issue in a late draft of the paper). Moreover as Ronald
Breiger suggests, there are many styles and methods of data analy-
sis that can be of use to us. Breiger writes “We need things that are
nonlinear, and beyond linear. And we need things that deal in serious
ways with culture-structure-history-dynamics-multi-levels-and-more.
Methodologically, these could include algebras, lattices, and/or topo-
logical constructions. What the correspondence analysis has to offer
to all of these is one very easy (and indeed, effective) form of simpli-
fication. Other forms of simplification, as well as new ways of looking
at the field as gestalt, need also to be explored/developed” (personal
communication, 2013).
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Chapter 6
T u r n i n g P o i n t s a n d t h e S pa c e
o f P o s s i b l e s : A R e l at i o n a l
Perspective on the Different
Fo r m s o f U n c e rta i n t y 1
Harrison C. White, Frédéric C. Godart,

and Matthias Thiemann
Introduction
Identities, which can be defined as “any source of action, any entity to
which observers can attribute meaning not explicable from biophys-
ical regularities” (White, 2008, p. 2), seek to reduce the turmoil of
social and biophysical life through control, which includes, but is not
limited to, domination or coercion. Identities, which can be of any
level, scale, or scope, are triggered by their ever-changing and uncer-
tain environment (Corona and Godart, 2010). The search for control
thus originates from a need for footing in a context of uncertainty
that, following Knight (1921), we distinguish from risk: while risk can
be dealt with through insurance mechanisms, uncertainty can never
be fully insured against.
Amid chaos, social formations of all kinds—for example, insti-
tutions or regimes—emerge and give lasting footing to identities
(Corona and Godart, 2010; Fuhse, 2009; Godart and White, 2010;
White, 1992, 2008; White, Godart and Corona, 2007). Arguably,
the task of sociology is to look at the dynamics of social forma-
tions. It requires taking into account the evolution of meanings. A
138 Harrison C. White et al.
conceptual distinction is drawn by participants and observers between

social networks—that is to say, networks of relations—and networks
of meanings. Although social relations and meanings are necessarily
intertwined (Kirchner and Mohr, 2010; Pachucki and Breiger, 2010),
as second-order constructs they can be analytically distinguished,
and in some circumstances decoupled (Godart and White, 2010).
To account for uncertainties captured by first- and second-order
observers at the level of social relations and meanings, we intro-
duce two concepts, ambage and ambiguity. Ambage is the uncertainty
referring to social relations and ambiguity the uncertainty referring
to meanings. Both relate to stochastic environments through contin-
gency, the third type of uncertainty. Turning points happen when the
“space of possibles” (Bourdieu, 1993, p. 176) for each identity—what
identities can do, think, and say—changes, that is, when at least one
of the different forms of uncertainty increases or decreases, giving the
opportunity to identities to modify their strategies or gamings.
Our goal is to clarify uncertainty in relation to the dynamics of
social networks and networks of meaning and thus to offer an under-
standing of what turning points are in terms of a larger relational
theory of social formations (White, 2008). In this framework, the
dynamics of social networks and networks of meanings includes the
strategies of identities seeking footing. Among all the social forma-
tions defined by White (2008), “disciplines” are particularly important
in this theoretical framework as ways of organizing tasks. Strategies or
gamings are therefore deployed in disciplines. Turning points con-
stantly arise for identities in concrete contexts of disciplines. Strategies
or gamings by identities suggest paths for measurement of uncertainty
by sociologists. This chapter illustrates with theoretical and empirical
examples the usual trade-off between ambage and ambiguity and also
describes the conditions for occasional suspension of this trade-off.
Faces of Uncertainty
Uncertainty has more than one face, and has been extensively studied
in social science research; for a review and examples of applications
of theories of uncertainty, see for example, among others, Beckman,
Haunschild, and Phillips (2004) or Huault and Rainelli-Le Montagner
(2009). Here, we suggest, following White (1992, 2008), distin-
guishing among three types of uncertainty. Call “ambage” uncertainty
about social relations, “ambiguity” uncertainty about meaning, and
“contingency” a type of uncertainty external to a given system of social
relations and meanings.
T u r n i n g P o i n t s a n d t h e S pa c e o f P o s s i b l e s 139
First, “ambage designates slack in the sense of uncertainty in a

purely social context . . . From its origins, the word ambage signifies
winding or indirect and roundabout ways” (White, 2008, p. 57).
In our framework, ambage is about how social roles are performed and
enforced. It is also about how social relations are created, sustained,
and terminated. Each identity is characterized by a set of roles. Each
role implies commitments and entails expectations by other identities
about how these commitments are fulfilled, including the possibil-
ity of default, that is, non-fulfillment of what is expected from the
role (e.g., Goffman, 1959). Ambage refers to the likelihood that the
expectations of a certain role are not fulfilled.
In the case of a market, roles of competitors are well defined around
the distinction between incumbents (often a former state monopoly)
and new entrants, and a “conception of control” (Fligstein 1996) by
incumbents ensures the reproduction of the status order in the mar-
ket (Podolny 2001). Uncertainty in this situation is not about what
the roles entail—this is clear for all actors involved in the market—
but rather about how these roles are “enacted” (Weick, 1979) and
enforced. The question of the interpretation of a role (how it is
played) is related to strategy and therefore also entails a perspective
on how ties are formed, sustained, and terminated. For example, will
the incumbent in a given market try to launch a preemptive price war?
Enforcement depends on the strategies of the different actors,
including regulatory authorities that are supposed to make sure that
market actors follow a certain script. More specifically, in a newly
deregulated market (Berhin, Godart, Jollès and Nihoul, 2005), the
incumbent is supposed to give access to its infrastructure to new
entrants, at regulated prices, and the role of the regulator is to ensure
that this script is followed. In sum, for each identity, ambage cor-
responds to the following question: are the others going to behave
according to their roles and to the prevalent social script or are they
going to fail to meet these expectations?
Second, “ambiguity designates uncertainty in a purely cultural con-
text” (White, 2008, p. 57). It is thus about meanings: how should an
identity interpret the signals—language and other—in a given situ-
ation? Thus, it is also related to rules since rules make explicit the
meaning of a situation, but ambiguity refers to the uncertainty regard-
ing the rules by which certain signals should be evaluated, rather than
the social enforcement of the rules (ambage). In a market, “signaling”
(Spence, 1974) will be a major source of ambiguity and of ambiguity
reduction. For example, in a telecommunications market, the mean-
ing for competitors of a decrease in price is in itself very ambiguous:
does it signal the first move by a competitor toward a price war? Other
signals sent by the company that decreased prices can clarify this move
and reduce ambiguity, such as an increase in price in other product
or service offerings. In the latter case, the changes in pricing strategy
are likely to be interpreted as the expression of a new marketing strat-
egy, targeting new customers, rather than a full-fledged price war. For
each identity, ambiguity can be summarized in the following question:
what do the others mean when they act or talk?
The two dynamics of ambage and ambiguity operate simulta-
neously, for example when a new identity enters a social network
and—through his, her, or its attempts to understand the existing
social situation—creates disturbances in the role expectations of the
identities that are already involved in the network.
Finally, contingency is related to the probability of survival (in a
certain state). This probability is observed by identities for other iden-
tities in their networks. Contingency is influenced by factors external
to the network, even though the states of ambage and ambiguity also
influence the probability of survival. Take the example of telecom-
munications. What is the probability of survival for a new entrant in
this market? In the case of a newly deregulated market, survival con-
siderations can be based on what happened in similar markets in the
past, either in surrounding countries or in other formally regulated
markets, for example air travel. This expected survival then influ-
ences the investment of each actor in the formation of ties with other
actors, be it ties of cooperation or competition. The expected proba-
bility of survival, which determines the expected probability of future
interactions—what is known in game-theory as the shadow of the
future (Dasgupta 1988)—has an impact on the importance of reputa-
tion for identities (lowering ambage) and can, for example, transform
non-cooperative equilibriums into cooperative ones (Dasgupta 1988).
For each identity, contingency can be summarized with the question,
how likely is it that the other identities will still exist in the current
state, will disappear, or will gain a different status in the following
time period(s)? Turning points happen whenever change affects one
of the different types of uncertainty. Turning points are understood as
an outcome of a change in the space of possibles. Te importance of a
change cannot be determined a priori. However, as Grossetti (2004)
points out, changes in uncertainty can be characterized by different
levels of what he calls “unpredictability” and “irreversibility.” While
“unpredictability” refers to the uncertainty of a sequence of actions
or events, “irreversibility” refers to the permanence of their outcome.
Thus, some changes are more predictable or reversible than others.
For example, a ritual such as birthday is predictable but irreversible, a

(low stakes) poker game is unpredictable but reversible and routine is
both reversible and predictable. For him, “true” turning points need
to be highly irreversible and unpredictable. Similarly, Bearman, Faris
and Moody (1999) try to understand the process through which his-
torians construct coherent narratives, or sequences of events, with a
beginning, middle, and end, what they call “casing.” For them, the
meaning of an event is determined by its position in a sequence of
events that can be represented as a network. Adding or removing
events from this sequence can often, but not always, change the whole
narrative, and the meaning of other events. They therefore conclude
that some events are more “robust” than others in that their position
in the narrative is guaranteed by several sequences of events. In the
cases analyzed by Bearman et al., a turning point, a change in the
meaning of an event, can occur only under specific circumstances, only
if this event is not robustly connected to the sequence of events.
While the irreversibility and unpredictability of events, as well as
their “robustness,” are important factors, we argue that they can only
be defined ex post. They can serve as conceptual framework ex ante,
but Knightian uncertainty is prevalent. For example, nobody knows
what effects a minor change in a pricing strategy will have on a market
if it is interpreted by competitors and other actors as the beginning of
a price war. “Turning points” (Abbott, 2001) do not happen all the
time, but potentially they can happen at any moment.
Gaming: Identities Disciplining Uncertainties

Unlike what neoclassical economists posit, identities do not try to
maximize an abstract utility function. Rather, their gamings are guided
by their search for footing. What this footing entails varies for each
identity and is contingent on their network position (e.g., Burt, 1992)
and on the social structure in which they are embedded. For example,
players with many redundant ties are more prone to sacrifice some of
them to gain access to resources than are isolated players, implying a
trade-off between connectedness and resources.
From an analytical, second-order, point of view, any identity thus
constantly faces three types of uncertainty—ambage, ambiguity, and
contingency: “gamings require, find ready, and resupply ambage,
ambiguity, and contingency, all three of which are its raw material,
its medium, and its product. So a calculus of ambage, ambiguity, and
contingency taken as a set is necessary” (White, 2008, p. 72). Here
we propose a first outline of such a calculus.
Call Ui the vector of uncertainty—the “calculus of ambage,

ambiguity, and contingency” (White, 2008, p. 72)—faced by each
identity i:
(1) Ui = f(u1i ,u2i ,u3i )
Here, u1i , u2i , and u3i refer to the ambage, ambiguity, and contingency
faced by i. Gamings or strategies are deployed in different settings in
which tasks are organized and interrelated, called “disciplines.” Each
of these disciplines requires attention and carefulness from identities
in their gamings. Thus, for each identity i, gamings take into account
a vector of strategies called Gi deployed across disciplines:
(2) Gi = F(Uai ,Uci ,Uti )
where Uai , U ci, and Uti are the uncertainty vectors for identity i
in the three disciplines—arena, council, and interface (White, 1992,
2008). An arena discipline is based on selection processes and
purity valuation orders, such as in a sports competition for exam-
ple. A council discipline mediates through prestige, such as in a
military or business alliance. An interface discipline is based on the
commitment of producers and is focused on quality. Figure 6.1 rep-
resents the three disciplines and relates them to the three types of
uncertainty:
The three types of uncertainty are at play in each of the disciplines.
However, each discipline is characterized by a dominant uncertainty
principle, which is the main focus of attention of the actors deal-
ing with this discipline. First, in an arena discipline, ambiguity is
the dominant uncertainty principle because, even if roles are gen-
erally performed and enforced in predictable ways, rules are open
to manipulation. Ambiguity is at the core of the filtering out and
matching processes at play in arenas that confer membership, for
example in professions, through purity (Abbott, 1981). The criteria
guiding these processes are a significant strategic issue for identities.
Second, in a council discipline, ambage is the dominant uncertainty
principle because the key process, in this case, is the mobilization
(or mediation) of identities according to prestige rankings. The abil-
ity of an identity to mobilize, based on its prestige, is an ability
to form ties and perform roles in order to create coalitions. Third,
in an interface discipline, contingency is the dominant uncertainty
principle. An interface is about commitment and quality. In this
type of discipline, identities depend on external factors, such as in
the case of firms in markets depending either on the upstream of
Arena Council Interface
Process Selection Mediation Commitment

Valuation Purity Prestige Quality
order
Forms of Contingency Contingency Contingency
uncertainty
Ambage Ambage Ambage
Ambiguity Ambiguity Ambiguity
Secondary uncertainty
Main uncertainty principle
principles
Figure 6.1 Overview of the three disciplines: processes, valuation orders, and forms
of uncertainty
suppliers or on the downstream of customers (White, 2002; White

and Godart, 2007).
Thus, gamings are deployed in three tridimensional spaces.
We understand turning points as generated by changes in uncertainty
in the context of disciplines. For example, any change in regula-
tory rules in a telecommunications market (triggered by the state)
can recast market roles and the way they are enforced, increasing or
decreasing ambage. This type of change requires action from actors.
Similarly, any new pricing strategy will send signals to the market,
increasing or decreasing ambiguity. Identities need not act on these
changes of ambage or ambiguity, but not acting is a stance, and is
a gaming posture. Finally, if new entrants start disappearing at a dif-
ferent rate in one’s own market or in neighboring markets, this will
change the level of contingency and will call for a stance.
Strategies or gamings are deployed by identities as a way to “reduce
risk and cope with uncertainty” (White et al., 2007, p. 182). The
reduction of risk can be based on sophisticated insurance mecha-
nisms, some of which are found in game theory (e.g., Schelling, 1980
[1960]), but game theory itself recognizes the possibility of uncer-
tainty, for example when the rules of the game are redefined. “Cop-
ing” with uncertainty implies the necessity of action in a tumultuous
world, without the certainty of being able to deal with it, that is, to
control it.
Interplay between Ambage, Ambiguity,

and Contingency
Measuring Ambage and Ambiguity
In order to understand the analytic value of specifying ambage, ambi-
guity, and contingency, it is worthwhile suggesting some way of
measuring them. Such measurements need to explicate the interplay of
ambage and ambiguity and to address the idea that there is—in many
social settings—a trade-off between these two types of uncertainty.
This trade-off appears in extreme situations of high ambage or high
ambiguity, many other situations being moderate in both and allow-
ing an interplay of these two forms of uncertainty. Related to this idea,
it is also important to understand why in some instances the trade-off
disappears and both ambage and ambiguity can be high. Contingency
operates differently from ambage and ambiguity and its importance
varies.
Ambage is about the performance and enforcement of roles and
the dynamics of social ties. An example of the significance of ambage
can be found in Schelling’s (1980 [1960]) conception of game the-
ory. The core of his perspective on game theory is what he calls
the “mixed-motive” type of game, somewhere between the “pure
coordination” of a “common-interest game” and the zero-sum of a
“pure-conflict game” (Schelling, 1980 [1960], p. 88). This concep-
tion of social life in game-theoretic terms puts bargaining at the center
of any interaction. More importantly, at the core of bargaining lies
communication:
By abstracting from communication and enforcement systems and by treating

perfect symmetry between players as the general case rather than a special
one, game theory may have overshot the level at which the most fruitful work
could be done and may have defined away some of the essential ingredients of
typical nonzero-sum games.
(Schelling, 1980 [1960], p. 119)
High-ambage situations are rich in communications and switchings

among networks of relations and domains of meanings. There is a low
ambiguity about the rules of the game that are known and accepted
by actors, even though situations of high ambiguity can arise when
high ambage is prevalent for a time as we make explicit in the exam-
ple of liminality below. High-ambage situations are also characterized
by stable sets of actors. The addition of new players to a game à la
Schelling disrupts the structure of the game, and this is the moment
when high ambiguity situations arise. High-ambiguity situations are

characterized by a great uncertainty about the rules of the game. This
thwarts communications and crystallizes roles. The addition of new-
comers to a game leads to a questioning of the meaning of what the
roles are, of the rules sustaining them. But identities can play with the
rules and their meaning, using rhetorical devices.
Shannon’s (1948) concept of entropy is a way to measure ambigu-
ity in a system. This “information theory” concept of entropy must
be distinguished from the concept of entropy in thermodynamics;
both concepts are mathematically related, but their conceptual rela-
tion is debated (see Wicken, 1987, for a full discussion). A very
high “entropy,” or “information,” akin to a very high ambiguity—
like when a regular coin is tossed—witnesses the creation of a lot of
information through events. Ambage is low because strategic moves
cannot influence significantly the outcome of events. Think about the
addition of a new player to a game. Roles’ performance can remain
the same and still be enforced by the same actors, but the adjunc-
tion of a new actor changes the structure of the game. When new
actors enter a network, they find out rules of the game that have been
established beforehand, and their search for footing can lead them to
question those rules. The increase in ambiguity can be measured by
Shannon’s entropy measure: how much information is communicated
by the actions of new actors, and how many new states of the sys-
tem do the actors add to the system, thereby increasing entropy? The
higher the entropy, the higher the ambiguity of the network. At the
simplest level—the addition of a third player into a dyad—the amount
of possible states of a network of asymmetric liking/disliking relation-
ships increases from 4 to 64. This form of growth follows the rate
indicated by the formula 4n(n–1)/2 , where n stands for the number of
actors and n(n–1)/2 the number of possible ties.
Trade-off between Ambage and Ambiguity

Four social constructs—liminality, person, tournament, and fashion—
can help illustrate the trade-off between ambage and ambiguity.
Liminality as defined by Turner (e.g., 1988) is a situation where
ambage is at a maximum and ambiguity at a minimum. In Turner’s
own words: “Liminality itself is a complex phase or condition. It is
often the scene and time for the emergence of a society’s deepest val-
ues in the form of sacred dramas and objects . . . Ambiguity reigns;
people and public policies may be judged skeptically in relations to
deep values” (1988, p. 102). What Turner calls ambiguity here is
exactly what we call ambage. In a condition of liminality, social roles

are still recognized but their enforcement is suspended. Rules are
exposed—like they are exposed by the “court jester,” or the “fool”
in general (Klapp, 1949) and meanings become clear to all. As indi-
cated by Turner himself (e.g., 1988, p. 25), liminality is based on the
concept of “limen” developed by Van Gennep as the central phase
of what he termed “rites of passage” ([1909] 1960). This central
phase is a time of crisis in which the foundations of social roles are
questioned. Turner expands Van Gennep’s theory with his concept
of “social drama” (Turner, 1974), described in another book in the
following way:
I define social dramas as units of aharmonic or disharmonic social process,

arising in conflict situations. Typically, they have four main phases of pub-
lic action. These are: (1) Breach of regular norm-governed social relations;
(2) Crisis, during which there is a tendency for the breach to widen. Each
public crisis has what I now call liminal characteristics since it is a thresh-
old (limen) between more or less stable phases of the social process, but
it is not usually a sacred limen . . . (3) Redressive action ranging from per-
sonal advice and informal mediation or arbitration to formal juridical and
legal machinery . . . Redress, too, has its liminal features, for it is “betwixt
and between” . . . (4) The final phase consists either of the reintegration of
the disturbed social group, or of the social recognition and legitimation of
irreparable schism between the contesting parties.
(Turner, 1988, pp. 74–75)
This description of a typical social drama by Turner can be reinter-

preted using the concepts of ambage and ambiguity. In a moment of
“breach,” both ambage and ambiguity increase (whatever their start-
ing point was). Identities form alliances and take positions, but the
meaning of the social drama is still unknown. After a certain threshold
of ambage is reached, alliances are completely formed and positions
taken. Social action is frozen and ambage starts decreasing while ambi-
guity is still increasing. Then liminality stems from this “breach” and
rules are exposed to all, and the meaning of the drama is made clear:
“If social drama regularly implies conflict of principles, norms, and
persons, it equally implies the growth of reflexivity” (Turner, 1988,
p. 103). Ambage becomes very high, and ambiguity very low. Iden-
tities can then act toward the “redress” and “reintegration” phases,
reaching a new ambage/ambiguity equilibrium.
Moments of crisis and social drama can be compared to Venetian
carnivals or New Orleans Mardi Gras where any social relation can
emerge among individuals masking their identity. In these situations,
the rules sustaining interactions are simple—there is almost no
rule—social distinctions disappear because everybody can imperson-

ate anybody. After the crisis, the system aims toward a “redressment”
that implies the reestablishment of former rules or the creation of
new rules, in a situation that is marked by high ambage. As roles are
not necessarily redistributed or redefined, but their enforcement—and
the reason for their existence—is questioned, once the crisis is over
and new rules emerge, actors will deploy their strategies in the new
space of possibles to enhance their social footing. Redressive action
as observed by Turner comes about to reduce these possibilities and
to create a new balance of forces that allows for a more stable social
footing. Similarly, a “person” has a low ambiguity because it presents
a meaningful face to the world; however, a person is relatively high
in ambage because it has many options for performance and can cre-
ate ties: “The performances characteristic of liminal phases and states
often are more about the doffing of masks, the stripping of statuses,
the renunciation of roles, the demolishing of structures, than their
putting on and keeping on” (Turner, 1988, p. 107).
Conversely, a tournament with its rigid social structure presents
very few opportunities for fresh interactions and has therefore a low
ambage, with a high ambiguity regarding meaning of the outcome of
the competition itself:
The tournament is a conscious enactment of a pecking order. A tournament

is a set of pairings among a population (Erdős and Spencer, 1974; Moon,
1968) in which, within each pair, one dominates the other. The pairings are
to be strictly divorced from positions in other social networks and thus from
institutional position. The outcomes of pairings are to be arrayed to permit
inference of a transitive ordering from the outcomes. A perfect, or near per-
fect, dominance ordering is one in which if one actor dominates a second
who dominates some third, then the first also dominates the third in direct
paired encounter. Call this a tournament: it defines a transitive order. Exam-
ples from casual observation come to mind, such as among children on the
playground.
(White, 2008, p. 109)
Tournaments are an apt example of low ambage and high ambiguity

situations as they correspond primarily to arena situations. Procedures
are known and accepted by participants, but when the outcome is
known (for example, when a team wins), one can always argue about
the meaning of the victory (for example, one can consider that the los-
ing team was better, but unlucky, or that the winning team cheated).
The same can be observed for fashion, to a lesser extent, a moderately
high ambiguity concerning the rules guiding the emergence of a
trend, and the meaning of this trend, but a moderately low ambage
because identities are guided by the choices of other identities in their

choice of clothing items.
From a strategic point of view, consequences are that in a low
ambage/high ambiguity situation, strategic options are limited in
terms of the creation of new ties or the way a role is performed. How-
ever, meanings can be manipulated. Conversely, in high ambage/low
ambiguity situation, identities can create ties and perform their roles
with more autonomy, but the procedures and rules of the game are
well known and are hard to play with.
Expanding the Two-Way Interplay between Ambage

and Ambiguity: Contingency
Contingency can come from the biophysical environment, but also
from any social environment, the point being that it also com-
prises external factors while both ambage and ambiguity are inter-
nal to a given system of relations and meanings, what has been
called a “network-domain” or “netdom” (Corona and Godart, 2010;
Godart and White, 2010; Grabher, 2006). Measurement strategies for
contingency are undertaken by participants themselves and involve
survival analysis, that is, the expectation of continued existence of
a certain actor. Vacancy chains are another way to account for
contingency (White, 1970) from a second-order level of observa-
tion, measuring the opportunity structures characterizing a system.
Figure 6.2 shows the three “faces” of uncertainty defined in this
chapter, and plots the different examples presented—liminality, per-
son, tournament, and fashion—in order to illustrate the interplay
between the three forms of uncertainty and the ambage/ambiguity
trade-off:
The trade-off between ambage and ambiguity can therefore be
explained through the dynamics of ties and meanings, on the one
hand, and of roles and rules on the other hand. Identities have more
opportunities for creating ties when meanings are clear and more free-
dom of enacting roles when rules are stable, and vice-versa. Both tour-
nament and liminality are low in contingency because they are, at least
partially, disconnected from their environment. This fact is supported
by the fleeting character of these events. In a tournament, while
failure rates are quite high, their distribution and modality are well
known and defined by clear rules. In liminality, because anyone can be
anything, expectations for survival are suspended to a large extent.
However, “persons,” for example, can face different levels of
contingency, depending on the historical and cultural context. For
Contingency
High
Person,
“modern”
Medium
Fashion
Low Medium High

Ambage
Medium
Person, Liminality
“traditional”
High
Ambiguity Tournament
Figure 6.2 The interplay between ambage, ambiguity, and contingency
example, a sixteenth century miller in Italy (Ginzburg, 1980) occupies

a very clear position in a villagers’ community, and even geograph-
ically within a village, at the crossroads leading into and out of the
village, not far from the lord’s castle. Persons in this type of con-
text (call it “traditional” for example) are embedded in relatively clear
social networks and face a low contingency with respect to social and
geographic mobility. What the story of Menocchio (the sixteenth-
century miller studied by Ginzburg) shows is that the emergence of
modernity—in this case the rise of Protestantism—increases the level
of contingency faced by persons, and forces them to redefine what
they are by decoupling them from traditional bonds. Again, contin-
gency is understood in this case with respect to mobility through the
redefinition of social roles imposed by Protestantism—think about
the role of priests as redefined by Protestant denominations—and
the redefinition of religious and political boundaries in medieval
Europe.
Fashion offers a case of medium contingency. While the “fog
of fashion” (White et al., 2007, p. 194) implies that fashion
houses reinvent their brand twice a year, they do not operate in a
completely decoupled environment, and the existence of a lasting
brand identity—accumulated over past seasons—guide them in their
stylistic choices.
Suspension of Trade-Off
In some social contexts, the trade-off between ambage and ambiguity
does not necessarily hold. The conceptual doublet ambage/ambiguity
can be interpreted as cross-cutting the two concepts of “public” and
“level.” For example, when new publics—defined as “interstitial social
spaces that ease transitions between more specialized sets of socio-
cultural relations” (Mische and White, 1998, p. 696)—are generated,
both ambiguity and ambage are high because new relations and roles
as well as new meanings and rules are defined. Similarly, the genera-
tion of a new level of action creates a situation where both ambage
and ambiguity are high because of the generation of new relations,
roles, meanings, and rules. One could conjecture that once the transi-
tion to a new public or level is settled, both uncertainties remain low
for a while before the trade-off mechanisms reappear. One could also
conjecture that a situation of high ambage and high ambiguity is not
sustainable for identities and is therefore transitory, similar to what
happens in markets where high upstream and downstream uncertain-
ties cannot coexist over the long run (White, 2002). This is because
too much uncertainty can prevent players from acting, and some social
stability is necessary for human action to exist (Milner, 1994).
In order to understand how high ambage and high ambiguity can
coexist under some circumstances, consider for example the changes
of local elite political action in England in the sixteenth century
(Bearman, 1993). Until the 1570s, the local status of the gentry
depended on its capacity to mobilize kinship into alliances to achieve
control over the administration of local parishes as well as influence on
decisions of the magistracy (local justices of peace). At the local level,
the introduction of new significant actors and institutions—connected
to the reorganization of the militia and the introduction of a new life-
long lieutenancy system—as well as the intrusion of the crown into
local affairs via subcontracting of patents, led to the deterioration
of local kinship-based mobilization networks as a base for effective
political action of the local gentry. Power and the opportunities for
careers—office holding, law careers and commerce (Bearman, 1993,
p. 59)—were increasingly distributed in networks connected to the
national level, which consequently prompted local gentry to generate
outside ties, leading to increased ambage. The disarticulation of the
local networks led to the malfunctioning of established institutions.
“Over time, the role of the magistracy shifted from an institution
which organized—through tangible administration—the patterns of
alliance and opposition among elites to a forum for the expression of
the relative prestige of factionally organized patronage-clientage net-

works. These were formed and sustained on the basis of social ties
which transcended the localist framework of quarter-sessional rule”
(Bearman, 1993, p. 103).
This situation demanded a reconfiguration of reliable network ties,
upon which local gentry could draw in its pursuit of control. It is
Bearman’s thesis that the rise of new abstract ideologies, the law and
Puritanism, increased ambiguity by challenging preexisting meanings
and provided the ground for embedding actors in new mobilization
networks that connected the local to the national level (the court)
and thereby served as a means for local actors to reestablish control in
local networks. The new emerging cleavages among different patron-
age clientage networks were an important basis for the alliances active
in the ensuing Civil War. From this historical example, a major turn-
ing point toward modernity, it appears that high ambage and high
ambiguity can coexist in periods of transition.
Discussion and Conclusion

In sum, identities seeking footing generate strategies that are deployed
in disciplines. These strategies take into account, and are impacted by
three types of uncertainty—ambage (about the fulfillment of social
expectations and roles), ambiguity (about the meaning of actions and
rules), and contingency (about survival in the current state stemming
from the environment, social or biophysical). Every change in uncer-
tainty in a context of discipline generates a bifurcation or a turning
point, a change in the space of possibles.
The three types of uncertainty can be found in each disci-
pline, but each discipline is characterized by a prominent type of
uncertainty—arena by ambiguity, council by ambage, and interface
by contingency. These second-order constructs help disentangle the
impact of uncertainty on identities and social formations. Ideal-typical
ambage/ambiguity trade-off situations highlighted should not over-
shadow the fact that many situations are characterized by moderate
levels of these two types of uncertainty, and some situations are char-
acterized by high or low levels of both. Identities trying to cope
with uncertainty thus can gain some control over their environment
by integrating the dynamics of social relations and meanings in their
gamings. This control, however, is never total.
By distinguishing three types of uncertainty, and relating them
to the dynamics of two relational constructs—social networks and
networks of meanings—we have sought to make uncertainty, a key
concept in social science research, relevant for the relational paradigm.

We argue that these different types of uncertainty structure social net-
work dynamics, as well as the networks of meanings maintained in
them, and are in turn structured by them. Understanding and mea-
suring the different forms of uncertainty can be a very productive path
for a relational perspective on social phenomena because it can help
disentangle different levels of network analysis and shed light on their
dynamics.
Further conceptual and empirical developments are nonetheless
necessary to fully come to terms with this perspective since the devel-
opments presented here are to a certain extent exploratory. Several
main lines of research seem promising. First, the different forms of
uncertainty can be further and better articulated. For example, are
there several types of contingency, one that would be related to the
biophysical environment, and the other to social factors? Second,
qualitative cases can be explored in order to illustrate the relation-
ship between the different types of uncertainty, their trade-offs or lack
thereof. Third, quantitative research can help test trade-off hypotheses
in concrete settings. This leads to a fourth point about the importance
to fine-tune measurement suggestions made in this chapter. A com-
plete model of the different types of uncertainty is required to fully
benefit from its contribution to the relational paradigm.
Notes
1. This is a translation, revision, and extension of a book chapter written
in 2010, in French, by White, Godart, and Thiemann (2010).
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Chapter 7
R e l at i o n a l P o w e r f r o m
S w i tc h i n g ac ro s s N e t d o m s
through Reflexive and
I n d e x i c a l L a n g uag e 1
Jorge Fontdevila and Harrison C. White
Introduction
We argue from a relational perspective that the reflexive and
indexical dimensions of language are critical to understand “relations”
formation in contemporary life. These dimensions are fundamen-
tal in the production of meaning ambiguity characteristic of social
relations in highly differentiated and post-industrial orders. More-
over, as we show below, we also argue that language’s reflexive and
indexical dimensions—far from producing consensual achievements—
are unequally deployed and circulate unevenly among networks of
relations, leading to various types of control and power mechanisms.
In developing our arguments we assume a relational ontology that,
contrary to functional holism or agential individualism, recognizes
that in social life “there is no tidy atom and no embracing world,
only complex striations, long strings reptating as in a polymer goo,
or in a mineral before it hardens” (White, 1992, p. 4). In this line,
we follow an “epistemology of middling level, in between individual-
ism and cultural holism” (Ibid., p. xii) that incorporates emergence,
non-linearity, and stochastic process.
156 Jo rg e Fo n t d ev i l a a n d H a r r i s o n C . Wh i t e
Although we agree that “in the beginning there is the relation”

(Donati, 2011, p. 17), we critically move beyond the dyadic relation—
as reductionist as atomism—and look for relational ensembles of
rapidly polymerizing networks of relations. Instead of focusing on
how isolated dyads resolve their double contingency, we empha-
size how navigating social life entails reflexive juggling of sets of
expectations across the multiple contingency of shifting relational con-
figurations, including networks’ relentless couplings and decouplings
(e.g., second-order observations of rapidly changing network times
and shapes, multiple actors taking into account tie expectations and
positions that are several indirect nodes removed from their direct
relationships, and located in different subsystems).
Moreover, like the importance of DNA’s spatial arrangements
in complex gene trans-regulation, or proteins’ three-dimensional
molecular shapes in the cell’s metabolism, we contend that social
shapes and meanings emerging from multiple relational bonds are
more significant than the single molecular bond. Thus we contend
that emergent topologies among sets of human relations config-
ure “reflexive” structures that are highly consequential for social
action. In this line, “different patterns of connection generate differ-
ent opportunities, constraints and dynamics for those connected in
them” (Crossley, 2010, p. 14).
Some of these relational patterns may partly congeal into resilient
mechanisms or feedback processes (positive or negative) that create
emergent systems of control among relations (e.g., semiotic or mate-
rial path dependencies, technological/arms races, poverty traps, social
dilemmas). In this chapter we explore three types of control mech-
anisms in connection with language’s unique reflexive and indexical
dimensions, including (1) metapragmatics in stories, (2) heteroglossia
in rhetorics, and (3) poetics in styles. As we show below, the rela-
tional implication of our analysis is that these reflexive and indexical
dimensions are not simply meaning-building devices for relation
reproduction but key to the redundant viability of complex and
reflexive network structures and organizations, especially in phase
transitions across rapid polymerizations. We contend that ambiguity
of indexical meaning among relations is coterminous with complex
adaptive networks.
Language, Meaning, and Control

In highly differentiated societies with far-reaching yet fragmented
social networks, such as post-industrial societies, the ability to
R e l at i o n a l P o w e r 157
manage and sustain pervasive ambiguity in everyday life relations is

crucial to navigate domination orders. Identities—from individuals to
organizations—struggle to reflexively control decoupling and contra-
dictory demands through switchings across entangled social networks
and interpretive domains (hereafter netdoms).2 At times strong inter-
actional footings may emerge through successful albeit temporary
juggling of disjointed framings across netdom switchings.
Moreover, to manage mounting ambiguity and contradiction
across rapidly polymerizing netdoms, skillful innuendo and indirect
language are used. Thus increasing netdom complexities in contempo-
rary societies proceed along ever more virtuoso meta-communicative
performances that can reframe volatile and unpredictable mutual
expectations among relations (e.g., workplaces with downsizing risks,
job markets following fickle trends, gender relation uncertainties,
fast-paced multicultural daily interactions). We in the twenty first
century inhabit social worlds that are sustained by fleeting arts of
phenomenological epoché in connection with rapidly shifting netdom
configurations.
We argue that language in this sense is unique because of its
reflexive capacity. It is used to talk about itself and describe its own
structure and uses, to report either directly or indirectly earlier utter-
ances of other speakers, to indicate shifting speakers’ roles, and to
reflexively label the mutable existence of conventionalized entities
by the use of so-called proper names. In all such instances, through
its pervasive reflexivity, language itself serves as a guide for speakers
in relations to meaningfully interpret and (re)frame their linguistic
utterances.
Language is also used to index, for instance, aspects of context
or narrative events that take place among relations. A significant
turning point in the understanding of reflexive framing and con-
text in language use came about when Peirce (1931) foregrounded
the indexical dimension of the linguistic sign. Linguistic indexes in
contrast to referential symbols are signs or aspects of signs that do not
represent but point to the world in order to create or reproduce the
social contexts in which they are uttered.
We argue in this chapter that identities, to enhance their relational
control in the face of shifting netdom demands and rapid decou-
plings, contextualize and manage growing ambiguity and contradic-
tion through language’s reflexive and indexical features.3 Meaning,
rather than residing in semantics, emerges reflexively between gram-
mars and participants’ interactional hard work at indexically framing
ongoing speech situations. Meaning in language is an interactional
accomplishment of identities seeking relational control and thereby,

we will argue, inducing and reproducing patterns of power.
Indexes
From spatial or temporal locatives (e.g., this, that, now), personal
pronouns (e.g., I, you, they), and verb tenses, to code-switching,
switching professional registers, humor styles, voice tones, and so on,
indexes anchor the linguistic code in real contexts of use, rendering
language fully operational in communicative practice. According to
Silverstein (1976), indexes can be classified along a continuum defined
by two analytical dimensions. On one dimension indexes can be placed
according to whether they carry more or less traces of referential or
semantic content. For example, with respect to the indexical locatives
“this” and “that” there is a sense by which they carry some rudi-
mentary semantic content about proximal versus distal relationships to
the world despite their “shifting” meanings across different pragmatic
contexts. On the other dimension, indexes can be classified according
to the degree to which their pragmatic use presupposes (reflects) or
performs (creates) the extra-linguistic context that is being signaled
out. Thus, when several coworkers explain to each other a job-related
task using slang or informal language and then suddenly revert back
to technical language because they realize their boss is within earshot,
their switching registers reflects or presupposes institutionalized work-
place relations via the indexing of the appropriate technical register.
However, note that if some coworkers were to continue using an
informal register before their boss, new creative realignments and
authority challenges could arise in need of further negotiation among
all hierarchies involved.4
Indexes not only presuppose or reflect the social context of rela-
tions but can also create the very nature of the social relationships
involved in the interaction. For example, by switching from last-
to first-name basis when addressing an acquaintance, an individual
can create a new context of familiarity likely to bring about fresh
realignments in a relationship. Many languages, like Javanese, include
complex deference and status indexes that can signal or create sta-
tus differences on the spot by stylistic switches of distinctive lexical
choices and grammatical variations (Geertz, 1960; Uhlenbeck, 1970;
Irvine, 1985). In short, indexes are more or less codified linguistic
elements or strategies that lay out the contextual parameters in which
extra-linguistic interactions take place, signaling or constituting the
very nature of the social relationships involved (Fontdevila, 2010).
Reflexive Indexicality
In the wake of Peirce’s intellectual breakthrough, other traditions
have also explored the indexical capacity of language to create
and frame social context among relations: from metalingual or
metapragmatic functions of discourse (Jakobson, 1960; Volosinov,
1973; Bakhtin, 1981; Silverstein, 1976, 1993), metacommunication
(Bateson, 1985; Goffman, 1974, 1981; Gumperz, 1982, 1992a;
Hymes, 1964, 1972), to phenomenological accounting of social
interaction (Schutz, 1970; Garfinkel, 1967; Sacks, Schegloff and
Jefferson, 1974; Cicourel, 1985), a plethora of analytical tools have
been developed—indexicality, footing, frame, contextualization cues,
discourse strategies and markers, reported speech, voicing, performa-
tivity, narrative and narrated events, dialogical, heteroglossia, poetic
function, ethnopoetics, embedding, participation frameworks, audi-
ence, principal, originator, and primary and secondary publics. These
tools emphasize the reflexive capacity of participants in linguistic inter-
action to point to (index) multiple layers of contextual cues, either
intentionally or unintentionally, that create or reproduce nested inter-
pretative framings for mutual understanding. We next elaborate on
several of these reflexive tools, before turning specifically to patterns
of relational power.
Metapragmatics
Reflexive activities occur continuously in interaction to index and
structure ongoing linguistic practice and meaning. Silverstein (1976),
drawing on Jakobson’s insights on the ubiquitous metalingual func-
tion of language (i.e., language about language, about the linguistic
code), claims that most of the reflexive capacities of language are
essentially metapragmatic; that is, most meta-linguistic activities are
not about semantic understanding but primarily about the pragmatic
use of language in interaction. In this sense, those parts of a meta-
language that deal with semantics—metasemantic claims about propo-
sitional truth, glossing, and cross-language translation—are simply
a special subcase of the more general and pervasive metapragmatic
function of language.
Some explicit examples where the metapragmatic function of lan-
guage becomes indexically articulated by speakers in a relation are:
“don’t you dare use that tone with me!!,” “Oh, don’t call me Sir,
you can call me by my first name,” “I was careful to use polite lan-
guage to avoid any extra tensions,” or “my guest overdid it when
he said: ‘Could you pass me the salt, please? That would be abso-
lutely awesome!’ ” Note that when language is used to talk about
language, it is also used to negotiate or re-define the relative inter-
actional footings of all speakers involved in a participation framework.
Thus, relations can be re-defined by forcing ourselves metapragmat-
ically on a hearer via uttering a direct imperative (e.g., I repeat:
“CLOSE the window!!”), or by indexing via indirect speech the meta-
communicative message that we respect the hearer’s autonomy to act
otherwise (e.g., It’s kind of chilly in here, is that window broken by
any chance?). With variable levels of conscious awareness, language
is always used metapragmatically, that is reflexively, to cultivate or
change the nature of our social ties.
Moreover, when some speakers in a relation depart from tacitly
agreed ways of using a language (e.g., departures of formal regis-
ter during a corporate deal), others may index their upset through
a “metapragmatic attack” (e.g., “Let’s keep it professional and leave
the jokes for later!”) to reset the emergent nature of their established
relation (Jacquemet, 1994, 1996, for metapragmatic attacks). In sum,
speakers do not passively decode their ongoing utterances against a
backdrop of culturally reified contexts but instead use their own face-
to-face linguistic interactions as metapragmatic indexes to organize
and create their shifting interpretive contexts. Speakers reproduce or
change the emergent nature of their mutual relations through skillful
use of metapragmatic indexes.5
Heteroglossia
An important body of research dealing with the actual processes that
take place when language is used reflexively to talk about itself comes
from the Bakhtin tradition of literary studies. After the Russian Revo-
lution of 1917, the Bakhtin circle (Bakhtin, 1986, 1981, 1983, 1984;
Volosinov, 1973), drawing on the “early” Marx of the philosophy
of praxis, launched a definitive critique of the Saussurean notion of
language as an abstract semiotic system removed from social prac-
tice. According to Volosinov, “language acquires life and historically
evolves . . . in concrete verbal communication, and not in the abstract
linguistic system of language forms, nor in the individual psyche of
speakers” (1973, p. 95). This Russian school strongly opposed the
“isolated monologic utterance” and its passive reception, and instead
put forth the idea that linguistic utterances are organized dialogi-
cally. By dialogical, these scholars meant that language, far from being
an abstract and self-contained medium, is typically embedded in an
intricate social matrix where the production of any single utterance

is already a juxtaposition of multiple “voices” or different points of
view drawn from, and invoking, different and alternative culturally
and socially lived spheres. This heterogeneous voicing or heteroglossia
is expressed through a speaker’s utterance by the interpenetration of
several social “consciousness,” none of which objectifies each other
but rather co-exist in a kind of rich heteroglossic dialogue (Bakhtin,
1981, 1984).6
Moreover, a constitutive characteristic of all utterances is that they
anticipate the active, rather than passive, understanding of someone
else. In other words, utterances have a certain relational addressiv-
ity built into them. The addressee can be a concrete participant or
any abstract audience, including the un-concretized “self-other” of
an internal conversation. According to Bakhtin, “both the compo-
sition and, in particular, the style of the utterance depend on those
to whom the utterance is addressed, how the speaker senses and
imagines his addressees, and the force of their effect on the utter-
ance. Each speech genre in each area of speech communication has
its own typical conception of the addressee, and this defines it as a
genre” (Bakhtin, 1986, p. 95). In other words, it is the speaker’s
orientation toward different classes of addressees or audiences that
shapes and defines utterances as token expressions of various styles
or genres of speech. Thus, both the complete sentence and the lexi-
con as linguistic units of thought lack real communicative expression
per se, since only the utterance form is constituted with the practical
understanding of the other(s) in the horizon and hence can elicit an
active communicative response. In short, for the Bakhtin school the
utterance is the actual unit of speech communication, capable of coor-
dinating the addresser and addressee in order to accomplish the tasks
of social life.
For this Russian literary tradition, grammar and stylistics, though
analytically distinct, cannot be mechanically reduced to each other
and ought to be “organically” combined in their study. In this view,
any grammatical choice is ultimately a stylistic act. And any stylistic
act, in turn, is influenced or regulated by the repertoire of patterns
that have assumed grammatical shape and function in the language
over different periods of time. In other words, change in language
occurs always at the boundaries between grammar and stylistics.
Boundaries that are fluid and ambiguous “because of the very mode
of existence of language, in which, simultaneously, some forms are
undergoing grammaticalization while others are undergoing degram-
maticalization” in the selective choice of particular styles and genres
appropriate to the social situation (Volosinov, 1973, p. 126). Only

by analyzing the utterance as an expressive form of typified speech
genre varieties that converge and diverge in their grammars and styles
according to the pragmatics of social life can the whole of the language
phenomenon be understood.
A significant topic of inquiry pursued by the Bakhtin circle has been
the area of reported speech in conversational and literary discourse and
the reflexive potential that exists in framing events and voices when
an utterance becomes embedded within another utterance (Volosinov,
1973). All languages have verbs of speaking (verbum dicendi), such as
“she said . . . ,” or “he asked . . . ,” among others, which can be used
metapragmatically to frame and report other speech events occurring
in different times and places. Two prototypical styles of reporting,
direct and indirect quotation, can be manipulated in order to achieve
a variety of social ends. On the one hand, direct quotation (e.g., “he
said: ‘I am tired of your attitude!’ ”) is indexically anchored to the
reported event and has no grammatical relationship to the reporting
event—the agent or the time of the reported event is different from
the reporter or reporting event. On the other hand, indirect quotation
(e.g., “he said that he disliked his attitude”) is indexically anchored in
the reporting event and hence the reported speech must be formally
related to the reporting event by grammatical rules of concordance.
Though the subtleties of these reflexive linguistic devices cannot be
explored here, suffice it to say that direct quotation can be used to
convey vivid and authoritative objectivity to the reported speech event
by diffusing agential responsibility of the reporter, whereas indirect
quotation can eliminate aspects of the original event that the reporter
does not want to emphasize. Put another way, by skillful alternation of
direct and indirect speech forms, the reporter’s voice can “infiltrate or
manipulate” the voice or point of view of the reported speech event.7
The Poetic Function

The legacy of the Bakhtin school, with its emphasis on reflexive
and indexical devices such as reported speech, is evident in a body
of research known as performance-based studies and ethnopoetics
(Bauman and Briggs, 1990; Bauman, 1982, 1989; Briggs, 1988; Fine,
1984; Limon and Young, 1986; Stoeltje and Bauman, 1988). These
studies take seriously Jakobson’s insights on the poetic function of
language as also being pervasive in everyday talk. While the metalin-
gual function (see above) treats the linguistic code as its own referent,
the poetic function manipulates the formal features of the code to

call attention to its own stylistic organization and aesthetically persua-
sive possibilities. For example, in ordinary language we say “innocent
bystander” rather than “uninvolved onlooker” because its rhythmic
pattern is more aesthetically pleasing (Fiske, 1990, p. 36). For these
schools, the enactment of the poetic function during a linguistic
performance, far from epiphenomenal and derivative, is a highly reflex-
ive mode of communication among relations that is constitutive of
what makes ordinary language functional in social life. According to
Bauman and Briggs, “performance is seen as a specially marked, art-
ful way of speaking that sets up or represents a special interpretive
frame within which the act of speaking is to be understood” (1990,
p. 73). They mention that this interpretive frame includes cues, man-
nerisms, or subtle “keys” that mark shiftings in performances, such
as voice modulation, posture, gesture, side remarks, and also the
dynamic interaction that takes place between performers and audi-
ences, among other things. Moreover, through creative poetic play
of figurative and metaphorical speech, quotation, proverbs, riddles,
jokes, rhymes, insults, greetings, gossip, innuendo, irony, and various
oratorical and rhetorical genres, as well as many other formal features
of ordinary conversation, utterances can reframe the meaningful con-
text of a social relation, and signal meta-messages that may be quite
tangential to the utterance’s actual referential content.
Relational Power across Netdom Switchings

We argue that the use of reflexive and indexical devices during inter-
action is seldom an innocent performance to build consensus in the
reproduction of social orders. On the contrary, the reflexive and
indexical capacities of language are typically asymmetrical and inher-
ently implicated in relations of domination and conflict. Whether rel-
atively captured by the analytical tools of hegemony (Gramsci, 1971),
oppositional cultures (Williams, 1977), discursive power (Foucault,
1978, 1980), or linguistic capitals (Bourdieu, 1977, 1991), indexical
and reflexive phenomena are never universally available to all members
of society and are produced, circulated, and accumulated unequally in
a “political economy” of linguistic exchanges.8 Like Bourdieu, who
claims that power lies at the center of social life, we also see domina-
tion as “the root process in what is specifically social” (White, 1995a,
p. 10; 1995b, 1995c).
Grammaticalization
Language—which is always a discourse of various genres, sublan-
guages, styles, and registers—is laden at all scales with struggles for
domination and identity. Against developmental theories of grammar
as co-textual and semantic “routinization” (Hopper and Traugott,
1993), we see grammaticalization in language as the cumulative traces
over time of radical historical discontinuities and struggles for iden-
tity and control among netdoms, and see grammatical rules as the
historical expression of these cumulative patterns that in turn shape
further options of netdom switching variabilities.9 Thus, grammars
build around a limited set of referential and indexical items, a semi-
closed class of surface categories of deixis (e.g., he, that, now, here),
verb forms, syntax orders, conjunctions, pronouns, and relativizers,
etc., that more than the open classes of lexicons and vocabularies
express the historical struggles over discourses (control) and styles
(identity) that eventually become congealed in a language.
Put another way, grammar is routinization, but by domination
rather than innocent habituation, over choices of switchings among
unequal social networks and interpretive domains. In this respect,
we call on the insights of the sociolinguistics of pidgins and creoles
as models for localized grammaticalization processes intrinsically
embedded in relations of domination, and adapt them to any prag-
matic situation where actors, fluent in different sublanguages and
indexical subsystems, are forced to interact in a common lingua
franca—thus not only trade posts and plantations, but multi-ethnic
job places in any modern organization traversed by global networks
of transactions and peoples as well. In other words, it is important to
understand how grammaticalization, for example of social deixis in the
modern corporation, results from multiple nested levels of registers
and linguistic capitals that interact through various domination inter-
faces and netdom switchings of transposed “lexifier acrolects,” various
in-between “mesolects,” and foundational “basilects” (Hymes, 1971;
Sankoff and Brown, 1976; Sankoff, 1980; Holm, 1988; Fasold, 1990;
Bailey and Maynor, 1987).
Netdom Switchings
Far from egalitarian and universal patternings, switches among
netdoms are seized and shaped differently according to social position-
ings in struggles over semiotic and material control. We argue that to
become fully operational, the reflexive notions of multiple voicing or
“genre” heteroglossia a la Bakhtin need to be radically embedded not

in multiple layers of phenomenological and creative “blendings” but
rather in tangible and reflexive network “switchings.” In this we follow
Halliday’s vision that speech registers and meanings originate from
switchings among sets of alternative options inextricably linked to
social activities and functional settings (Halliday, 1973, 1976, 1978,
1985; Dejoia and Stenton, 1980; Swales, 1990). We will go on to
assert that the reflexivity (switching) of language is essentially about
managing ambiguity. But ambiguity should not be removed method-
ologically as measurement error but should become fully integrated
into the analytical model via appropriate functions and parameters.
When observed in successive snapshots, netdom switchings appear
like “zaps” between TV channels or “Schutzian shocks” in phe-
nomenological jargon (Schutz, 1970). In this sense, we agree with
Silverstein (1976, 1993) that most of what we experience as orderly
discourse would be chaotic if it were not for continuous reflexive and
meta-discursive hard work. However, contrary to Silverstein’s “hero-
ics of indexicality” apparently replicated in every face-to-face situation,
we maintain that phenomenological repair and metapragmatic work
need not be in “myopic messiness of dyads” but rather channeled by
broader social impositions, such as disciplines and control regimes,
and other spatiotemporal patterns.
Thus, language is always discursively inter-animated by both social
networks and domains, and its characteristic reflexivity is attained
through myriad switchings that offer opportunity as well as constraint,
and are as indexical as they are localized in social space and domina-
tion. Together networks and domains merge in a type of tie, delivering
a set of stories and a characteristic sense of lived temporality. Switches
in talk between different domains are at the same time switches in
which particular social relations and respective stories of different
sorts are being activated and deactivated. Language thus originates
in reflexive transitions between domains that are bound up necessarily
with transitions among hierarchical networks.
In short, the metapragmatics of netdom switches is a profoundly
social rather than cognitive activity—dyadic interaction or face-to-
face interaction still being a euphemism for the cognitive. Thus,
first comes the social with specializations of “work” and “rank”
(primordial “speech registers”), and only after enough power and
complexity develops can a variety of speech forms sustain indexicality
through switchings. Note that we are moving here beyond the
debates that try to explain the referential from the indexical func-
tion of language (semantics from pragmatics) since we take it one step
further and explain the indexical from the relational via differentiated
switchings (pragmatics from social scope and network): “networks
and domains in their interpenetration as network-domains allow one
to locate social chains and waves of interpretive consequence, to
which dyadic analysis—or purely cultural and cognitive interpreta-
tion, or purely social network connectivity—is blind” (White, 1995b,
p. 8). And to trace such “interpretive resonances at various removes”
requires characterizing spatiotemporal patterns of domination and
other polymerizing constellations among netdoms.
Managing Ambiguity
Identities—individual or collective—emerge from persistent efforts to
seek control in their turbulent and uncertain surroundings (White,
2008; White, Godart and Corona, 2007; Godart and White, 2010).10
In their struggles for control, some identities attain more robust
and lasting netdom positionings through social footings that must
be reflexive. Thus ongoing reflexivity is critical to sustain and man-
age ambiguity so that identities can quickly anticipate and re-frame
switches through rapidly polymerizing and decoupling netdoms.
Emerging and robust footings from a set of related identities shape
in turn netdom landscapes for other identities in their struggles for
control.
Viable identities produce reflexive accounts and stories about their
netdom ties and cliques that remain indexically open to ever changing
contingencies and participation frameworks. In fact, we contend, con-
tra Luhmann, that navigating uncertainty in social life is not so much
about stabilizing expectations of isolated dyads to resolve their double
contingency but rather about skillful and open juggling of expectation
sets across the multiple contingency of shifting netdom configurations
(White, 2007). In light of the significance of reflexive language in
controlling and managing ambiguity, we discern three emergent phe-
nomena among netdoms that are constitutive of identities—stories,
rhetorics, and styles.
Stories through Metapragmatic Control

In their struggle to secure social footing, identities reconfigure
netdoms by establishing or breaking ties with other identities. In the
process they spark meanings that “coalesce into stories” (Godart and
White, 2010, p. 572). Stories relate meanings and events into reflexive
and transposable patterns. Social relations generate identities that are
typically expressed and interpreted through stories. Stories deliver a

characteristic sense of continuity and lived temporality to relationship
ties, which otherwise would switch on and off in everyday disjointed
snapshots. Moreover, stories can be organized in story-lines that pro-
vide identities with more or less coherent ex post accounts of lived
turbulences and discontinuities. A story-line is like “a résumé, a post-
rationalization of a necessarily chaotic social trajectory” (Godart and
White, 2010, p. 577).
We contend that the stories and story-lines that circulate across
netdoms and that construe identities, ties, and network cliques are
seldom symmetrically co-produced by all the speakers of a partic-
ipation framework. Thus, speakers with stronger and durable foot-
ings in institutional settings have more metapragmatic influence and
heteroglossic control in the Bakhtinian sense to frame the stories that
capture their interactions. They are the ones who have a stronger
“voice” in the messy co-production of stories. They manage defini-
tions of situations through greater metapragmatic leverage and invoke
speech genres and reported voicings, interactional times and ambigu-
ities, which asymmetrically shape their emerging stories. Moreover,
speakers with stronger metapragmatic footings have the power to
indexically “entextualize” circulating stories and “close” or “open”
their meanings to interpretive ambiguity.11 In this sense, who (and
how and when) has the power to rewrite stories, tell and retell
them, transpose their reflexive indexicalities to new contexts, etc. bears
centrally on the social construction of authority.12
For example, gatekeepers at different levels of organizational struc-
tures who control access to opportunities and resources (e.g., hiring or
promotion committees, supervisors, professors, social workers, health
professionals, judges) are likely to impose their contextualization cues
and metapragmatic rules in their face-to-face interactions. They will
set the broad indexical boundaries of the participation framework
within which interaction is normatively acceptable, including the right
amount and timing for genre switches (e.g., a joke, a humoristic side
remark, the telling of an anecdote or proverb), the appropriate tone
and prosody, ritual conventions for speakers’ turn-takings and silences,
politeness formulae and deference, among others (Gumperz, Jupp and
Roberts, 1979; Gumperz, 1992b for “crosstalk” among multieth-
nic indexicalities). Moreover, despite the existence of formal criteria
(e.g., official job descriptions, labor contracts) to access opportunity
in an organization, gatekeepers typically concoct stories and story-
lines after their face-to-face interactions that heavily include their own
heteroglossic voicings, direct or indirect reportings, metapragmatic
upsets and attacks, idiosyncratic addressivities, various framings, and

ex post rationalizations as to why actors deserve or not deserve access
to such opportunities.
Thus in connection with stories and metapragmatic control,
we formulate the following two hypotheses under ceteris paribus
conditions:
HYPOTHESIS 1: The more control identities have over opportu-

nities and resources across netdoms, the more likely they are to
exert metapragmatic and reflexive control over the co-production
of stories that construe the relational ties of their participation
frameworks.
HYPOTHESIS 2: The more metapragmatic and indexical control
identities exert in managing interactional ambiguity within their
participation frameworks, the more likely they are to increase their
control over opportunities and resources across netdoms.
Note that metapragmatic and indexical control involves, among

other things, the know-how to keep a conversational tie ongoing
through the competent use of micro-rituals, tact, and other impres-
sion repair practices, including when to uphold or reduce indirectness
and ambiguity so as to negotiate a sustainable “working consensus”
(Goffman, 1959, 1967, 1971). In this light, we argue that identities
with exceptional metapragmatic framing capacities acquired in myriad
netdom switchings can also secure opportunities and resources across
netdoms.13
Rhetorics through Heteroglossic Voicing

Rhetorics are folk theories or commonsense understandings that are
jointly held and shared by identities interacting in connected netdoms
as institutions. Stories draw on background rhetorics to express and
construe their relational ties. In turn, rhetorics “play out through
stories” (Mohr and White, 2008; Godart and White, 2010, p. 580).
A rhetoric demarcates a broad interpretive context that becomes “an
important building block of an institutional system” (White, 2008,
p. 177). In this sense, “rhetorics make institutions explicit in cul-
tural contexts” (Godart and White, 2010, p. 580). Thus, for example,
marriage as an institution is sustained by a rhetoric of committed rela-
tions between two consenting adults of any gender in some netdoms,
whereas in many others it is sustained by a rhetoric of an exclusive
bond between a man and a woman. Rhetorics guide identities across
netdom switches by appealing to broader meanings that simplify the

messiness of social life, and as the above example about marriage
implies, are also rife with “dominations and exclusions” (White, 2008,
p. 177; Mohr and White, 2008).
In this connection, we argue that rhetorics can be mobilized and
deployed unequally to get selective action and stories across netdoms.
For instance, identities that broker transactions between two or more
separate netdoms that are sustained by different rhetorics may gain a
competitive edge by learning how to navigate back and forth between
those rhetorics, including the production of “hybrid” rhetorics (e.g.,
a tertius gaudens, a religious missionary who is bilingual and ben-
efits from land mediations between a local chief and a government
official, the administrative coordinator of a firm who selectively filters
stories based on conflicting rhetorics between staff and management).
Moreover, netdoms that include a critical number of structural holes
(Burt, 1995) can incorporate multiple rhetorics through exposure to
heterogeneous voicings and addressivities linked to separate and non-
redundant ties.14 Heteroglossic rhetorics that draw from a multiplicity
of unrelated netdoms and incorporate different points of view enable
identities to frame ambiguity in the face of netdom decouplings and
change.
In this line, the existence of complex hybrid rhetorics or simply
a “repertoire” of rhetorics can give identities the capacity to frame
netdom ambiguity and avoid indexically closing meaning to a reduced
set of contexts. Only those identities that keep rhetorics reflexively
open to other rhetorics can quickly reframe and secure durable foot-
ings in changing netdom landscapes; those who rigidly enclose their
rhetorics in unreflective boundaries may eventually find themselves in
netdom peripheries without any footing.
Furthermore, identities—individual or collective—with robust and
durable footings are typically connected to a wide range of diversi-
fied ties and netdoms, “much like a multi-legged table on a dais”
(White, 2007, p. 5; Bothner, Smith and White, 2010). Often they
are at the intersection of a number of traversing core netdoms but
also supported by the peripheries of many others. Moreover, they
may observe distant cores as well. We argue that identities with
robust and durable footings that are spread among diversified and
non-redundant netdoms and netdom levels have more prospects to
become relative outsiders and second-order observers of the vari-
ous rhetorics that circulate among them. As second-order observers
of other netdoms, these more durable identities become aware of
“how” other netdom rhetorics are reflexively constructed, what their
commonsensical building blocks are, and whether other rhetorics can

be incorporated or manipulated.15 Robust identities connected to
diversified netdoms have a reflexive edge in seeing other core and
peripheral rhetorics for what they are, a social construction, because
“[t]hat which appears obvious and necessary to the network appears
improbable, variable, and contingent to its outside observers” (Fuchs,
2001, p. 39). Moreover, identities with robust footings may not only
deconstruct others’ rhetorics but also become reflexively aware of their
own constructions when they switch back to their cores. In fact, com-
plex back-and-forth switching between different observational levels,
cores and peripheries, insiders and outsiders, “triggers adventures in
reflexivity” (Fuchs, 2001, p. 25).
In light of rhetorics with heteroglossic voicing, we formulate the
following two hypotheses under ceteris paribus conditions:
HYPOTHESIS 3: The more identities develop robust footings in

netdoms with structural holes of diversified and non-redundant
ties, the more likely they are to generate or follow rhetorics with
rich heteroglossic voicings and addressivities.
HYPOTHESIS 4: The more identities produce stories that draw on
rhetorics with rich heteroglossic voicings and addressivities, the
more capable they are to reflexively transpose and reframe their
stories to secure footing across decoupling netdoms.
Styles through Reflexive Poetics

Styles are “syncopated complexities” across netdoms that distinguish
identities but also may anticipate them (Godart and White, 2010;
White, 2007, 2008). Styles emerge from identities at different levels of
action as ongoing sensibility “that somehow continues its rhythm and
harmony despite stochastic variance in particular notes and phrases”
(White et al., 2007, p. 197; White, 2008). Once a style crystallizes
around an identity or group of identities, the rhetorics that inform
their commonsensical understandings may not deviate too far from it.
There are important affinities between styles and rhetorics. In fact, the
types of rhetorics that inform an identity through its stories are often
delimited indexically by its style.
We argue that the poetic function of language is crucial in the pro-
duction of dominant interactional styles that secure durable footing
among relations. The poetic function manipulates the linguistic code
to draw attention to its aesthetic and persuasive possibilities. Thus
the creative and poetic play exercised by some identities within rela-
tional configurations on figurative and metaphorical speech, cadence
and tempo, heroic or humor key, proverbs and riddles, and various
oratorical and rhetorical genres gives them a stronger “stylistic” edge.
In other words, the agile use of the poetic function gives identities
an idiosyncratic “syncopated” sensibility in talk that may have the
persuasive ability to secure strong footings among certain netdoms.
Some styles are too unyielding and hence upcoming identities with
new footings and rhetorics decouple from them to create their own.
However, we also argue that other styles tap into netdoms and publics
that transform them into power-law distributions exhibiting scale-
free preferential attachment. Thus unique and successful styles often
trigger power-law nodes of netdom connections along the lines of imi-
tation, status, or deference. Eventually to avoid stylistic devaluation,
identities associated with successful speech styles arrange themselves
in “complex prisms” of netdom relations that guard their quality
and prestige through selective refractions and many more reflective
exclusions (Podolny, 2001, for networks as prisms). Finally, we know
from the Bakhtin school that stylistics and grammars are intertwined,
and that any stylistic act has grammatical consequence. In this line,
the stylistic control of a language is ultimately about its grammatical
control and congealment.
In relation to styles and reflexive poetics, we formulate the follow-
ing two hypotheses under ceteris paribus conditions:
HYPOTHESIS 5: The more identities control the poetic function of

language to stylistically persuade other identities within their par-
ticipation frameworks, the more likely they are to develop strong
and durable footings across netdoms.
HYPOTHESIS 6: The more identities via the poetic function become
transformed into stylistic power-law nodes across netdoms, the
more likely they will decouple past a threshold into stylistic qual-
ity prisms that selectively refract some ties but reflect off many
others.
Conclusion
Emergent identities triggered by rapidly decoupling netdoms can-
not survive contingency and turbulence unless they manage pervasive
uncertainty and ambiguity. To get “fresh action” of consequence that
can secure them strong footing, identities switch across polymerizing
netdoms seeking transition phases that lie amid too much and too little
social order—at the edge of chaos. In these phase transitions, identities

are able to incorporate and endure turbulence because they can build
relations with supple reflexivity, including myriad framing redundan-
cies that are metapragmatically and indexically easily re-arranged and
yet never completely random. We have argued that the reflexive and
indexical capacity of language (metapragmatics, heteroglossia, poetics)
to frame and manage ambiguity across netdom switchings is precisely
what keeps ties and stories at the “edge of chaos” and thus key to their
survival in everyday life interaction.
Moreover, identities not only seek transition phases to secure
footing through reflexive ties but create themselves such transitions
to get fresh action. Some identities in their struggle for control man-
age to uncongeal rigid ties and rearrange netdom relations. For this,
exceptional reflexivity across levels is needed. In fact, to unblock and
loosen metapragmatic routine and inertia in social life often requires
“ingenuities of decoupling and agency that crosscut the stories of dis-
ciplines as well as rhetorics and styles and the regimes into which they
may cumulate” (White, 2008, p. 283).
In this sense, we assert that identities—individual or collective—
that attain certain power and domination in social life, that is, they
manage to acquire enhanced autonomy to control their footings
across netdom switchings, are also those that have the exceptional
know-how to manage pervasive reflexivity and indexicality in the con-
struction of their social ties. In contrast, identities that are too quick
to close relational indexicality may easily find themselves outside net-
works of power. Put differently, identities with footings in dominant
netdoms tend to create stories embracing ambiguity and transposable
polysemy that keep their relationship ties flexible in anticipation of
change. Thus following Leifer (1991) in his characterization of chess
players of tournament quality, we assert that reaching through and
across netdoms to get robust action entails “keeping the state of
interaction hard to assess through making very many possible evo-
lutions continue to seem possible . . . which prevents anyone from
seeing clearly an outcome that would end the social tie” (White,
2008, p. 288).
In this chapter we have argued that metapragmatic and indexical
linguistic control of relationship ties and their stories acquired in
countless switchings of participation frameworks can develop strong
footings, which, in turn, can secure resources and opportunity across
netdoms. We have indicated that institutional rhetorics that incorpo-
rate rich and multiple heteroglossic voicing and addressivities through
their structural holes produce stories that can be readily and reflexively
transposed to other institutional netdoms. Finally, we have claimed

that poetic control of speech styles can transform relational sets of
identities into power-law constellations with robust footings that may
then decouple into new netdom prisms to preserve quality.
Acknowledgment
We are grateful to Corinne Kirchner and Matthias Thiemann for their
helpful comments and insights.
Notes
1. This essay is a modified version of the original article published in the
journal REDES (2010, 18, pp. 326–349).
2. Netdoms bridge the separate abstractions of social network and cul-
tural domain. Networks and domains merge in type of tie delivering a
set of stories and a characteristic sense of temporality (White, 1995a,
1995b, 1995c, 1992, 2008; Godart and White, 2010). Netdoms
provide fresh analytical tools to rethink the “current split between
structural and cultural (or communications) analysis of networks”
(Donati, 2011, p. 133)
3. Other scholars within the relational tradition have also theorized the
operative importance of reflexivity in connection with the relentless
differentiation and turbulence of contemporary orders. These authors
contend that “the functional imperative must cede to the reflexive
imperative” (Donati, 2011, p. 201; Archer, 2012), and have intro-
duced a number of analytical tools, including relational (as opposed
to functional) differentiation, meta-reflexivity, and contextual incon-
gruity. We agree with their general thrust on the relevance of reflex-
ivity in contemporary life. However, we depart ontologically in at
least two ways: (1) our reflexivity is fundamentally about manag-
ing relational ambiguity via linguistic indexicality to maintain flexible
and open-ended netdom ties. It does not focus on explicit deliber-
ations in internal conversations to resolve contextual incongruities;
(2) moreover, as we will see below, “control” among relations is one
of our primitives and thus we argue that any reflexive task in social life
is typically marked by asymmetrical power relations; only in specific
empirical contexts can we talk of consensus in relation formation.
4. An extreme case of presupposing indexicality that signals relational
context without changing referential content exists among some
Australian aboriginal languages where a complete switch in vocabulary
takes place when speakers are within earshot of their mother-in-law
or equivalent affines. Such “mother-in-law” language, which simply
points to the presence of an “affine” audience in the surroundings, is
semantically identical to the standard lexicon but serves as a kind of

“affinal taboo” index within the speech situation (Dixon, 1972).
5. We agree with Donati (2011, p. 89) that “being in a relation implies
the fact that, the actions of ego and alter are not only oriented towards
one another and reciprocally condition each other, but also generate
a sui generis bond which depends in part upon ego and in part upon
alter, and in part, too, is also a reality (effective or virtual) which does
not stem from either but ‘exceeds’ both.” However, we argue that
not only “highly reflective subjects, or subjects using second-order
cybernetics, can ‘objectivize’ their own relations” (Ibid., p. 89) but
that objectivizing, reflecting and transforming this emergent relational
“tertium” via metapragmatics is pervasive in a contemporary world of
rapid netdom polymerizations.
6. In this line, it is worth noting that for Bakhtin the novel, a histor-
ically late form of literary production that incorporates a multiplic-
ity of genres—voices—in its composition, is considered to be the
quintessential expression of the modern consciousness.
7. Volosinov (1973, pp. 141–159) mentions yet a third form of reported
speech, the quasi-direct speech, which incorporates peculiarly Western
expressive and experiential possibilities.
8. Bourdieu (1977, 1991) more specifically has theorized the “material-
ity” of the linguistic sign through his concept of the linguistic market
place. In his view, because linguistic practices are involved in provid-
ing access to material resources they become a resource in their own
right. In short, language in being an instrument of communication is
also an instrument of power (see Gal, 1987, 1989; and Irvine, 1989
for finer theoretical elaborations of the linguistic market place).
9. See Lodge (1993) for the contentious origins of French grammar, for
example.
10. It is important to clarify that “control” is not necessarily about
“domination over other identities. Before anything else, control is
about finding footings among other identities. Such footing is a
position that entails a stance, which brings orientation in relation
to other identities” (White, 2008, p. 1). In this sense, footing is
a “search for perduration, but what that entails varies—from sheer
survival to imposing one’s will; attempts at control thus are not lim-
ited to coercion or domination efforts” (Godart and White, 2010,
p. 570). Moreover, following March (1994, p. 86) who asserts that
actors typically “act within a mix of rules and incentives,” we con-
tend that finding footing involves not only means-ends instrumental
orientations but moral and ritual stance as well.
11. “Entextualization” makes reference to all the processes that render
discourses detachable from their interactional settings into transpos-
able texts by using reflexive and metapragmatic mechanisms such as
indexical grounding, heteroglossia, multiple voicing, reported speech,
etc. In this sense the power to decontextualize discourse into con-

gealed texts and then subsequently recontextualize them among dif-
ferent speech participation frameworks and audiences is a fundamental
act of political control (Bauman and Briggs, 1990).
12. Here we propose a working definition of netdom power and domina-
tion as the enhanced “autonomy” (i.e., more degrees of freedom) of
an identity or group of identities to control their interactional footings
across netdoms switchings.
13. In this connection, we argue that any “relational goods” (Donati,
2011, p. 91) that emerge and benefit participants of a tie for its
own sake are very seldom symmetrically constituted. In fact, whether
a relational good is equally beneficial among identities is always an
empirical question. Relations are open-ended interactional achieve-
ments in time rife with metapragmatic negotiation and ambiguity in
their production, including asymmetrical controls of information.
14. Structural holes become relatively efficient only within certain bound-
aries. Thus too many (sparsity) or too few (redundancy) structural
holes in a network can become functionally equivalent with respect
to the lack of external flows of material and cultural resources. This is
because “all dots connected” and “no dots connected” carry equally
low informational value or resource flow (Burt, 1995).
15. According to Fuchs, “outside observers do not observe first-level
whats, but second-level hows. They see what cannot be seen from
the inside, decomposing the foundational certainties and invisibili-
ties without which the observed network could not do what it does”
(2001, p. 39).
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Chapter 8
S o c i a l R e l at i o n s h i p s b e t w e e n
C o m m u n i c at i o n , N e t w o r k
S t r u c t u r e , a n d C u lt u r e
Jan A. Fuhse
Introduction1
Sociological network research and the recent advances in “relational
sociology” view social relationships as the constituent elements
of social structure. Considerations about what social relationships
actually are, how they form and evolve, and how they connect to
wider layers of the social (like culture or networks) remain curi-
ously rare or even absent. Much network research abstracts from the
concrete meaning embodied in social relationships, taking them and
their empirical significance as given (Holland and Leinhardt, 1977,
p. 387), and focusing exclusively on the structure of their connec-
tions. This perspective may have its merits, but it ignores that social
structures are always symbolic constructions of expectations and thus
filled with “culture” (Yeung, 2005, pp. 392ff). This interweaving of
network relations and culture is the main concern of relational soci-
ology, as advanced by Harrison White, Mustafa Emirbayer, Charles
Tilly, Ann Mische, and others (Pachucki and Breiger, 2010; Mische,
2011). In spite of producing a number of studies on processes in
social networks, relational sociology has not developed a thorough
account of social relationships. Social psychological research on per-
sonal relationships, in contrast, offers numerous insights into the
processes in ties. But it does not relate them systematically to the
182 Jan A. Fuhse
wider social context—to the level of culture and to the immedi-

ate network of relationships around alter and ego (Duck, 1997).
In this chapter, I argue that network research and relational sociology
need a theoretical model of what is going on in social relation-
ships and of how these relational processes are connected to culture
and to network structure. In particular, I advance a number of
arguments:
(1) Social relationships consist of expectations about the behavior of

two actors in relation to each other.
(2) These expectations arise from communication between these
actors.
(3) Social relationships are a special case of social relations that can
exist without any communication taking place between the actors
involved.
(4) In order to establish relational expectations, communica-
tion regularly draws on cultural blueprints like “love” or
“friendship.” These relational frames prescribe specific bun-
dles of expectations. However, particular relationships can and
will always slightly change these expectations when adopting
them.
(5) Relationship frames entail expectations concerning not only iso-
lated dyads but also their embeddedness in wider network structure
with other relationships.
Methodologically, this approach calls for an integration of network

studies with quantitative and qualitative research on processes in
social relationships (and their linking to culture and to network
structure). This chapter advances a theoretical framework for that
integration. I first discuss alternative conceptions of the basic build-
ing blocks of networks like actors, relations, and connections. The
second section sketches a communication theoretical account of how
social structures (like social relationships) emerge in the process of
communication, building on Niklas Luhmann’s theory of communi-
cation. Thirdly, I offer a theoretical account of social relationships
as bundles of expectation between two actors, or as relational def-
initions of the situation. Then the notion of relational frames is
introduced to denote the cultural models used in relationships to
establish interpersonal expectations. Fifth, the relation between rela-
tional frames, the construction of identity, and network structure is
discussed.
S o c i a l R e l at i o n s h i p s 183
Actors, Relations, Connections

It is by no means consensual that social relationships should form
the basic units of social networks. This section briefly contrasts
relationships with the most important rival candidates like actors,
relations, and connections. I will not be able to fully discuss the
advantages and disadvantages of these theoretical options. Rather this
section is meant to outline the requirements for a theoretical modeling
of social relationships, and to highlight some of the strengths of this
option.
(a) In action theoretical approaches, actors and not relationships
feature as the constituent elements of social networks. In this vein,
authors like Ronald Burt (1982), James Coleman (1990), and Peter
Hedström (2005) have argued for a disaggregation of network pro-
cesses into individual actions. Networks would thus be a function of
individual dispositions for action. Such an action theoretical account
of social networks is certainly feasible, but also quite complicated.
It requires tracing networks to individual dispositions, in particular
to the expectations about others’ behavior, and to expectations about
their expectations. Since it is usually not possible to observe individ-
ual dispositions, action theoretical accounts in the tradition of Max
Weber have concentrated on theoretical accounts of social processes
as if they were based on specific individual disposition (which in turn
are more or less determined by social circumstances).
Network research is not overly concerned with individuals and their
dispositions. Rather, the effects of constellations of network ties are
observed. In network analysis, not individuals, but ties are the cases
that algebraic models (e.g., blockmodels) are designed to map. Actors
act as contextual factors, but not really as parts of the network (which
consists wholly of 1s and 0s for the ties and non-ties between actors).
Structuralism argues that it is the constellation of ties (not of actors)
that does things, for example, influencing somebody’s opportunities
on the job market (independent of the individual dispositions for
action). Consequently, it requires considerable theoretical work to
view networks as composed of actors. While not impossible, I try to
sketch a less complicated theoretical option that focuses on the social
processes and structures between actors, rather than the subjective
dispositions within them.
(b) If we focus on the ties between actors, we can term them
sociologically as relations or as relationships. While often conflated,
these two concepts lead to fundamentally different conceptions of
these ties. As I argue below, social relationships consist of expectations
184 Jan A. Fuhse
emerging and developing over the course of communication between

the actors. Social relations, in contrast, need not actually come from
communication. The concept only implies a basic relatedness in terms
of positions somehow standing in relation to each other. In this sense,
the American president is related to individual voters, to state employ-
ees, and to members of the Democratic Party. But of course they need
not have communicated with each other in a less than rudimentary
sense of the term: voter saw president on TV, voted for or against
him; president vowed to the American people. Pierre Bourdieu uses
the term “relation” in this way and even insists on social reality being
relational (1994, pp. 17ff). Relations here boil down to a more or less
of various types of capital, and do not require any interaction (Lash,
1993, p. 201; Bottero, 2009).
We find operationalization of network ties as relations in much
network research, for example, when actors are asked whether they
know of or admire each other. But in these cases, the network effects
are not really effects of the network—rather they result from the con-
stellation of positions or from the distribution of capital in the field.
In this approach, network relations are only interesting as indicators
of something else—not in their own right. In my view, social networks
constitute social realities of their own. And we need a theoretical con-
ceptualization to be able to capture this social reality of a network.
In a sense, social relationships that arise and develop in the course of
communication constitute a special instance of social relations. But for
a theory of networks, these special instances are much more interest-
ing and instructive than the wider and less-demanding term of social
relations.
(c) A third alternative can be found in Actor-Network Theory
(ANT) by Bruno Latour and others. According to ANT, networks
should be observed not only between human actors but also between
humans and non-social objects like shells or hotel keys, all of which are
termed “actants.” Thus the social consists to a large extent of connec-
tions between humans and non-human objects. Authors in the ANT
tradition use a number of terms to denote the ties between actants, few
of which have a theoretical conceptualization. Theoretically, the most
important is Michel Callon’s concept of translation (1986). Transla-
tions take place when actants enmesh in a network whereby the nature
of the actants themselves is changed—“translated” into the logics of
the network. Latour instead refers to “social connections” or “social
ties” but does not really offer a theoretical account of these (2005).
I cannot discuss the merits and the problems of this approach
here. However, Latour’s connections between human and non-human
actants seem to follow a different dynamics than the social relation-

ships between actors. Social relationships consist of expectations, and
we assume human beings (and other social actors) to react not only
to each other’s behavior, but also to the expectations signaled by this
behavior. Thus, we can conceive of social relationships as the grad-
ual development of expectations that guide future communication.
But can we claim that social objects similarly react to human actors’
expectations or that human actors react to the expectations of social
objects? Both seem to rarely ask themselves about the internal dispo-
sitions and expectations of the other—and thus not to engage in the
kind of dialogue essential to human interaction (Mead, [1934] 1967).
While the internal subjective processes are not really part of the com-
munication in relationships discussed later, the assumption that actors
act on the basis of an internal dialogue is.
Therefore, my claim is that the networks between actants identified
by ANT form a different social reality than those observed in social
network analysis. I do not argue for the futility of the ANT approach,
but suggest following a different road. My proposition is to develop
a theoretical model for social networks that arise out of communica-
tion between individual and social actors (like organizations, relatively
stable groups, or states). This model will account for the importance
of this kind of network in social phenomena, and it will not allow
for a broadening to other kinds of networks. In the same vein, the
cultural networks observed by John Mohr (1994) or Stephan Fuchs
(2001) are not composed of social relationships, and have to be mod-
eled differently. These are cultural networks, not social networks, and
in the kind of network theory proposed here, the dynamics of cultural
networks have to be traced to those of social networks.
Communication and Expectations

If actors and social relations and Latour’s connections do not make for
good basic elements of networks, are social relationships really that
much better? Sure enough we routinely think and talk in terms of
social relationships like friendship or enmity, just as we think and talk
about questionable social entities like states or classes, or organiza-
tions. All of these cannot be observed as such. When we go out into
the real world, states, classes, or organizations have to be traced to
their ongoing construction in micro-events. Similarly with relation-
ships: a friendship is not real because the people involved talk about it,
or think themselves related to each other. Friendships exist when and
insofar as they govern the chain of social micro-events.
186 Jan A. Fuhse
As always, there are different candidates for the theoretical con-

ceptualization of these micro-events. They can be termed action
(in the tradition of Weber), behavior (Homans), interaction (Mead,
Blumer), practice (Bourdieu), exchange (Blau), or communication
(Luhmann). All of these are feasible options and can be used for an
account of social relationships. While the concepts of behavior, action,
and social practice focus on the individual, exchange, interaction,
and communication entail an emphasis on social processes between
people. Therefore, these concepts are closer to relational thinking,
leading away from individuals to relations or relationships. In addi-
tion, I find it preferable to avoid assumptions about unobservable
subjective processes (as necessary in the concepts of action and interac-
tion), and to conceptualize social micro-events as laden with meaning
(in contrast to the abstraction from meaning implied in the concepts
of behavior and exchange).
These considerations lead almost directly to Niklas Luhmann’s
theory of communication as a self-referential, supra-personal pro-
cessing of meaning ([1984] 1995, pp. 141ff; 1990, pp. 1ff; 2002,
pp. 155ff). Similar reasoning can be found in recent work from
the tradition of relational sociology that proposes a vague concept
of “transaction” almost in Luhmannian terms (Emirbayer, 1997,
p. 287; Tilly, 2005, pp. 6f; Dépelteau, 2008). In contrast to relational
sociology’s transaction, Luhmann provides a much more concise con-
ceptualization of communication. He conceptually separates social
micro-events (communication) from psychic processes. Communica-
tion is here modeled as the processing of meaning, with micro-events
always relating back to the meaning processed in previous micro-
events. Psychic dispositions and processes are surely necessary for
“remembering” social structures or even for communication to take
place at all. But they do not enter Luhmann’s concept of commu-
nication because thoughts themselves form a fundamentally distinct
process (2002, pp. 169ff). They can be represented in communica-
tion, for example, when somebody says, “I didn’t like that movie.”
But in that case, the liking itself is not part of communication, only
verbal representation of the liking. And only the verbal representation,
not the liking, can be picked up on in future communication.
As in Weber’s concept of action, communication processes
meaning. But this meaning is located in the sequence of commu-
nication, not in the minds of the actors involved (1990, pp. 21ff;
Luhmann [1984] 1995, pp. 59ff, 255ff). A conversation is thus
modeled as the sequence of communicative events, building on the
meaning processed in previous events. Following William Thomas,
Robert Merton, and Erving Goffman, we can say that communica-

tion negotiates and tentatively establishes a definition of the situation
(Goffman [1959] 1990, pp. 20f). This definition of the situation
is the product of previous communication, and sets the course for
future communication. For example, previous communication can
have established that A and B are friends, or even lovers. Future
communication can and will have to build on this definition of the
situation—and will usually follow with micro-events that by and large
conform to this definition of the situation.
Luhmann here uses the term “expectations,” already established
by Parsons as a core concept of sociological theory (Parsons,
Shils, Allport, Kluckhohn, Murray, Sears, Sheldon, Stouffer and
Tolman, [1951] 1959, pp. 19f; Luhmann, [1984] 1995, pp. 96f).
Communicative events lead to the establishment of expectations
(embodied in a definition of the situation) about subsequent com-
munication. The future social micro-events can then be modeled as
oriented to the expectations negotiated and established up to that
point. Expectation here does not stand for a psychic stance (as in
“I expect you to do something”), but for the relation between
previous and future communication.
This may be counterintuitive at first, but it considerably simpli-
fies the theoretical model: definitions of the situation now no longer
have to be traced to the individual expectations about each other’s
behavior, and to the perceptions of others’ expectations. To take
a different example, a price tag stands for the expectation that a
certain sum has to be paid to acquire an item. This price tag as
communicated expectation—not the subjective expectation of the
vendor—will structure subsequent communication, even when ven-
dor and potential buyer start to negotiate the price. In an action
theoretical stance, it is not your expectation that leads me to act in a
certain way, but my perception of your expectation—and for that the
expectation has to be communicated. In a communication theoretical
account, definitions of the situation simply consist of the expecta-
tions negotiated and established in the history of communicative
events.
Now all of this may sound as if denying the agency of human beings
and claiming that social structures (here, expectations) exist indepen-
dently of us. I would frame it slightly differently: what we actually
do, or how what we do is perceived, is more important than what we
think or what we want; and social structures result from this doing
rather than from individual dispositions and attributes. This certainly
stands in contrast to accounts that emphasize agency and subjective
188 Jan A. Fuhse
cognition (e.g., Emirbayer and Mische, 1998). But I do not aim either
at a humanist account of social relationships or at a full picture of what
is going on in relationships. Rather I want to construct a model of
relationships that is both concise and sufficiently simple.
Certainly subjective processes and dispositions like empathy and
attraction play a role in relationships. But it seems reasonable to
bracket these from the concept of social relationships for the sake
of simplicity, and instead to refer to these as “only” communicated
expectations that govern micro-events between the actors involved.
To a certain extent, however, whether to include or to exclude
intra-subjective processes in the concept of social relationship is a con-
tingent decision, based on theory-aesthetics. Some like it simpler and
less human-centered, others insist on including “the human being” in
our accounts of the social. Following Karl Popper’s critical rationalism,
these are axiomatic questions, and axioms are never “true” or “not
true” because they cannot be tested in empirical research—they only
prove more or less useful or convincing in theory-building projects.
The arguments developed in the following sections—relationships as
relational expectations that reduce uncertainty, build up in and gov-
ern the sequence of micro-events, drawing on cultural models for
these relationships—are compatible with perspectives that start from
communication, social action, or interaction.
Relationships as Interpersonal Expectations

In the perspective adopted here, all social structures consist of
“definitions of the situation,” of expectations emerging in the
sequence of communication. Social relationships then constitute a
definition of the situation between two actors involved, arising,
stabilizing, and constantly changing in communication.
While not a relational sociologist, Talcott Parsons’s theory of the
general system of action provides a useful framework for the discussion
of the interplay of communication, social relationships, and culture.
The starting point of this framework is the double contingency of
action (Parsons et al., [1951] 1959, pp. 15f). Human actors can never
penetrate each other’s thoughts. Whatever they might have in mind—
a stable ordering of human action is only possible by establishing
expectations between the two. These expectations are always to be
found on the social level and constitute the “social system.” I do not
follow Parsons to his treatment of larger social systems. My concern
here is primarily on the dyadic level: Social relationships (as struc-
tures of interpersonal expectations) develop between alter and ego in
Cultural system
(symbolically ordered forms)
Social system
Ego Alter
(mutual expectations
/ roles)
Personalities
Control Energy
Figure 8.1 Talcott Parsons’s general system of action
a communicative process. They bridge the fundamental uncertainty

between alter and ego (Berger, 1988).
Parsons also speculates that a third level is necessary for this, above
personality and social system: the “cultural system” ([1968] 1977,
pp. 168f; figure 8.1). For Parsons, culture is an inter-subjectively
shared and logically (almost metaphysically) ordered universe of
meaning. Actors can draw on culture to structure their interaction.
If culture were missing, social systems would have to be constructed
“from scratch”—without language, conventions, or any prior idea of
how people could relate to each other (Turner, 2002, pp. 148ff).
According to Parsons ([1961] 1968), cultural systems exert “control”
over social systems (and make for their stability), just as social systems
infuse culture with energy and variation. Similar flows of control from
above and energy from below can be found between social systems
and the personality level.
This (very vague) conceptualization of the interplay of processes
on the cultural, social, and personality level can serve as a useful start-
ing point for a theory of personal relationships (without necessarily
adopting Parsons’s structural functionalism or his view on the order-
ing of social systems). A social relation as a “dyadic system” (Parsons,
[1968] 1977, pp. 167, 169) has to mediate between mutually impen-
etrable individuals by drawing on available cultural forms. It consists
essentially of inter-personal expectations (often embodied in “roles”).
While all social structures consist of expectations, the expectations
190 Jan A. Fuhse
in social relationships concern the behavior of actors toward specific

other actors. For example, a price constitutes a social expectation—
if somebody wants to buy an item, he or she will have to pay this
price. But social relationships consist of expectations that distinguish
between different people: ego specifically (and not just anybody) will
receive the attention and caring from alter that is expected from
partners.
It has to be stressed that neither Parsons’s nor Luhmann’s theory
provides a thorough account of social relationships as systems. Rather,
they focus on depersonalized systems like the economy. Instead of
engaging in a discussion of their overall frameworks, I emphasize the
usefulness of a systems approach to social relationships. The systems
model starts from the inherent uncertainty between alter and ego, and
views symbols and expectations as emergent from the communication
process between them (Ruesch and Bateson, 1949; Rogers and Millar,
1988, pp. 291ff). In this model, dyadic relationships are autonomous
systems that create and reproduce in a communicative process. Other
levels (psychic systems, social context) enter this self-construction of
relationships as systemic environments. These are only relevant to rela-
tionships according to their own structures of relevance (Luhmann,
[1984] 1995, pp. 176ff). For example, a sexual escapade may not
make much of a difference for a same-sex friendship. But it can cause a
lot of trouble in a marriage. Social relationships evolve in dealing with
environmental turbulence. They are dynamic and path-dependent and
have to construct their own structures of interpersonal expectations.
But these often follow widely accepted cultural blueprints for how to
relate.
Every social interaction follows this general pattern of interplay
between the cognitive, the social, and the cultural. Even incidental
encounters in a bar or in escalators are highly circumscribed with cul-
turally rooted expectations of proper behavior. Singular encounters,
though, should not be called social relationships. A social relationship
develops only with the gradual construction of specific expectations
between particular alters and egos (Morrill and Snow, 2005, pp. 7ff).
In this process, elaborated structures of meaning evolve:
Symphysis of interaction and participation in joint experiences result in con-

cepts, ideas, habits, and shared memories which to the members are symbolic
of the pair. These limited meanings tend to establish norms of action and reac-
tion and to have directive influence on the behavior of the pair when they are
together and when they are separated.
(Becker and Useem, 1942, pp. 16f)
Social relationships can thus be defined as the expectations developed

in a sequence of communication between two people, and governing
their transactions. Social relationships do not have to be established
in face-to-face encounters, although most still are. An important
implication of this definition is that social relationships have to be
regarded not as stable structures, but as dynamic processes (Duck,
1990, pp. 17ff)—even though the expectations might seem rather
stable in any single situation. Social relationships are dynamic, supra-
personal systems. Much of the emergent nature of social structures
can be traced to the dynamics of social relationships (McCall, 1970).
The dyadic relationship thus forms an intermediate level between the
individual cognitive level and the macro-level of culture and of larger
social structures.
Relational Frames
Erving Goffman convincingly argues that situations are usually
defined in accordance with common “frames,” that is, abstract and
general models of “what is going on”:
I assume that definitions of a situation are built up in accordance with prin-

ciples of organization which govern events—at least social ones—and our
subjective involvement in them; frame is the word I use to refer to such of
these basic elements as I am able to identify.
(1974, pp. 10f)
Goffman’s Frame Analysis draws on the frame concept as used by

Gregory Bateson in his essay A Theory of Play and Phantasy ([1955]
2000). For both Bateson and Goffman, frames (such as “play” or
“joke”) are necessary to establish a common understanding of situ-
ations where superficial observation might be misleading. Frames are
thus “principles of organization” of communication. While Bateson
writes about frames as being rooted in individual consciousness,
Goffman points to the socially shared nature of frames.
Other authors have deployed the frame concept in very differ-
ent ways. David Snow, Rochford, Worden and Benford (1986) apply
Goffman’s term to the collective construction of meaning in social
movements. Values and beliefs, schemes of right and wrong, of friend
and foe are termed “frames” in this account. Deborah Tannen (1993)
adopts the frame concept for sociolingistics and uses it to analyze
underlying expectations of discourse participants. She concludes that
different verbal accounts of Greek and US American audiences of
192 Jan A. Fuhse
the same film mirror different culturally rooted expectations. For

rational choice theorists like Siegwart Lindenberg (Lindenberg and
Frey, 1993, p. 199ff) and Hartmut Esser (1996), frames are cogni-
tive models of situations on which to base the calculation of utility of
alternative courses of action (“scripts”). In relational sociology, Paul
McLean (1998) applies the frame concept to social ties: he classi-
fies patronage-seeking letters in Renaissance Florence with regard to
keywords like “friendship,” “kinship,” “virtue,” “honor,” “magnifi-
cence,” etc. According to McLean, these keywords signal attempts at
framing the relationship between the client asking for help and the
patron addressed.
These various studies (in very different disciplines and tradi-
tions) apply somewhat different variants of the frame concept. While
McLean’s account comes closest to the approach in this chapter, there
are also some broad similarities in the different authors’ conceptual
understanding. Whatever the intellectual context, the “frame” con-
cept denotes cultural models of how to classify situations. Frames
can be rooted in national cultures (Tannen), social movements (Snow
et al.), or other network contexts. And they certainly have to be avail-
able on the cognitive level (Lindenberg, Esser, Bateson). Thus, frames
have to exist prior to their actual application to specific situations.
This broad understanding of “frames” is adopted here and applied
to social relationships. In this context, relational frames are cultural
models for defining interpersonal relationships. As in Parsons’s the-
ory, culture is used to reduce uncertainty between alter and ego.
But Parsons often seems to advocate for a deterministic, inescapable
notion of culture. With the work of Parsons and of Clifford Geertz
(1973), cultural sociology assumed that human action was very much
prescribed by shared cultural norms and values. As recent work by
Ann Swidler (1986) and others (DiMaggio, 1997) suggests, people
often use cultural forms creatively. In the “new cultural sociology,”
culture is conceived not as inescapable patterns of interpretation and
action, but as a “tool-kit” from which people can draw symbolic forms
and deploy them in resourceful ways. Swidler argues in her empirical
work (2001) that her interviewees have different conceptions of love
(romantic/enchanted, pragmatic/disenchanted) available, which they
adopt and transform often in new and unforeseen ways.
This chapter follows Swidler’s and DiMaggio’s line of thought.
In framing personal relationships, the communication between two
people adopts one of many cultural models for defining the rela-
tionship. Before the actual establishment of a frame, it often jug-
gles various frames for defining their relationship (friendship, casual
acquaintance, flirt, affair, love etc.), tests them, and eventually chooses
one. Viviana Zelizer (2005, pp. 33ff) calls these processes of defining
relationships through reference to culturally available frames “rela-
tional work.” Such relational work is regularly done by alter and ego
and by outside observers in everyday life. Together, the various frames
constitute the “repertoire” of models for social relationships available
at any given time and socio-cultural space.
After the initial framing, however, the matter is still in flux and only
provisionally settled. “Friendship,” for example, is only a very broad
conception of how transactions between alter and ego should proceed.
Any friendship can evolve into different variants, for example, activity-
oriented or based more on conversation and understanding. Social
ties can also combine elements of different frames, such as kinship
and friendship or even friendship and affair. The relationship might
also switch from one frame to another. This can happen gradually,
but the theoretical conception does not allow for too much variability.
If frames are to guide behavior in a relationship, there has to be some
communicative agreement about what is going on. Especially roman-
tic matters demand a concise definition of the personal relation: Is this
an affair? Or a one-night stand? Or love?
Note that communicative agreement with such a definition is not
the same as agreement by alter and ego in their thoughts. For a
love relationship to develop, it is not enough that alter and ego
think that they love each over.2 Rather, such an agreed upon defi-
nition of the relationship has to be communicated. If no common
understanding is established, expectations are often disappointed. And
this can have severe consequences for further communication between
alter and ego.
With the increasing emphasis on narratives, many authors have
come to think of the structure of the meaning of relationships as “sto-
ries” (Somers, 1994; Tilly, 2002, pp. 8ff, 26ff). A story is a narrative
account of the relationship. It emerges in the relationship through the
course of communication and shapes this course. How do frames enter
the construction of relational stories? According to Lynn Jamieson
(1998, pp. 10ff), every personal relationship in modern society con-
structs its “private story” in its own terms, but does so by drawing
on “public stories,” which are narrated in and diffused through the
mass media. Public stories thus provide cultural models for how to
form and maintain personal relations—relational frames. As “public
stories” change, so do “private stories” (Jamieson, 1998, pp. 158ff).
A private “story” is thus a narrative of how a particular relationship
evolves. A crucial feature of such a story is the application of cultural
194 Jan A. Fuhse
frames to the relationship. Even the failed attempts at switching from

one frame to another are part of the story. Stories narrate the history of
the relationship as it develops definitions of the (relational) situation.
It does not follow that the framing of personal relationships has to
be explicit. Often communication relies on “clues” or “keys” for the
definition of a situation (Goffman, 1974, pp. 40ff). These clues allude
to the shared knowledge of relational frames. For communicative
reasons, the explicit mentioning of a frame happens when the expec-
tations tied to a relationship are in doubt. “I love you” is an answer
to the question of what you can expect of me. It might be trans-
lated into: “I allow you to expect the culturally defined behavior of
‘romantic love’ from my side—and I expect the same from you.”
A similar case can be made for friendship: when people talk of or about
friendship, they often do so to assure each other of their mutual com-
mitment, or to negotiate the terms of their friendship. This process
can be found in McLean’s analysis of Florentine patron-seeking letters
(1998, pp. 58ff): when clients write about friendship or about loyalty,
they do so to test their status in relation to the patron, and they assure
the patrons of the clients’ commitment to their relation.
Of course, people might also talk about love or friendship to express
their feelings. But feelings can and often are expressed punctually.
Relational frames, in contrast, always imply some longevity of expecta-
tions. The point here is: talking about love or friendship or patronage
often serves the communicative need to establish an agreement as
to what a relationship is about. Frames help first of all to reduce
uncertainty between alter and ego by providing a relatively stable
ordering.
If relational frames are blueprints for expectations in social rela-
tionships, the mere definition of a relationship in terms of a frame
(like love or friendship) is not enough. Rather, these definitions have
to be confirmed by meeting the expectations tied to them. This is the
important “relationship work” necessary to sustain a particular def-
inition of a relationship (Wood and Duck, 2006). Relationships are
most often shaped and defined through practices rather than through
discourse about relationships. Thus the question is whether practices
between alter and ego conform to one relational frame or another.
As argued above, frames come into play explicitly only when the status
of the relationship is in doubt, for example, when the practices do not
conform to the frame assumed or to affirm the status of a relationship.
The theoretical claims made so far can be summarized as fol-
lows: social relationships can be modeled as autonomous systems of
interpersonal expectations, emerging from communication between
mutually impenetrable actors. These supra-personal structures effec-

tively structure future communication, thus serving the need for a
reduction of uncertainty between actors. In defining (and structuring)
their personal relationships, people routinely deploy, test, and discard
or adopt available definitions of the relationships from the broader cul-
tural repertoire. These “relational frames” serve as blueprints for the
organization of interpersonal expectations. Relational frames link the
processes in singular personal relationships to the wider social context
and the broader cultural level. But they need not be applied passively.
Rather they can be deployed and modified in an active and creative
way in relationships.
In sociological network research, social relationships with a
particular framing (“love,” “friendship,” “enmity”) are distinguished
as “types of tie,” with positions in a network being connected to each
other by different patterns of tie types (White, Boorman and Breiger,
1976). For example, husbands and wives are connected to each other
by marriage ties, while connected to other husbands and other wives
by relationships like friendship or kinship. Thus the framing of per-
sonal relationships links the communication in ties not only with the
wider level of culture, but also with the structure of networks. This is
discussed in more detail in the next section.
Relational Frames, the Construction of Identity,

and Network Structure
The last section has sketched the formation processes of personal rela-
tionships. If we want to grasp the role of personal relationships (and
their framing) in social structures, we need to connect relationships
to their social and cultural context. This section deals with the impli-
cations of relational framing for the construction of identities and for
the structuring of social networks.
(a) Relational frames define what is happening between people.
But in doing so, they also define aspects of the people involved.
The establishment of frames in personal relations leads to the def-
inition of role expectations between alter and ego (Leifer, 1988).
In the course of communication, not only the relationship between
people is at stake, but also their very identity (Berger and Kellner,
1964; Katovich, 1987). On a basic level, this has been demonstrated
by Erving Goffman with his famous discussion of “impression man-
agement” (1959). In this chapter, the single encounter is of less
importance than the persisting construction of personal identity in
lasting personal relationships.
196 Jan A. Fuhse
The semantics of love and friendship embrace the idea that love and
friendship are especially important for our sense of selfhood (Cancian,
1987; Silver, 1989). But friendships and love relations do not only
help ourselves in defining who we are. They also make for a social def-
inition of our identities. Often, people define others on the basis of
their relations to other people: “This is X’s husband.” “She’s a friend
of Y.” Our social identity, the social construction of who we are, is
to a large extent a function of our relationships to others (McCall
and Simmons, [1966] 1978).3 We may identify a person as wife and
mother of three, school teacher, and member of a voluntary neigh-
borhood organization. The very construction of a personal identity
always points to social obligations and to ties in different contexts
(White, 1992, p. 196f; 1995).
This construction of “persons” (with distinct qualities and positions
in social networks) allows for the coordination of different network
contexts. In the above example, the voluntary organization has to
deal with the member’s obligations as mother and school teacher—
because these obligations are part of the person. Actors enter a social
context not as detached individuals, but as socially embedded persons.
This embedding is symbolically constructed in the person’s identity.
Through the construction of personal identity, network ties are sym-
bolically connected to each other. And through this interweaving, the
dynamics in one relationship often spill over into other relationships.
For example, when alter and ego enter into a love relationship, this
indirectly changes the ties between ego and her friends (and between
them and her new partner).
Identities are always relational. They are constructed in the sto-
ries that evolve in social relationships, be it between individuals or
between categories (such as men and women, Hindus and Muslims,
or liberals and conservatives in the United States; Somers, 1994). The
process of defining relational identities has been studied extensively
in intimate relations (Riessmann, 1990; Kaufmann, 1992, p. 112ff,
130f). It entails the constant negotiation of power relations, of
who is in charge of what, in short, of interpersonal expectations
and of relative standing. Similarly, Roger Gould (2002) shows that
social inequality and hierarchy are products of transactions in net-
work structure. This constant battle for social positions also makes
for the increased likelihood of conflict and violence in relationships
where relative social rank is defined ambiguously (Gould, 2003).
In both instances (social rank in status hierarchies and relative stand-
ing in intimate relationships), not only power is at stake, but also
the definition of who we are—relative to others. Our social identity
is constructed and constantly negotiated in interpersonal relation-

ships.
How do frames enter this picture? Frames of personal relation-
ships not only define expectations between alter and ego (if the frame
is applied). They also entail definitions of categorical identities. The
frame of (heterosexual) romantic love implies the conventional def-
initions of the categories “man” and “woman,” and of how men
and women should behave relative to each other (de Beauvoir, 1949;
Cancian, 1987, p. 20ff; Jamieson, 1998, p. 138ff, 166ff). The ideal
of romantic love is probably the most important cultural definition
of gender identities—and these are carried into other areas of societal
life. Similarly, if we define a personal relationship as “patronage,” this
marks one person as the client and another as the patron (Eisenstadt
and Roninger, 1980). In McLean’s study, Florentine citizens sought
the support of potentates by trying to frame their relationships in
terms of loyalty and patronage (1998). By doing so, they accepted to
be identified as “clients” with a social standing below the potentates
addressed. Patron–client relationships make for the social construc-
tion of inequality—often on the basis of the economic resources or
administrative positions of the people involved. Frames thus entail
prototypical definitions of categorical identities. When applying a
frame to a personal relationship, these categorical identities are taken
aboard, too.
(b) Categorical identities such as men and women or patrons and
clients are not confined to singular relationships. They both mir-
ror and structure networks. For example, patron–client relationships
always come with a particular network structure. Patrons may be con-
nected to each other, engaging in reciprocal and symmetrical exchange
of goods and favor. Clients, in contrast, are typically only connected to
their patrons in asymmetrical exchange relations (Wolf, 1966, p. 16f).
Friendship, in contrast, conveys a sense of symmetry and is opposed to
power asymmetries (Suttles, 1970). Rather, it tends to transitivity with
its logic of “any friend of X is a friend of mine,” and fits best in clique
structures (Cartwright and Harary, 1956; Martin, 2009, p. 42ff).
Obviously, other types of tie like love or patronage do not imply tran-
sitivity: if A loves B and C, the chances of a love relationship forming
between B and C are relatively dim. Therefore, network mechanisms
like transitivity (or preferential attachment) fundamentally depend on
the cultural expectations embodied in the relational frames applied in
the particular social relationships (Fuhse, 2009, p. 62f).
Accordingly, certain network positions strongly suggest the adop-
tion of particular frames in social ties. People in cliques of peers
198 Jan A. Fuhse
quasi-automatically call each other “friend.” And members of rivaling

groups are very likely to see each other as “enemies.” On the other
hand, the adoption of frames can lead to a new structuring of personal
networks. For example, when a couple marries, this leads to a rear-
rangement of social ties around the couple. The partners are partially
incorporated into each other’s familial and friendship networks—and
other social ties may vanish or change as a consequence.
Frames of personal relationships both map and structure network
ties. They incorporate a description of actual network structure,
but they can also pressure the arrangement of social ties to con-
form to culturally rooted expectations. In combination, they allow
for the construction of categorical identities and the patterning of
personal networks in accordance with the complex social structure
of modernity. The general mechanism is best captured by Harrison
White’s notion of “structural equivalence”: network structures can be
partitioned into blocks of individuals with similar ties (Lorrain and
White, 1971; White et al., 1976). These blocks reflect and consti-
tute categories of individuals. And the ties follow culturally available
frames—the frames are “institutions” making for the relations of struc-
tural equivalence, in the sense of Paul DiMaggio (1986). Friends
would be structurally equivalent to each other. And so would patrons,
clients, husbands, and wives. But clients should be found in a different
network partition than patrons, and husbands in a different one than
wives. Social structure results from the interplay of categorical identi-
ties and the patterning of network ties—and relational frames are part
of this interplay.
Relational frames are an important aspect of social structure—they
are central features of the “phenomenological structure of a network”
(Fine and Kleinman, 1983, p. 102). They not only make for the def-
inition of roles and identities, but also for the structuring of network
ties. Personal relationships are embedded in social contexts of other
relationships—and relational frames both map and structure these
network contexts.
Conclusion
This chapter is placed within the grander movement of relational
sociology to overcome the purely structuralist accounts of social net-
works, and to arrive at a better theoretical and empirically grounded
understanding of what is going on in networks—indeed, what social
networks even are (Pachucki and Breiger, 2010). It links diverse bod-
ies of literature from social network analysis to sociological theory and
research on personal relationships. From this confrontation, a theo-

retical account of personal relationships is drafted. Communication
constitutes the basic social process underlying the formation, stabi-
lization, and change of all social structures. Social relationships arise
out of communication and effectively structure communication, but
they do so by drawing on cultural models for how to relate. The main
arguments can be summarized as follows:
(1) Social relationships are bundles of expectations about the behavior

of particular actors toward each other.
(2) These expectations arise from communication between these
actors and set the course for future communication.
(3) In order to establish relational expectations, communication reg-
ularly draws on cultural blueprints like “love” or “friendship.”
These relational frames prescribe specific bundles of expectations.
They are generalized, institutionalized meta-expectations about
what we can expect from others, once our relationships with them
are framed in a particular way.
(4) Frames do not determine relationships. Rather, we use them as
points of orientation from which to construct idiosyncratic inter-
personal expectations. In this process, frames can be combined,
switched, and even transformed.
(5) Relational frames define categorical identities of alter and ego,
such as patron and client, parents and children, man and woman.
(6) Relational frames provide blueprints for the organization of net-
work structure. If a frame is established in one relationship, this
often has consequences for the organization of other relationships
of alter and ego.
At this point, a few disclaimers are necessary: first, not all social struc-
tures take the form of social relationships. Prices, traffic rules, or
sociological theories, for example, are social structures made up of
expectations that apply similarly to a wide range of persons. Social rela-
tionships, in contrast, are always exclusive in the sense of formulating
expectations about the behavior of precisely two people in relation to
each other. In theory, everybody has to pay the same price in a store, or
follow the same traffic rules. But only one mother is expected to treat
her particular child with motherly care and affection; only one husband
is supposed to get intimate with his particular wife. These “relational
expectations” are the distinguishing feature of social relationships.
Second, not all ties in networks are personal in that they connect
persons. Social relationships can connect firms, states, street gangs, or
200 Jan A. Fuhse
any other type of recognizable social actors. The only requirement

is that these entities are treated (in the course of communication)
as accountable social actors, that is, as entities acting out of inter-
nal dispositions (motivations, interests) to which expectations can be
directed and that are able to respond to these expectations. The the-
oretical account of social relationships as expectations emerging in
and governing the course of communication leads to a constructivist
stance toward actors: as long as something is seen and treated as an
accountable social actor reacting on the expectations directed to it, it
can act as an actor in social networks. In theory, relationships between
collective and corporate actors should emerge and work in a similar
fashion as the personal relationships discussed in this chapter.
Third, in spite of some exotic language, this account is not revolu-
tionary and not all that different from well-known accounts of social
structure from symbolic interactionism, Erving Goffman’s dramatur-
gical approach, Talcott Parsons’s theory of interaction, Berger and
Luckmann’s sociology of knowledge, or Randall Collins’s sociology
of interaction ritual chains. I build on and add to these approaches
by supplying a concise definition of what social relationships are
(relational expectations) and with an account of how they draw on
cultural models of social relationships. These arguments are intended
to bridge these discourses with sociological network research rather
than to break away from them. I have built this account on the basis
of Luhmann’s theory of communication, which leads to a relatively
simple model of relationships. Starting from a different basis (the
concepts of interaction, of social action, or of exchange) would not
really change that much in this model, probably only make it a bit
more complicated with the inclusion of mental states and processes.
Fourth, social networks are more than the mere aggregate of social
relationships. These have to be connected to each other, thereby mak-
ing for network effects like transitivity or the “strength of weak ties.”
I have touched on only a few aspects of this coupling of relation-
ships to each other by focusing on the network aspects of relationship
frames. More theoretical and empirical research is needed on how
relationships connect to networks in communication processes, in
the construction of identities, and in the application of categories to
actors.
I have also argued for a close connection between the communi-
cation in relationships and the wider culture through the concept of
relational frames. Unfortunately, much of the discussion so far can
be read as aiming at an ahistorical and euro-centric account of rela-
tional frames. If social relationships draw on cultural models for the
establishment of expectations, these very much depend on the cultural

models available. Thus the meaning of friendship, love, and family
ties changes over time and varies from one socio-cultural context
to another (Goodwin, 1999). As a consequence, the network struc-
tures based on these relationship frames differ significantly when the
meaning of the frames differs (Yeung, 2005).
In Europe, the relational frames of friendship and love only
emerged between the late seventeenth and the early nineteenth cen-
tury (Luhmann, [1981] 1998; Silver, 1990). This development can
be seen as the increased flexibility and uncertainty of personal ties
resulting from the crumbling of feudal ties (Calhoun, 1992). With
the increased differentiation of economy, politics, law, and other soci-
etal spheres, personal relationships are less determined by the medieval
feudal social structure. This “liberation” of personal relationships
makes for increased uncertainty (Luhmann, 1987). The development
of relational frames like friendship or love provides new models for
the structuring of interpersonal communication. Even the relational
frame of patronage makes sense only when patrons and clients are not
automatically assigned to each other as in feudalism. The patricians
in Renaissance Florence studied by Paul McLean (1998) and those
studied by anthropologists seem to be a feature of social structures
with a great degree of social inequality and with a high reliance on
interpersonal trust for material security. Patronage relations are a lot
less prominent in the affluent societies of North-Western Europe and
North America today. But of course they survive in social niches like
the academic field.
Thus, the study of cultural models for relationships and of the
micro-processes in social relationships can yield important contribu-
tions to relational sociology. For this, a combination of quantitative
and qualitative research methods is best suited, tackling the structural,
the cultural, and the communicative-sequential sides of networks
(Fuhse and Mützel 2011). Current network research all too often
focuses only on the meso-structures observable with the established
methods of network analysis, bracketing both the micro-negotiation
of expectations in communication and the cultural variance of models
for relationships and role relations in network structures.
Notes
1. Thanks go to Anna-Maija Castrén, François Dépelteau, Frédéric
Godart, Jochen Hirschle, Chris Powell, Marlen Schulz, and the late
Charles Tilly for helpful criticisms and suggestions on previous versions
202 Jan A. Fuhse
of this essay, as well as to Ron Breiger, Neha Gondal, Boris Holzer,

Marco Schmitt, Eric Schoon, and Harrison White for important
discussions on the topic.
2. Strictly speaking, subjective agreement is not even necessary. For exam-
ple, two colleagues may treat each other amicably and invite each other
to their birthday parties, but not even like each other. If we only con-
sider the observable stream of micro-events and at the definitions of
the situation communicated between alter and ego, such a pretentious
friendship would still be a friendship.
3. To these “relationship identities” add personal qualities (like handsome,
clever) that are constructed when comparing in relation to other iden-
tities. To a certain extent, such personal qualities similarly result from
our embeddedness and our positioning in social networks, for example
when we pick up styles of dress from peers, or when we are compared
to them.
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Chapter 9
Connecting Network Methods

to S o c i a l S c i e n c e R e s e a rc h :
H o w t o Pa r s i m o n i o u s l y U s e
D ya d i c M e a s u re s a s
I n d e p e n d e n t Va r i a b l e s
Heather E. Price
R elationships, interactions, and communities are foundational to

sociological thinking. As natural and intuitive as it is for us to think and
talk about interactions in our human experiences, it is difficult to con-
cretely capture and measure these relational characteristics of people.
In the past, social scientists have been limited to qualitatively describ-
ing and quantifiably developing ancillary measures of these relational
experiences. In recent years, network research has rapidly developed
computer programs and software that now allow us to go beyond
these limits. Personal interactions can now be input to produce con-
crete output that maps and quantifies the structure of relationships,
interactions, and communities among people.
Social network analysis offers a myriad of measures to operational-
ize social interactions—some measure similar ideas, but with varying
definitions and scope conditions. Although there is some theoret-
ical import for keeping these measures separated, the purposes of
much social science do not often warrant these distinctions. In this
chapter, I illustrate how network data can be used to construct
208 H e at h e r E . P r i c e
broad, social interaction measures associated with dyadic, interper-

sonal relationships. These broad constructs often get closer to the
underlying ideas outlined in many sociological theories. Principal
components factor (PCF) analysis methods are used to construct these
more parsimonious measures.
Background
Empirical network research is heavily focused on the development
and testing of theoretical network ideas and concepts. Serious think-
ing goes into understanding differences that occur when researchers
choose to use one algorithm over another for a specific measure.
Network theorists consider the quantifiable differences of these mea-
sures and how these differences contribute to our understanding and
definition of these concepts.
The heavy theoretical bend in the network field allows researchers
to discuss the better and best ways to make tangible the often intan-
gible network ideas. For example, there are a myriad of measures
that researchers use to capture persons who are “popular” actors
in the network. Significant differences in how one discusses popu-
larity depend on whether researchers choose betweenness centrality
(a proportional measure), Bonacich centrality (a Euclidean distance
measure), in-degree (proportion of in-ties:total ties), non-symmetric
in-degree (proportion of in-ties:out-ties that are unreciprocated), and
in-closeness (distance from the closest vertex in the network), among
others. Broad discourse around the nuances of these measures is
helpful in our development of network science and our sociological
thinking of what it means to be “popular.”
Network ideas more broadly applied to other social investigations
are still left mainly to the periphery of network science. Consequently,
when network measures such as popularity are no longer the depen-
dent variable of interest, there arise some pragmatic statistical issues.
Researchers applying network ideas as predictor variables to other
sociological phenomenon are faced with dilemmas of choosing one
metric over another or risk error from multicollinearity.
A recent article by Faris and Felmlee (2011) about school bullying
demonstrates the difficulty in balancing the theoretical and empirical
use of network measures in sociological research. In their article, they
regress a nonlinear measure of betweenness centrality on the num-
ber of reported acts of aggression. They choose to use betweenness
to quantify individual students’ peer group status and power as it is
an appropriate measure of centrality, or popularity, because it is more
C o n n e c t i n g N e two rk M e t h o d s to R e s e a rc h 209
commonly referenced. In their article, they cite betweenness centrality

as the preferred measure because it assigns a “0” score to “hanger-on”
students who might be friends with one very popular person but do
not bridge that popular person with another peer group. The authors
specifically discuss that they do not use Bonacich centrality because it
would assign these “hanger-on” students a score greater than “0” and
that this definition wavers from their theoretical hypotheses as to how
status and power influence aggressive actions. However, the authors
fail to discuss why they do not choose other centrality measures avail-
able that also represent status and power. To name a few, they do not
justify why they did not choose non-symmetric in-ties, in-closeness,
or in-degree measures, all of which could be deemed appropriate for
their models.
It is understandable that Faris and Felmlee (2011) did not choose
to use all of these measures. If they did, they would induce multi-
collinearity issues and error into their analysis. However, there arises
a question of robustness when social scientists choose one measure
over another. A critic could ask whether their results would hold
if they choose to use a non-symmetric in-ties, in-closeness, or in-
degree measure instead of betweenness centrality. Another option is to
rerun their models using the myriad of different combinations of net-
work measures to test the robustness of their findings. But rerunning
a series of models with alternating network status/power measures
is cumbersome for readers to digest and inefficient for researchers
to run.
Statistical methods are available that offer an alternative to this
dilemma. The PCF analysis can be used to assess underlying network
concepts. In the Faris and Femlee (2011) example, PCF can reveal
whether the four measures of popularity1 all hang together. Based on
the PCF results, a latent variable of “popularity” can be produced by
weighting each measure by its factor loading and averaging across the
components to form one construct. This methodological approach
does not force researchers to choose one measure over another or
rerun multiple variations of the same model with alternating inde-
pendent variables. Moreover, this method reduces the error term on
the latent variable construct that is otherwise compounded if each
individual component is used.
In the paragraphs that follow, I model this latent variable construc-
tion process for network measures using the PCF analysis. To illustrate
this procedure, I use network survey data collected from Indianapolis
charter school staff members. I discuss the particular issues of multi-
collinearity, the PCF findings, and the resulting latent measures that
surface from the PCF procedure. I show that forming latent constructs
facilitates a more parsimonious and intuitive use of network measures
as independent variables in social science research.
Data
The survey data used in this chapter come from the School Staff
Network and School Community Survey (SSNSCS). The SSNSCS
surveyed school staff of the 15 Indianapolis charter schools over three
time periods in the Spring of 2010 using Qualtrics survey software.2
The survey asked questions regarding both the individual staffer’s
incoming and outgoing ties. This format severely decreases the impact
from non-respondent missing data and increases the reliability and
validity of the constructed map of the school network.
Questions for the network data collection on the SSNSCS were
borrowed, with permission, from a dissertation project completed
by Ted Purinton along with Terrence E. Deal and Cook Waetjen at
the University of Southern California, Rossier School of Education
(2009). Upon my request, Ted Purinton shared with me the ques-
tionnaire they used for their data collection. However, the Purinton,
Deal, and Waetjen survey asked respondents only about their out-
going ties— which persons they went to regarding teaching advice,
school information, philosophical advice, discipline help, and con-
fidential advice. This limited their mapping of the whole school
network, especially with non-respondent missing data. The SSNSCS
survey used for this dissertation doubled the questions so that a
staffer’s outgoing and incoming ties measured for each interaction
question.
The SSNSCS asked respondents to name persons who the respon-
dents went to for guidance (outgoing ties) as well as those who
came to them for guidance (incoming ties). Qualtrics software cod-
ing was created so that a school-specific staff name list appeared
on each survey. Name lists increase the validity of responses as they
increase the accuracy of memory and name recognition for a com-
prehensive answer and reduce respondent burden. To also alleviate
respondent burden, respondents were asked to use initials of the
staffers as identification in the survey in lieu of a randomly assigned
id number.
In order to try and capture changes in networks for teachers and
staff, the survey was disseminated for each school at three distinct
organizational time points: the Spring/Easter break, state testing win-
dow, and the end of the school year. The collection of three sets of
APPENDIX A. Summary statistics
Variable Obs Mean Std. Dev. Min Max
Network measures
Out-degree 970 0.299 0.217 0 1
Out-closeness 970 0.354 0.155 0.018 0.870
Out, non-symmetric 973 0.675 0.264 0 1
In-degree 970 0.293 0.184 0 1
In, non-symmetric 973 0.730 0.220 0 1
Coreness, linear 970 0.128 0.149 0 1
Betweenness 970 0.031 0.043 0 0.323
In-degree, Bonacich 970 6.132 3.168 0.000 18.866
In-closeness 970 0.283 0.164 0.018 1
N1 clique 970 0.204 0.224 0 1
N2 clique 970 0.782 0.266 0 1
Minimum-3 size 970 0.132 0.164 0 1
clique
Latent constructs
Seeks information 970 1.093 0.435 0.013 2.186
Go-to persons 970 4.419 2.034 0.011 12.630
Involvement with 970 0.839 0.442 0 2.480
others
Dependent variables
Social interactions 789 4.969 5.263 0 40
Professional 797 6.195 5.673 0 40
interactions
Controls
Female 888 0.690 0.463 0 1
Non-white 782 0.217 0.413 0 1
Young age 781 0.488 0.500 0 1
Grade level 911 8.947 5.650 1 15
Source: SSNSCS, Spring 2010.
network data maximally reduces error on responses due to anomalistic

sampling points. Appendix A provides the descriptive statistics from
the survey responses.
Methods
Forming latent constructs has many advantages (Bollen, 1989; Bryant
and Yarnold, 1995; Tourangenaou, Rips and Rasinski, 2000). First, a
good latent construct makes interpretation more parsimonious than
using a series of cumbersome measures. Second, it alleviates multi-
collinearity issues with a model if several related variables are all
included in a model. Third, it makes the interpretation of the data

more intuitive since we talk in terms of latent constructs, such as
describing people as leaders or highly involved people. Latent variable
construction helps our research talk in a more vernacular language.
Rarely do we talk in minute terms of the individual indicators of
whether the person exhibits these characteristics under some circum-
stances but not others. Fourth, latent variable construction improves
the internal consistency of the data. If a respondent answered that
their leadership varied under certain circumstances, then the latent
variable would average out the differences. Lastly, the construct valid-
ity of the measures increases with latent variable construction. It is
rare that one question on leadership can adequately represent the
multiple dimensions of the idea. The use of a series of questions
about leadership increases the inferences that we can draw from
the data.
The PCF analysis acts as a form of exploratory factor analysis.
From the correlation matrix and the theoretical frame, a researcher
may suspect that several network measures are tapping into a simi-
lar, underlying construct. These suspicions will vary by the data and
the research questions of interest. This means that the latent construct
found in one project may not translate into another dataset or another
set of questions with the same data.
To run this, it is important to first theoretically understand why
some measures may be tapping into the same latent construct. This
method also requires all the component measures to be standardized
to the same range of values. Then, a simple correlation matrix can
be run to assess the intercorrelation between the measures. A prin-
cipal components analysis seeks to find a few variables that explain
nearly all the variance on these interdependent measures (Bryant
and Yarnold, 1995, p. 100). PCF will reveal how many underly-
ing constructs map onto the same field of data points. In the case
presented here, three factors emerge from the data. Moreover, all mea-
sures will not hold the same influence on the underlying construct,
as each measure’s factor loading reflects the perpendicular distance
(eigenvalue) from the estimated linear function that explains each
latent factor (Bryant and Yarnold, 1995). I therefore recommend
that researchers weight each measure by their factor loading so that
the appropriate magnitude of influence is given to each measure in
relation to the underlying factor. To do this, first rerun the factor
analyses with only the measures associated with each of the underlying
constructs.
In the data presented here, there is a high degree of intercorrelation

between the myriad of dyadic network measures that could be used to
describe the interpersonal network characteristics of the faculty mem-
bers. Table 9.1 lists the multitude of measures available for analysis
with these data. For presentation, the measures are grouped by the
overarching, theoretical network characteristics that each is meant to
capture.
Intercorrelations between measures can signal underlying similar-
ities in constructs or spurious relations (Bollen, 1989). Given the
theoretical literature on dyadic, interpersonal network characteristics,
we know that many of these measures are interrelated concepts, not
spurious relations. If researchers fail to attend to the interrelatedness
of similar network measures, results can wash out. False conclusions
can be drawn. Type II “false negative” errors likely occur when under-
lying constructs are not accounted. If the underlying concept is not
captured, the individual variables may fail to account for the rela-
tionship with the dependent variable. For example, several measures
related to in-coming ties are similarly related. It is therefore likely that
if we used several of these measures in one statistical model, there
would be the risk of Type II error. The PCF analysis can be used
to confirm the interrelatedness of these measures on latent network
concepts and reject the spurious relationship alternative.3
Models and Pre-PCF Construction

In this section, I demonstrate how the use of all of these 12 measures
in one model induces Type II error. Table 9.2 establishes how each
of the network characteristics separately relates to the organizational
quality of the level of professional and social interactions among work-
ers in their school communities.4 The findings are inconsistent and
inefficient. The standard errors are quite large for such simple models.
Moreover, these findings are difficult to understand: why would some
measures of outward or inward ties be significant and others not?
The results become even more muddled when all 12 of these
network measures are included in each of the two models on interac-
tions. Table 9.3 shows that several of the network measures that were
shown to be significant in the individual models in Table 9.2 fall far
outside any reliable statistical significance. Also, the estimates become
even more inefficient, as the standard errors become even larger in
these models that include all 12 network measures as independent
variables.
214
Table 9.1 Correlation matrix of interpersonal relationship measures
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
Out-going ties
1 Out-degree 1.000
2 Out-closeness 0.462 1.000
3 Out, 0.622 0.502 1.000
non-symmetric
Cliquing
4 N1 clique 0.863 0.357 0.362 1.000
5 N2 clique 0.550 0.462 0.361 0.486 1.000
6 Min-3 size 0.809 0.373 0.432 0.758 0.377 1.000
clique
In-coming ties
7 In-degree 0.794 0.378 0.295 0.802 0.569 0.765 1.000
8 In, −0.107 −0.031 −0.268 −0.021 0.075 0.099 0.286 1.000
non-symmetric
9 Coreness, linear 0.682 0.294 0.465 0.600 0.343 0.616 0.467 −0.114 1.000
10 Betweenness 0.608 0.307 0.283 0.658 0.359 0.599 0.563 −0.012 0.457 1.000
11 In-degree, 0.401 0.277 0.191 0.364 0.556 0.384 0.538 0.255 0.348 0.481 1.000
Bonacich
12 In-closeness 0.513 0.423 0.229 0.495 0.332 0.496 0.649 0.304 0.238 0.205 0.047 1.000

Table 9.2 Twelve independent OLS regression models of professional and social
interactions at worka,b
Professional interactions Social interactions
Robust Robust
Coeff. s.e. P>|t| Coeff. s.e. P>|t|
Seeks information
Out-degree 3.198 1.951 0.123 2.832 1.732 0.124
Out-closeness 1.226 1.801 0.507 1.553 1.553 0.334
Out, non-symmetric 5.711∗∗∗ 1.388 0.001 3.952∗ 1.442 0.016
Go-to persons
In-degree −0.673 1.862 0.723 0.971 1.861 0.610
In, non-symmetric −5.752∗∗∗ 1.722 0.005 −2.089 1.478 0.179
Coreness, linear 6.519∗ 2.726 0.031 6.112 2.226 0.017
Betweenness 11.823 7.099 0.118 15.107 6.968 0.048
In-degree, Bonacich 0.294∗∗ 0.087 0.004 0.296∗∗ 0.096 0.008
In-closeness −3.654∗∗ 1.036 0.003 −2.475 1.167 0.052
Involvement with others
N1 clique 2.205 1.989 0.286 2.429 1.828 0.205
N2 clique 2.158 1.274 0.113 2.486∗ 0.992 0.025
Minimum-3 size clique 4.044 3.126 0.217 4.421 2.750 0.130
Note: ∗∗∗ p < .001, ∗∗ p < .01, ∗ p < .05, +p < .10.
a Each OLS regression clustered by school id.
b Each model control for controlling for gender, race, age, and grade level of teacher.
The unreliability, inefficiency, and cumbersome interpretation of

these findings calls for a better way in which to use network measures
as independent variables in statistical models. The following section
describes the methodological procedures that can be used to arrive
at more reliable, more efficient, and more easily interpretable find-
ings when using network measures as focal independent variables in
statistical modeling.
Latent Constructions of Dyadic, Interpersonal

Relationship Characteristics
In these data, PCF quickly converges to three main underlying con-
cepts of faculty members’ interpersonal characteristics, as indicated
when the eigenvalues dip below 1.0005 (see Table 9.2). The unrotated
factor analysis is highly significant, p < .000, Chi2 (66) = 6.0e4 , in
comparison to the random model. Table 9.2 shows that several of the
Table 9.3 OLS regression models of professional and social interactions at work using
all 12 interpersonal network characteristics in each modela,b
Robust Robust
Seeks information
Out-degree −5.746+ 2.810 0.060 −4.663 3.958 0.258
Out-closeness −0.365 2.167 0.868 0.626 1.981 0.757
Out, non-symmetric 5.509∗ 1.927 0.013 4.718∗ 1.990 0.033
Go-to persons
In-degree −3.739 4.807 0.450 −3.516 4.146 0.411
In, non-symmetric −3.472 2.959 0.260 1.517 2.610 0.570
Coreness, linear 2.222 2.400 0.370 3.032 2.184 0.187
Betweenness −7.522 5.171 0.168 0.448 5.153 0.932
In-degree, Bonacich 0.353∗∗ 0.103 0.004 0.195+ 0.098 0.067
In-closeness −3.239 2.284 0.178 −4.412∗ 1.822 0.030
N1 clique 5.047 3.279 0.146 4.627 2.796 0.120
N2 clique −0.216 1.703 0.901 1.091 1.113 0.344
Minimim-3 size clique 5.036 3.750 0.201 3.270 3.392 0.351
Constant 2.367 3.181 0.469 −1.874 2.799 0.514
∗∗∗ p
< .001, ∗∗ p < .01, ∗ p < .05, +p < .10.
a OLS regressions clustered by school id.
b Models control for controlling for gender, race, age, and grade level of teacher.
measures could vacillate between several factors. Theoretical under-

standing of the network measures (cliquing, incoming, and outgoing
ties) helps researchers determine the best placement of the measures
into one of the three factors. These groupings are shown in boldface
in Table 9.4.
Given this, I recommend rerunning the PCF using only the mea-
sures per factor to determine the contribution of the measure to that
underlying concept. I then use these loadings as weights to construct
the overall latent measure. Table 9.5 shows the PCF factor loadings of
measures per construct.
These three factors describe three distinct dyadic, interper-
sonal traits of people who seek out information, involve them-
selves with others, and are considered “go-to” persons that oth-
ers rely on for help and information. In the following paragraphs,
I discuss how each of the three underlying constructs is formed
Table 9.4 Eigenvalues from the principal components factor analysis
Factor Eigenvalue Difference Proportion Cumulative
Factor1 5.8697 3.9975 0.4891 0.4891

Factor2 1.8722 0.5793 0.1560 0.6452
Factor3 1.2929 0.5440 0.1077 0.7529
Factor4 0.7488 0.1889 0.0624 0.8153
Factor5 0.5600 0.0652 0.0467 0.8620
Factor6 0.4948 0.1002 0.0412 0.9032
Factor7 0.3946 0.0554 0.0329 0.9361
Factor8 0.3392 0.1391 0.0283 0.9643
Factor9 0.2001 0.0690 0.0167 0.9810
Factor10 0.1312 0.0346 0.0109 0.9920
Factor11 0.0966 0.0966 0.0080 1.0000
Factor12 0 . 0 1
Variable Factor1 Factor2 Factor3 Uniqueness
Out-degree 0.895 0.231 0.049 0.142
Out-closeness 0.657 −0.118 0.573 0.226
Out, non-symmetric –0.445 0.864 0.156 0.032
N1 clique 0.863 0.283 −0.003 0.176
N2 clique 0.798 –0.072 0.049 0.356
Minimum-3 size 0.713 0.262 −0.205 0.380
clique
In-degree 0.882 0.091 0.073 0.208
In, non-symmetric −0.445 0.864 0.156 0.032
Coreness, linear 0.602 0.228 –0.146 0.564
Betweenness 0.722 0.260 –0.280 0.332
In-degree, 0.592 −0.085 –0.563 0.325
Bonacich
In-Closeness 0.580 −0.155 0.668 0.193
using multiple network measures that associate with each latent

construct.
Identifying Persons in an Organization

Who Seek Out Information
Persons who seek information from others reach out to other fac-
ulty members for advice, information, help, and ideas. Several net-
work indicators measure actors’ relationships that demonstrate this
reaching-out idea (Wasserman and Faust, 1994; Borgatti, Everett
and Freeman, 1999). The most general measure that captures
Table 9.5 Factor loadings of the dyadic network characteristics
Variable Factor1 Uniqueness
Seeks information
Out-degree 0.8556 0.2679
Out-closeness 0.7168 0.4862
Out, non-symmetric 0.8612 0.2583
Go-to persons
N1 clique 0.9180 0.1572
N2 clique 0.6856 0.5300
Minimum-3 size 0.8760 0.2326
clique
In-degree 0.9074 0.1312
In, non-symmetric 0.3057 0.1295
Coreness, linear 0.6244 0.3157
Betweenness 0.7258 0.3112
In-degree, Bonacich 0.5958 0.1189
In-closeness 0.6115 0.0791
reaching-out is out-degree. The out-degree indicator measures the

proportion of outgoing ties of actors to the total number of each
actor’s ties; outgoing ties/(incoming + outgoing ties). This mea-
sure, however, does not distinguish unidirectional from mutual ties.
Unreciprocated outgoing ties, namely the out-non-symmetric ties
indicator, captures the proportion of non-reciprocal, or one-way, rela-
tionships going out from actors in comparison to the total number
of each actor’s one-way ties. These outgoing, unidirectional measures
can signal actors who go to their superiors for assistance as opposed
to going to a colleague, capturing those actors who seek information
from “official” sources as opposed to friends. In a professional setting,
such as schools, there might well be differential impact on the orga-
nization if workers go to friends for help instead of administrators or
managers, per se. Finally, out-closeness or radiality is a measure that
gives a value to the distance (geodesic distance) of actors’ proportion
of outgoing ties from the vertex of the network. More simply, out-
closeness measures the closeness of actors’ relationships with the actor
who has the highest proportion of outgoing relationships in the whole
network.
These three components correlate highly with each other, a =
0.732. These three measures factor onto this underlying construct of
seeking information where the PCF loading of out-closeness is 0.717,
outgoing non-symmetric ties is 0.861, and out-degree is 0.856. Since
not all three measures equivalently influence this underlying construct,

the factor loading estimates are used to weight the construction of the
seeks-information measure.
Identifying Persons in an Organization Who

Others Go to for Help
Some organizational members are sought out by others as “go-to”
persons for their advice, information, help, or ideas. These go-to peo-
ple are shown to especially sway an organizational environment. These
leaders can maintain balance between polarizing and unifying clique
effects (Burt, 1987) and are fundamental to the diffusion of innova-
tions, attitudes, and behaviors through the network (Moody, 2002;
Valente, 2005; Wejnert, 2002).
The desired measures to describe this go-to person characteris-
tic are network indicators to capture (i) the frequency with which
others go to specific people for help, advice, etc. and (ii) how cen-
tral some people are to the information flow in the organization
(Wasserman and Faust, 1994; Borgatti et al., 1999). The most general
of these indicators is in-degree. In-degree measures the proportion
of incoming ties of actors to the total number of each actor’s ties;
incoming ties/(incoming + outgoing ties). This measure, like its com-
panion out-degree measure, does not distinguish between one-way
and two-way ties. The non-reciprocated incoming indicator—the in-
non-symmetric measure—calculates the proportion of incoming ties
in comparison to all non-reciprocated ties for each actor. This indica-
tor likely signals leaders (formal or informal) who others come to for
assistance instead of going to a friend. In-closeness is a measure that
gives a proportional value of each actor’s incoming ties in relation to
the geodesic distance from the actor in the network with the high-
est degree of incoming ties. Similarly, Bonacich centrality produces
scores for actors based on their relation to the most central actors
in the network, relative to the network size. As Faris and Felmlee
(2011) discuss, a powerful leader may ask advice from a trusted con-
fidant, but that confidant might be isolated from the rest of the
group. Although Bonacich centrality may be a poor status measure
for their article, it still makes for a very informative “point-person”
indicator as that actor is very influential on core actors in the organi-
zation. Coreness is another indicator that calculates the path length
from actors to the most central actor in the network. Lastly, some
people go to point-people for “brokerage” reasons. This means that
some actors bridge two otherwise unrelated groups of people. This
betweenness measure expresses the number of paths that flow through

actors as compared to the total number of betweenness paths in the
network.
These six measures factor onto this underlying construct describ-
ing go-to person characteristics. These point person components
correlate highly with each other (a = 0.608 with a range of corre-
lations between –0.114 and 0.649).6 The PCF loading of in-degree
is 0.907, in-closeness is 0.612, incoming non-symmetric ties is 0.306,
Bonacich centrality is 0.596, coreness is 0.624, and betweenness is
0.726 onto one factor.7 It is important to note that although Bonacich
centrality greatly reduces the intercorrelation estimate from 0.608 to
0.136, it hangs well with the other measures in the principal fac-
tor analysis, indicating that it measures some aspect of centrality the
other measures do not capture, as Faris and Felmlee (2011) sug-
gest. Before constructing this latent measure, the betweenness and
Bonacich measures need to be re-scaled to a 0 to 1 range. Then, the
factor loading estimates are used to weight the construction of go-to
persons.
Identifying Persons in an Organization Who

Involve Themselves with Diverse Others
Persons who involve themselves with other groups of people increase
the diversity of their relationships and also reduce their risk of iso-
lation in schools. Several network indicators measure the number of
clique affiliations that describe actors’ involvement level with others
(Wasserman and Faust, 1994; Borgatti et al., 1999). Clique affiliations
are generally defined either by the number of people in the group or by
the number of “path lengths” connecting members in the group.8 The
minimum-3 size clique measure defines any group of three or more
connected actors as a clique. Figure 9.1 illustrates that all three con-
figurations are minimum-3 size cliques. In the figure, Actor A would
be affiliated with six cliques since Configuration 2 would be counted
as four different cliques since there are three triad groups (ADE, AFE,
ADF) plus a group with four members. The minimum-3 size clique
measure calculates a proportion determined by the number of cliques
with a minimum of three members to which actors belong, given
the total number of cliques (minimum size of three members) in the
school. Thus, Actor A would have a minimum-3 size clique score of
0.86 since A is affiliated with all six of the seven cliques illustrated in
figure 3.1.
B D E G H
A C A F A I
Configuration 1 Configuration 2 Configuration 3
Figure 9.1 Configurations of cliques by number of members and path length
The other two clique measures, N1 and N2 cliques, define the

clique by the number of path lengths, or diameter of relationship ties,
that connects the clique members. N1 cliques require that all mem-
bers be directly connected by one path length. In figure 3.1, Actor
A is affiliated with four N1 cliques since only Configurations 1 and 2
fulfill the direct path requirement. The calculation of the proportion
of N1 clique affiliations counts the number of direct path clique mem-
berships as compared to the total number of N1 cliques in the school.
Actor B therefore would have a score of 0.25 since B is affiliated with
only one of the four possible N1 cliques. N2 cliques allow members
to be two-paths distant from each other and still be counted as a part
of the group. In N2 cliques, not everyone has to be directly linked to
the other to be considered a clique; N2 cliques identify the friends of
a friend as part of one group. Actors A and H are considered members
of the same N2 clique since G or I connects them. The N2 clique is
also a proportional measure where Actor H would be assigned a score
of 0.20 since H is affiliated with one of the five N2 cliques depicted in
figure 3.1.9
From this example, it is obvious that these three clique mea-
sures are highly intercorrelated with each other, a = 0.737. The
PCF analysis confirms that these three measures hang together to
describe an underlying construct. The PCF loading of minimum-3
size cliques is 0.876, N1 cliques is 0.918, and N2 cliques load at
0.686. The factor loading estimates are used to weight each of the
three measures to construct the underlying construct of involvement
with others.
These three measures produce an intuitive and parsimonious way
to represent and discuss a myriad of social interactions to use in statis-
tical analyses. Now, three key network concepts—seeks information,
involvement with others, and go-to persons—represent the interper-

sonal social resources of school staff members.
Models and Post-PCF Construction

Table 9.6 reruns the models on professional and social interaction out-
comes using the three latent constructs of seeks information, go-to
persons, and involvement with others. The findings are much more
reliable, efficient, and interpretable. The coefficient estimates appear
much more reasonable in size and are more consistent in relation to
each other, and the standard errors are much smaller.
The conclusions sync with theory. People who seek information
from others have high levels of professional and social interactions
with co-workers. People to whom others go to for help and infor-
mation experience a type of burnout where they engage in fewer
professional and social interactions as others go to them more fre-
quently. Meanwhile, people who clique with diverse groups of people
do not experience any significant difference in interactions than those
who clique less.
Discussion
Creating these three latent constructs greatly reduces the influence of
error from multicollinearity on the statistical modeling. There are still
intercorrelations between the constructs since one can imagine that
Table 9.6 OLS regression models of professional and social interactions at work using
all three latent constructs of interpersonal network characteristics in each modela,b
Robust Robust
∗∗ ∗
Seeks information 2.482 0.823 0.009 1.306 0.743 0.010
Go-to persons −1.726+ 0.920 0.082 −0.230 0.667 0.735
Involvement with others −1.357 1.216 0.283 1.092 1.036 0.310
∗∗∗ p
< .001, ∗∗ p < .01, ∗ p < .05, +p < .10.
a OLS regressions clustered by school id.
b Models control for controlling for gender, race, age, and grade level of teacher.

these interactional characteristics share some personality characteris-

tics, such as extrovert and introvert. But now the intercorrelations are
not due to spurious relationship effects. This means that it is now nec-
essary to use all three measures in one model in order to produce the
most appropriate estimates. Now, the researcher needs to be aware
of omitting key variables. If one does not include all of these latent
constructs, the included latent variable could artificially pick up the
influence of the omitted variable. These spurious relations can lead
to inappropriate conclusions on the included variable, a Type I “false
positive” erroneous estimate.
For example, if the measure “involvement with others” fails to be
included in the model, the “go-to person” measure would spuriously
account for “involvement with others” association with the depen-
dent variable. We can imagine that some school members might look
like the “go-to people” at first glance because they might talk to lots
of others in the school, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that others
come to them for advice. We need to tease apart these conceptually
distinct influences. We know that it is possible for some people to par-
ticipate on lots of teams, but they are not acting as leaders in these
teams—they might be very good at being a “team-player.” It is there-
fore important to include all three measures in the models for the best
and most efficient estimates in order to understand the individual con-
tributions of each characteristic on the dependent variable of interest,
be it organizational community, productivity, or the like.
Notes
1. The four measures would be: betweenness centrality, non-symmetric
in-ties, in-closeness, and in-degree.
2. School survey response rates averaged between 70–90 percent for the
first two samples, with the exception of one school with response rates
around 30 percent. The response rates for the third survey were lower,
hovering nearer to 50 percent for all schools due to a firewall that pro-
hibits teachers from accessing their Indianapolis email at any place other
than within the school building.
3. Factor analysis performed with all three surveys to maximize the
information used to assess the principal components.
4. The levels of professional and social interactions are scale measures
derived from the SSNSCS. Respondents were asked about the num-
ber of persons with whom they interact at various points in the school
work day and whether it was for a specific professional or social rea-
son. These professional and social interactions are outcomes important
to many organizations, as they are associated with organizational trust,

commitment, and productivity. For further description of this measure
and its theoretical import, see Price (2011).
5. It is common to use a stopping rule when eigenvectors dip below 1.000
(Bryant and Yarnold, 1995).
6. Although the loading of in-non-symmetric ties is low, it coincides
with the theoretical definition of go-to/leader persons and hangs well
enough.
7. Although the loading of in_non-symmetric ties is low, it coincides with
the theoretical definition and hangs well enough.
8. K-Clan cliques are also available measures, but in the bounded and
small network of schools in these data, the information gained from
these K-Clan clique measures is too invariant.
9. In other data, N-clan measures could also be used in this latent measure.
In these data, the size of the faculty at each school is too small. The n-
clans too quickly converge onto one measure and lack variation between
persons.
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Index
Actor-network-theory, 10, 184 125–6, 128–34, 139, 148, 150,

Alexander, J., 8, 15, 22, 45, 47, 52, 153–5, 157, 160–1, 163, 166,
134, 204 168, 173, 175–9, 181–2, 185,
Archer, M., x, xiv, 7–8, 22, 52, 83, 188–95, 197–1, 203–6
85, 96–7, 173, 175
Darwin, C./Darwinian, xi–xii, 11,
Bauman, Z., 1, 7, 22, 38, 47–8, 84, 87, 89, 97
162–3, 175–6, 178 Dépelteau, F., xiv, 31, 48, 83, 85,
Beck, U., 1, 29, 46–8 97, 127, 186, 201, 203
Blau, P., 21–2, 186 determinism, ix, 20, 59
Bourdieu, P., x, xii, xiv, 22, 44, 52, Dewey, J., x–xii, 53, 60, 80, 83–5,
55, 60, 83, 90, 97, 100–22, 88, 90, 94, 97–8
124–34, 138, 153, 163, 174, Donati, P., x, 1–2, 4–5, 8–10, 21–3,
176, 184, 186, 202, 204 154, 173–6
bundle, xiii, 182, 199 Durkheim, E., x, 21, 51, 57
Dyadic, xiii, 156, 165–6,
188–91, 204, 207–8, 213,
Cassirer, E., x, 54, 57, 79,
215–16, 218
101–4, 113–14, 127–9, 132,
134 Einstein, A., x, 113
Castells, M., 20, 22 Elias, N., x–xi, xiv, 21, 23, 29,
communication, xiii, 5, 8–9, 23, 52, 55–72, 74–83, 90,
93–6, 117, 122, 129–30, 133, 96, 98
139, 144–5, 154, 177, 181–2, Emirbayer, M., xi–xii, xiv, 29, 48,
184–8, 191–5, 199–201, 205 52–5, 57, 69, 78, 80, 83–5, 98,
configuration/figuration, x–xi, 103, 127, 129–30, 132, 181,
10–12, 21, 30–2, 43, 52, 186, 188, 203
54–69, 71–2, 74–5, 77–80, 90, empirical, xii, 4, 8, 57, 67, 69, 84,
98, 156–7, 166, 171, 220–1 86, 91, 103–6, 112, 115–16,
contingency, xii, 14, 17, 138, 120, 122–3, 138, 152, 173,
140–4, 148–9, 151–2, 175, 184, 188, 192, 198, 200,
156, 166, 171, 188 203, 208
Crossley, N., xiv, 156, 176
culture/cultural, xii–xiii, 1, 5, 8–10, field, x, xii, 29–30, 37, 40, 45, 47,
13, 16–17, 21–9, 31–4, 38–41, 55–7, 63, 65, 90, 101–6,
43–50, 80–1, 88–9, 94, 98–9, 110–34, 153–4, 184, 201, 203,
102–12, 117, 119, 122–3, 208, 212
228 Index
Gabriel, N., xi, 51, 80, 90, 98 Latour, B., 184–5, 204
Giddens, A., 1, 7, 23, 52, 121, 133 Luhman, N., 8, 10, 17–18, 20,
global/globalization, x–xi, 1–3, 5–7, 23–4, 52, 166, 179, 182,
9–11, 13, 15–24, 36, 50, 65, 186–7, 190, 200–1, 204
69, 72–7, 79, 81, 97, 165
Marx, K., x, xiv, 21, 55, 57, 106,
Habermas, J., 51–2 160, 179
Hegel, F., xi, 52–3, 55, 60, 63, methodology, 85, 90–1, 99, 105
70–2, 75–6, 80 Mohr, J., xii, xiv, 101–2, 106, 121,
holism, xiii, 6–8, 51, 56, 58, 155 123–24, 127–9, 132, 134, 138,
153, 168–9, 178, 185, 204
identity/identities, xi–xiii, 5, 10–13, morphogenesis, xi, 2, 9–10, 13, 15,
25–9, 32–6, 38–41, 43–5, 17–18, 22
47–8, 53, 61, 70, 76, 80, 96, morphostasis, xi, 17
106, 134–46, 148–51, 154, multicollinearity, xiii, 208–9, 211,
157–8, 164, 166–75, 179, 182, 222
195–200, 202, 204–6
independent variable, xiii, 207, nationalism, xi, 25–6, 29–31, 33,
209–10, 213, 215 36, 39–40, 44–50
individualism, xiii, 6–8, 51, 56, 58, netdom, 148, 155, 157, 163–75
86, 155 network, x–xiii, 3, 5, 12–13, 16,
agential individualism, 156 18–20, 22, 24, 30, 37, 39, 50,
methodological individualism, 56, 54, 57–8, 66, 72, 79, 90, 94–5,
58, 86 101–2, 107, 109, 116–24, 126,
inequality/inequalities, xiii, 10, 74, 129–34, 138, 140–1, 144–5,
99, 196–7, 201 147–57, 164–7, 170–2, 175,
institution/institutional, ix, xii, 8, 178–9, 181–5, 192, 195–213,
16, 19–20, 30, 32, 35, 37, 41, 215–22, 224–5
44–5, 88–9, 101–2, 104–7, networking, 4, 18–19, 96
110–11, 117, 121–6, 132, 134, network analysis, x, 116–17, 122,
137, 147, 150, 153, 158, 126, 129, 131–2, 134, 152,
167–8, 172–3, 178, 198–9, 205 183, 185, 198, 201, 204,
institutionalist/institutionalism, 207, 224–5
30, 119–20, 122–6, 129, network-domain, 148, 153, 166
132–4 network structure, xiii, 116, 129,
interpersonal, xiii, 9–10, 17, 61, 156, 181–2, 195–9, 201
129, 182, 188, 190, 192, network ties, 151, 183–4, 196,
194–5, 197, 199, 201, 206, 198
208, 213–16, 222 niche, xi–xii, 83–4, 87–99, 123,
125, 134, 201
Kaspersen, L., xi, 51, 90, 98 node, 12, 116, 156, 171
language, xiii, 27, 40, 88–95, 97–9, Pareto, V., 21

103–4, 106–8, 124, 132, 139, Parsons, T., 8–11, 13, 15, 19, 21–3,
153–4, 157–66, 170–9, 189, 60, 187–90, 192, 200, 205
200, 212 PCF procedure, xiv, 210
Index 229
Popper, K., 51, 188 symbolic, xiii, 8, 10–13, 15–17,

positivism, xii, 10, 51 19–20, 23, 32, 38–9, 44–5, 89,
Powell, C., xiv, 83, 99, 127, 201 94–7, 107, 119, 123, 132, 154,
pragmatism, xii, 85 176, 181, 188–90, 192, 196,
203
quantitative method, xiii, 126 symbolic interactionism, x, 200
qualitative method, 133, 203
transaction, x, xii, 30, 36–9, 43, 45,
reflexivity, xiii, 10, 14, 21–2, 146,
52–3, 55, 83–5, 87, 89, 94,
157, 165–6, 170, 172–3
96–7, 99, 164, 169, 186, 191,
Simmel, G., x, 21, 29, 38–9, 43–4, 193, 196, 204
47–8, 50, 56–7, 81
social mechanism, xii, 23, 86 uncertainty, xii, 1, 137–44, 148,
social structure, ix, xiii, 11, 13, 150–4, 166, 171, 177, 179,
65–6, 106–7, 117, 120–2, 125, 188–90, 192, 194–5, 201–2
141, 147, 152–3, 176, 181–2,
186–9, 191, 195, 198–201, voluntarism, ix, 8
203–4, 206 Von Clausewitz, xi, 52, 75, 79
space, xi–xii, 16, 19, 25–6, 29–37,
39–45, 47–50, 54, 90, 96, 102, Weber, M., x, 3, 14, 21, 51, 57–8,
107–26, 128–30, 134, 137–8, 66, 75, 97, 100, 183, 186
140, 143, 147, 150–1, 165, White, H., x, xii–xiii, 102, 117, 123,
193 129, 134–5, 137–8, 141–3,
substantialism, xi–xii, 60, 127 147–50, 152–5, 163, 166–70,
survival unit, xi, 52, 55–6, 60, 62, 172–4, 176–9, 181, 195–6,
62–79, 90, 98 198, 202, 204–6

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Applying Relational Sociology

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Edited by François Dépelteau and

Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2013 978-1-137-37991-7

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Applying relational sociology : relations, networks, and

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First edition: December 2013

List of Figures and Tables vii

1 Relational Sociology and the Globalized Society 1

2 Spatial Relationality and the Fallacies of Methodological

3 Survival Units as the Point of Departure for a Relational

4 Human Transaction Mechanisms in Evolutionary

5 Bourdieu’s Relational Method in Theory and in

6 Turning Points and the Space of Possibles: A Relational

7 Relational Power from Switching across Netdoms

8 Social Relationships between Communication, Network

Pierpaolo Donati is Professor of Sociology at the University of

Jorge Fontdevila is Associate Professor of Sociology at California

Jan Fuhse (1975) is currently a Heisenberg Fellow at the Institute

Norman Gabriel is a sociologist who works in the Institute of

Frédéric C. Godart is Assistant Professor of Organizational Behavior

Lars Bo Kaspersen (b. 1961) is a professor at the University

published widely on social theory and political sociology. He is the

Osmo Kivinen has done his PhD in sociology and is a professor of

Matthias Thiemann is a junior professor for the Sociology of

John W. Mohr (PhD, Yale University) is a professor in the Depart-

institution,” with Craig Rawlings in “Four Ways to Measure Cul-

Daniel Monterescu is an assistant professor of urban anthropology

Tero Piiroinen (b. 1974) works as a researcher at the Research Unit

Heather Price is Senior Associate at Basis Policy Research and an

Harrison C. White, who holds a PhD in Theoretical Physics from

François Dépelteau and Christopher

Many individuals are attracted by two social worldviews when they

social actors, more than observations of relations between variables

presents the processes of globalization as being made by “the mor-

transaction mechanisms in their context.” Kivinen and Piiroinen take

Typically, in Chapter 7, Fontdevila and White place relational soci-

resulting latent measures that surface from the PCF procedure,”

Sociology and globalization

This argument is intended to show that a relational sociological

Globalization and Social Relations: Some

Example (a) Gesellschaft produces Gemeinschaft (association generates

Example (b) Religion re-enters the public sphere.

Example (e) Ethical markets arise in contradiction with the modern

resources) and human ecology (concerning human relations and in

To repeat, the social theory of modernity could not predict these

What Trans-Modern Social Phenomena Teach Us

give a proper account of the above examples, we need a “theory of

holism represents the hermeneutic circle par excellence; it appears that

If the emerging phenomena—examples (a–h), which have already

(1) These phenomena stem from the “latency sphere” of society;

It seems to be the case that these novel characteristics are linked to

exchange but on an enlarged system of reciprocity—which, in turn,

Redeﬁning “What Makes Society”

the God-Pharaoh. In ancient Greece, the polis displayed a conﬁgura-

(1) The classical sociology of modernity represented society by anal-