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Gerard Schurmann was born of Dutch parents in the former Dutch East Indies in 1924, but spent more than 40 years, including the most formative period of his musical life, in England before moving to the US in 1981. Even during his years in the Netherlands as orchestral conductor with the Dutch Radio in his early twenties, he maintained an apartment in London, sometimes commuting to his place of work in Hilversum. His experience was similar to Bernard van Dieren, another Dutch-born composer who lived in England, although not for as many years as Schurmann: Holland has made no particular move to claim either as a Dutch composer. It was in England that Schurmann developed his skills and persona as a musician, after arriving as a teenager in 1941.
As we are about to see, the substance of these lines, if not their style, could easily have been written in the nineteen thirties by Ezra Pound. In fact, they were appended by Emerson in the eighteen forties to the opening of his essay “Politics” (or was the essay, we might ask of Emerson as of no other, appended to them?). Like all good epigraphs, Emerson's is mobilized in the services of compression, but what exactly is being compressed in this ambitiously simple verse? Are these lines (eight of an opening twenty-six) about the relation or the disrelation of economy, nature, and politics? And does this apparently natural economy, in which things buy only their “like,” make the state necessary, or does it make political structures only redundant? Can those structures express and enforce the truth of nature's law, and if so, why does such a law need to be enforced in the first place?
To begin to answer these questions, we need to note, first, that Emerson here does not really envision some Utopian economy of the future – as a shining light, say, at the nether end of capitalism's tunnel – so much as he declares its real existence in the here and now.
Puritanism has been a fertile field for sociological inquiry. Studies of puritan thought have established its secular implications for economic and political life, for science, medicine and modernity. Indeed, puritanism occupies a place in the development of sociological analysis similar to that of the French Revolution in historiography. As much can be learned from studies of puritanism about sociology as about society. One lesson concerns the problem of historical scholarship in sociological analysis: too often sociologists rely not only on secondary historical accounts, but on outdated accounts and assumptions long abandoned by professional historians. Another lesson is that sociologists do not always follow their own advice. Sociological studies of puritanism devote far less attention to contextual factors than might otherwise be expected from practitioners of a discipline stressing the existential conditioning of ideas. Interpretations of a secular ethos in puritanism are used to explain why puritanism appealed to certain groups or promoted certain patterns of worldly behavior. Unfortunately, puritanism like the Bible can be ‘read’ plausibly in a number of ways to support different interpretations. Interpretations of the content of puritan thought thus must include an analysis of the organizational and social context in which Calvinist beliefs were developed and disseminated by clerics. Interpretation can be checked by contextual analysis; but such analysis requires precisely that critical style of historical scholarship so often absent in sociological analysis.
In August 2001, the reformist and younger sector of the FP, led by Abdullah Gül, formed the AKP with the support of the rising Anatolian bourgeoisie. Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi (Justice and Development Party) is also called Ak Parti meaning the “pure” or “uncontaminated” party to differentiate itself from the other political parties, which were allegedly involved in widespread corruption before the 2002 elections. The party committed itself not to use Islam for political purposes and ended its confrontational policies. To the surprise of many observers, although the AKP emerged out of the Islamic political movement, it is pro-European and tolerant of diversity. Due to the collapse of the government in 2002, the newly formed AKP found itself in the midst of an election on November 3 of the same year. A little more than a year after its foundation, the party received 34% of the votes and won 363 seats out of a total of 550 parliamentary seats – a near two-thirds majority of seats. Kutan's Saadet Partisi (SP) (Felicity Party) received a mere 3% of the votes in the same election.
The 2002 election victory of the AKP can be explained by a convergence of factors. Widespread popular dissatisfaction with the economy and political parties encouraged many people either not to vote or to vote against the existing parties and try the untested AKP instead.
In this chapter, lineage organization and lineage ideology are discussed in detail. In particular I am concerned with the relationship between an ideology that emphasizes lineage solidarity and a socioeconomic system that is based on clear economic inequalities. In Chapter 2 I discussed the early history of the Teng lineage; the present chapter is concerned with the lineage during the twentieth century, although the patterns described are very likely representative of earlier periods as well. The data presented in the following pages are based upon conversations with lineage elders, personal observations, and analyses of the many lineage rituals I attended. Lineage genealogies also provide an important source of information.
In Ha Tsuen the representations of the system of descent are complex and even contradictory. In some contexts the unifying aspects of descent are emphasized; in other contexts differences among agnates are stressed. The image of an undifferentiated lineage is one that the Teng are quick to express in conversation and thus remains a conscious ideal. The other view of the lineage emphasizes the differences among agnates and is most clearly reflected in rituals associated with the ancestral cult.
Anthropologists who work on lineages in other parts of the world will find little that is surprising here, for it is well known that all unilineal descent groups have within them unifying and differentiating tendencies. However, in the Chinese context differentiation has a special meaning. In China, descent groups have been imbedded in a class-based, bureaucratic state system for centuries.
This chapter examines the ideological spectrum within which law operates in China. It finds that ideology is not merely an external device that sits outside the law to justify or rationalise legal rules, actions and decisions. Rather, ideology is intrinsic to the logic of legal rules and the organisation of the state in China. Since it is the architectural scaffolding within which law operates, ideology permeates all aspects of the law in China. Given this relationship between law and ideology, the authors argue that it is necessary to study in greater depth the ‘top-level design’ that the Chinese Communist Party envisages using to reach its overall end-goal of ‘national rejuvenation’. In teasing out the conceptual components of this end-goal, including its historical antecedents, the logic by which the Party has made law into a pillar of this overarching political project becomes clear.
Ideology shapes militant recruitment, organization, and conflict behavior. Existing research assumes doctrinal consistency, top-down socialization of adherents, and clear links between formal ideology and political action. But it has long been recognized that ideological commitments do not flow unaltered from overarching cleavages or elite narratives; they are uneven, contingent, fraught with tension, and often ambivalent. What work does ideology do in militant groups if it is not deeply studied, internalized, or sincerely believed? How can scholars explain collective commitment, affinity, and behavioral outcomes among militants who clearly associate themselves with a group, but who may not consistently (or ever) be true believers or committed ideologues? I argue that practical ideologies—sets of quotidian principles, ideas, and social heuristics that reflect relational worldviews rather than specific published political doctrines, positions, platforms, or plans—play a key role in militant socialization through everyday practices. Ethnographic evidence gained from fieldwork among Palestinians in Lebanon demonstrates how militants and affiliates render ideas about ideological closeness and distance accessible through emotional, intellectual, and moral appeals. This approach reaffirms the role of discourse and narrative in creating informal mechanisms of militant socialization without expressly invoking formal doctrine.
This chapter focuses on four significant novels published in the postwar period: Sloan Wilson's The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit (1955); J. D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye (1951); Jack Kerouac's On the Road (1957); and Edna Ferber's Giant (1952). Analysis of the novels provides a test of how far the representation of masculinity conforms to contemporary perspectives on gender described in the Introduction. The chapter begins with Sloan Wilson's The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit and contemporary sociological interest in the ‘Organization’ and in the suburban family. While the ‘man in the gray flannel suit’ has become an icon of post-war American conformity, the novel opens up the complex demands on men at work in the Organization and at home in the suburbs. The other three novels represent other dimensions of male experience in the period. Jack Kerouac's On the Road represents a resurgent, mobile masculinity in the unconfined space of the ‘Road’. J. D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye focuses on adolescent masculinity in the urban spaces of New York, and opens up questions about the nature of modern manhood. Finally, Edna Ferber's Giant is read as a critique of traditional Texan masculinity, which was constructed in relation to the feminine and a racialised Other. In their diverse representations of masculinity, these novels serve to exemplify the complexities and anxieties associated with male identity in the period. In the novels masculinity is expressed, worried over or questioned, in a variety of circumstances.
Sloan Wilson, The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit
Wilson's popular novel, which was turned into a major film starring Gregory Peck and Jennifer Jones in 1956, has generally been seen as fictionalising many of the aspects of corporate life and suburban culture written about by contemporary sociologists. The novel may also be read in relation to May's historical analysis, which identifies historical and cultural factors in post-war America that combined to create a ‘domestic ideology’ (May 1999: xxi). This ideology constructed egalitarian marriage and the nuclear family as the foundation of democracy, with the suburbs idealised as the space in which aspirational middle-class values and the ideology of the nuclear family could be expressed (May 1999: 65).
This study already incorporates more conclusions than either its evidence or its arguments will support, and I must beg the reader's indulgence for appending some further thoughts and speculations which, as the saying goes, ‘call for further research’. These concern, in particular, the superstructural correlates of transformations between hunting, pastoralism and ranching. They are of three kinds: organizational, political and ideological. We have first to deal with that elusive and apparently indefinable entity, the ‘band’. What form does it take in reindeer-hunting societies, and how might its size, permanence and composition be affected by the transition to pastoralism? Secondly, we have to consider the nature and scope of leadership in reindeer-exploiting societies, and its relation to the possession or distribution of wealth. Our third problem is to account for the focus, in the ideologies of hunters, pastoralists and ranchers, on the individual as the autonomous bearer of particular qualities – physical, intellectual and mystical. Finally, I shall speculate on the manner in which the transfer of control over animals from nature to man affects conceptions of, and relations with, the supernatural.
Let us begin, then, with the band. We must, at the outset, beware of becoming ensnared in a fruitless search for the diagnostic characteristics of the ‘band level’ of social integration. Some writers have extended the concept to include any nomadic or semi-nomadic communities, be they of hunters and gatherers or pastoralists (Murdock 1949:80, Steward 1969).
There are two kinds of power: the clean and the dirty. The dirty kind is what people usually mean when they talk about politics. It is the power with a bad reputation. It is visible. It engenders outrage. It is the power you see when clashing interests subside, with one party always being disappointed. Dirty power is the kind that gets reported in the newspapers, like the flap reported about the U.S. Commerce Department's veto of a recommendation that Westinghouse receive the Baldridge Award in 1992. Unknown to Westinghouse or the judging panel recommending the company, the Commerce Department conducts its own investigation to determine the suitability of an applicant. In this case, the concern might have been national attention being drawn to the government's handling of nuclear waste (Fuchsberg, 1992).
Here we will not focus on this familiar form of power, since others have done so, and well (e.g., Ferris, Russ, & Fandt, 1990; Pfeffer, 1981). Instead, we will examine the other kind: the clean form of power. This form of power doesn't have a familiar name, although it had been called institutional power in earlier work (Salancik & Pfeffer, 1977). It is the invisible form of power. Here we will argue that this form of power underlies much of the stability observed in the decision making of organizations. It is the reason the powerful retain their positions and the reason discriminations of the past continue becoming discriminations in the present.
A decade after publication of a major work on world politics suggests an appropriate period for reassessment. Looking back, two obvious questions emerge. How original is Franz Schurmann's analysis? And how has it stood the test of time? The last question, depending on the first, will be discussed in my conclusion. The answer to the first question, however, is still clouded in controversy, as it was from the start. (I am considering only Schumann's interpretation-of American ‘welfare imperialism’ and how it is derived; not his informative but conventional depiction of American-Soviet-Chinese policies in relation to the Vietnam war.)