Sociology: A Disinvitation?
Peter L. Berger
[Reprinted from Sociology, November-December
1992]
At the time of this writing, Peter L. Berger was director of
the Institute for the Study of Economic Culture at Boston
University. Among his many books are An Invitation to Sociology:
A Humanistic Per-spective;The Capitalist Revolution: Fifty
Propositions about Property, Equality, and Liberty; Pyramids of
Sacrifice: Political Ethics and Change; Religion in
Revolutionary Society; Sacred Canopy: Elements of a Sociological
Theory of Religion; and In Search of an East Asian Development
Model (the latter was published by Transaction).
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At this stage of my life I find that I have little stake in my
identity as a sociologist. If asked for my academic discipline, I will
routinely come up with this identification, but it has little to do
with what I do or what I consider myself to be. I pay scant attention
to what people in the discipline are engaged in, and I daresay that
they return the compliment. This is quite all right. But I am
sometimes reminded of the fact that, in my impetuous youth, I rather
passionately invited others to this discipline, both in published
writings (which, to boot, are still in print) and in my teaching.
Should I repent this action? Should I perhaps issue a solemn
disinvitation, so as not to be responsible for yet more innocent
students being seduced into what may well be a bankrupt enterprise? I
think that the answer to both questions is a less than hearty no --
no, because I continue to think that the sort of sociology I once
advocated is as valid today as it ever was -- less than hearty,
because I am aware of the fact that this is not what most people who
call themselves sociologists are actually doing. Is there any chance
of changing this state of affairs? Probably not, and for good
sociological reasons. However, before one assesses the prospects for
therapy, one should have some clarity regarding the diagnosis.
It is a truism to say that we live in a time of massive and rapid
change. This is only an accelerated phase of the vast transformation
brought on by the process of modernization first in Europe and then
increasingly throughout the world. It is instructive to recall that
sociology as a discipline arose precisely as an effort to understand,
and if possible to gain greater control over, this huge
transformation. This was clearly the case in the three countries in
which distinctive sociological traditions first arose -- France,
Germany, and the United States. To understand, perhaps even to
control, modernity -- an awesome proposition! It is no wonder, then,
that the early masters of sociology were individuals of impressive
intellectual and, in most cases, personal powers. It would be
misguided to expect their successors, several academic generations
down the line, to possess comparable characteristics. But one would
expect a certain continuity of intellectual stance, a continuity in
form if not in substance. It would be difficult to argue that this is
the case. Sociology in its classical period -- roughly between 1890
and 1930 -- dealt with the "big questions" of the time;
sociology today seems largely to avoid these questions and, when not
avoiding them, dealing with them in exceedingly abstract fashion.
The classical sociologists were careful to look at social reality
objectively, without regard to their own biases or wishes (what Max
Weber summed up in the much-maligned notion of "value-freeness");
large numbers of sociologists now proudly announce their
non-objectivity, their partisan advocacy. Sociology hi America at one
time was intent on cultivating a robust empiricism, which Louis Wirth
summed up as "getting one's hands dirty with research" and
which one could also call the cultivation of a sociological nose.
Today many sociologists take pride in the abstract, antiseptic quality
of their work, comparable to the fine model building of theoretical
economists. One wonders whether these people have ever interviewed a
live human being or participated with curiosity hi a live social
event.
What has gone wrong? And is there anything that can be done about it?
I am not at all sure that I can authoritatively deliver either
diagnosis or therapy. Nor can I claim to have been immune all along to
whatever it is that ails the discipline. But I shall take a stab, if
not at a comprehensive diagnosis, let alone a promising therapy, so at
least at describing some of the symptomatic failings. And I shall do
it in light of four important developments that have taken place since
the Second World War. Each of these developments completely surprised
most, if not all sociologists. What is more, even after these
developments had come sharply into view, sociologists found themselves
unable to explain them or to make sense of them within a frame of
sociological theory. Given the importance of these developments, the
failure of sociology to either predict, or at least to apprehend, them
indicates that something is seriously wrong here.
Case one: In the late 1960s and early 1970s a cultural and political
upheaval took place in the major Western industrial societies. It was
a total surprise. Looked at through the spectacles of conventional
sociology, it posed a tantalizing question: How could it be that some
of the most privileged people on earth, indeed in history, turned
violently against the very society that had made them thus privileged?
If one turns to American sociology, as it was taught then and still is
in numerous college courses, one finds the proposition that people
become more conservative as they become more affluent. This
proposition may have been quite valid up to the aforementioned event.
It certainly was not valid as the politico-cultural cataclysm
occurred, and it is no longer valid today. On the contrary, both in
politics and in culture the "progressive" movements have
been socially located in the affluent upper middle class -- the New
Left and the New Politics, the anti-war movements, feminism,
environmentalism and the Greens, and so on. Conversely, the newer
conservative movements -- whether led by Ronald Reagan, Margaret
Thatcher, or Helmut Kohl -- found their constituencies in the lower
middle and working classes, dragging along a reluctant older
conservative establishment. In the United States (very similar
reactions occurred in Britain and what was then West Germany)
old-style country-club Republicans held their noses while they shook
the hands and kissed the babies of back-country evangelicals,
culturally outraged ethnics, anti-abortion activists, and various
other unmentionable social types. Conversely, radical middle-class
intellectuals found themselves in bed, politically if not culturally,
not with the "working masses" with whom their ideology
identified, but with alleged representatives of the underclass and
other marginal groupings.
I vividly recall a scene in the Brooklyn neighborhood where we lived
from the mid-1960s to the late 1970s. The neighborhood was in the
process of rapid gentrification (we were part of the process),
changing from ethnic working class to professional upper middle class.
On one street almost every house displayed what were then the
politically correct peace placards in the windows -- "U.S. out of
Vietnam," "Make love, not war," "Save the whales,"
and the like. With one exception: One house sported messages such as "Support
our troops in Vietnam," "Support your local police" and
"Register Communists, not guns." In this house lived an
elderly invalid, a widowed veteran. One day, this man was evicted.
Marshalls came and put his belongings on the street. Then they put him
on the street, sitting in his wheelchair, wearing an American Legion
cap. Some buddies of his drove up and took him away, and then his
belongings were carted off to somewhere. The very next week new people
moved into the house. Promptly, the peace signs went up in all the
windows.
Today the conventional view has it that the "late sixties"
are a past history, recently re-evoked in a mood of nostalgia. This is
a serious misinterpretation: The "late sixties" have not
disappeared; they have become institutionalized, both culturally and
politically. The only halfway persuasive sociological explanation of
this development was the so-called "new class theory," which
surfaced briefly in the 1970s and has not been heard of much since.
Interestingly, this explanation had both a leftist and a rightist
version, articulated respectively by Alvin Gouldner and Irving
Kristol. Neither version fully meets the facts, and the formidable
task remains of reformulating a sociological theory of class in
advanced industrial societies. But this is not my concern here. The
question is why have sociologists been so inept in dealing with as
massive a phenomenon? To some extent, perhaps, it is reluctance to
modify accepted theoretical paradigms.
Sociologists of the left have tried, very unsuccessfully, to squeeze
the phenomenon into Marxist categories like the "proletarianization
of the middle class." More "bourgeois" colleagues have
mumbled something about "status politics." But the best
interpretation is probably that most sociologists were very much a
part of the phenomenon. The generation that entered the profession in
those years, now tottering through tenured middle age, had all the
peace signs emblazoned on their hearts. To them, this was a conflict
between the good guys and the bad guys, and it still is -- though the
politically correct markers have shifted somewhat. People are
reluctant to accept sociological explanations of their own commitments
-- even if they are professional sociologists. In other words, the
failure of sociology to apprehend this development is largely due to
ideological blinders.
Second case: One of the fundamental transformations in the
contemporary world has been the rapid economic ascendancy of Japan and
other East Asian countries. What is happening here is not just an
economic miracle of enormous proportions, occurring at breathtaking
speed, but the first instance of successful modernization in a
non-Western cultural context that should be of special interest to
sociologists. As I have argued for some time, here is a second case of
capitalist modernity, obviously of great interest in and of itself,
but of even greater interest from the standpoint of a theory of modern
society. Put simply, Japan is important for our understanding, not so
much of it, but of ourselves. Again, no one expected this. If any of
its proponents had been asked in the 1950s, the time when so-called
modernization theory developed, which Asian country was most likely to
succeed in terms of economic development, chances are the answer would
have been the Philippines, now the one economic disaster in the
capitalist sector of the region. At a conference that took place at
the time and which some participants still recall uncomfortably, there
was widespread agreement that Confucianism was one of the most
formidable obstacles to development in Korea and in the Chinese
societies. Today, this cultural heritage is commonly cited as one of
the causes of the East Asian economic success stories.
Modernization theory faltered in the wake of the late sixties, when
it was widely derogated as an ideology of Western imperialism. Leftist
sociologists meanwhile were busy giving birth to so-called dependency
theory, according to which capitalism necessarily perpetuates
underdevelopment; the solution, of course, was to be socialism. There
is a bizarre synchronicity between empirical and theoretical
developments. Just as capitalist East Asia was bursting into
astonishing economic growth and prosperity while all the socialist
societies, from Indochina to the Caribbean, were sinking into hopeless
stagnation, more and more sociologists were proclaiming their
allegiance to a theory according to which the opposite was bound to
occur. One of the funniest events I attended a few years ago was a
conference in Taiwan, home of one of the great economic miracles of
the modern age. It was a conference about Taiwan and how to understand
it. For reasons that were never quite clear, most American academics
invited were dependency theorists who had previously done work on
Latin America. They tried valiantly to fit what they could see
happening all around them in Taiwan into their theory. The great
theoretical achievement of the conference was the concept of "dependent
development" which supposedly accounted for the Taiwan case. That
neo-Marxists with no previous field experience outside Latin America
should find this notion plausible may be understandable. Harder to
credit was that several Taiwanese social scientists in attendance
nodded approvingly as this orientalist translation of dependencia
was trotted out before them. A possible explanation is this: While
dependency theory has been massively falsified in terms of the world
economy, it may have some predictive value in terms of world culture;
the intellectuals of the "first world" with greatly superior
resources and patronage at their disposal, do indeed have a "comprador
class" in less developed countries.
In all fairness, my second case is not quite like the first, in that
there has indeed been a considerable effort by sociologists to
understand the phenomenon, even if they did not anticipate it. The
aforementioned post-Confucian hypothesis, though first formulated by
non-sociologists, has been the subject of intense and sophisticated
discussion among sociologists both in the region itself and outside
it. The left has obviously not been able to participate in this for
ideological reasons. But non-leftist sociologists have not been
prominent in the discussion either, except for those with a
specialization in the region. Another formidable task is one of
modifying the concept of modern society, as it developed from, say,
Max Weber to Talcott Parsons, on hand of the insights to be gained
from the new non-Western modernity.
This is a very "big question" indeed. It is uncongenial to
people whose perspective is parochially ethnocentric and who are
committed to methods that do not lend themselves to "big
questions." What is called for is a sociology in the classical
vein, grounded in a knowledge of history, methodologically flexible,
and imbued with a cosmopolitan spirit endlessly curious about every
manifestation of human life. Needless to say, sociologists practicing
their craft in such a vein are rather difficult to find. Worse, one
may say that both the training and the reward system of the profession
is cleverly (if, probably, unintentionally) designed to prevent such
people from emerging.
Third case: Another body of theory that seemed well-established in
the 1950s and 1960s was so-called secularization theory. Briefly put,
it posits the notion that modernization necessarily brings with it a
decline of religion in human life, both in terms of social
institutions and of individual consciousness. This notion has a long
history in Western thought, going back at least to the Enlightenment
of the eighteenth century, if not farther. But, in all fairness, it
gained strength through the findings of sociologists of religion,
especially in Europe. Good reasons were given for the linkage alleged
between growth in the GNP and the demise of the gods. Modernity, built
on the foundations of science and technology, brought with it an
increasingly rational mindset that no longer found plausible the
presumably irrational religious interpretations of the world.
Leave aside here the questionable presumption as to the irrationality
of religion -- a presumption certainly grounded in Enlightenment
philosophy. The theory seemed grounded in empirical evidence and was
consequently open to empirical falsification. By the late 1970s it had
been falsified with a vengeance. As it turned out, the theory never
had much empirical substance to begin with. It was valid, and
continues to be valid, for one region of the world, Europe, a few
scattered territories, such as Quebec, which underwent an amazing
process of secularization after the Second World War, and a fairly
thin stratum of Western-educated intellectuals everywhere. The rest of
the world is as fervently religious as it ever was, and arguably more
so than it was earlier in this century.
Two events in the late 1970s forced this fact on the public's
attention. In the United States the validity of the theory had already
been put in question by the so-called religious revival of the 1950s
and the counterculture of the 1960s, though sociologists of religion
tended to see the former as only dubiously religious and the latter as
only marginally religious. What made the theory altogether untenable
was the evangelical resurgence, first brought to widespread attention
by the presidential candidacy of Jimmy Carter and a little later by
the noisy appearance of the "moral majority" and similar
groups. Suddenly it became obvious that, though little noticed in
intellectual milieus, American society contained millions of
born-again Christians and, alarmingly, they kept growing and growing,
while mainline churches went into a fairly steep demographic decline.
The evangelical phenomenon served to underline a more fundamental
fact: America differed from Europe precisely in its religious
character.
Beyond the United States, though, the event that rattled the theory
linking modernization to secularity was the Iranian revolution. Once
again, an momentous event came into view that, theoretically, should
not have occurred at all. Since then, religious upsurges of every sort
has been erupting all over the world. Neo-traditionalist, or
fundamentalist, Protestantism and Islam are the two biggest games in
town, on a global scale, but almost every religious tradition in the
world has evinced similar revitalization movements. And sociologists
of every coloration continue to be baffled.
My only visit to Iran took place about two years before this
revolution. Naturally, I spoke mainly to intellectuals, most of whom
cordially disliked the regime of the Shah and looked forward to its
removal. No one expected this to happen under Islamic auspices.
Nowhere did I hear the name Khomeini. At about the time of my visit to
Iran, Brigitte Berger was on a lecture tour hi Turkey, a place she had
never visited before and whose language she did not speak. In
Istanbul, she noticed many cars with green flags and what looked like
storefront mosques, also marked with green flags which she recognized
as Islamic symbols. When she mentioned her observation to her Turkish
hosts, they were very much surprised. They either maintained that she
was mistaken in her idea that something religious was going on or they
discounted the phenomenon as quite unimportant. The people she talked
with, mostly social scientists and all secularized intellectuals,
literally did not see what was before their eyes -- again, because
none of this was supposed to be happening.
Sociologists have had a hard time coming to terms with the intensely
religious character of the contemporary world. Whether politically on
the left or not, they suffer from ideological blinders when it comes
to religion, and the tendency is then to explain away what cannot be
explained. But ideology apart, parochialism is an important factor
here too. Sociologists live in truly secularized milieus -- academia
and other institutions of the professional knowledge industry -- and
it appears that they are no more immune than the sociologically
untrained to the common misconception that one can generalize about
the world from one's own little corner.
Finally, the fourth case: This is the momentous collapse of the
Soviet empire, and what seems, at least for now, the worldwide
collapse of socialism both as a reality and as an idea. Even the
beginnings of this world-historical event are very recent, and the
consequences are still unfolding with undiminished rapidity. Thus it
would be unfair to blame anyone for not having at hand a theory to
explain it all. It would be equally unfair to single out sociologists;
just about nobody anticipated this (including regiments of certified
sovietologists) and everybody is having great difficulty grasping it
within any theoretical frame that makes sense. Still, it is worth
stating that sociologists, even those with the relevant regional
expertise, were no better than anyone else in predicting the event nor
are they better hi accounting for it. One must wonder how they will do
in the years to come.
Those on the left, of course, will share hi the general confusion
(may one call it "cognitive anomie"? ) of others in this
ideological community. Leave aside those on the left who, despite
everything, thought that the Soviet Union and its imitators were
engaged in a noble experiment. Mistakes were made, and all that, but
there was still the assumption that even a flawed socialism carried
more hope than a capitalist system alleged to be hopelessly corrupt.
But even those on the left who had long ago shed all illusions about
the Soviet experiment were endlessly scanning the horizons for the "true
socialism" that had to come, sometime, because the logic of
history willed it. It was not just a matter of le cceur a la
gauche; it was the mind that was on the left, in its basic
cognitive assumptions. And the most basic assumption of all was that
the historical process moved from capitalism to socialism. How to deal
now with the transition from socialism to capitalism? Current leftist
journals are full of tortured attempts to interpret the developments
of the last few years in Europe and elsewhere, most of them attempts
to deny the obvious. I have every expectation that sociologists will
be whole-hearted participants in this enterprise, bravely led by the
old cohorts of dependency theory. May we look forward to yet another
brilliant concept, say of "independent underdevelopment",
that will somehow rescue the theory?
The collapse of the Soviet empire and the worldwide crisis of
socialism poses an enormous challenge to sociological understanding of
modernity. And it is not just sociologists on the left who are
unprepared to meet this challenge, who were no more prescient about
these developments than their left-leaning colleagues. What is called
for is a thorough rethinking of the relation between economic,
political and social institutions hi a modern society. I am reminded
of the old witticism, sometimes still to be seen on signs hi friendly
neighborhood stores, "If you're good for nothing else, you can
still serve as a bad example." For sociological theory, "bad"
examples are just as useful as "good" ones. The more
interesting question is not why "they" have collapsed, but
why "we" have not. This is a basic theoretical point that
much sociologizing has routinely overlooked: The "problem"
is not social disorganization, but social organization-marriage rather
than divorce, law-abidingness rather than crime, racial harmony rather
than racial strife, and so on. We may safely assume that -- in Jan
Romein's handy phrase -- the "common human pattern" is
faithlessness, violence and hate. These manifestations of human nature
hardly need explanation, except perhaps by zoologists. What needs
explaining is those instances in which, amazingly, societies manage to
curb and civilize these propensities.
What do these cases disclose about what ails sociology today? One can
point to four symptoms: parochialism, triviality, rationalism, and
ideology. Each one is crippling. Their combination has been deadly. If
one looks at the opus of the great classical sociologists, with Max
Weber and Emile Durkheim in the lead, one is reminded of Wesley's
dictum, "The world is my parish." Few sociologists could say
this today, and those who do very often betray an embarrassing lack of
historical depth.
At issue is much more than a bias in favor of some sort of
sophisticated cosmopolitanism. One can be an excellent physicist
without ever having stepped outside one's own society; I know that
this is not so for a sociologist. And the reason for this is simple.
Modernization is the great transforming force in the world today, but
it is not a uniform, mechanical process. It takes different forms,
evokes different reactions. This is why sociology, the discipline par
excellence for seeking to understand modernity, must of necessity be
comparative.
This, of course, was one of Weber's root insights; it is more
relevant today than ever. Thus sociologists must look at Japan in
order to understand the West, at socialism in order to understand
capitalism, at India so as to understand Brazil, and so on.
Parochialism in sociology is much more than a cultural deficiency; it
is the source of crippling failures of perception. It should be part
and parcel of the training of every sociologist to gain detailed
knowledge of at least one society that differs greatly from his own --
a feat that, needless to say, involves something many students shy
away from: learning of foreign languages.
Triviality too is a fruit of parochialism, but in the case of
sociology the more important root is methodological. This ailment of
the discipline goes back at the least as far as the 1950s. In a futile
and theoretically misguided effort to ape the natural sciences,
sociologists developed ever more refined quantitative methods of
research. There is nothing wrong with this in and of itself, sociology
contains a good many questions that necessitate survey-type research;
the better the quantitative methods, the more reliable will be the
findings. But not all sociological questions require this approach,
and some are of a character so as to require very different,
qualitative approaches. Identification of scientific rigor with
quantification has greatly limited the scope of sociology, often to
narrowly circumscribed topics that best lend themselves to
quantitative methods. The resultant triviality should not come as a
surprise.
Sociology, as a science, will necessarily be an exercise in
rationality. This is a far cry from assuming that ordinary social
action is guided by rationality. This had been well understood in
classical sociology, perhaps most dramatically by Vilfredo Pareto, a
mathematically oriented economist who turned to sociology precisely
because he discovered that most human actions are what he called
non-logical. The discipline of economics, alas, has refused to share
this insight and continues to operate with a highly rational model of
homo oeconomicus. As a consequence, it fails spectacularly,
over and over again, to understand, let alone predict, the dynamics of
the marketplace.
A good many sociologists seek to emulate economics, adapting
theoretical models based on the "rational-action paradigm"
to their own discipline. We may confidently predict that the
intellectual results of this approach will closely resemble those in
economics. Yes, sociology is a rational discipline; every empirical
science is. But it must not fall into the fatal error of confusing its
own rationality with the rationality of the world.
To some extent these criticisms correspond to those of C. Wright
Mills in The Sociological Imagination. Mills wrote before the
ideological sea-change of the late 1960s overtook the field. We cannot
know what Mills would have done, had he lived through this period. We
do know what large numbers of his readers did, especially those who
were most impressed by his criticisms. They plunged into an
ideological delirium, mostly shaped by Marxist and quasi-Marxist
assumptions, which seemed to provide remedies for all ailments of the
field. It provided a theoretical orientation that certainly dealt with
"big questions", did so in an international frame of
reference ("world-systems," no less), was not greatly
enthused about quantitative methods, and finally, while considering
itself to be thoroughly scientific, also assumed that most everyone
else was running around afflicted with "false consciousness."
Unfortunately, the answers to the "big questions" turned
out to be wrong and the world refused to behave in the way the theory
predicted. It is premature to proclaim the demise of Marxism, let
alone that of "marxisant" doctrines that have been quite
successfully detached from the total Marxist corpus. The worst
consequence of the ideologization of the discipline that took place in
the 1960s and 1970s is the persistent belief that objectivity and "value-freeness"
are impossible, and that sociologists, understanding this, should
expressly operate as advocates.
This stance need not be restricted to the left at all. In the great
methodological disputes during the classical period of sociology,
especially in Germany, it was thinkers on the right who took this
position most forcefully. The antidote to the "false ideal"
of objectivity was a "German science" and the most elegant
formulation of advocacy science came from no less a personage than the
late Dr.Goebbels -- "Truth is what serves the German people."
As the left declines in American intellectual life, if it is
declining, other ideologies can be observed adopting the same stance.
It is a stance that transforms science into propaganda; it marks the
end of science wherever it is adopted. Feminists and multiculturalists
are the leading representatives of this stance hi the American social
sciences today, but we may confidently expect others to appear. Some
may well be on the right.
In diagnosing the condition of sociology, one should not view it in
isolation. Its symptoms tend to be those afflicting the intellectual
life in general. Other human sciences are in no better shape. Most
economists are captive to their rationalist assumptions, large numbers
of political scientists seem to fall, mutatis mutandis, into
the same trap. Anthropologists are probably more ideologized than any
other social science discipline, and people in history and the
humanities seem to fall for every doctrinal fashion that comes flying
over the Atlantic, usually via Air France, each more obscurantist and
intellectually barbaric than its predecessor.
Perhaps it is expecting too much of sociologists to do better. But
sociologists have a particular problem no one else (with the possible
exception of anthropologists) in the human sciences shares. Sociology
is not so much a field as a perspective and if this perspective fails,
nothing is left. Thus one can study the economy, or the political
system, or the mating habits of the Samoans from perspectives that are
quite different, one of which is sociology. The sociological
perspective has entered into the cognitive instrumentarium of most of
the human sciences with great success. Few historians have not
somewhere incorporated a sociological perspective into their work.
Unlike most other human scientists, sociologists cannot claim a
specific empirical territory as their own. It is mostly their
perspective that they have to offer. The ailments described above
precisely effect the dissolution of this perspective, thereby making
sociology obsolete.
One could argue that such obsolescence is not a great intellectual
disaster, since what sociology originally had to offer has been
largely incorporated into the corpus of other fields. But, when one
looks at these fields, one can only reach the conclusion that they are
badly in need of a good dose of sociology, as the discipline was
understood in its classical period, and not just bits and pieces of
sociological lore that have been assimilated. In other words, there
are good intellectual reasons why one should not applaud the possible
demise of the discipline.
But can this fate be averted? I am not at all sure. The pathology now
goes very deep indeed. It is possible to suggest some conditions for
such a reversal of fortunes. Substantively, the above observations
have already outlined the necessary contours: We are talking about a
sociology that has returned to the big questions of the classical era,
a sociology that is cosmopolitan and methodologically flexible, and is
emphatically and militantly anti-ideological. But what of the
institutional requirements for such a reversal? Clearly it could not
be effected by conferences, manifestos, and other fugitive
intellectual endeavors. The revival of the discipline must be based in
one or more of the academic programs in which sociologists are
trained, probably (if regrettably) in elite universities. And the
process has to be in the hands of younger people, those with two or
more decades of active professional life ahead of them -- because this
is what it will take. Is any of this likely? Probably not. But one of
the root insights of classical sociology is that human actions can be
surprising.
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