International encyclopedia of the social sciences volume 12

International Encyclopedia of the SOCIAL SCIENCES

Associate Editors Heinz Eulau, Political Science Lloyd A. Fallers, Anthropology William H. Kruskal, Statistics Gardner Lindzey, Psychology Albert Rees, Economics Albert J. Reiss, Jr., Sociology Edward Shils, Social Thought

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International Encyclopedia of the

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PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS i. A UNIQUE AND OPEN SYSTEM n. COMPONENTS OF AN EVOLVING PERSONOLOGICAL SYSTEM

Gordon W. Allport Henry A. Murray

A UNIQUE AND OPEN SYSTEM

My approach to personality theory has been called both humanistic and personalistic. It is humanistic in the sense that it demands full recognition of all aspects of man's being, including his potential for becoming more than he is. It is personalistic in the sense that its goal is to understand and predict the development of the concrete, individual person. The approach has. likewise been labeled individual or trait psychology and sometimes a psychology of becoming. I prefer to regard it as an eclecticism based upon the conception of personality as a unique and open system (Allport 1964). An open system is one in which constant intake and output of energy occur, as do homeostatic (tension-reduction) processes. While all theories of personality allow for these two criteria of open system, the present view proposes two additional criteria: progressive internal organization over time and creative transaction with the environment (1960a). [See SYSTEMS ANALYSIS, articles On GENERAL SYSTEMS THEORY and PSYCHOLOGICAL SYSTEMS.]

Unlike most major theories, my view is derived not from clinical experience with disordered personalities (as are the views of Freud, Jung, Fromm, Sullivan, etc.) but from the traditions of academic psychology. There is an affinity between my posi-

tion and the theories of Wilhelm Stern, Alfred Adler, Abraham Maslow, Carl R. Rogers, Henry A. Murray, and the contemporary existentialists. Sometimes these views as a group have been labeled the "third force" in psychology (the first two being psychoanalysis and stimulus-response behaviorism). Internationalism. Influenced by historical developments in psychology in continental Europe (especially the schools of act, gestalt, and personalistic psychology), I have tried to relate these movements to Anglo-American empiricism, whose methods I prefer; but I insist that the European view of the person as a self-active (rather than merely reactive) being is sounder than the exaggerated environmentalism and associationism that mark American theories of personality. Some American critics complain that I lean toward German romanticism. Some Europeans, on the other hand, resent my "Americanization" of their thought. Broadly speaking, however, this work is welcomed as a bridge between psychological cultures, and honorary memberships in psychological societies of Great Britain, Germany, France, Austria, and Italy attest to this fact. Presuppositions. While my approach is academic, historical, international, and eclectic, it rests also upon the conviction that science as yet lacks an adequate image of the nature of man. For this reason no doors of method or theory should be closed. It is premature and unseemly for psychologists to present their partial and incomplete theories as if these theories were the final word. Because of this conviction my writing is often polemic in tone, for example in my attacks upon reinforcement theory of learning, projective techniques, animal models, and common actuarial 1

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PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS (I)

assumptions—insofar as such particularistic doctrines seem to be overextended in current theorizing. Psychoanalysis, with its heavy emphasis on the unconscious and on ego defenses, contributes much to our understanding of certain human qualities and occasionally provides the best theoretical fit for a given personality; but in general its biologism and reductionism are unsafe guides to follow. Most human conflicts are well configurated in consciousness and for this reason phenomenological report is important. "If you want to know what a person is like, ask him." In place of particularism and reductionism, I advocate a systematic pluralism or systematic eclecticism, which regards human personality as an open system whose potentiality limits are not known. Because any given personality is always in the process of "becoming" (1955), the science of personality should leave doors open for expansion. Since, as a rule, it is purposivists who leave doors open and mechanists who close them, I am aligned with the former, although I do not exclude any valid evidence from any school of thought. I would allow for both the automatic and for the autonomous in human nature. All theories of personality are nothing more than empirically based philosophies of man. Philosophies of materialism, egotism, hedonism, and positivism are too narrow to accommodate all the evidence. More adequate are philosophies of process, growth, and personhood. The unique and the general. This background accounts for the emphasis upon the study of the individual case in preference to the contrived average case. While most writers pay lip service to uniqueness, they do not in fact allow for it in their dimensional methods or in their assertions concerning the laws (or tendencies) of mind in general. Because of the manifest uniqueness of genotype, environment, and experience, the problem is not to justify the study of individual pattern but rather to justify our abstract and approximate nomothesis. We can do so by observing that people have similar (although never identical) physiological needs, comparable learning capacities, and culturally similar environments. Hence they may develop comparable interests and traits. On this basis we are justified in measuring common traits within a population. But while we engage in this familiar practice of differential psychology we should remember that the primary challenge is to invent morphogenic methods for the reliable and valid study of personal dispositions and individual life styles. Just as morphogenic biology lags behind molecular biology, so too does morphogemc psy-

chology lag behind molecular (dimensional) psychology (1961, chapter 1). The morphogenic (sometimes called idiographic) point of view holds that the single life itself should serve as the base line for studies of a person's course of development and also that an individual life is the proper matrix in which to search for the structure and functioning of personal motives and dispositions. I do not deny that the usual dimensional (nomothetic) approaches have their uses, but I argue for increased study of individual patterns of growth. Research. Morphogenic methods are not easy to invent. Some possibilities lie in personal documents, such as diaries, autobiographies, and letters (Airport 1942; Masterson 1946). The widely used Allport-Vernon-Lindzey test (see A Study of Values 1931), is partly morphogenic, partly dimensional. One of my papers (Allport 1962) lists a wide variety of techniques that I consider wholly or partly morphogenic, among them methods such as matching, self-anchoring scales, and personal structure analysis. Eventually such methods should prove to be scientifically more acceptable than the prevalent dimensional (actuarial) methods, since they should enhance powers of prediction, understanding, and control, the three goals of science (1940). As important as such methods are, they are not to be used exclusively. The bulk of my empirical investigations follow the more traditional method of seeking uniformities in such areas as children's imagery, expressive movement, social attitudes, common traits, social perception, rumor, prejudice, and the religious sentiment. These and other research contributions are listed in the extensive bibliography accompanying Personality and Social Encounter (1960b). An early and wholly characteristic field of research is reported in Studies in Expressive Movement (Allport & Vernon 1933), in which quantitative measures are made of handwriting, drawing, gait, gesture, and posture. Correlations of these measures disclose certain common traits of movement, such as expansiveness (versus constrictedness), centrifugality (versus centripetality), and forcefulness (versus light pressure). In general, individuals are consistent in the degree to which their movement manifests such characteristics. But even when an individual does not follow the common statistical trend, one can usually detect a congruence in his personal movement pattern. Thus while most people are consistent in the force they exert in holding a pen in their fingers and in applying it to paper, an artist may grasp the pen firmly but apply it lightly (a reflection of his own pro-

PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS (I) fessional style). In this example we note the dual emphasis upon both dimensional and morphogenic interpretations. Social psychology. My investigations bridge the topic of personality with the field of social psychology. I define the latter discipline as "the attempt to understand and explain how the thought, feeling, and behavior of individuals are influenced by the actual, imagined, or implied presence of other human beings (1954a, p. 5). In this definition the focus is upon the individual rather than upon societal structures or social processes. The contention that the concept of "role" adequately covers the functioning of personality in the social system is rejected. Nor is there acceptance of a definition of personality stated merely in terms of its effect on other people. For me personality "is the dynamic organization within the individual of those psychophysical systems that determine his characteristic behavior and thought" (1961, p. 28). Thus the field of personality study is related to, but not identical with, the field of social psychology. While The Nature of Prejudice (1954b) endeavors to give due weight to societal factors, it is the attitudes, traits, and character structure of persons that receive major attention. Cultural forces are ineffective unless they are embodied in the habits, attitudes, and motives of individual men. Structure of personality My main interest is in the organization of personality. This fact is responsible for the somewhat misleading statement that I advocate a trait psychology. I define a trait as "a neuropsychic structure having the capacity to render many stimuli functionally equivalent, and to initiate and guide equivalent (meaningfully consistent) forms of adaptive and expressive behavior" (1961, p. 347). An attitude is regarded as a special class of traits, involving an approach or avoidance tendency toward a specifiable object or class of objects. Common traits and attitudes, therefore, are those aspects of personality in respect to which most people within a given culture can be profitably compared. Although I have done a considerable amount of work in this conventional area of differential psychology, this should not obscure my special and more original emphasis on "personal dispositions," or "individual traits" (1937; 1961), conceived as genuine and unique neuropsychic units that guide, direct, and motivate specific acts of adjustment. While common traits are useful as coarse and approximate dimensions for convenient comparison of individuals, the ultimate units we seek are personal dispositions—the actual, organized foci of the individual's life. While objective methods are

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preferable in determining these dispositions, subjective experience and self-report are not to be denied their place. I am inclined to believe that a relatively few (perhaps six to ten) central dispositions can normally account for the congruence and stability found in personal conduct (1960£>, chapter 7). In a few lives one "cardinal" disposition seems to dominate (Hitler's mania for power, the compassion of St. Francis, Albert Schweitzer's reverence for life). Most lives also have "secondary" dispositions, which reflect minor foci of interest or stylistic qualities of behavior (1961, chapter 15). Since even a cardinal disposition never accounts for all of behavior, the full unification of personality is never attained. Somewhat after the manner of Carl G. Jung, I assume that the nearest approach to unity consists in the never realized striving for unity. Proactivity. Most empirical psychology relies on fragmentary and short-run experiments; and clinical psychology and psychiatry rely for their data chiefly on anamnesis and backward tracing of lives. Hence, central motives, thrusting toward the future, are often lost from view. To trace motives into the past (to discover Oedipal conflicts or the history of rewards and punishments) is contrary to the structure of most lives, which strain toward the future. Hence much current theorizing allows only scantily for goals, plans, intentions, ideals, and hopes that mark the course of becoming. Values (defined as "meanings perceived as related to the self") should be considered a chief ingredient in personality structure. Here I am clearly aligned with the third force in psychology. Motivation. Traditional theories of motivation postulate instincts, impulses, and needs, all of which press toward gratification. Equilibrium, tension reduction, or homeostasis, is said to be the goal of all activity. This is the position of most theories of personality, systems which I consider "quasi-closed." Open-system theories insist that men are normally not content with restful equilibrium. Homeostasis, when achieved, merely guarantees, as Walter B. Cannon has said, that man is then free for the "priceless nonessentials" of life. Even the most basic biological drives are individually patterned; food, drink, sex, and sleep involve countless individual tastes. And beyond drives there are innumerable psychogenic interests that defy uniform classification. One should not, therefore, postulate a basic list of motives, as many theories do. Instead I propose that all structural dispositions are in some degree motivational, in that they all "cause" behavior. Those dispositions involving

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PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS

greater momentary tension (including drives with their respective canalized tastes) have a prepotent saliency. Dispositions that we call interests, ambitions, and values—all involving long-range intention—are also persistently dynamic but ordinarily nonsalient. In addition there are stylistic dispositions (e.g., the tendency to act politely) that are directive in conduct rather than dynamic or driving. Stylistic dispositions that reflect qualities of temperament are best studied through expressive movements (vide supra*). Functional autonomy. To allow for the continual growth of motives, I have introduced the concept of "functional autonomy." It refers to "any acquired system of motivation in which the tensions involved are not of the same kind as the antecedent tensions from which the acquired system developed" (1961, p. 229). The existence of functional autonomy has been acknowledged by various authors in various ways, e.g., Franz Brentano, Edward C. Tolman, Wilhelm Stern, and Robert S. Woodworth. The principle of functional autonomy comprises the following points: (1) The character of motives alters so radically from infancy to maturity that we may regard adult motives as supplanting the motives of infancy; this view allows for the variety of goals and interests in adult personality better than any doctrine of fixed instinct or conditioned drive. (2) Even biological drives (breathing, hunger, sex) take on an individuality of patterning. (3) The "go" of a motive is always contemporary, and therefore tracing back to Oedipal conflicts, identifications, or childhood conditioning (except in rare neurotic instances) does not provide an explanation for current motivation. (4) Ontogenetic emergence (here postulated) does not contradict continuity in personality development. One should distinguish perseverative from propriate functional autonomy. The former is due to reverberatory (feedback) mechanisms in the nervous system. The latter is based on the dynamic properties of the self-image and on propriate striving. Except in certain neurotic conditions, a person is not tied to earlier motives, whether these are regarded as conditioned, channeled, or sublimated. Rather, the essence of his nature is to master and extract meaning from his environment and to orient himself toward the future. Propriate functional autonomy is possible because the energy potential possessed by an individual is in excess of his survival needs, drives, and the demands of immediate adjustment. In short, functional autonomy is "a way of stat-

(I)

ing that men's motives change and grow in the course of life because it is the nature of man that they should do so. Only theorists wedded to a reactive, homeostatic, quasi-closed model of man find difficulty in agreeing" (1961, pp. 252-253). It should be noted that post-Freudian ego psychology has modified psychoanalytic theory in the direction of functional autonomy (Heinz Hartmann, Erich Fromm, David Rapaport, Karen Horney). Ego psychology no longer looks for motivation exclusively in the unconscious, nor does it regard adult purposes as mere cathexes or sublimations of the instinctive impulses of sex and aggression. Functional autonomy is a declaration of independence for the normal personality. As a model it allows for authentic maturity and growth. Criteria for the mature personality are extension of the sense of self, warm relating of self to others, emotional security, realistic perception, self-objectification (insight and humor), and a unifying philosophy of life (1961, chapter 12). The proprium. The term "proprium" is used to avoid the historic ambiguities of self or ego. Proprium is defined as the self-as-known—that which is experienced as warm and central, as of importance. Ego involved (propriate) states are measurably different from states that are merely task involved, i.e., peripheral to the proprium (1943). Propriate functions include body sense, self-identity, self-esteem, self-extension, rational coping, self-image, and long-range propriate striving. These propriate functions (which must not be attributed to a separate self or agent) develop gradually, beginning at the end of the first year of life. Early sensorimotor behavior is nonpropriate, as is much of the opportunistic functioning of later life. Most of the investigations conducted in general and experimental psychology deal with nonpropriate behavior. For this reason many psychological principles of learning, motivation, and cognitive operation are not fully adequate to a psychology of the propriate aspects of personality. For example, theories of learning place too much emphasis upon the concept of reward and punishment and neglect the effect on learning of the congruence of an act with the self-image. In the normal course of development, external sanctions give way to internal directives. A student who first seeks the teacher's approval may end up by searching for knowledge for its own sake (functional autonomy). To take a further example: childhood conscience is at first a disposition based on prohibition, fear, and parental sanctions. With time, however, this primitive "must" conscience gives way to an adult "ought" conscience, which is

PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS (II) based not on fear of sanctions but upon a generic image of one's preferred life style. Thus the mature sense of moral obligation reaches far beyond the childhood superego. And so too with all complex sentiments. They are not mere channelings of early formations but are selective, critical, and often adventurous ways of handling the onrush of existence. The interweaving of the propriate functions performs the task of unifying personality (insofar as it is unified) in much the same way as William McDougall's master sentiment of "self-regard." As an academician and eclectic I respect and utilize contributions from the many particularistic approaches. It is, however, a persistent demand for adequacy of outlook that leads me to emphasize what I regard as neglected hypotheses and interpretations. My historical orientation is reflected in my sympathetic biographical interpretations of the work of William James, John Dewey, Wilhelm Stern, and Kurt Lewin—writers with whom I feel intellectual kinship. While I do not claim to have achieved a final eclecticism, I believe that the opensystem view of personality holds hope for such a development (Allport 1964). An open system, as opposed to a quasi-closed system, allows for an increase of internal organization over time and for transactional commerce with the environment beyond the level of mere reactivity (1960a). GORDON W. ALLPORT

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ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1960a The Open System in Personality Theory. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 61:301-310. ALLPORT, GORDON W. (1960b) 1964 Personality and Social Encounter: Selected Essays. Boston: Beacon. ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1961 Pattern and Growth in Personality. New York: Holt. ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1962 The General and the Unique in Psychological Science. Journal of Personality 30: 405-422. ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1964 The Fruits of Eclecticism: Bitter or Sweet? Pages 27-44 in International Congress of Psychology, 17th, Proceedings. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. ALLPORT, GORDON W.; BRUNER, JEROME S.; and JANDORF, E. M. 1941 Personality Under Social Catastrophe: Ninety Life-histories of the Nazi Revolution. Character and Personality 10:1-22. ALLPORT, GORDON W.; and VERNON, PHILIP E. 1933 Studies in Expressive Movement. New York: Macmillan. ALLPORT, GORDON W.; VERNON, PHILIP E.; and LINDZEY, GARDNER (1931) 1960 A Study of Values. 3d ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. -» Allport and Vernon were the authors of the 1931 edition. BERTOCCI, PETER A.; and MILLARD, RICHARD M. 1963 Personality and the Good. New York: McKay. -> See chapter 6. HALL, CALVIN S.; and LINDZEY, GARDNER 1957 Theories of Personality. New York: Wiley. -> See chapter 7. MADDI, SALVATORE R. 1963 Humanistic Psychology: Allport and Murray. Pages 162-205 in J. M. Wepman and R. W. Heine (editors), Concepts of Personality. Chicago: Aldine. MASTERSON, JENNY (Govs) [pseud.] (1946) 1965 Letters From Jenny. Edited and interpreted by Gordon W. Allport. New York: Harcourt. -> First published in the Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology. II

[Other relevant material may be found in FIELD THEORY; GESTALT THEORY; PERSONALITY; TRAITS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

The -most general statement of All-port's position is in Allport 1961. A complete bibliography through 1963 is contained in the 1964 edition of Allport 1960b. ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1937 Personality: A Psychological Interpretation. New York: Holt. ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1940 The Psychologist's Frame of Reference. Psychological Bulletin 37:1-28. ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1942 The Use of Personal Documents in Psychological Science. Bulletin No. 49. New York: Social Science Research Council. ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1943 The Ego in Contemporary Psychology. Psychological Review 50:451-478. ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1954
COMPONENTS OF AN EVOLVING PERSONOLOGICAL SYSTEM

Without doubt, the ground for my inclusion among contemporary "personality theorists" in this encyclopedia as well as in four recent surveys of the field (Hall & Lindzey 1957; Wepman & Heine 1963; Bischof 1964; Sahakian 1965) is the array of concepts and conceptual relations that were presented in Explorations in Personality (1938), the product of a collaboration for which I have received in print more credit than I can reasonably claim. Since that time, the conceptual scheme that we had designed (for a restricted purpose) has undergone, needless to say, countless expansions, revisions, and reconstructions on its way to the still embryonic and evolving personological system (PS) to which I currently subscribe. I welcome the opportunity to report this much—a bare minimum—in order to accent my belief that today is no time for theoretical fixations. On the contrary, in my case an itch for comprehensiveness has resulted in such a multiplication of idenes, or basic gene-like ideas

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—stolen goods for the most part—that at this juncture I find myself utterly incapable of packing them coherently into an essay of this length. The present assignment, then, came as a Procrustean bed which called for major surgery, regardless of the prospect that a successful series of amputations, or theoriectomies, would be pretty sure to kill the patient (this PS). The most radical theoriectomy performed for this occasion involved the excision of that large, widely propagated portion of the Freudian system which is concerned with psychopathological phenomena and their determinants. What were left to represent and understand after this huge excision were the more venturesome, progressive, ambitious, proudful, affectionate, joyful, selfactualizing, and creative potentialities of human nature, as well as of some of its higher-level, social and cultural, adult activities. In short, the task here is to set forth something which might serve as a health-oriented extension of, and complement to, the illness-oriented Freudian system. Further reductions of my corpus of ideas have been accomplished by extracting a number of biological, physiological, sociological, evolutionary, and general systems concepts and theories, by deleting expositions and justifications of ideas that are already in the literature, and by condensing nearly everything that needed to be said into the briefest sentences, without the numerous qualifications that accuracy demands. And so, as a consequence of so much surgery, I am afraid that the standing of this present assemblage of mentations must depend on whatever imaginative supports the reader is prepared to proffer. A theoretical conception Definition. A personality at any designated moment of its history (in middle life, for example) is the then-existing brain-located, imperceptible and problematical hierarchical constitution of an individual's entire complex stock of interrelated substance-dependent and structure-dependent psychological properties (elementary, associational, and organizational). Each elementary property is a differentiated (selectively focused), situationally oriented disposition (readiness) and capacity (power) to participate as a process in conjunction with other processes (each in its own way) in a variety of functional exercises or endeavors which will presumptively enhance that individual's feeling of well-being in his world. The vast majority of these selectively focused dispositions and capacities— for example, a multiplicity of more or less energizing interests, valuations, passions, wants, and needs; of more or less adequate imaginal or conceptual representations of objects, persons, events, or abstract ideas; of beliefs, judgments, decisions,

or plans of action; and of more or less competent organizations of subsidiary mental, verbal, and motor processes, that is, special skills—will be dormant (unactivated) at any given time. But a few of them will be operating momentarily in one of the internal or external situational proceedings (temporal units of activity), the ongoing processions of which constitute the daily waking life of that particular individual. Psychological properties. The properties and processes of personality are those that are capable of becoming conscious (experientially discriminated) in the natural course of events or when existing resistances are overcome. In short, this PS conforms to the principle that a scientist should adhere to a thoroughly self-consistent terminology, one that is suitable to the conceptual analysis and reconstruction of the class of phenomena (in this case psychological phenomena) he is investigating. This principle prohibits neither his identification of determinants or of analogous events at other levels of discourse, nor his adoption of the language of general systems theory in addition to his own terms [see SYSTEMS ANALYSIS, article on PSYCHOLOGICAL SYSTEMS]. Brain-located properties. Brain-located substance-and-structure dependence simply means that there would be no psychological properties or processes without the operations of the properties of material substances and structures on lower (electronic, chemical, physiological) levels of reality, including the circulating blood and its various essential constituents, such as oxygen, water, energy-bearing food particles, salts, vitamins, and hormones (if no animate brain, then no personality); and consequently that alterations of encephalic functioning beyond a certain critical limit— for example, as a result of anoxemia, lobotomy, arteriosclerosis, drugs, etc.—will change the personality temporarily or permanently in some respects. Furthermore, this dependence on the brain means that increasing knowledge of encephalic structures and their properties—for example, ascending reticular activating system—and various centers of hedonic, emotional, and erotic excitation in subcortical areas—should provide ground for hypothetical conceptions of the hierarchical systems of a personality that not only will conform more and more closely to the operations of the organic structures on which these systems are dependent but will advance our understanding of their situational activities. [See NERVOUS SYSTEM, article on STRUCTURE AND FUNCTION OF THE BRAIN.] Comprehensiveness of properties. In this PS, "personality," the most comprehensive term we have in psychology, is given a functional meaning

PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS (II) embracing everything from basic temperamental variables—for example, energy level, hedonic level, affective state of being—to such higher mental processes as may be devoted to superpersonal (cultural) endeavors—for example, artistic, historical, scientific, philosophical. Consequently, even by restricting one's attention (as one inevitably must do and should do) to the most important properties, a personality cannot yet be adequately represented as a functional and temporal whole in less than 5,000 words, let us say; certainly not by a short list of traits. Hierarchical constitution. Hierarchical constitution refers to the conception of three "vertical" divisions (differentiated establishments) of a personality, the states of which in childhood are quite comparable to the Freudian id, ego, and superego. The number, nature, object attachments, relative potency, and interrelationships of the components of each of these establishments change progressively with maturation and learning, stratum upon stratum, in opposition to an underlying tendency (augmented by frustration, etc.) to regress to lower strata, as manifested in sleep, reaction to extreme stress, neurosis, and psychosis. In these regressions the mind is overrun by mythological (archetypal) images from the stratum in which the narcissistic infant's entire world consisted of the providing and depriving mother (matriarchal superego) and the anlage of the ego was nothing but a little actuator of its vocal and its oral muscles. In this PS the adult id embraces the entire stratifled population of instinctual (genetically given, viscerogenic, subcortical, unbidden and involuntary) affective dispositions (hedonic, wishful, emotional, evaluative) with their engendered orienting fantasies, some forms of which have been repressed for years and may or may not be operating influentially "below" the boundary of the ego, but others of which have access to consciousness. The adult ego is the more or less fact-perceptive, knowledgeable, rational, articulate, future-oriented regnant system of the personality with energies of its own (during the waking hours) to fulfill its role as both governor and servant of the id. As the self-conscious "I," who leaves most things to habit (dynamic mechanisms), the adult ego will, on signal occasions, try as far as possible to function as the autonomous (uncoerced) and self-sufficient (unaided) determiner of his destiny—especially as "I" the decision maker (the identifier, interpreter, evaluator, rejector of the "worse" and chooser of the "better" pressing id components) and as "I" the plan-composer for the "better" ones, the executor and adjuster of the plans, and, finally, the achiever of effects which are sufficiently satisfying to self-respect and to the

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destructive and constructive id, greedy for pleasure, companionship, love, possessions, parenthood, power, and prestige. The adult superego (superregnant system of the personality) consists of stratified imaginal representors of the rulers (parent, king, god) and verbal representors of the ruling culture (moral precepts, laws, beliefs, sentiments, principles) of the world (family, group, nation, mankind) of which each ego is a member. Its function is to commit the individual to the support and service of these values. [See PSYCHOANALYSIS, article On EGO PSYCHOLOGY.] Imperceptible, problematical properties. Imperceptible and problematical properties are encountered especially in highly speculative, theoretical constructs, all too complicated to be properly expounded in this article. Personality operations. The operations of a personality during any designated period in its career are the history of the brain-located participations (with more or less frequency, intensity, persistence, and effectiveness) of many, but not all, of its manifold, currently existing properties, a few of these at a time—as manifested objectively and/or subjectively during the waking hours—in each of the succession of different (unique or recurrent) external (e.g., overt interactional) and internal (e.g., covert contemplative) situational proceedings, which, with their varying hedonic accompaniments and effects (negative or positive reinforcements), compose the more or less self-conscious life of an individual as it is carried on in relation to an influential environment of natural, artifactual, human, and cultural entities and events. To be included among the manifest operations and relations of a person's constitutional properties are prolonged emotional states (e.g., melancholy, anxiety, internal conflict, passionate love, creative zest); long spans of proactive, progressive serial proceedings, that is, the continuing, though interrupted, operation of complex systems of interest and enterprise with subsidiary processes (e.g., working for a degree, a long courtship, building a house, a voyage of discovery, writing a novel, etc.); and verbal disclosures of prevalent enduring dispositions (e.g., sentiments, beliefs, ambitions), as well as manifestations of thematic imagination, of knowledge, and of skill in various testing situations. Not all possible operations are included, because nowhere near all classes of situations (e.g., opportunities, tasks, perils) will be encountered by any one person in his lifetime: numerous possible shames and triumphs will be buried with him. Almost as revealing as the classes of situations that a person proactively chooses to encounter may be those he consistently avoids.

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PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS (II)

Succession of proceedings. A person's waking life is characterized by a continuous procession of varying psychic states, processes, and representors. Some of these processions will occur when he is privately absorbed in a random, undirected (involuntary) stream of covert feelings, images, and ideas (e.g., daydreaming) and others, when he is privately absorbed in a directed (voluntary) endeavor to "make up his mind" about something. Temporal strips of this nature are termed undirected or directed internal proceedings. In contrast to these are external proceedings, during each of which the person is proactively or reactively engaged in an environmental transaction, marked by actuations of overt, situationally oriented, motor and/or verbal processes, actuations which may be more or less spontaneous, random, impulsively expressive, aimless, or deliberately directed, intentional, and purposeful. External proceedings have two aspects: an imperceptible experiential aspect and a perceptible and/or audible behavioral aspect. Internal proceedings, however, have only a scarcely appreciable behavioral aspect. There is no space here for an account of how these major (sometimes overlapping) classes of situational proceedings have been classified into families, genera, species, varieties, etc. What needs to be stressed here is that this PS embraces both conventional behavioral psychology and (more particularly) experiential psychology—that is, it uses detailed reports, expertly obtained, of internal proceedings and of the subjective aspect of external proceedings. [See PHENOMENOLOGY.] History. Chronological records of the more important (revealing, consequential), successful or unsuccessful, satisfying or dissatisfying, single and serial proceedings (e.g., overt social interactions, sexual experiences of all sorts, covert dreams, fantasies, conflicts, feelings, self-evaluations, apperceptions of the world, choices of long-range purposes, etc.) in a person's life during the designated timespan, taken in conjunction with his responses to technical procedures, constitute the bulk of the data, the facts, to be analyzed into psychological variables, which, whenever possible, will be incorporated into the systemic components of a total formulation of the existing constitution of a person's more important properties. But, of course, the constitution will be changing, and strictly speaking, this great task of assessment and formulation should be repeated at each of the (Shakespearean seven, let us say) ages of the subject, since personality, as denned by this PS, has not only a comprehensive scope but a comprehensive span: the history of the personality is the personality. I shall now

turn to a much abbreviated conception of the historic changes of the constitution of a personality, paying special attention to their genetical and experiential (learning) determinants. The developmental process A personality constitutionally and operationally considered as a temporal whole from birth to death is the brain-located history of the successive and cumulative constitutional products (say, a few molecules and structural alterations at a time, in cells, axons and dendrites) of two interdependent ongoing, psychometabolic processes: the genetical and experiential systems. The nature and order of the products of the more fundamental of these two interdependent systems are largely determined, in a basic and a general way, by the inbuilt, genetical program of consecutive events (DNA code of instructions), a program which is roughly divisible into three successive but overlapping temporal eras. The first era is marked by the emergence and multiplication of potentialities for a high proportion of new, developmental (associational and organizational), structural compositions, each with its consequential psychological properties. The second era (middle age) is marked by a relatively high proportion of conservative recompositions of the already developed structures and functions. And, finally, the third era (senescence) is marked by a decrease of potentialities for new compositions and recompositions (e.g., less learning and retention) and an increase of decompositions (atrophy) of some previously existing forms and functions. [See ADOLESCENCE; AGING; DEVELOPMENTAL PSYCHOLOGY; GENETICS, article on GENETICS AND BEHAVIOR; INFANCY; INTELLECTUAL DEVELOPMENT; LIFE CYCLE; PERSONALITY, article on PERSONALITY DEVELOPMENT; SENSORY AND MOTOR DEVELOPMENT.] Presumably, the progress of the genetical program of events determines the earliest age at which a number of nascent dispositions and aptitudes will successively emerge and be capable of development under favorable conditions (e.g., now is the time to learn to crawl, now to start babbling, now comes the onset of puberty, etc.); the limits of excellence to which a number of special skills (e.g., athletic, musical, mathematical, poetical, etc.) may be perfected under the most facilitating circumstances; a number of temperamental dispositions and susceptibilities; and finally, besides much else perhaps, the onset of senescence and the age of death under the most fortunate conditions. The nature and order of the constructive and conservative products of the experiential interde-

PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS (II) pendent system of psychometabolic processes (the system involved in learning) are largely and specifically determined by the succession and recurrence of diverse concrete environmental encounters, instinctive outbursts, functional endeavors, and their hedonic effects (negative and positive reinforcements, including punishments and rewards for good behavior). Thus, within limits set by the existing potentialities, the operations and fortunes —or misfortunes—of a few, interdependent properties of the personality in each of the critical proceedings of its ongoing life largely determine what will be learned (internally composed, retained, and replicated); then, in a reciprocal manner, what a person learns on one occasion will determine or modify his performance on a subsequent occasion of the same class. Metabolic model. The term "ongoing" points to the fact that the brain-located nature of a human being is marked by a procession of vital processes, from the cessation of which (for example, as a result of even a short span of oxygen deprivation) there is no recovery. Ontogenetically considered, these given vital processes date from the fertilization of the ovum, but phylogenetically considered, they have a presumptive molecular (DNA or RNA) and cytoplasmic thread of historic continuity of some two or three billion years, which started, we may suppose, with the emergence of the genetical systems of a cluster of primordial units of living matter. To represent the sine qua non of life within the boundary of an animal organism, including its brain, and to account for the free energy that sustains its multivarious operations, there are no better general terms than those of biochemical metabolism, the incessant operation in each cell and tissue of catabolic (structure-decomposing, energyreleasing) and anabolic (structure-composing, energy-binding) processes. The succession of intracellular catabolic processes (designated here by De) may be likened to a tiny fire in which energy-rich particles (carbohydrates, fats, and proteins) are decomposed with the aid of enzymes in a watery medium of mineral salts, vitamins, and other substances. To keep these home fires burning brightly in the cells of the brain and other organs, there must be an almost continuous cellular ingestion (symbolized by Ca~) of the above-mentioned necessities—especially oxygen— as well as an almost continuous cellular egestion (symbolized by Rw) of waste products—carbon dioxide, water, and incompletely oxidized nitrogen compounds. Of an opposite nature to the analytic processes of catabolism (De) are the synthetic, molecule-

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binding, structure-building processes of anabolism (symbolized by Co); the energy for these, as for every other variety of activity, is derived from catabolism. Basically attributable to synthetic processes at the molecular level (e.g., millions of multiplications of giant DNA and RNA molecules, etc.), according to this theory, are all the above-mentioned maturational formations, and, in conjunction with concrete environmental transactions (perceptual and actuational), all the structural compositions and recompositions, the properties of which constitute the specific and general products of experience: what a person has actually learned to attend to selectively, to recognize, to understand, to represent conceptually, to evaluate positively or negatively, to love or to hate, to anticipate with pleasure or with dread, to accomplish with his muscles, to express with words, and to choose as realizable aims—all of which are important focused variables of personality. On the extent and fitness of such acquisitions and also very largely on favorable circumstances and good fortune will depend the possibility of actualizing whatever geneticallygiven, latent resources there may be for love, joy, achievement, and service to mankind. As to the three, above-defined overlapping temporal eras of the life cycle, each of these can be most simply, though roughly, conceptualized in terms of a ratio of the two metabolic terms Co and De: during the era of growth and development of character and powers, Co > De; during the era of maintenance of character and the fruitful use of powers, Co = De; during the phase of induration and decay, Co < De. These are some of the chief reasons why the concurrent, complementary processes of biological metabolism Co and De have been taken as the main components of this PS's basic paradigm, or model, a model that conforms with a conception of reality that is not expressible in terms of spatial structures of matter as such but in terms of the interdependent, operating properties of matter—that is, in terms of process, time, and energy. It is a fundamental animate model that accounts for the vital, vegetative processes (e.g., maturation, growth, differentiation, repair, etc.) that inanimate models do not fittingly represent. It is also applicable, with suitable modifications, to higher levels of mental activity, especially— when taken in conjunction with the widespread need for novelty (change, exploration, experiment) —to those analytic and synthetic imaginations which lead to cultural (scientific, artistic, ideological, ethical, etc.) innovations of all types [see AESTHETICS and ETHICS]. Finally, this model (with its emphasis on the

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energy-building, antientropic processes of progressive development and creativity) provides the biological ground for what is so conspicuously absent in the purely psychoanalytic system (with its emphasis on energy-reducing, entropic processes, as well as on fixation, repetition compulsion, regression, disintegration) [see CREATIVITY and STIMULATION DRIVES]. Learning and hedonic effects. It is provisionally proposed that among the genetical determinants of the development of personality, none is more influential than the morphology of the primitive brain (subcortex), with its increasing differentiations and integrations of centers (clusters of cellular containers of specialized chemical compounds called micronic structures), each of which will sooner or later constitute an inbuilt readiness to be converted into a more or less distinctive energizing (feeling) state. The most basic centers, related to all others, are those that yield hedonic feelings (pleasure, delight, satisfaction, joy) and those that yield anhedonic feelings (displeasure, distress, dissatisfaction, misery), with expressive movements in each case. From infancy on, hedonic learning, on which so much depends, will consist in the discovery (represented in the brain by more or less enduring spatial structures reconvertible into temporal associations and organizations) of what generates hedonic feelings and what generates anhedonic feelings (of this or that intensity or grade) within the self and then within numerous other selves whose feelings are important to the self. There are many kinds of hedonic and anhedonic determinants (generators), most of which, though analytically distinguishable, operate in relations with a few others, interdependently or consequentially. Some may be experienced together (as compounded sources of joy or misery) or some sequentially, the first being either a necessary forerunner of the second (e.g., tedious rehearsals of a skill before exhibiting it successfully in public) or the "cause" of the second (e.g., the pleasure of bullying a younger sister, followed by a humiliating punishment, a negative social repercussion). Growing up involves, among other things, gradual increases in the prospective time-span; the capacity to foresee the future; the power to postpone the gratification of certain wants, for one reason or another; and the ability to discriminate between pleasures and displeasures which have satisfying or beneficial consequences and those which have dissatisfying or harmful consequences and eventually to regulate one's life so that neither the present nor the future is sacrificed for the other. Of course the operation of a generator, hedonic

or anhedonic, will usually depend on a number of conditions or factors in addition to the past history and developmental age of the subject, factors such as the place, time, duration, and mode of its occurrence, the absence or presence of one or more particular persons, etc. But taking these and other qualifications into account, it might be said that each properly differentiated class of satisfiers (positive reinforcements) and of dissatisfiers (negative reinforcements), taken separately or in combination, deserves some place among the interdependent ends or counterends of individual or collective human living and endeavor. Hedonic and anhedonic generators may be suitably classified in several ways, one being according to their temporal reference: they may be retrospective, involving memories of past experiences which generate present pleasure or displeasure; spective, involving awareness of current delighters or distressors; or prospective, involving anticipations of future experiences which generate present pleasure or displeasure. Current generators may be classified according to their predominant location in space: in the subject, in the environment, or, more often, in subject-environment (especially interpersonal) transactions. Each of these major orders of determinants is divisible into several families, genera, etc. For example, generators in the subject may be located in the body (somatic determinants), in some emotional (e.g., love, hate, fear) center of the subcortex (central determinants), in some type of sensory, imaginal, conceptual, verbal, or motor process (processional determinants), or in the judgments of conscience (superregnant determinants). Environmental determinants. Most of these determinants are dynamically interrelated with environmental determinants. These are dominant in the early months of life when the child's capabilities are pretty much limited to piteous petitioning and to sucking. The hedonic generators in early life consist of whatever provisions (delighters) are gratuitously transmitted by the mother and receptively enjoyed by the child: chiefly bodily provisions (contact, firm support, stimulation, nipple, milk) and affectional provisions (presence, rapt attention, expressions of love, and later of admiration and approval, etc.). The anhedonic generators are constituted either by the absence in the proximal environment of an urgently wanted delighter (e.g., food, mother), whose arrival starts a strip of process pleasure, or by the presence of an unwanted distressor (e.g., pain, loud noise), whose removal restores the status quo. Somewhat later, however, the child may be confronted by an irremovable distressor, in the form of an interloping

PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS (II) newborn sibling and/or (for a boy) of a father, who is perceived as a successful contender for the mother's love. Central determinants. This brings us to a discussion of central determinants. It is assumed that, by necessity, the child is wholly egocentric (selfcenteredly oblivious of other selves and selfishly demanding a complete monopoly of his mother's attention when he wants it); thus, he bellows furiously when he is kept waiting, and the sight of a displacing rival is not unlikely to arouse in him a fiendish jealousy coupled with a profound resentment which engenders murderous fantasies directed toward the rival or revengefully toward the mother as betrayer of his trust. It seems that these fantasies and dreams are promoted, in part, by an inbuilt propensity to compose a bewildering procession of extravagant mythological images, many of which are related to the parents or more generally to the "myth of the hero," who, after performing extraordinary, superhuman exploits (e.g., flying, magic, etc.), kills a king and marries his queen. Complexes resulting from the vicissitudes and disastrous outcomes of these imagined heroic deeds and crimes may reside in the lowest strata of the id for a long time. Among other things, growing up calls for an increasing ability to distinguish between imagined events and actual events "out there," as well as a gradual progression from an utterly dependent state ("What will my parents do for me?") toward a relatively self-sufficient state ("What can I do for myself?"). Achievement determinants. An achievement determinant includes references to the (immediate or distant) past, present, and future and has its location in the subject's impression of whether he is moving toward his goal—whatever this may be—and, if so, whether he is moving faster or slower than he expected; with more ease or difficulty, from moment to moment, day to day, or year to year; or, more generally, whether he is getting better, no better, or worse in some respect. One can observe in the child the beginnings of experiences of this nature: the progressive organization of processes—of elementary sensory processes to arrive at the perception and recognition of an object; of sensorimotor processes (with feedback loops) to arrive at the moment when an object can be confidently reached, seized, and variously dealt with; of vocal processes to form words and sentences, etc.—which constitute, in each case, a stepwise gain of volitional power, which is experienced by the child as a pleasure-enhancing minor achievement, and, as such, is often applauded by a parent (a minor recognition). The central determinant

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here is ambition in the child, first to achieve greater and greater control of his own processes by concentration and persistence (i.e., to develop a variety of afferent and efferent skills in dealing with small portions of the encountered environment) and thus to attain a measure of autonomy and independence (which inaugurates the development of the ego, the executive of the regnant system of the personality) and later to use these skills (athletic, social, and intellectual) in competing with his peers for acknowledged superiority (victory or some form of higher order recognition, such as prizes, election to membership or office, or academic marks and honors), as well as to use these skills in satisfying other (material, social, or cultural) wants. The ways-means-end learning cannot begin until a certain amount of functional learning (walking and moving objects) has occurred, and then, what has to be learned year after year to gain positive social feedback (repercussions) from parents, teachers, or peers becomes progressively more difficult. Under competitive conditions, the prizes and, later, the best jobs and much else are reserved for those who have pushed some relevant types of functional learning to a sufficient degree of competence. In short, positive social reinforcements depend on individual differences in ambition (want to achieve), work enjoyment (process pleasure), persistence, innate aptitude, etc. [See ACHIEVEMENT MOTIVATION and SENSORY AND MOTOR DEVELOPMENT.] Transactional determinants. Transactional determinants are delighters and distressors that come from dealing (successfully or unsuccessfully) with the environment of things, people, or ideas; from enjoyed or not enjoyed dyadic reciprocations with another person—that is, transmissions and receptions of erotic stimulation (mutual orgasm), of affection or disaffection, of interesting or banal information, self-revelations, or opinions, of comic or pointless stories, etc.; from the processes or outcomes of cooperative endeavors; from the repercussions of socialized (ethical, considerate, conventional) or unsocialized (criminal, offensive, obnoxious) forms or styles of behavior, especially the miseries of ostracism, disgrace, imprisonment, etc.; from the processes and effects of transmitting delighters to those who need them or deserve them (a very common, genuine form of enjoyment not covered by current psychological theories), and much else besides [see SYMPATHY AND EMPATHY]. Let these suffice as illustrations of a few elementary varieties of hedonic and anhedonic determinants. In this PS, those that emanate from others (alters) and are directed toward the subject are classified

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PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEWPOINTS (II)

as press (plural, press); positive press include acceptance, inclusion, promotion, respect, affection, lust-love, and negative press include rejection, exclusion, demotion, contempt, hate. As a personality develops, associations and organizations will constitute the ground for a large number of general and particular (unique), enduring or unenduring positive and negative interests, evaluations (sentiments and tastes), personal affections, beliefs, wants, modes of behavior, and aims (a negative aim being an orientation toward the riddance in the present or the prevention in the future of the operation of a distressor). Learning. The term "learning" commonly implies that its results are "valuable" (in some sense), regardless of the self-evident fact that a person may learn a good deal that "ain't so" or "ain't good": superstitions, prejudices, repulsive tastes, the craft of forgery, etc.—all of which had better be unlearned. Also, in psychology, the term generally implies that its results determine a young person's subsequent behavior, that he or she very soon becomes a creature of habits, with emotions and aims fixated by experienced distressors or delighters and tactics fixated by experienced successes, etc. This might be pretty nearly the whole truth if the genetical program, with its potentialities for self-actualization, ceased to operate at puberty; if the subject were not easily bored and not eager for new sights and new ventures; if the subject were commonly rewarded for frequent repetitions of the same information (old news), the same jokes, etc.; if the human environment, parents, teachers, and peers were unanimous in their support of the same beliefs, codes, manners, political sentiments, and tastes; if the person were not ambitious to emulate successively the more impressive performances and deeds of others; if for the subject the very meaning of achievement (something to be proud of) did not consist in the accomplishment of something new, extraordinary, more difficult or hazardous; if the person were not enticed by future-oriented imagents (fantasies) of unexperienced delights or of untried ways and means; if no person were ever radically transformed by a "second birth," "great emancipation," or religious conversion; and finally, if no person were ever to discover that the creation of an unprecedented, propitious form of living or of culture (scientific, literary, etc.) could be more profoundly joyous than any experience he had had. If it were not for these and other self-realizing, novelty-seeking, ambitious, proudful, imaginative, and creative dispositions in human beings, all of us would stagnate with learned incapacities and a few enthralling memories of infantile attachments. This

is not to deny the essential truth of one of Freud's greatest discoveries: the lasting underlying influence (either beneficial or harmful) of early terrors, conditionings, loves and hates, erotized fantasies, and much else. What is being stressed at this point is the amount of unlearning (hedonic, cognitive, and tactical), experimentation, courage, endurance, and constructiveness that is required for a full life. [See CREATIVITY; FANTASY; STIMULATION DRIVES.] Variables, assessments, and representations Among the criteria in terms of which the worth of a personological system may be suitably evaluated are: (1) the comprehensiveness (coverage, scope), structure (interr elatedness), adequacy (congruence with reality, significance), and operational definiteness (clarity, precision) of its assemblage of concepts and propositions; (2) the efficiency (in corresponding terms) of its assessment system (data-collecting, data-processing, data-evaluating, and data-integrating processes); and (3) the over-all satisfactoriness (in corresponding terms)—the plausibility and verifiability—of the representations of different personalities (explanatory conceptual biographies) that are composed out of the harvest of facts and interpretations yielded by the assessment process. In this PS, the central set of concepts are classified into abstract elementary orders (e.g., propelling energizers and evaluators; representors; movers; organizers; etc.) and these into families, genera, etc., of decreasing generality. The simplest, recurrent associations of these properties with each other or with the properties of environmental entities (e.g., an interest in Z, a positive evaluation of X, a want to gain Y, images of W, the effectiveness of V processes, etc.) are the kinds of abstracted personality variables which are usually obtained with ratings from questionnaires and tests, and in terms of which an individual is ordinarily described in a social conversation. The aim in this PS, however, is to discover how these structural components, converted into their operating properties, interdependently participate in this or that energized, oriented, organized, temporal unit (organizational variable). This synthetic mode of thought eventually results in the conceptualization of a hierarchy of purposive organizations, the largest and longest of which are systems of concern (of planning, activity, enjoyment, and achievement). It is chiefly of these that a personality-in-progress is composed. Of necessity, large portions of this PS have been omitted; but enough may have been said to indi-

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Study cate that it is basically a psychometabolic system, with energy released for drives, emotions, and movements (electrical and muscular) and for the composition of new convertible structures of all sorts. From this it follows that its root concepts are dynamic, genetical, developmental, organismal (systemic, semiholistic), and hierarchical. It stresses the experiential (existential, subjective), hedonistic, and voluntaristic aspects of a person's life (partly because of their contemporary neglect); but heretofore in practice it has done more justice to unconscious psychological processes, as well as to overt behavior with its situational and sociological (membership and role) determinants. HENRY A. MURRAY [Directly related is the entry PERSONALITY. Other relevant material may be found in MOTIVATION, article On HUMAN MOTIVATION; NERVOUS SYSTEM; PSYCHOANALYSIS; SYSTEMS ANALYSIS; and in the biographies of FREUD; HUXLEY; JUNG; LEWIN; MORGAN, C. LLOYD; WHITEHEAD.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

BISCHOF, LEDFORD J. 1964 Interpreting Personality Theories. New York: Harper. COHN, ALFRED E.; and MURRAY, HENRY A. 1927 Physiological Ontogeny: I. The Present Status of the Problem. Quarterly Review of Biology 2:469-493. Explorations in Personality: A Clinical and Experimental Study of Fifty Men of College Age, by Henry A. Murray et al. 1938 London and New York: Oxford Univ. Press. HALL, CALVIN S.; and LINDZEY, GARDNER 1957 Theories of Personality. New York: Wiley; London: Chapman. MURRAY, HENRY A. 1940 What Should Psychologists Do About Psychoanalysis? Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 35:150-175. MURRAY, HENRY A. 1951 Toward a Classification of Interactions. Pages 434-464 in Talcott Parsons and Edward A. Shils (editors), Toward a General Theory of Action. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. MURRAY, HENRY A. 1958 Drive, Time, Strategy, Measurement, and Our Way of Life. Pages 183-196 in Gardner Lindzey (editor), Assessment of Human Motives. New York: Rinehart. MURRAY, HENRY A. 1959 Preparations for the Scaffold of a Comprehensive System. Volume 3, pages 7-54 in Sigmund Koch (editor), Psychology: A Study of Science. New York: McGraw-Hill. MURRAY, HENRY A. (1963) 1965 Studies of Stressful Interpersonal Disputations. Pages 176-184 in Gardner Lindzey and Calvin S. Hall (editors), Theories of Personality: Primary Sources and Research. New York: Wiley. -» First published in Volume 18 of the American Psychologist. MURRAY, HENRY A.; and MORGAN, CHRISTIANA D. 1945 A Clinical Study of Sentiments. Genetic Psychology Monographs 32:3-149, 153-311. SAHAKIAN, WILLIAM S. (editor) 1965 Psychology of Personality. Chicago: Rand McNally. WEPMAN, JOSEPH M.,- and HEINE, RALPH W. (editors) 1963 Concepts of Personality. Chicago: Aldine.

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PERSONALITY, POLITICAL i. THE STUDY OF POLITICAL PERSONALITY ii. CONSERVATISM AND RADICALISM

THE STUDY OF POLITICAL

Robert E. Lane Daniel J. Levinson

PERSONALITY

Because one cannot write about, or even think about, human affairs without some implicit concept of human nature, the idea of "political personality" is a very old one; indeed, the established classics of political philosophy from Plato through Mill almost always give it explicit attention (Wallas 1908; Lane 1953). Yet at the same time, the development of sophisticated psychology and psychiatry, especially psychoanalysis, is so recent that the modern concept of political personality is qualitatively very different and must here serve as the substance of the discussion. This article will explore the meaning of the concept, examine the ways in which the various psychological schools have left their mark on the idea of a political personality, and then deal more extensively with the ways in which theory and research in this area have helped in our interpretation of political outcomes. The concept of political personality "Political personality" may be defined as the enduring, organized, dynamic response sets habitually aroused by political stimuli. It embraces (a) motivation, often analyzed as a combination of needs and values (the push-pull theory); (fo) cognitions, perceptions, and habitual modes of learning; and (c) behavioral tendencies, that is, the acting out of needs and other aspects of manifest behavior. Each of these has obvious political implications: (a) people who are motivated by needs for power may employ political leverage to satisfy these needs rather than (or in the course of) a pursuit of some explicit policy goal; (£>) cognitively, people who handle information in the defense of their partisanship, rather than as an instrument of broader learning, become dogmatic and obstruct social adaptation to new situations; (c) behaviorally, political life is vitally affected by the tendencies of leaders to act out (externalize) their psychic conflicts, projecting them onto other people and situations or, alternatively, to withdraw into inaction when threatened or, again, to make public demands to assuage their sense of worthlessness. Most simply stated, then, the habitual patterns of feeling, learning and knowing, and behaving in political situations constitute political personality. The definition above states that the elements of

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PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Study

political personality are "enduring"; this means that they are in some sense central to the personality, not merely the response to somewhat ephemeral situations or the product of a certain occupation or, more generally, a role that a person occupies for the time being. This means that in speaking of political personality, we are dealing with patterns of thought, emotion, and acting out that may be seen in operation in many different situations over a relatively long period of time, perhaps youth, young adulthood, and maturity. Again, this implies that these patterns are laid down relatively early, though their expression and style may reveal differences over time; indeed, there may be fundamental changes in personality at a relatively mature age. Parenthetically, it may be noted that these changes are often the product of a slight change in some set of balancing internal forces (say, strong aggressive impulses held in check by fear of one's own aggression) which may produce a relatively great change in outward personality manifestations (e.g., from ingratiating to domineering behavior). The definition of political personality includes the attribute "organized," implying some interrelationship among the constituent elements such that a change in one, say, a growing need for social approval, would modify other elements, perhaps leading to a decreased willingness to defy authority. Inquiry into this organization implies something like the following paradigm of questions: What patterns of needs, expressed through what need-coping mechanisms (repression, sublimation, ego-striving, etc.), modified by what perceptions of reality and habits of learning, screened through what ideological constellations, produce what behavioral tendencies? The organization of a political personality, then, implies a patterned relationship and interaction among these elements. And, among these elements, the manner of dealing with conflicting needs or motives is probably the most important, followed by the pattern of response to and internalization of authority. There was a third adjective in the definition: "dynamic." Here, this overworked term refers to a capacity to produce change in something else. Operationally this means that if two ideas or emotions are brought into some kind of relationship, the more dynamic element changes the less dynamic element. For instance, the attitude toward authority is generally considered more potent than feelings toward particular leaders. Therefore, when a worshipful attitude toward authority is forced to confront a dislike of a particular political leader, more change will be effected in the attitude toward the

leader than in the posture toward authority in general ("he isn't so bad, after a l l . . . I must have misjudged him . . . at least he looks like a president, etc."). We reserve for the term "political personality" those elements of a person's total psychic pattern which tend to shape attitudes, beliefs, and actions on new issues as they arise. Just as some authorities talk of "reference groups" and "reference persons," so we might here refer to political personality as a constellation of "reference ideas" and "reference emotions"—ideas and emotions to which new problems are referred for guidance and instruction. But, of course, this reference is usually quite unconscious. The concept of political personality borders on other concepts from which it must be distinguished. There is, in the first place, the concept of "attitude," which has been classically defined as a kind of "mental and neural response set." We would distinguish political personality from a single attitude on the obvious ground that the latter is too narrow, and from any conceivable complex of attitudes, however broad, on the ground that such a complex lacks the organization and dynamic potential of a political personality. Personality, as has so often been remarked, is not a bundle of traits. Thus we conceive of a personality as shaping attitudes and not vice versa. [See ATTITUDES.] In the second place, there is the concept of "role," usually defined as a pattern of expected behavior associated with a given position in society. In practice it is not easy to distinguish role-determined behavior from personality-determined behavior when a person is acting out his concept of appropriate role behavior or, worse, when he has accepted the values and beliefs associated with a given role and performs accordingly. Sometimes the only way to distinguish between personality and role is to observe the person in a set of different roles, say, father and bureaucrat. Conceptually, political personality has an earlier genesis, has a different organizational principle, transcends the situation or social position, is more internally motivated or autonomous of the environment, responds to different crises and conflicts, and is more idiosyncratic or individualized than is any (political) role behavior. [See ROLE.] Finally, there is the distinction between personality and culture, a difficult one because personality must be learned somehow from available cultural elements. It is for this reason that personality is sometimes said to be the subjective side of culture. Does individual anxiety reflect an anxietyladen culture? Does the authoritarian personality reflect an authoritarian culture? When we are deal-

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Study ing with individuals, the distinction is relatively easy, because no two individuals bring together an identical genetic pattern and an identical sequence of experiences; hence, each is in some way unique. When we deal with "modal personality" or "social character," that is, the features of personality which are commonly shared in a group, we have greater trouble distinguishing between these shared personality elements and the dominant themes of a culture. Obviously the carriers of the culture are people; they exemplify it, as well as conveying its themes to others through their norm-setting and norm-enforcing behavior. Perhaps the best way to distinguish between these concepts of modal political personality and political culture is through the different questions each concept poses, the different theoretical structures employed to answer these questions, and the differential focuses upon people and ideas in each instance. Questions dealing with modal political personality elicit answers employing psychological theories of individual development, learning, imitation, conflict resolution, and the like. They are designed to tell us about people, in this case individuals who happen to be in groups. Questions dealing with political culture employ theories of social change, cultural diffusion, group adaptation to ecological factors, functional requirements of a given social structure, the reinforcement of social patterns, social (rather than individual) pattern maintenance, and so forth. Both concepts contribute to an understanding of political phenomena: modal political personality, through its contribution to an understanding of group psychology; political culture, through its contribution to an understanding of the prevailing myths, beliefs, and adaptive responses of the underlying society. Yet it must be said that often these amount to the same thing. [See POLITICAL CULTURE.] Political personality and environment It is now a truism to say that all social explanations employ some variation of what the learning theorists term a "stimulus (S)-organism(O ^response (R)" model, though sometimes it is referred to as "environment(E)-predisposition(P)-response (R)." Social and political explanations place the emphasis now on one term (S or E), now on the other (O or P). Institutional theories, such as those which claim that a separation of powers is a necessary condition for the rule of law or those which assert that the development of a middle class is necessary for the survival of representative government, emphasize the environmental part of this model. Yet while they are silent on the personalities

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of the actors involved, they always quietly impute to them a set of personal qualities, e.g., the universal love of power, which can be restrained only by others with power, or the reluctance of an economic elite to share power with the masses unless coerced by a balancing middle class and/or the incapacity of the masses to govern themselves. Each environmental theory, then, as mentioned in the first sentence of this article, implies a theory of personal motivation and some distribution of motives, values, and capacities in a relevant population. The study of political personality represents, in the one sense, an effort to fill in these never empty but often unexamined cells in the great macro theories which have guided the study of nations. On the other hand, there is a temptation to employ the new concepts of political personality in an exaggerated way, so as to imply that an individual has a set of motives or needs which are evoked in the same way in all situations or, worse, that a given public, say the German people, chose a certain leader, adopted a certain ideology, became bellicose and domineering or whatever because of some national character constellation, as though this constellation operated quite independently of the history and institutions of that particular public. One has only to glance at the early theories of political motivation to see the temptation at work: politicians choose their careers because they (all of them) love power; the Germans chose Hitler and Nazism because they were authoritarian; Americans offered economic aid to other countries because they were other-directed and wanted the world to love them—and partially turned against aid giving when they found that they could not buy love. The lesson is clear, indeed obvious—but often neglected: it is in a combination of circumstances and attitudes, environment and political personality, that the answers to the important political questions will be found. Theoretical interpretations Since, as was said at the beginning, the modern exploration of political personality is encouraged by and feeds on the developments of personality theory and research among psychologists and psychiatrists, it is not surprising that variations in these more molar fields are reflected in the interpretations of the role of personality in political life. For this reason it is useful to touch briefly upon the way in which various psychological theories affect these interpretations. The first approach is that of Pavlov (1927), Watson (1914), Hull (1943), and others in Russia

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and the United States. Originally called learning theory, it is now more generally called behavior theory. The central doctrine of this school is that an understanding of all behavioral responses may be acquired through a grasp of the concepts of drive, cue, response, and reward and their derivatives; rewarded responses become habits through a process of conditioning, and unrewarded responses tend to be extinguished. Personality, then, is the pattern of learned responses, not all of them adaptive in long-range terms but all of them, at least once, reinforced. It has been argued that the behavior of the Soviet elite has been heavily influenced by this concept of personality, leading them, so it is said, to believe that through a fairly gross manipulation of rewards and punishments they can shape the personalities and behaviors of the populations under their control (Tucker 1963, pp. 91-121). Although it is possible to translate behavior theory into the terms and constructs of other more clinically oriented theories, as Bollard and Miller (1950) have shown, the product is somewhat inelegant. Because of its mechanistic emphasis and insistence upon observable (operationalized) ingredients, the theory leaves out the rich, speculative, and often fruitful concepts of internal dynamics, conflict resolution, fantasy and free-associational styles of thought, dream life, analogical thinking, and the secondary elaborations which these theories produce. A second approach to political personality focuses upon the complex of vectors or forces which influence a person in his "life space." Kurt Lewin (1939-1947) was the originator of this theory whose sources lie in gestalt psychology. His associates and followers have gone on into the field of group dynamics exemplified in their small group experiments (Cartwright & Zander 1953). The central work of this school consists of accounting for the impact of the social world, the world of interaction and group life, upon an individual whose goals are constantly shaped and modified by these influential people—the other members of his group. This approach, reflected in the voting studies produced both by the Lazarsfeld-Berelson group (Lazarsfeld et al. 1944; Berelson et al. 1954) and the Michigan Survey Research Center group headed by Angus Campbell (Campbell et al. 1954; Michigan, University of 1960) has led to some important formulations of the way in which reference groups, interpersonal influence, cross pressures or conflicting identifications, family, school, and work socialization, and group pressures all combine to modify electoral decisions. The findings suggest that in this area of American electoral

decision making, individual differences are not so important as group differences, that is, national modal character is more important than individual personality. Another way to say this is that for any one country, more of the variance is accounted for by environmental factors than by personality factors. The more strictly Freudian approach, now only one of several competing schools of psychoanalysis, focuses, as is well known, upon the channeling and blocking of the libido, the conflict among id and ego and superego (impulse, conscious mind, and conscience), unconscious processes, early determination of central personality characteristics, and the consequent need to return retrospectively to early experience in order to achieve fundamental personality change (Freud 1932). The view of political man which emerges from this perspective on personality and its formation is well symbolized, if not well summarized, by Lasswell's early provocative formulation: The most general formula which expresses the developmental facts about the fully developed political man reads thus: p) d) r = P, where p equals private motives; d equals displacement onto a public object; r equals rationalization in terms of public interest; P equals the political man; and ) equals transformed into. ([1930] 1951, pp. 75-76) This makes of political man the rationalized version of inadmissible private motives and reflects the early emphasis of Freudians and neo-Freudians upon those aspects of personality which could be traced to a wild and assertive id. Anna Freud (1936), Heinz Hartmann (1927-1959), and many others have somewhat restored the balance by giving more weight to ego psychology. But the political personality which emerges from this theoretical framework tends to underemphasize what has been overemphasized by the rest of the world, the plain appeal and obvious influence of economic advantage. More recently, psychoanalytic theory has been re-examined and modified by a group, sometimes called the interpersonal school of psychiatry, which has been led by three important figures: Harry Stack Sullivan, Erich Fromm, and Karen Horney. The label "interpersonal" comes from the central view of personality expressed by Sullivan in the following terms: "Personality I now define in the particularist sense as the relatively enduring pattern of recurrent interpersonal situations which characterize a human life" ([1940-1945] 1953, p. xi). His work has had less bearing on political

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Study problems than has that of his two associates, so we now turn to their formulations. Horney (1937), in emphasizing the reflection of the strains of society in the contemporary neurotic trends of her patients (as a sample of some larger group), reveals what social life is doing to people: making them competitive, decreasing their capacity to give of themselves and thereby reducing their capacity to love; at the same time it is increasing their "neurotic need for affection" and generally, and most importantly, making them more anxious. Unfortunately, because she has no base line, Horney cannot substantiate her claim that modern man has more of these problems than did his predecessors—but she can make a strong case that these facets of personality damage are real and important for our time [see HORNEY]. The importance of these neurotic trends for political personality, that is, the personality faced with political decisions, is substantial, though their expression is uncertain: the anxious man may, depending upon the organization of his personality, withdraw, become assertive, cling desperately to some dogmatic belief, or yield utterly to some tendency toward "other-directedness." What is certain is that his anxiety will impair his rational functioning and prevent him from using politics to his maximum long-term advantage. Erich Fromm, the most politically oriented figure in this group, presents three main themes with special relevance to the study of political personality. The first of these has to do with the idea of "social character," which on the one hand is the "root" of ideology and culture and on the other "is molded by the mode of existence of a given society" (1941, p. 296). For Fromm, "the social character internalizes external necessities and thus harnesses human energy for the task of a given economic and social system" (1941, p. 284). In the same sense, one might think of a modal political personality, in a world where personality and political system are in harmony, as providing the motives, values, and capacities for performing the required political acts. Fromm's second theme has to do with the relationship of man to society and to the government thereof. It was he who in modern times first developed an accounting of the costs of "freedom," that is, autonomy won at the expense of weakened ties of family, neighborhood, community, tradition, occupation, and, in some cases, religion. In developing this accounting and in elaborating on some of the political responses which it facilitated, Fromm portrayed, or at least sketched, the atavistic political personality unable to stand alone, searching for some synthetic ties to replace the ones lost in the

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process of modernization. This theme assumed increased importance with the development of the theory of The Authoritarian Personality (1950) by Adorno, Frenkel-Brunswik, Levinson, and Sanford. Another sprout from the soil of this theory, nurtured by that very original gardener David Riesman (1950), is a theory of modern man as other-directed, that is, decreasingly reliant on his own conscience and increasingly reliant on cues from other people for his ideas and actions. A third theme in Fromm's more recent work deals with the concept of alienation; it is important because it stands for, although it did not originate, an entire school of criticism of modern society. With roots in the work of Feuerbach and Marx (Fromm 1961) but now more leveled at "modernity" than at capitalism, the idea of the alienated man claims that industrialism has alienated man from his work; that commercialism and the long process of change from status to contract have created an alienated "marketing personality" where people and the self are regarded as "things"; that mass society divorces people from meaningful group life; and that mass politics creates automaton-like, meaningless political responses (Fromm 1955). The alienated personality is said to be "available" for charismatic leadership and anomic destructive social movements. Unfortunately for the theory, most available evidence shows that the attitudes characteristic of alienation are more prevalent in rural societies and are especially frequent in village life relatively untouched by industrialism, commercialism, mass media, and mass politics (Banfield & Banfield 1958). While the "interpersonal school" represents one variation of the original Freudian interpretation of political man, another variation is represented by Erik Erikson (1956), whose public hallmark is the concept of identity. Here we have a shift in focus, from instinctual libido and interpersonal relations to the concept of the self, or the self image, but it is a self image in a group context. The term is somewhat elastic: "At one time . . . it will appear to refer to a conscious sense of individual identity; at another, to an unconscious striving for a continuity of personal character; at a third, as a criterion for the silent doings of ego synthesis; and finally, as a maintenance of an inner solidarity with a group's ideals and identity" ([1956] 1960, p. 38). It is important now because of the growing evidence that psychic breakdowns have their origins decreasingly in the repression of impulses, as was the case in the nineteenth century, and more often in "identity-diffusion," that is, the uncertainties and anxieties arising from ill-defined goals, ambiguous

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group identifications, conflicting self images, and vague life patterns. In its political aspects, identitydiffusion leads to low political cathexis and ideological caution (Lane 1962, pp. 381-399). Political personality and political analysis The various concepts and interpretations of political personality are reflected in the applied work of political analysis—but often segmentally, or eclectically, by men seeking personality concepts by means of which they can grapple with the intricate workings of political institutions. The problems of such analysis are many, and the amount of research in this area is small. Legislative behavior. Legislative behavior, the output of which is a set of laws, institutions, and appropriations, is inevitably modified by the personality constellations of the legislators. An early study by McConaughy (1950) suggests that in one American state, South Carolina, a (somewhat unsystematic) sample of legislators were, compared with the average American adult, "less neurotic . . . far less introverted, more self-sufficient and slightly more dominant." McConaughy does not relate these results to legislative behavior. A more comprehensive study of Connecticut legislators by James Barber (1965) finds a large proportion of the legislators lacking in self-esteem and employing their positions in the legislature to compensate for their doubts about themselves; it is the few who are genuinely self-confident who get the legislative business of the legislature done. On a closely related psychological syndrome, the sense of efficacy, evidence from a study of four American state legislatures reveals how important this sense is in affecting the manner in which a legislator sees and handles his role: those with a higher sense of efficacy (ego strength?) look beyond their immediate districts and accept responsibility for the larger unit, in this case the state; more than others, they accept pressure groups and even welcome them as part of the play of forces necessary for developing acceptable policy; and they tend to regard their role as brokers in a cockpit of conflict with equanimity, without becoming personally upset (Wahlke et al. 1962, especially pp. 474-475). But in these four states, as in Connecticut, it appears that more than half of the legislators have grave doubts about their efficacy or even adequacy in the legislative situation. Another theme out of the nosology of personality syndromes is the matter of identity. It seems from Barber's Connecticut study, and from other work on the United States House of Representatives, that the more clearly a legislator perceives his role and

assimilates this role concept to some vigorous and viable sense of identity, the more effective he is—i.e., persuasive, work-oriented, and hard to manipulate. [See LEGISLATION, article on LEGISLATIVE BEHAVIOR.] Although it does not explicitly deal with personality, Nathan Leites' work on "operational codes," first of the Politburo (1951) and then of the French parliament (1959), embodies in different language many of the themes which are normally conceived to be the stuff of personality. Thus, Leites asserts that two themes of the operational code of the Politburo are a fear of dependency, leading to strong measures to avoid any situation where people or nations are mutually interdependent, and particularly any situation where they might be "used" by others (1951, pp. 40-43), and an unusually strong insistence on "the control of feelings," leading to attacks on sentimentality and emotional responses and to an observable "hardness"—at least during the Stalinist period (1951, pp. 20-24). Speaking of the French legislator, Leites (1959) describes a series of behaviors, especially avoidance of responsibility, efforts so to arrange things that others are "to blame" for unpopular or unsuccessful decisions, inability to form permanent coalitions because of distrust of others (following from and causing this pattern of irresponsibility), and a search for a force majeure to get the French parlement or the nation out of its difficulties. Leites would argue that these are French, as well as legislative, characteristics; hence they also fall under the category of "national character," though of course he would also argue that they are traits to some extent widely shared throughout the world. At the bottom of many of these traits, there seems to be a concept of individualism and a tendency to distrust others, a quality which Almond and Verba found central to the working of a successful civic culture (1963). Judicial behavior. Many years ago Jerome Frank (1930) pointed to the very great variation in the treatment given to defendants in similar situations by judges of different dispositions. Although at first this seemed to reflect different "philosophies," it later became evident that this was another name for the motivations, values, punitiveness, and other elements of a personality constellation. Harold Lasswell (1948) illuminated these problems in his discussion of the influence on judicial decisions of narcissistic, paranoid, latent homosexual, and other tendencies in a group of judges whose life histories were made available to him. Pritchett's study of patterns of decisions made by Supreme Court justices (1948) reveals some-

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Study thing about the influence of personal characteristics upon judicial decision making, but the personality themes here are only partially developed. [See JUDICIARY, article on JUDICIAL BEHAVIOR.] Electoral behavior. As mentioned earlier, the main themes of the very substantial studies of electoral behavior in the United States, England, France, and Norway deal not with personality features but with group life, media influence, occupational and class differences, electoral laws, and the like. This is for the very good reason that, at least in the United States, and generally elsewhere, modal behavior is situationally determined to such an extent that people with many different personality syndromes tend to behave similarly. The places to look for the influence of personality are in the interstices where social pressures are conflicting or ambiguous. Lane (1959, p. 100) has listed some of these as follows: Selection of the grounds for rationalizing a political act. Selecting topics for political discussion. Selecting types of political behavior over and above voting. Expression of the probable consequences of participation. Holding particular images of other participants. Styles of personal interaction in political groups. In general this means that, at least in the United States, there are no important personality differences between Democrats and Republicans, though radicals of the right and left have been shown to have deviant personality syndromes (Almond 1954; Adorno et al. 1950). On the other hand, there are substantial differences between participants and nonparticipants: the nonparticipants tend to be more neurotic, more anxious, less self-confident, more autistic, less trusting of others, lower in ego strength, and more alienated from themselves and society (Lane 1959, pp. 97-181). In a cross-cultural study by Almond and Verb a (1963), in which personality and cultural differences are, as always, somewhat fused, it appears that those societies in which there is greater interpersonal trust; in which, from the beginning, people have a sense that each person is himself important and influential in the family, school, and place of work; and in which it is possible to work easily and cooperatively with others—such societies develop healthier (more effective and less destructive) patterns of participation and more conciliatory and workable patterns of partisanship. [See POLITICAL PARTICIPATION; VOTING.] Ideology. Electoral participation inevitably leads into a discussion of ideology, but, as Campbell

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and his colleagues (Michigan, University of 1960) make clear, the relationship between voting and ideology is often tenuous. Ideology here means not merely the attitudes and values on topical concerns (foreign aid, civil rights, welfare state) but also the fundamental views which form the ideational counterpart to a constitution: ideas on fair play and due process, rights of others, sharing of power, the proper distribution of the goods of society (equality), uses and abuses of authority, etc. It is in this sense that Adorno and his associates (1950) develop their concept of an authoritarian personality and belief system, and in this sense Lane (1962) explored the ideologies of a group of working-class and lower middle-class men. The problem here is to sort out the conventional beliefs which almost everyone in the society holds, not because these ideas have a special congeniality but because they are, so to speak, "given," from those ideas which are selected from among alternatives because these ideas have a special "resonance." The conventional ideas may be conceived as related to national character, though there can be a lack of congruence here, too; the "resonant" ideas, the more or less individual ones, may more properly be related to and explained by the concept of individual political personality. In the general discussion of ideology, it appears that one central aspect is that of alienation versus allegiance, a rejection of "the system" or some substantial part thereof, compared with a fundamental loyalty to and acceptance of it. Cantril (1958) found this to be a main theme among the French and Italian communists he interviewed; Almond and Verba (1963) suggest that one of the main difficulties of the Italian political system lies in the high incidence of alienation and contrast this with the sense of allegiance and political pride of the Americans and British. Lane found in his Eastport, U.S.A., sample that a failure to support democratic norms and a tendency to see decisions made by conspiratorial groups ("cabalistic thinking") were related generally to just such political alienation but that this did not extend to a more general feeling of social alienation, a rejection of the society and its values (1962, pp. 161-186). On the whole, it seems wise to think of alienation in terms of specific targets of disaffection, a series of topically specific continua, rather than in terms of a dichotomous and total classification, although the tendency of alienation in one area to infect another should be observed. [See IDEOLOGY; LOYALTY.] National character. The study of widespread ideologies or belief systems leads to the study of the broad distribution of political personality types or

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characteristics in a society. At this point we begin to study national or social character—a field which fell into disrepute because of early unsupported generalizations by Le Bon (1894) and others. Following World War n, a series of studies on the German people, sometimes based on interview data and sometimes more speculative (Dicks 1950; Levy 1948; Schaffner 1948), sought to discover what led them down the path to the Nazi revolution. A few comparative studies have indeed suggested that the Germans, more than others, tend to revere both paternal and state authority and have, by a very slight margin, a higher incidence of "authoritarianism" (McGranahan 1946). Subsequent political history has indicated that these elements of political personality are not incompatible with the functioning of certain kinds of republican institutions, and, moreover, they are not fixed in the character of a people forever. Similar studies of the Soviet Union (Dicks 1952; Mead 1951), necessarily more limited because of the inaccessibility of most of the population to such study, have suggested the importance of certain other emotional themes: expressiveness and the felt need for external control (combined, it is true, with a strain between the controlling, overly bureaucratic elite and the mass of people still in transition from traditional to modern behavior and norms); suspicion of "outsiders," implying sharp differentiation between in-groups and out-groups, with some paranoid symptoms; and "identity crisis" posed by the long-term, but recently exacerbated, conflict between Russia and the West—and yet, withal, a lack of "tenderness taboo" (or sadomasochism) which characterized the Nazi mentality. [See NATIONAL CHARACTER.] We are only beginning to study the close interrelationship of personality qualities and political life, particularly the way in which similar institutions function when manned by persons of different personality constellations. This article has not touched upon the important research done on the personality problems of the officials and publics in modernizing nations, as illuminated by Doob (1960), Pye (1962), and Leigh ton (Cornell... 1963), among others, but this is surely an area where further work is needed. Problems of personality and bureaucracy in a world which inevitably is becoming bureaucratized deserve further attention, following the seminal article by Merton (1940). Elite studies have, until now, tended to focus on the more easily accessible data, the external circumstantial forces affecting career choice and selection of the world's elites, but we need to

know more about the internal dynamics and interpersonal characteristics of coopted, appointed, and elected leaders. By now, however, scholars are aware that there is no simple distribution of traits, syndromes, or personality types which is good or necessary (or at least sufficient) for the operation of an efficient and humane political system, and that hence we must direct our research toward discovering relatively subtle patterns of personality characteristics, with varying distributions, meshed into roles and institutions in complementary ways, each "way" modified by the ecology and history of a particular political system. ROBERT E. LANE [Directly related are the entries IDENTITY, PSYCHOSOCIAL; NATIONAL CHARACTER; POLITICAL BEHAVIOR; and the biographies of FREUD; HORNEY; HULL; LEWIN; PAVLOV; WATSON. See also the guide following the next article.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

ADORNO, THEODOR W. et al. 1950 The Authoritarian Personality. American Jewish Committee, Social Studies Series, No. 3. New York: Harper. ALMOND, GABRIEL A. 1954 The Appeals of Communism. Princeton Univ. Press. ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and VERBA, SIDNEY 1963 The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Princeton Univ. Press. BANFIELD, EDWARD C.; and BANFIELD, L. F. 1958 The Moral Basis of a Backward Society. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. BARBER, JAMES D. 1965 The Lawmakers. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. BERELSON, BERNARD; LAZARSFELD, PAUL F.; and McPHEE, WILLIAM N. 1954 Voting: A Study of Opinion Formation in a Presidential Campaign. Univ. of Chicago Press. CAMPBELL, ANGUS; GURIN, GERALD; and MILLER, WARREN E. 1954 The Voter Decides. Evanston, 111.: Row, Peterson. CANTRIL, HADLEY 1958 The Politics of Despair. New York: Basic Books. CARTWRIGHT, DORWIN; and ZANDER, ALVIN (editors) (1953) 1960 Group Dynamics: Research and Theory. 2d ed. Evanston, 111.: Row, Peterson. CORNELL-ARO MENTAL HEALTH RESEARCH PROJECT IN THE

WESTERN REGION, NIGERIA 1963 Psychiatric Disorder Among the Yoruba: A Report, by Alexander H. Leighton et al. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Univ. Press. DAVIES, JAMES C. 1963 Human Nature in Politics: The Dynamics of Political Behavior. New York: Wiley. DICKS, HENRY V. 1950 Personality Traits and National Socialist Ideology. Human Relations 3:111-154. DICKS, HENRY V. 1952 Observations on Contemporary Russian Behavior. Human Relations 5:111-175. DOLLARD, JOHN; and MILLER, NEAL E. 1950 Personality and Psychotherapy: An Analysis in Terms of Learning, Thinking, and Culture. New York: McGraw-Hill. DOOB, LEONARD W. 1960 Becoming More Civilized: A Psychological Exploration. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press.

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism ERIKSON, ERIK H. (1956) 1960 The Problem of Ego Identity. Pages 37-87 in Maurice R. Stein, Arthur J. Vidich, and David M. White (editors), Identity and Anxiety. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. FRANK, JEROME (1930) 1949 Law and the Modern Mind. New York: Coward. FREUD, ANNA (1936) 1957 The Ego and the Mechanisms of Defense. New York: International Universities Press. -» First published as Das Ich und die Abwehrmechanismen. FREUD, SIGMUND (1932) 1965 New Introductory Lectures on Psycho-analysis. New York: Norton. -» First published as Neue Folge der Vorlesungen zur Einfiihrung in die Psychoanalyse. FROMM, ERICH (1941) 1960 Escape From Freedom. New York: Holt. FROMM, ERICH 1955 The Sane Society. New York: Rinehart. FROMM, ERICH (editor) 1961 Marx's Concept of Man. New York: Ungar. HARTMANN, HEINZ (1927-1959) 1964 Essays on Ego Psychology. New York: International Universities Press. HORNEY, KAREN 1937 The Neurotic Personality of Our Time. New York: Norton. HULL, CLARK L. 1943 Principles of Behavior: An Introduction to Behavior Theory. New York: Appleton. LANE, ROBERT E. 1953 Political Character and Political Analysis. Psychiatry 16:387-398. LANE, ROBERT E. 1959 Political Life: Why People Get Involved in Politics. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -» A paperback edition was published in 1965. LANE, ROBERT E. 1962 Political Ideology: Why the American Common Man Believes What He Does. New York: Free Press. LANE, ROBERT E.; and SEARS, DAVID O. 1964 Public Opinion. New York: Prentice-Hall. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. (1930) 1951 Psychopathology and Politics. Pages 1-282 in Harold D. Lasswell, The Political Writings of Harold D. Lasswell. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. 1948 Power and Personality. New York: Norton. LAZARSFELD, PAUL F.; BERELSON, BERNARD; and GAUDET, HAZEL (1944) 1960 The People's Choice: How the Voter Makes Up His Mind in a Presidential Campaign. 2d ed. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. LE BON, GUSTAVE (1894) 1898 The Psychology of Peoples. New York: Macmillan. -> First published as Lois psychologiques de devolution des peuples. LEITES, NATHAN 1951 The Operational Code of the Politburo. New York: McGraw-Hill. LEITES, NATHAN 1959 On the Game of Politics in France. Stanford Univ. Press. LEVY, DAVID M. 1948 Anti-Nazis: Criteria of Differentiation. Psychiatry 11:125-167. LEWIN, KURT (1939-1947)1963 Field Theory in Social Science: Selected Theoretical Papers. Edited by Dorwin Cartwright. London: Tavistock. MCCONAUGHY, JOHN B. 1950 Certain Personality Factors of State Legislators in South Carolina. American Political Science Review 44:897-903. MCGRANAHAN, DONALD V. 1946 A Comparison of Social Attitudes Among American and German Youth. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 41:245-257. MEAD, MARGARET 1951 Soviet Attitudes Toward Authority: An Interdisciplinary Approach to Problems of Soviet Character. New York: McGraw-Hill.

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MERTON, ROBERT K. (1940) 1957 Bureaucratic Structure and Personality. Pages 195-206 in Robert K. Merton, Social Theory and Social Structure. Rev. ed. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -> First published in Volume 18 of Social Forces. MICHIGAN, UNIVERSITY OF, SURVEY RESEARCH CENTER 1960 The American Voter, by Angus Campbell et al. New York: Wiley. PAVLOV, IVAN P. (1927) 1960 Conditioned Reflexes: An Investigation of the Physiological Activity of the Cerebral Cortex. New York: Dover. -> First published as Lektsii o rabote bol'shikh polusharii golovnogo mozga. PRITCHETT, C. HERMAN (1948) 1963 The Roosevelt Court: A Study in Judicial Politics and Values, 1937— 1947. New York: Octagon Books. PYE, LUCIAN W. 1962 Politics, Personality, and Nationbuilding: Burma's Search for Identity. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. RIESMAN, DAVID 1950 The Lonely Crowd: A Study of the Changing American Character. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. -> An abridged paperback edition was published in 1960. SCHAFFNER, BERTRAM H. 1948 Father Land: A Study of Authoritarianism in the German Family. New York: Columbia Univ. Press; Oxford Univ. Press. SULLIVAN, HARRY STACK (1940-1945) 1953 Conceptions of Modern Psychiatry. With a critical appraisal of the theory by Patrick Mullahy. 2d ed. New York: Norton. -> First published in the February 1940 and May 1945 issues of Psychiatry. SULLIVAN, HARRY STACK 1953 The Interpersonal Theory of Psychiatry. Edited by Helen Swick Perry and Mary Ladd Gawel. New York: Norton. TUCKER, ROBERT C. 1963 The Soviet Political Mind. New York: Praeger. WAHLKE, JOHN et al. 1962 The Legislative System: Explorations in Legislative Behavior. New York: Wiley. WALLAS, GRAHAM (1908) 1962 Human Nature in Politics. 4th ed. Gloucester, Mass.: Smith. WATSON, JOHN B. 1914 Behavior: An Introduction to Comparative Psychology. New York: Holt. II

CONSERVATISM AND RADICALISM

The preceding article deals with the concept of political personality and with the relevance of personality in various areas of political life. This article deals with the specific problem of personality and political ideology: the questions of what ways, if any, "conservatives" and "radicals" differ in personality and what part personality plays in influencing the individual's preference for a conservative or a radical political outlook. Some of the major problems involved in answering these questions are found in the questions' terms. Conservatism and radicalism are not discrete entities. These terms are, so to say, genotypes rather than phenotypes, analytic categories rather than concrete doctrines. They refer to basic political tendencies or orientations that may be manifested in a variety of explicit ideological forms. The forms vary widely in different classes, countries, and historical periods. There is considerable disagreement

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PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism

regarding the primary defining characteristics of each viewpoint and regarding the validity and usefulness of employing these analytic categories in political analysis. It would be helpful, for purposes of psychological analysis, if the purely political meaning of the terms "conservative" and "radical" were clearly defined and widely agreed upon. This is, unfortunately, not the case. We must therefore begin by considering briefly the alternative usages of these terms and the bearing of this problem on studies of personality and political ideology. [See CONSERVATISM; RADICALISM.] In the broadest sense—a sense implied by their pairing in the title of this article—the terms "conservatism" and "radicalism" may be used to divide the vast array of political ideologies into two gross categories of "right" and "left." Each term then becomes a relatively complex category under which a variety of more concrete viewpoints are subsumed. In general, ideologies of the right support the (present or imagined past) status quo and emphasize the importance of tradition, stability, and hierarchical social order. Ideologies of the left are critical of the prevailing system and seek major institutional change toward increased social and economic equality. The simple right-left dichotomy, while useful for certain purposes, is in need of further differentiation. Within the right, for example, there are various ideological positions that differ markedly in their social and psychological bases and in their political aims. These include the moderate conservatives (who, especially in the more industrialized countries, accept many "liberal" reforms and the political rules of parliamentary democracy), as well as ultraconservative, fascist, and "lunatic fringe" rightist viewpoints. For certain analytic purposes the similarities among these ideologies are of primary interest, while for other purposes the differences require sharper focus. [See CAUDILLISMO; FALANGISM; FASCISM; NATIONAL SOCIALISM.] Within the left, too, are ordinarily included a wide range of ideologies. There are the modern liberals who espouse continual but gradual reform by democratic methods, seeking to increase the scope of governmental welfare functions while maintaining individual freedom from state control. There are also various types of socialist and communist viewpoints, which differ considerably in their programmatic goals and in the methods they advocate for achieving and maintaining political power. [See COMMUNISM; EQUALITY; LIBERALISM; SOCIALISM.] As a first step toward taking these variations

into account, the right-left dichotomy is often divided further into a four-part spectrum: extreme right, moderate conservative (right-of-center), liberal and moderate left, and extreme left. Within this scheme, radicalism has in the past been equated with the extreme left. More recently, however, a new usage has developed: radicalism is sometimes equated with "extremism" and includes both the extreme left and the extreme right. Witness the growing use of the term "radical right" (Bell 1955) in the United States to refer to antidemocratic racist, militarist, and neofascist movements. This usage involves the assumption that the far left and the far right, despite their differences in stated values and ultimate goals, have important similarities in their methods and psychological characteristics. [See MILITARISM.] An example of this approach is Lipset's six-category schema (1960). He distinguishes the right, center, and left (advancing the interests of the upper, middle, and lower classes, respectively) as basic political orientations; and he suggests that within each there are contrasting moderate-democratic and extremist-antidemocratic positions. Thus, in the case of the center, the opposing views are liberalism and fascism. He asserts that one's political orientation is largely a function of class membership, whereas preference for a democratic or an extremist orientation is strongly influenced by personality. Those who hold an antidemocratic political orientation, whether of right, center, or left, will show greater personal authoritarianism than will their democratic counterparts. These categories have been used in a multiplicity of ways as bases for ideological classification and measurement. Some studies deal with welldefined political parties or groupings; others distinguish only between broad categories such as leftright, liberal-conservative, or moderate-extreme. We are still far from an understanding of the degree to which particular ideologies are associated with distinctive personality syndromes. Thus far we have spoken of conservatism, radicalism, and other viewpoints as inclusive, systematic ideologies. A political ideology is an overarching conception of society, a stance that is reflected in numerous sectors of social life (Mannheim 1929-1931). It deals not only with political issues in the narrow sense but also with economic policy, social stratification, methods of social change, civil liberties and civil rights, international relations, religion and the relation of religious institutions to political institutions, the societal functions of government, and so on. Political ideologies in this inclusive sense have been studied primarily as aspects

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism of political parties, movements, or other collective units. We characterize "the" ideology of a given party or group through the analysis of various documents written by its spokesmen, singly or jointly. This characterization is an analytic construction derived from multiple sources. [See Levinson 1964; see also CONTENT ANALYSIS; IDEOLOGY.] The problem is complicated, however, when we seek to study the ideology of the individual citizen. Not everyone has a political ideology in any developed sense. Some persons have fragmentary opinions on a few personally relevant issues. Others have a vaguely defined "leaning" without differentiated views. Still others, more politically involved, have a political outlook that cuts across the established party lines. It is therefore often difficult to identify an individual's political opinions as "conservative" or "radical" in a systematic ideological sense. One way of dealing with this problem in empirical research is to obtain only a general index of the individual's political tendency or leaning, without examining his views in detail. For example, large-scale surveys may simply ask their subjects to categorize themselves politically or to indicate their preference for a party, movement, or political leader. Party affiliation or preference is a relatively useful indicator of ideological orientation in countries having diverse and well-differentiated parties covering a wide range of the political spectrum. Even in this case, however, there are often major ideological variations within a single party; for example, right-wing versus left-wing segments of many European parties, or the French and Italian workers who vote communist without adhering to the general party ideology. In countries such as the United States, where the two major parties are ideologically more amorphous and internally divided, party preference as such tells little about an individual's political orientation. Another way of dealing with the problem is to shift from very general ideological categories to the study of more delimited areas and dimensions of political opinion. Numerous areas and dimensions have been singled out for investigation. For example, in the domain of foreign policy, the dimension of nationalism-internationalism; in religious outlook, the liberalism-conservatism dimension; and similarly in other realms, such as civil liberties, the rights of ethnic and minority groups, the economic and welfare functions of government, and so on. These dimensions are sometimes conceived of as multiple reflections of the more generalized and fundamental ideological vectors noted earlier. To

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the extent that this conception is a valid one, measures of internationalism, religious liberalism, civil libertarianism, and advocacy of governmental welfare functions will be positively intercorrelated to form a more inclusive syndrome of over-all sociopolitical liberalism. It is beyond the scope of this article to review the empirical evidence bearing upon hypotheses of this kind. In general, there is evidence of moderate consistency in the individual across ideological domains, so that we may speak of relatively generalized liberal, conservative, and other orientations. At the same time, the correlations among measures of the various dimensions vary considerably in magnitude. For example, there is a moderate positive correlation between civil libertarianism and economic liberalism; on the average, advocates of the former viewpoint tend also to support the latter, and opponents of one tend also to oppose the other. However, the consistency is far from perfect. We must have room in our thinking for ideological patterns that cut across the simple liberal-conservative polarity. The complexities in the analysis of individual political ideology have important implications for the study of relationships between ideology and personality. How can we define ideological dimensions or patterns in a way that lends itself to psychological analysis? If we group our subjects only in terms of general ideological leaning, such as over-all liberalism and conservatism, a given category will contain persons with diverse concrete ideologies and personalities. Overly gross ideological categories may subsume very different viewpoints and their associated varieties of personality. On the other hand, there are disadvantages in restricting the focus to a specific issue or narrow domain. Personality is most likely to exert influence on the individual's orientation toward a relatively broad sector of political concern. His stand on any particular issue may be strongly affected by immediate situational factors. There is a "forest and trees" dilemma here. We must find intermediate levels of analysis between the forest of global, undifferentiated ideological categories and the trees of specific, segmented opinions and attitudes. In general, work in the tradition of the sociology of knowledge errs mainly in the former direction, while survey research on public opinion and social attitudes suffers from overspecificity and the neglect of ideological patterning. Work in this field is further complicated by disciplinary conflicts. It would be convenient if there could be a simple division of labor between the relevant disciplines. One might hope, for example, that political scientists and sociologists would estab-

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PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism

lish a standard, widely applicable set of ideological categories; psychologists could then determine whether the different categories have distinctive personality correlates. This disciplinary division of labor has not been successful and probably cannot succeed. The study of relationships between personality and political ideology in principle requires some degree of theoretical synthesis across disciplinary lines. The political categories and dimensions must have psychological relevance; the study of personality in this context requires a grasp of political issues and realities. Progress will come through the joint efforts of political analysts who have some sophistication about personality theory and of psychologists who can think in political and sociological terms. This approach was advocated long ago (e.g., Mannheim 1929-1931; Fromm 1936). Within the last few decades some progress has been made in this direction by a number of investigators taking a multidisciplinary point of view. We turn now to a consideration of their work. Authoritarian personality and political ideology The concept of personal authoritarianism has probably received more empirical study, and more critical attention, than any other personality concept that has been utilized in the analysis of sociopolitical ideology. Its history extends over several areas of modern social science and involves several disciplines. Reviewing the development of work on authoritarianism provides an opportunity to clarify some of the theoretical and empirical problems in the general field of personality and ideology. The first major systematic attempts to formulate a conception of authoritarianism as a personality syndrome were made in the 1930s by Wilhelm Reich and Erich Fromm. The two worked independently but had much in common. Both were clinical psychoanalysts in the generation after Freud, and they took a leading part in the effort to develop a psychoanalytic social psychology. Both had a "democratic Marxist" conception of society, and each attempted his own synthesis of Marxist and Freudian theory. They were primarily clinical and historical in mode of analysis. Reich's major work on this problem was The Mass Psychology of Fascism (1933). [See REICH.] Fromm (1936) published a long theoretical essay in the volume Studien uber Autoritdt und Familie. This book epitomizes the newly emerging multidisciplinary spirit of the 1930s—a spirit that originated in Europe and was subsequently carried forward in the United States both by Americans and by European emigres. Soon after, Fromm (1941) published his influential work on authoritarianism and historical change, Escape From Freedom.

Reich and Fromm took as a central problem the ways in which personality is implicated (as cause and as effect) in social ideologies, movements, and structures. They saw the family as a primary agency of social control, not only transmitting explicit values and beliefs but, even more important, inducing types of character structure and modes of authority-subordinate relationships that provide a psychological underpinning for adult sociopolitical functioning. The authoritarian character is hypothesized as the psychological structure most receptive to, and most required by, rigidly hierarchical antidemocratic social structures. The rise of fascism offered a prototypic example for the social-psychological analysis of authoritarianism. [See SOCIALIZATION.] As a parallel development in the 1930s, American social psychologists were beginning the systematic study of political opinion. Their concepts, methods, and approach reflected the then prevailing Zeitgeist of American psychology. Conceptually, their focus was not on broad ideological patterns; it was, rather, on more segmental, quantitatively measured social attitudes. The concept of attitude was systematically formulated by Airport (1935) in a widely influential article. This concept had great appeal, both because of its analytic usefulness and because it readily lent itself to measurement and to statistical analysis. Scale methods of attitude measurement were developed by Thurstone and Chave (1929), Murphy and Likert (1938), and others, and in the ensuing years a tremendous number of scales were developed. In the area of conservatism-liberalism—radicalism, attitude scales were correlated with all manner of other variables, ranging from group membership to school achievement to the readiness to tolerate pain. [An extensive review of the early literature is given in Murphy, Murphy, & Newcomb 1931; see also ATTITUDES; SCALING; and the biography of THURSTONE.] By the early 1940s attitude research had become a major field in academic social psychology. However, the studies typically had a concrete, atheoretical, "shotgun" character. Broader theoretical perspectives were needed. On the one hand, the early investigators failed to regard attitudes as aspects of more inclusive ideological patterns, to consider their meaning for the individual, and to relate them to other, motivational-affective-cognitive components of personality. On the other hand, they had only a rudimentary sociological perspective and were largely unable to place individual ideology within a larger social and cultural context. A seemingly unbridgeable gulf separated the European and the American lines of investigation. Perhaps the first large-scale effort to bridge the

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism gap was the collaborative research of Adorno, Frenkel-Brunswik, Levinson, and Sanford; the study began in 1943 and was published in 1950 under the title The Authoritarian Personality. Sanford (1956) provides a fuller review of the intellectual origins of this work. [See also the biography of FRENKEL-BRUNSWIK.] The research on authoritarianism drew both from the European tradition—with its psychoanalytic-sociological orientation and clinical form of analysis—and from the more measurement-oriented, attitude survey approach of American social psychology (in particular the previous work of Stagner 1936; Murphy & Likert 1938; Newcomb 1943; and more clinical study by Maslow 1943). It used scale methods, but its analytic emphasis was on ideological patterns rather than on single attitudes. In conceiving of ideology as an aspect of personality, it had roots in psychoanalysis and related personality theories, notably that of Murray (see Explorations in Personality 1938). Personality variables were measured by a variety of techniques, including scales, projective tests, semistructured interview, and intensive case analysis (again following Murray in his approach to personality assessment). The research dealt primarily with the relation of ideology to personality—with authoritarianism as an ideology-personality syndrome—and not with the sociology of ideology. Sociological considerations were, however, an intrinsic part of the theoretical approach, and the work has stimulated a good deal of discussion and research along sociological lines (e.g., Christie & Jahoda 1954; Lipset I960; Hagen 1962; McClosky 1958; McClosky & Schaar 1965; Levinson 1964; DiRenzo 1963). The program of research on the authoritarian personality began as a study of anti-Semitism (Frenkel-Brunswik et al. 1947). Its ideological focus gradually broadened to encompass ethnocentric ideology, conceived of broadly as a system of beliefs, attitudes, and values—a way of thinking and feeling—-about "in-groups" and "out-groups" at every level of social organization from the local to the international scene. The overriding concern of the research was the nature of, and the relationship between, ethnocentric ideology and authoritarian personality. To a lesser though still significant degree, attention was given to other ideological domains, notably politics and religion. [See ANTI-SEMITISM.] Political ideology was studied primarily with regard to the liberalism-conservatism dimension. The description of the Politico-Economic Conservatism (PEC) Scale emphasized that the scale yielded only a rough right-of-center versus left-of-center

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distinction and did not distinguish qualitatively important variations within each of these. The PEC Scale showed statistically significant but moderate correlations, averaging .4 to .5, with the various measures of ethnocentrism and authoritarianism. Two main conclusions were drawn. First, political conservatives are, by and large, more ethnocentric and authoritarian than are political liberals. Second, there are wide variations in authoritarianism within both the right-of-center and the left-ofcenter groupings, and these variations may be related to specific patterns and styles of political orientation. In The Authoritarian Personality a number of specific concepts were put forward in Levinson's chapter on the PEC Scale and in Adorno's chapter on the interview material. For example, Levinson proposed a distinction between the "genuine" conservative and the "pseudo" (authoritarian) conservative, whose ideologies, while alike in many respects, are fundamentally different in others. Adorno, in his discussion of left-of-center viewpoints, posits several syndromes, such as the "ticket liberal," in which authoritarian features play an important part. The Authoritarian Personality thus gave evidence that authoritarianism has diverse modes of political expression. This point merits emphasis, since the book has been alleged to equate authoritarianism with the political right, equalitarianism with the left (Shils 1954). The research must be seen in the context of the times—World War n and its aftermath—during which the most destructive forms of ethnocentrism (mass genocide) and fascism were the paramount issues. The survey measure of authoritarianism was called the F scale, F referring to "potential for acceptance of fascist ideology." It might better have been called the A scale. Authoritarianism is, indeed, a primary psychological source of receptivity to fascist ideology, but it may take other ideological forms as well. Several studies conducted during and after World War n also deal with the relationship of authoritarian personality to fascist ideology. Dicks (1950) conducted intensive clinical interviews with German prisoners of war, investigating personality differences between the strongly pro-Nazi soldiers and those who opposed or seriously questioned the Nazi ideology. He derived an authoritarian syndrome strikingly similar to that of the American study. Erikson's classic analysis, "Hitler's Imagery and German Youth" (1942), is another example of this genre. In the decade following publication of The Authoritarian Personality there were literally hundreds of studies derived from its concepts and measures. Most of them were relatively narrow in

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PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism

focus, theoretically limited, and concerned with measurement or technique rather than with substantive issues. The 1950s in the United States were dominated by McCarthyism and a spirit of intellectual retrenchment, and few new directions were established in the social-psychological analysis of authoritarianism and political ideology. There were, however, some significant contributions, of which the following are major examples. Several large-scale surveys of U.S. national samples confirmed the earlier findings that authoritarianism is associated with a nationalistmilitaristic stand in world affairs, with opposition to a civil-libertarian position, with racial and ethnic prejudice, and the like (see, for example, McClosky 1958). Inquiries into authoritarianism and social outlook within the working class were carried out by Kornhauser, Sheppard, and Mayer (1956) in the United States, by Spinley (1953) in England, and by Lipset (1960) in several countries. These studies suggest that the incidence of authoritarianism is relatively high in the working class and is a function of the psychosocial conditions of working-class life: material, cultural, and emotional deprivation; familial disorganization; coercive, stressful, anxiety-inducing pressures. In their political views, the more authoritarian members of the working class tend, more often than the others, either to be highly conservative supporters of the status quo or to hold "extremist" positions. In an extensive analysis of the bases for economic growth in countries at different stages of industrialization, Hagen (1962) attributes a major causal role to the influence of "innovative" (as against authoritarian) personalities. Christie and Jahoda (1954) brought together a series of critical discussions of the theory, methodology, and implications of The Authoritarian Personality. The research literature on authoritarianism until 1956 was reviewed by Christie and Cook (1958). Efforts to relate authoritarianism and political ideology within a broader sociopsychological framework were made by Frenkel-Brunswik (1952) and Levinson (1957; 1958). Emerging from the authoritarian personality tradition, but differing from it in several important respects, is Rokeach's The Open and Closed Mind (1960). His shift in theoretical orientation is implied by the use of the term "mind" rather than "personality" in the title. Rokeach takes a strongly cognitive approach deriving from Kurt Lewin and gestalt psychology, although he also acknowledges a debt to Fromm and to Hoffer (1951). He offers the concept of dogmatism as an alternative to that of authoritarianism. His formulation deals primarily with the structure of belief systems and modes

of cognitive functioning, rather than with motivation, ego defense, and psychodynamics. Correspondingly, his research involves experimental, test, and survey methods rather than clinical and observational ones. Rokeach states the hypothesis that dogmatism (and authoritarianism) is uncorrelated with the right-left dimension of political ideology. He suggests that there are dogmatic and nondogmatic viewpoints within every grouping—left, center, and right—along the political spectrum. He singles out the communists as a major dogmatic subgroup within the grouping on the left. He obtains some support for this hypothesis in an English sample, where a small group of communists exhibited a high mean score on his Dogmatism Scale. However, limitations of sampling and other difficulties raise doubts about the generalizability of this finding. Contrasting results were obtained by DiRenzo (1963) in an extensive study of members of parliament in Italy. He obtained a mean score on Rokeach's Dogmatism Scale for each political party in the Chamber of Deputies. The rank order of these mean scores was almost identical with the order of the parties from right to left on the political spectrum. The neofascists exhibited the highest mean score (most dogmatic); communists, the lowest. Eysenck (1954) interprets the data of his research in England as indicating that communists and fascists have in common a high degree of tough-mindedness (a syndrome closely related to dogmatism and authoritarianism). His work has been strongly criticized by Rokeach and Hanley (1956) and by Christie (e.g., 1956), who point to serious deficiencies in sampling, data analysis, and data interpretation. Eysenck has, however, provided a defense (e.g., 1956). Although a great deal has been written about the psychological bases for Communist party membership and ideology, remarkably little empirical evidence has been gathered. As Almond (1954) has observed, there are wide variations in the "appeals of communism" between countries, between social classes, between transient and long-term members, and the like. More adequate study of the multiple relationships between personality and communist ideology would have to take into consideration the significant variations in societal context and in the character of the ideology. This is true of other political parties and ideologies as well. In general, it would appear that personality is more closely related to concrete political ideology than to party affiliation or preference. There are appreciable variations in individual ideology and personality within all parties. It is therefore necessary to supplement gross surveys of large samples

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism with the more intensive study of individuals, giving equal attention to ideology, personality, and engagement in the societal matrix. What, then, can be concluded regarding the relation of personal authoritarianism to political ideology? On the average, there is significantly greater authoritarianism to the right of center than to the left. The relationship is, however, far from simple. More systematic analysis of qualitatively different patterns of ideology along the rightcenter—left continuum is urgently needed, both for purposes of political analysis and for the study of ideology as an aspect of personality. Authoritarian personality theory calls attention first of all to the democratic—antidemocratic dimension of ideology. One of its central postulates is that authoritarian individuals have a special affinity for antidemocratic viewpoints in all spheres of social life— political, religious, familial, organizational (Levinson 1964). In the case of political ideology, it predicts that authoritarianism will be associated with antidemocratic ideologies, whether of the right, center, or left. The choice of general political direction is related to class membership, as Lipset has shown, and to a variety of other social and psychological variables yet to be elucidated. The ideological relevance of authoritarianism is clearest, and most fully documented, when we shift analytic focus from the broad categories of right, center, and left to more specific ideological dimensions. There is massive evidence that authoritarianism is significantly associated with the following: emphasis upon rigid hierarchy and stratification in political and other structures; rejection of democratic political processes; reliance upon the "great leader" in solving social problems and upon coercive social controls in maintaining social order; chauvinistic nationalism as a stance toward one's own nation and toward international affairs; an ethnocentric view of relationships among various groups within the nation; readiness to place severe restrictions upon civil rights and civil liberties; religious fundamentalism and its extension into political and other spheres; punitiveness as a basic emotional-moral response to deviance (expressed ideologically, for example, in the emphasis upon military solutions to international problems, or upon the use of punishment in the deterrence of legal crime and nonconformity); rejection of innovation, experimentation, and openness in political and other systems. The research to date clearly establishes authoritarianism as a personality constellation having significant implications for political ideology and participation. Much more work remains to be done, however, with regard to the components and vari-

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ant forms of this syndrome and with regard to its political manifestations under different social conditions. Other ideology-personality constellations Since the late 1950s interest in the social psychology of ideology has expanded beyond concern with authoritarianism, and new personality-ideology constellations are being investigated. Although the primary focus of these studies is not on the right-left dimension as such, they have a bearing on this dimension and, what is perhaps more important, they reflect the emergence of new dimensions in the analysis of political ideology and personality. An extensive review of this work is beyond the scope of the present article; it must suffice to indicate briefly some of the relevant concepts and directions of inquiry. The "conspiratorial" view of politics has been subjected to psychological analysis by Hofstadter (1965). Although he uses the term paranoid style to convey the emotional quality of this view, his interest is not in psychopathology or psychiatric diagnosis but in the fantasies, ego defenses, and modes of thought that give coherence, meaning, and emotional appeal to the conspiratorial interpretation of political affairs. Exploring ideologypersonality relationships through a series of intensive case studies, Lane (1962) uses the term cabalist to identify a similar political orientation. Bittner (1963) takes a historical and phenomenological approach in seeking to delineate a genotypic conception of radicalism. He attributes a number of distinctive psychological properties and themes to the radical orientation. One may then ask whether an orientation having these psychological properties would have special appeal to individuals having corresponding personality characteristics. Although Bittner does not take this last step, his analysis suggests interesting leads for personality study. Similarly, Talmon (1962) describes various psychological properties of rnillenaristic ideology. She is concerned primarily with the social antecedents and consequences of rnillenaristic movements, but her discussion is also richly suggestive of hypotheses regarding their psychological bases. [See MILLENARISM; PARANOID REACTIONS.] The 1961 translation of Scheler's classic essays on ressentiment (1912) brings to wider attention an ideology-personality constellation that merits further study. Scheler conceives of ressentiment as a complex syndrome involving conscious attitudes, feelings, and moral judgments as well as unconscious defenses and wishes. The ressentiment-laden person tends to devaluate authoritative persons and groups, not on the basis of genuine

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PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism

commitment to his espoused values but, rather, on the basis of secret envy, vindictiveness, and impotent rage. As Lewis Coser points out in his Introduction to the volume, Scheler's formulations are important in their own right and as forerunners of more recent analyses of alienation and anomie. [See the biography of SCHELER.] Since the latter concepts have received greater attention in contemporary work, we shall consider them more fully here. The concepts of alienation and anomie have a long history in sociology but have only recently been singled out for extensive theoretical discussion and empirical investigation. The concept of alienation has its modern origins in the psychological writings of Marx (see Fromm 1961), who postulated that the individual in capitalist society is estranged both from his labor and from himself. Without necessarily accepting Marx's assumptions about the societal roots of alienation, many contemporary social scientists have inquired into its nature, its social and psychological bases, and its manifestations in various sectors of social life (e.g., Keniston 1965; Lane 1962). Alienation has been variously defined to include component dimensions such as sense of powerlessness, isolation, and inefficacy; lack of social rootedness; self-estrangement; noncommitment, cynicism, and failure of identity. It may be expressed in apathy, in empty conformity, or in "rebellion without a cause." Politically, it may be found at every point along the right-left spectrum and may be manifested in lack of political participation or in zealous dedication to a party or movement. The analytic usefulness of this concept at present is limited by the multiplicity and ambiguity of its definitions. At the same time, it has been extremely useful in generating new lines of research and new perspectives on the social psychology of politics. [See ALIENATION.] The concept of anomie was initially formulated by Durkheim (1897). He identified the anomie social system as one characterized by a relative failure of normative order, a lack of moral regulation over human strivings and passions. He gave evidence that anomie societies are characterized by relatively high rates of deviant and self-destructive behavior, including suicide. In seeking to explain these phenomena, he postulated that anomie societies produce certain psychological states in many of their individual members: insatiable craving, sense of futility, lack of responsibility and moral purpose, emotional emptiness and despair. He did not, however, deal with the fact that there are wide individual differences in psychological anomie among the members of a given society and that the development of this state of mind may also be

a function of individual personality. [See the biography of DURKHEIM; see also Inkeles 1959.] Recent investigations, given impetus by the work of Srole (e.g., 1956), have extended Durkheim's formulation to include the concept of the anomie personality. McClosky and Schaar (1965) present a systematic review of this theoretical development, as well as a new conceptualization in which anomie is regarded as a function of both personality and social conditions and some research data derived from large-scale surveys. They find significant correlations between anomie and authoritarianism, alienation, ethnocentrism, political extremism, sense of political futility, misanthropy, mistrust, and punitiveness. While this study requires further validation and refinement, it strongly suggests that anomie is a significant concept in the analysis of personality and political ideology. It also indicates the need for further clarification of the concepts of anomie, alienation, and authoritarianism. In conclusion, we note that the study of personality and political ideology is entering a new and more multidisciplinary period. It is being increasingly recognized that work on this problem extends beyond the traditional province of "individual psychology"; the psychologist who would contribute to it must have some appreciation of the political, social, and historical context within which individuals form and act upon their ideologies (Erikson 1958). At the same time, historians and social scientists working in this field must develop a more systematic and profound conception of the individual as an active agent in the historical process—an agent capable of blind conformity, of irrational destructiveness, and of rational, responsible choice in accord with his interests, values, and motives. Our further progress will thus require the conjoint perspectives of personality theory, political theory, and general sociological theory. DANIEL J. LEVINSON [Directly related are the entries CONSERVATISM; LIBERALISM; RADICALISM. Other relevant material may be found in ANTI-SEMITISM; ATTITUDES; CONFORMITY; FREEDOM; IDEOLOGY; INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS, article on PSYCHOLOGICAL ASPECTS; POLITICAL BEHAVIOR; POLITICAL PARTICIPATION; PREJUDICE; PUBLIC OPINION; SURVEY ANALYSIS; VALUES; and in the biographies of FRENKEL-BRUNSWIK; MARX.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

ADORNO, THEODOR W. et al. 1950 The Authoritarian Personality. American Jewish Committee, Social Studies Series, No. 3. New York: Harper.

PERSONALITY, POLITICAL: Conservatism and Radicalism ALLPORT, GORDON W. 1935 Attitudes. Pages 798-844 in Carl Murchison (editor), A Handbook of Social Psychology. Worcester, Mass.: Clark Univ. Press. ALMOND, GABRIEL A. 1954 The Appeals of Communism. Princeton Univ. Press. BELL, DANIEL (editor) 1955 The New American Right. New York: Criterion. BITTNER, EGON 1963 Radicalism and the Organization of Radical Movements. American Sociological Review 28:928-940. CHRISTIE, RICHARD 1956 Eysenck's Treatment of the Personality of Communists. Psychological Bulletin 53: 411-430. CHRISTIE, RICHARD; and COOK, PEGGY A. 1958 A Guide to Published Literature Relating to The Authoritarian Personality Through 1956. Journal of Psychology 45: 171-199. CHRISTIE, RICHARD; and JAHODA, MARIE (editors) 1954 Studies in the Scope and Method of The Authoritarian Personality. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. DICKS, HENRY V. 1950 Personality Traits and National Socialist Ideology. Human Relations 3:111-154. DiRENZO, GORDON J. 1963 A Social Psychological Analysis of Personality Structures of Members of the Italian Chamber of Deputies. Ph.D. dissertation. Univ. of Notre Dame. DURKHEIM, EMILE (1897) 1951 Suicide: A Study in Sociology. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -» First published in French. ERIKSON, ERIK H. 1942 Hitler's Imagery and German Youth. Psychiatry 5:475-493. ERIKSON, ERIK H. (1958) 1962 Young Man Luther: A Study in Psychoanalysis and History. Austen Riggs Monograph No. 4. New York: Norton. Explorations in Personality: A Clinical and Experimental Study of Fifty Men of College Age, by Henry A. Murray et al. 1938 London and New York: Oxford Univ. Press. EYSENCK, HANS J. 1954 The Psychology of Politics. London: Routledge. EYSENCK, HANS J. 1956 The Psychology of Politics: A Reply. Psychological Bulletin 53:177-182. FRENKEL-BRUNSWIK, ELSE 1952 Interaction of Psychological and Sociological Factors in Political Behavior. American Political Science Review 46:44-65. FRENKEL-BRUNSWIK, ELSE; LEVINSON, DANIEL J.; and SANFORD, R. NEVITT (1947) 1965 The Authoritarian Personality. Pages 670-679 in Harold Proshansky and Bernard Seidenberg (editors), Basic Studies in Social Psychology. New York: Holt. -> First published as "The Antidemocratic Personality." FROMM, ERICH 1936 Theoretische Entwiirfe iiber Autoritat und Familie: Sozialpsychologischer Teil. Pages 77-135 in Frankfurt am Main, Institut fur Sozialforschung, Studien iiber Autoritdt und Familie. Edited by Max Horkheimer. Paris: Alcan. -» An English abstract appears on pages 908-911. FROMM, ERICH (1941) 1960 Escape From Freedom. New York: Holt. FROMM, ERICH (editor) 1961 Marx's Concept of Man. New York: Ungar. HAGEN, EVERETT E. 1962 On the Theory of Social Change. Homewood, 111.: Dorsey. HOFFER, ERIC 1951 The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements. New York: Harper. -> A paperback edition was published in 1958 by New American Library. HOFSTADTER, RICHARD 1965 The Paranoid Style in American Politics, and Other Essays. New York: Knopf.

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INKELES, ALEX 1959 Personality and Social Structure. Pages 249-276 in American Sociological Society, Sociology Today: Problems and Prospects. Edited by Robert K. Merton, Leonard Broom, and Leonard S. Cottrell, Jr. New York: Basic Books. KENISTON, KENNETH 1965 The Uncommitted: Alienated Youth in American Society. New York: Harcourt. KORNHAUSER, ARTHUR; SHEPPARD, HAROLD I.; and MAYER,

ALBERT J. 1956 When Labor Votes: A Study of Auto Workers. New York: University Books. LANE, ROBERT E. 1962 Political Ideology: Why the American Common Man Believes What He Does. New York: Free Press. LEVINSON, DANIEL J. 1957 Authoritarian Personality and Foreign Policy. Journal of Conflict Resolution 1:37-47. LEVINSON, DANIEL J. 1958 The Relevance of Personality for Political Participation. Public Opinion Quarterly 22:3-10. LEVINSON, DANIEL J. 1964 Idea Systems in the Individual and in Society. Pages 297-318 in George K. Zollschan and Walter Hirsch (editors), Explorations in Social Change. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. LIPSET, SEYMOUR M. 1960 Political Man: The Social Bases of Politics. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. MCCLOSKY, HERBERT 1958 Conservatism and Personality. American Political Science Review 52:27-45. MCCLOSKY, HERBERT; and SCHAAR, JOHN H. 1965 Psychological Dimensions of Anomy. American Sociological Review 30:14-40. MANNHEIM, KARL (1929-1931) 1954 Ideology and Utopia: An Introdiiction to the Sociology of Knowledge. New York: Harcourt; London: Routledge. -> A paperback edition was published in 1955 by Harcourt. Parts 2-4 are a translation of Ideologic und Utopie (1929); Part 5 is a translation of the article "Wissenssoziologie" (1931). MASLOW, A. H. 1943 The Authoritarian Character Structure. Journal of Social Psychology 18:401—411. MURPHY, GARDNER; and LIKERT, RENSIS 1938 Public Opinion and the Individual. New York: Harper. MURPHY, GARDNER; MURPHY, L. B.; and NEWCOMB, THEODORE M. (1931) 1937 Experimental Social Psychology: An Interpretation of Research Upon the Socialization of the Individual. Rev. ed. New York: Harper. -> Newcomb was a joint author only of the revised edition. NEWCOMB, THEODORE M. (1943) 1957 Personality and Social Change: Attitude Formation in a Student Community. New York: Dryden. REICH, WILHELM (1933) 1946 The Mass Psychology of Fascism. 3d ed., rev. & enl. New York: Orgone Institute Press. -» First published in German. ROKEACH, MILTON 1960 The Open and Closed Mind: Investigations Into the Nature of Belief Systems and Personality Systems. New York: Basic Books. ROKEACH, MILTON; and HANLEY, CHARLES 1956 Eysenck's Tender-mindedness Dimension: A Critique. Psychological Bulletin 53:169-176. SANFORD, R. NEVITT 1956 The Approach of the Authoritarian Personality. Pages 253-319 in J. L. McCary (editor), Psychology of Personality: Six Modern Approaches. New York: Logos. SCHELER, MAX (1912) 1961 Ressentiment. Edited with an introduction by Lewis A. Coser. New York: Free Press. -» First published in German. SHILS, EDWARD 1954 Authoritarianism: "Right" and "Left." Pages 24-49 in Richard Christie and Marie Jahoda (editors), Studies in the Scope and Method

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PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Overview

of The Authoritarian Personality. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. SPINLEY, B. M. 1953 The Deprived and the Privileged: Personality Development in English Society. London: Routledge. SROLE, LEO J. 1956 Social Integration and Certain Corollaries: An Exploratory Study. American Sociological Review 21:709-716. STACKER, Ross 1936 Fascist Attitudes: Their Determining Conditions. Journal of Social Psychology 7:438— 454. TALMON, YONINA 1962 Pursuit of the Millennium: The Relation Between Religious and Social Change. Archives europeennes de sociologie 3:125-148. THURSTONE, Louis L.; and CHAVE, E. J. 1929 The Measurement of Attitude. Univ. of Chicago Press.

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT Jack Block i. OVERVIEW ii. PERSONALITY INVENTORIES Wayne H. Holtzman in. THE MINNESOTA MULTIPHASIC PERSONALITY INVENTORY W. Grant Dahlstrom iv. SITUATIONAL TESTS Sebastiano Santostefano

OVERVIEW

The field of personality measurement, viewed in the perspective of its short but busy history, has progressed in a fumbling, digressive manner. It may now, because of hard-won recognitions, be ready for significant and cumulative advances. The problem and strategy The reason for the disappointing disparity between the energies already expended and the accomplishments which may be certified lies in the uncertainty which has surrounded the concept of personality and the naivete in psychology about the logic and justification of measurement. In the physical sciences and in some subareas of psychology where intuitions are strong and widely held, one need not be acutely concerned with the distinction between a concept and the way in which that concept happens to be measured. By and large, measuring length by a ruler and weight by a scale does not generate controversy; the relation of these concepts to their respective methods of measurement seems obvious and beyond dispute. In the study of personality, however, there is no escaping an immediate, insistent, incessant preoccupation with the problem of linking concepts and empirical operations. Personality measurements, if they discriminate at all, always express, in a pure or impure form, explicitly or implicitly, a personality concept in terms of which the differential behavior may be understood. Personality concepts, if they are not hopelessly vague or inconsistent, always imply

specifiable behavioral differences in people. Ttese differences may be impractical to study or tiey may be judged as trivial, but the concept requres that they exist. The distinction between, yet interdependenceof, concept and measurement in the study of persmality requires a spiraling interplay of these levels of analysis—concepts should suggest approaches to measurement, and measurement should reine conceptual formulations. This reciprocal imprcvement of theory and method has come to be caled the process of "construct validation" (Cronbacl & Meehl 1955). Unhappily, in the adolescent md polyglot field of personality, progress has been rrore often circular than helical. And yet, if a scienct of personality is to be formed, the responsibilities of coupling concept and measure must be met. The domain of personality psychology is sprawling and fuzzily delineated. With so many deinitions of the field and with a plethora of vagiely redundant but not readily integrated concepts, it is difficult to know where to try to begin measuring the nebulous notion of personality and tomrd what ends. [See PERSONALITY.] In order not to be immobilized by the endess conceptual possibilities, two tactics have teen adopted. The first of these requires the courage to be arbitrary—to propose, essentially by fiat, thit a small set of concepts comprehends the important, necessary ways of differentiating people. Tlese concepts need not constitute—and thus far hive never been—a formal model of personality. Ratier, they represent simply a set of dimensions or iceas in terms of which their expounder finds it convenient and congenial to conceptualize his view of "personality." Selection of these concepts ma} be supported by observational, introspectional, clinical, test, or experimental data, of varying degiees of quality and persuasiveness, but often is lot. These concepts serve—or should serve—a heurstic purpose; they provide a way to begin and, su>sequently, a way of indicating and integrating diverse phenomena that may fall under the rubric of ;his conceptual assertion. Presumably, the usefuhess of the concepts will be tested, and they will be reshaped under the impact of the empirical coisequences they entail. The reader may wish to
PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Overview conceptual structure of the personality phenomena which have been collected for study. Patternings that are found to be stable when these means are applied to variegated data are presumptive evidence of functional entities. These functional entities may be named and employed thereafter as integrative and consequential concepts. By and large, this approach has employed the method of factor analysis, with all of its strengths and weaknesses. A good illustration of the approach is the work of R. B. Cattell, recently presented in an integrating, summary volume (1965). [See FACTOR ANALYSIS and TRAITS.] However an investigator chooses to proceed in articulating and delimiting the sense in which he will define "personality," he will confront the dismaying problem of "measurement." What is measured or recorded is behavior, and behavior has many determinants and many meanings. Identical behaviors may be the expression of fundamentally different mediating sequences or, conversely, different behaviors may be essentially equivalent in the functions they serve or the processes from which they eventuate. Behavior is susceptible to many transient and otherwise conceptually irrelevant conditions; it is susceptible to being organized in many ways and to many levels of interpretation. In all this flux, how are anchor points to be established? By way of illustration, consider the concept of anxiety and its measurement. Perhaps all conceptualizations of personality leave room for or try to encompass the notion of anxiety; by focusing on the measurement of anxiety, most of the problems and logic of personality measurement may be illustrated. The term "anxiety" takes on scientific meaning only by its empirical concomitants and consequences. But, for the present, the sense with which the term should be understood here is perhaps sufficiently conveyed by resort to the tautology of a dictionary definition (Webster's New International Dictionary, second edition). Thus, anxiety means "painful uneasiness of mind respecting an impending or anticipated ill; a state of restlessness and agitation, with a distressing sense of oppression about the heart; expectancy of evil or danger without adequate ground . . . ; concern, dread, fear, foreboding, misgiving, worry, solicitude, uneasiness, apprehension." [See ANXIETY.] Clearly, the notion of anxiety refers to subjective experience. And because anxiety is important regardless of whether it is theoretically conceptualized as a prime mover, as derivative, or as epiphenomenon, psychologists wish to measure it.

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Four basic procedures There are four classes of indicators that may be used: (1) a subject may be observed in his everyday life and actions (presumably without his actions' being affected by these observations) and from his behaviors a judgment is made as to whether he is anxious; (2) a subject may be asked, by means of a questionnaire, to state directly (or in ways he may not completely understand) whether he is anxious; (3) a subject may be placed in a controlled or test situation designed to elicit special behaviors or products relevant to anxiety; (4) a subject's physiological reactions may be assessed by various instruments, to determine whether he shows certain responses or changes presumed to be indicants of anxiety. Observation. We all form impressions of other people in the course of observing them. If these impressions can be objectified and systematized, then there is no reason why observation cannot be employed as one kind of measurement of personality. Observation has an appeal because of its closeness to experience and because of its apparent simplicity. It has been criticized for the other side of these virtues—the data generated are subject to observer idiosyncrasies and often do not meet scientific standards of reproducibility. The method depends heavily on the quality of the observers, the range of contexts in which judges observe the subject, and the way in which the observations are codified so as to formulate a dimensional index. With close attention to these concerns this approach becomes cumbersome, but it still appears to be the method of choice when complex concepts are being considered or when a problem area is being approached for the first time. There are not many instances of appropriate usage of this approach. For consideration of the ways and means of employing it effectively, see, for example, Guilford (1954, chapter 11), Peak (1953), Block (1961). [See OBSERVATION.] When this method of measuring is used, anxiety might be indexed as some composite of the judgments of several psychologists or psychiatrists, each judge having observed the subject in a different but evocative situation and each judge referring the concept of anxiety to his professional (and personal) understanding of the term. Each judge having placed the subject at a (numerical) point along an anxiety continuum, some average value of these numbers can serve as a score or measurement of the subject with respect to anxiety level. Questionnaires, or inventories. By far the most frequent technique invoked to measure personality

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PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Overview

has been the questionnaire. Typically, the questionnaire, or personality inventory, will contain a wide variety of questions on highly personal matters, which the subject is asked to answer. Such devices are extremely convenient for the investigator; explicit answers are provided by the subject regarding a host of matters, and these responses lend themselves immediately to a variety of analytical techniques. However, there are a number of hazards in the use of inventories, and research has for a long time been concerned with identifying and coping with these problems. In the initial usages of personality inventories, it was presumed that the responses of subjects could be believed and that the interpretative or conceptual significance of a response was clearly apparent. This presumption is by no means wholly untrue, but its applicability is conditioned by the motivation of the respondent vis-a-vis the nature and context of the queries and by the complexity of the relations through which an inventory item relates to a personality dimension. People are astonishingly open and cooperative when approached in an interested, supportive, and nondemeaning way. Too often, however, psychologists have impersonally handed out highly personal questionnaires for reasons not appreciated or believed by the recipients. It is not surprising, under such circumstances, that deliberate innocuity of response has been and often still is the order of the day. Indeed, failure to cover up and appear blandly conventional in such settings appears to be a sign of psychopathology. But in the context of seeking psychiatric help, it is far less likely that someone will dissimulate in his responses to an inventory. In any event, many questionnaires incorporate items which, separately or in conjunction, provide an indication of the frankness of the respondent and hence of the validity of his responses. There have been increasingly successful attempts to construct questions or combinations of questions the full implications of which almost no respondent could be expected to understand. A more interesting problem is the establishment of the psychological import of questionnaire responses. The statements to which a subject is asked to respond may or may not be ambiguous. However, the implications of a single response, offered without a context, almost invariably are obscure. Just what is meant by an affirmative answer to the statement, "I know who is responsible for my troubles"? Is the respondent acknowledging that he is his own worst enemy or is he projecting an accusation of persecution upon someone else? The item "I like tall women" is a consistent empirical

indicator of impulsivity in American males, but why? Seemingly equivocal items and items only deviously related to personality dimensions abound in contemporary inventories; and indeed, herein lies their strength, since even a sophisticated subject finds it difficult to anticipate or control the dimensional implications of his response. It was the great conceptual contribution of the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory, still the dominant questionnaire used in the United States, to turn away explicitly from the apparent cogency of items and turn instead toward a requirement that items (and the scales subsequently developed from these items) discriminate between behavior ally or socially different criterion groups. This attitude toward test construction is not so blandly empirical as has been believed—there are still conjectures regarding fruitful questionnaire statements, and there is recognition that much can be learned from thoughtful reflection on the processes that might underly the emergence of an unanticipated discriminator. But first there is the insistence that beyond question the items separate groups. With this approach, well applied, the problem of dissimulation largely vanishes, since respondents cannot foretell the implications of their answers. To date, because of the formidable labors involved in developing a widely ranging inventory, applying it to large and variegated samples, and then exploring for discriminating items, the full potential of this approach has not been realized. In particular it has often been the case that criterion groups are selected on the basis of poor or uninteresting or confused criteria. Thus, subsequent empirical analyses can provide only weak or trivial or ambiguous response to the particular research inquiry. There has been little systematic consideration given to the problem of which criterion groups might, should, or must be discriminated. However, with the advent of the computer, which can perform the vast clerical labors of comparison, it may be expected that the multiple contrasts required to build more than a narrowly specified validity will be forthcoming. For a discussion of some of these problems, see Block (1965) and Campbell (1957). With regard to the concept of anxiety, it would be necessary first to contrast the inventory responses of a group of individuals considered by experts to be anxious with responses provided by a comparable group of nonanxious individuals. Those statements affirmed or denied with differential frequency by the members of the anxious group and corroborated on other samples would constitute an anxiety scale. Once refined and established

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Overview as a valid discriminator, this scale could be employed to identify individuals responding to items in a way characteristic of the anxious individuals initially studied. Although the significance of a subject's response to any one item relating to anxiety can readily be questioned, it is reasoned that the closer the correspondence between an individual's response pattern and the response pattern typifying the anxious group, the more likely it is that he is anxious. Interviewing. It may be noted that the frequently used technique of the interview falls between the two categories of personality measurement so far discussed. If the interview employs standardized questions, systematically asked of the subject, then the interview may be regarded as a verbally administered questionnaire. If the interview is unstructured and simply provides the interviewer with an opportunity to observe subjects in a social (and tense) situation so that the interviewer can formulate some impressions, then the interview falls into the classification of observations as a basis for personality measurement. [See INTERVIEWING, article on PERSONALITY APPRAISAL.] Test situations. Observations are heavily and cumbersomely dependent on the quality of the judges used, their number, and the significance of the subject's behaviors sampled; questionnaires are convenient enough but often appear too distant from actual behaviors to earn a trust in their relevance. Because of the deficiencies or constraints in these approaches, psychologists often turn to specially devised test situations as a basis for eliciting behaviors to serve as indicants of personality variables. This orientation has special promise, as yet only partially achieved because the special premises on which it depends are not sufficiently understood. Test situations are constructed by the researcher to present to the participating subject a psychological context or influence or choice formulated in a way that makes it relevant to the personality variable under study. The response of the subject to the environmental demand upon him can, provided the subject appropriately interprets the test situation, serve as an indicator of the selected personality characteristic the test situation was designed to elicit. The crucial requirement of this approach, upon which all of its usefulness depends, is signified by the italicized phrase in the preceding sentence—if his response is to have the desired interpretive significance and if the responses of different subjects are to be considered as comparable, the subject must apprehend the test situation in the way the experimenter prefers.

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More often than psychologists have wished to acknowledge, subjects react to experimental situations in ways that foil interpretation or that are idiosyncratic. The usefulness of the test situation may be voided in two ways. First, unrealized by the experimenter, different subjects may enter the situation with different attitudes or sets or expectations, which because of their heterogeneity cause behavior within the test situation to have equivocal implications. Thus, an experimental situation concerned with competition and cooperation, employing actual money as a reward, might fail to recognize the different premises with which, say, a desperately poor subject, a wealthy subject, and a devout Quaker might conceive of their participation in the experiment. Similar responses could well have different bases; different responses could be open to multiple interpretations. Of course, these different premises can themselves become the focus of study, but if they go unrecognized and if subjects are unwarrantedly presumed to be homogeneous, then the results derived from the experiment can have little significance. Second, also without realizing it, the experimenter may have in fact defined the test situation in ways different from those he had intended, so that the behavior of subjects, although they may be homogeneous enough, responds to quite another (and unrecognized) issue or influence than the experimenter has conceptualized. Thus, an experimenter may seek to convey in his test situation the false bit of information that the subject's performance on some task is unusually poor. The experimenter's goal in communicating this "fact" may be to motivate the subject intensely. However, the subject's own view of his performance and general competence, amplified perhaps by ineffective acting by the experimenter, may cause him (and all other subjects) to disbelieve the experimenter and to behave on quite different grounds. For reasons of tact and tacitness the experimenter perhaps may not be confronted with the knowledge of this state of affairs, and he may therefore presume that the subjects responded in the way his situation directed them. Failure to check appropriately on the congruence between experimenters' and subjects' conceptions of the test situation is a frequent error. To exploit situational tests maximally for the purposes of measuring personality, a firmer recognition is required of the interpersonal nature of psychological experimentation and of the manifold structurings of a test situation which can be developed by the facile minds of human beings. An experimenter's presumption about the proc-

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esses operating within his experimental situation is insufficient alone—it must be supported by other views congruent with it. A consensus derived from the judgments of a group of psychologists is helpful, but the most supportable basis for evaluating a test situation is the consensus perception developed by actual subjects or individuals equivalent to the subjects being studied. Chein (1954), Gibson (1960), and Jessor (1956), each from a different viewpoint, have written thoughtfully on the matters involved in environmental specification. Further, the presence and the potency of the experimenter's effects upon his results must be assessed if generalizations beyond the immediately obtained results are to be made. In direct and indirect ways experimenters or examiners influence the behaviors of the subjects they encounter—a friendly, warm experimenter will elicit higher levels of aspiration from subjects than will a stern, aloof experimenter; subjects are often exquisitely sensitive to (and cooperative with) the hypotheses of an experimenter. The review by Kintz and his associates (1965) summarizes to date much of what has been discovered regarding unacknowledged and unrecognized experimenter influences on subject performance. Yet, if experimenters prove to be essentially interchangeable and if the psychological definition of the test situation is personally involving and essentially the same for all subjects and if, therefore, a subject is faced with the necessity of a behavioral choice, his decision must be formed on the basis of intrapsychic considerations. If the environmental directives are not overwhelming, and thereby compelling of a uniformity of response, then differential behavior will result, and this differential behavior will reflect differences in personality. The trick is to be incisive in the behaviors studied, so that the manifestations of personality thus developed are nontrivial. To exemplify a test situation relevant to the measuring of anxiety, consider a rote-learning task involving occasional unforewarned, extremely painful electric shocks. Some subjects will learn the designated material quickly, and others will learn slowly. Provided there is convincing information, obtained separately, that the subjects are of equivalent intelligence and background vis-a-vis the learning task and that they have equal thresholds of pain sensitivity, similar reactions to pain, etc., the hypothesis may be advanced that differential behavior in the learning task is attributable to differences in anxiety level. To help support this interpretation, our research design might call for the same subjects to experience an equivalent learn-

ing task without the threat of shock and its anxiety-evoking potential. In this second context the subjects should, according to theory, certainly manifest a much smaller range of efficiency in the learning situation and, again according to the concept of anxiety held, perhaps an effectiveness that on the average is superior to the average they achieved when threatened by shock. When an individual's performance under both conditions is compared, it becomes possible to infer his level of anxiety. Projective methods. Projective methods, such as the Rorschach ink blots or the Thematic Apperception Test, may be viewed either as test situations or as providing a basis in observation for personality formulations by judges. If responses are scored and these scores are taken as indicants of personality, then the projective technique is being employed as a test situation. If projective stimuli are conceived of simply as the occasion for a complex, semistandardized interview of a kind, eliciting many behaviors, from which an examiner, by virtue of his background and experience can, without scoring responses, evaluate the responding subject, then the projective method serves to provide behavioral grist for the integrative mill of the observer. [See PROJECTIVE METHODS.] Physiological responses. A great deficiency in the three approaches to personality measurement just described is that the behavior of the subject is to a greater or lesser extent under his volitional control—the subject can, more than a little, decide how he will respond when under observation or when faced with an inventory or when functioning in a test situation. He may be caught unawares, and he may not know how to direct his behavior, but he can, often appreciably, shape his manifest behavior. Since so many dimensions of personality relate to behaviors regarding which a subject may be motivated to be—deliberately or without awareness—misleading, it is important to escape this limitation. The autonomic nervous system, however, is not, except in a most unusual and sophisticated individual, under the control of intentions. An increase in heart rate, a hypermotility of the stomach, a rise in circulating epinephrine, cannot in general be volitionally prevented. Accordingly, the use of measures of such functions is attractive to psychologists. The psychophysiological method has enjoyed cyclic popularity in personality psychology. Despite the appreciable investments of time and thought put into the formidable problems of instrumentation, the contributions of psychophysi-

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Overview ology to personality measurement have thus far been few and often without reliable usefulness. The reasons for this are several. One problem is that of recording in sufficient detail and without artifact or the intrusion of irrelevancies the physiological phenomena going on underneath the subject's skin. Although such technical matters have inhibited growth of the field, recently great strides have been made and impressive sophistication has developed with regard to transducing and recording various physiological changes in the individual. While heretofore all psychophysiological measurements required carefully prepared rooms and carefully wired subjects, now the time is near when many of these measures will be telemetrically recorded from unhampered subjects carrying miniature transmitters as they go about their everyday lives. It may be expected that more representative and hence more cogent samplings of psychophysiological changes will be gathered as these technical advances reach maturity and acceptance. However, even with this kind of technological progress, the psychophysiological field (and the possibilities of the field) cannot be advanced unless there is further insight regarding such matters as what physiological channels to record and what facets of the multifaceted physiological process to fix upon as informative and dependable. A second problem of the psychophysiological approach, then, is attributable to the slowness with which truly incisive measures are being found. Quite properly there has been a reluctance to standardize any single set of physiological indexes, because of insufficient orderliness of the measures thus far studied and dissatisfaction regarding their ultimate behavioral relevance. Different investigators continue to employ different measures, and there have been few multivariate studies oriented toward establishing a reduced number of dependable measures. Much cumbersome, trying, and undramatic work must still be done before the necessary systemization and convergence on fundamental measures is accomplished. A third problem affecting the psychophysiological field stems, not from technical lags or deficiencies of discovery, but rather from an attitude underlying much of the research being done. The orientation of many investigators who have chosen to work in the psychophysiological realm is more toward the physiological than the psychological. Physiological reactions or changes, although occurring within the individual's life-span, have often been looked upon simply as end products of physical stimuli or as cause and effect of other

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physiological changes. This kind of focus has its merits and its successes. A more psychological approach, however, would use psychophysiological reactions, given meaning by the context of their occurrence, as signs or tokens of the existence of a subject's motivational state or characterological tendencies. Polygraph recordings of sexual arousal and of sympathy may well look alike; it is the environmental context in which the recordings were made that defines the significance of the interior changes that have been identified. The psychophysiological approach perhaps may realize its potential contribution to personality measurement when it is conjoined with a psychology of context. [See LEARNING, article on NEUROPHYSIOLOGICAL ASPECTS.]

In applying the psychophysiological method to the measuring of anxiety, we might choose to place the subject in a stressful situation and then measure the level and changes in the electrical conductance of his skin. Despite various problems of artifact and technique, changes in skin conductivity appear to mirror changes in the emotionality of the subject. As he relaxes, his skin conductance drops; as he becomes tense or is placed under explicit stress, his level of skin conductance rises, usually by a series of rapid, superimposed changes. We may judge a subject as anxious if his conductance level has risen greatly from its normal or basal conductance level. Alternatively, we may measure anxiety as a function of the time required for the subject's conductance level to revert from its peak to its basal level. Or we may define anxiety in terms of the number of abrupt conductance changes (galvanic skin responses) a subject emits in a unit of time during which there is no clear external or situational stimulus. In this last definition of an anxiety measure, it is presumed that "nonspecific" or nonattributable galvanic skin responses are tripped by internal, private, even unconscious anxiety stimuli. Additional conductance measures of anxiety of course can be proposed, but it is not yet clear which, if any, may be used with assurance. States and traits. Concern with physiological indexes, such as conductance, brings forward with particular clarity a distinction we have thus far neglected but which in fact exists, however we propose to measure personality, and which confounds many interpretations of personality relevant behavior. This is the "state-trait" separation, a conceptual attempt to distinguish between relatively transient, actually existing internal conditions that an individual experiences (states) and the general tendency of an individual to find him-

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self enveloped by certain classes of circumstances (traits). Are these conductance rises or accommodation differences reflective of subject differences in anxiety level, or do they reflect instead subject differences in susceptibility to stress? Furthermore, when we conceptualize anxiety in general, are we talking of a particular, existential condition at the moment affecting a given subject (i.e., the subject's state) or are we out to measure the likelihood that the subject will experience often the phenomenal state of anxiety, i.e., that the subject has the trait, however achieved, of being anxiety prone? What we measure and how it will be measured depend upon the conceptual position explicitly reached in regard to the state-trait distinction. Much unrewarding research and discussion in the psychological literature has been due to a failure to make this separation or to accept its consequences. In particular, state notions have been measured in ways appropriate only to traits, without recognition of the error—the correlates of anxiety proneness have been presumed to be the correlates of anxiety states (e.g., Taylor 1956). As has been shown by Mandler (1959) and others, there is no logical necessity for this presumption to be true and there are abundant empirical instances of its falsity. Short of special subject selection, prolonged measurement, and perhaps even longitudinal study, the empirical separation of the concepts of state and trait is a difficult task indeed. The recent review by Martin (1961) points up well both the difficulties and the attractiveness of the physiological approach to personality measurement. The necessity of convergence Having assessed a personality concept—in the present instance, anxiety—in multiple ways, it is necessary to evaluate the extent to which these operationally diverse but conceptually equivalent indexes are related to each other. It is embarrassing if the several measures of a concept do not constitute a congruent ensemble. It is also bothersome when a measure proves to relate too closely to an index or behavior conceptually irrelevant to the dimension of immediate interest. Thus, a small or moderate correlation between a measure of anxiety and scores on an established intelligence test is conceptually supportable from a variety of theoretical viewpoints. But an extremely high connection between anxiety and intelligence might cause us to question whether our proposed anxiety index is not, instead, simply a camouflaged measure of intellect. By and large, personality measures to date

have not performed well when evaluated against the criteria of convergence and discrimination. Campbell and Fiske (1959), after an elegant presentation of the logic which should underlie the development of a personality measure, evaluate a variety of commonly used indexes. They find that rather few of the measures psychologists employ meet the criteria that would justify the interpretive labels these measures have been awarded. Their analysis and survey is a significant one, which those interested in personality measurement will wish to read. Humphreys (1960) and Cattell (1961) have offered some useful psychometric tactics for dealing with the problem of excessively low correlations of a measure with conceptually similar measures and excessively high correlations of a measure with conceptually dissimilar indexes. As these and related suggestions gain currency and take hold, we may expect that personality measures will develop a substantiality they do not yet enjoy. The general principle for progress in personality measurement appears to involve aggregating a number of conceptually equivalent but operationally diverse measures and, through the use of standard scoring and factor analysis, constructing an average or expression of the dimension common to the phenotypically heterogeneous indexes being brought together. In sum, the goal of a scientific understanding of personality and its development requires recognition of the inevitable and conducive role of personality measurement. There has been extensive and increasingly sophisticated research oriented toward the development of conceptually univocal and psychometrically sound measures of personality. The basic approaches to personality measurement include the use of observation, questionnaires, specially constructed test or social situations, and physiological indicators. A significant continuing problem in the field is the poor agreement between ostensibly equivalent measures. This problem is being solved by greater care and refinement in the construction and identification of personality measures. JACK BLOCK [See also PSYCHOMETRICS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

BLOCK, JACK 1961 The Q-sort Method in Personality Assessment and Psychiatric Research. Springfield, 111.: Thomas. BLOCK, JACK 1965 The Challenge of Response Sets. New York: Appleton.

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Inventories CAMPBELL, DONALD T. 1957 Factors Relevant to the Validity of Experiments in Social Settings. Psychological Bulletin 54:297-312. CAMPBELL, DONALD T.; and FISKE, DONALD W. 1959 Convergent and Discriminant Validation by the Multitrait-Multimethod Matrix. Psychological Bulletin 56: 81-105. CATTELL, RAYMOND B. 1961 Theory of Situational, Instrument, Second Order, and Refraction Factors in Personality Structure Research. Psychological Bulletin 58:160-174. CATTELL, RAYMOND B. 1965 The Scientific Analysis of Personality. Baltimore: Penguin. CHEIN, ISIDOR 1954 The Environment as a Determinant of Behavior. Journal of Social Psychology 39:115-127. CRONBACH, LEE J.; and MEEHL, P. E. (1955) 1956 Construct Validity in Psychological Tests. Pages 174-204 in Herbert Feigl and Michael Scriven (editors), The Foundations of Science and the Concepts of Psychology and Psychoanalysis. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. -» First published in Psychological Bulletin. GIBSON, JAMES J. 1960 The Concept of the Stimulus in Psychology. American Psychologist 15:694—703. GUILFORD, JOY P. 1954 Psychometric Methods. 2d ed. New York: McGraw-Hill. -> First published in 1936. HUMPHREYS, LLOYD G. 1960 Note on the Multi-traitMultimethod Matrix. Psychological Bulletin 57:86-88. JESSOR, RICHARD 1956 Phenomenological Personality Theories and the Data Language of Psychology. Psychological Review 63:173-180. KINTZ, B. L. et al. 1965 The Experimenter Effect. Psychological Bulletin 63:223-232. LAZARUS, R. S. 1966 Psychological Stress and the Coping Process. New York: McGraw-Hill. MANDLER, GEORGE 1959 Stimulus Variables and Subject Variables: A Caution. Psychological Review 66:145149. MARTIN, BARCLAY 1961 The Assessment of Anxiety by Physiological Behavioral Measures. Psychological Bulletin 58:234-255. PEAK, HELEN 1953 Problems of Objective Observation. Pages 243-299 in Leon Festinger and Daniel Katz (editors), Research Methods in the Behavioral Sciences. New York: Dryden. TAYLOR, JANET A. (1956) 1963 Drive Theory and Manifest Anxiety. Pages 205-222 in Martha T. Mednick and Sarnoff A. Mednick (editors), Research in Personality. New York: Holt. -> First published in Psychological Bulletin. II PERSONALITY INVENTORIES

One of the most popular ways of studying personality is to construct a questionnaire, or inventory, containing short statements about a person's behaviors and feelings that he can check as true or false. This deceptively simple idea of a selfreport inventory for personality assessment was first employed on a large scale in World War i, for initial screening of army recruits. Containing items similar to questions a psychiatrist would ask, the Woodworth Personal Data Sheet served as the prototype for numerous personality inventories which have flourished since. [See WOODWORTH.]

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The modern self-report paper-and-pencil personality inventory bears only a slight resemblance to the straightforward, simple approach of Woodworth. Numerous, well-developed scales may be embedded in a single instrument, including some especially designed to detect the individual who is faking or who is failing to read the items carefully. Objectively scored answer sheets, standardized scales with normative reference groups, and actuarial predictions from statistical tables are now commonplace. And yet, most critics would agree that even the more widely used personality inventories today are still limited in validity and general application. The self-inventory approach to personality is appealing on several grounds. Most individuals are more candid and objective in their self-appraisal when responding to statements in an impersonal, printed inventory than they would be in a direct interview or written autobiography. The method is objective, repeatable, economical, and efficient. The results are amenable to examination by multivariate statistical methods and psychometric theory and to rapid analysis by computers. [See FACTOR ANALYSIS and PSYCHOMETRICS.] Major approaches Three major approaches have been employed in the development of personality inventories. The most obvious starts with a definition of the trait being measured, such as extroversion-introversion or neuroticism. A large number of statements are written and gradually refined until the manifest content "looks right," on the face of it, with respect to the trait in question. Woodworth's Personal Data Sheet and many of the personal adjustment inventories that have followed it, such as the Bell Adjustment Inventory, the Bernreuter Personality Inventory, and the Cornell Medical Index, have relied chiefly upon face validity for evidence of their value. Unfortunately, the use of these a priori, direct methods has been almost uniformly disappointing. Such information as they provide is superficial and misleading at best. The second approach, involving strictly empirical methods, arose partly in reaction to the failure of the earlier "common-sense" approach. Starting with a large pool of a few hundred statements, culled from a variety of sources, experimental forms of the inventory are given to samples of individuals drawn from known criterion groups. Those items which discriminate the criterion groups are placed in a provisional scale, while the remainder are discarded or employed for other purposes. The provisional scales are cross-validated by administering

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a refined version of the inventory to fresh criterion samples. The most widely used instrument of this type is the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI). Ten clinical and four validity scales were originally developed for the MMPI, by using criterion groups drawn from clinical populations. The MMPI pool of 550 items has proved convenient for the construction of many other empirical scales employing similar methods. The possible number of such empirical scales in a large pool of items is almost infinite, being bound only by the number of different specific criterion groups to be discriminated. A third major approach to the problem starts with a large pool of items, as in the MMPI, but sets as a goal the development of homogeneous scales that are logically independent and internally consistent. Ideally, one would first like to know the major dimensions underlying variations in response to every conceivable statement that can be imagined about an individual's personality. Then scales could be constructed to represent these dimensions by appropriate combinations of items. The dimensions of personality emerge only after a long process of internal item analysis, scale construction and revision, and the use of factor analysis to clarify the existing structure. The Guilford-Zimmerman Temperament Survey (Guilford & Zimmerman 1955) and Cattell's Sixteen Personality Factor Questionnaire (16 PF) (Cattell et al. 1957) are two wellknown examples of personality inventories constructed by this method. The Guilford-Zimmerman Temperament Survey is appropriate for adolescents and adults. The inventory grew out of work by Guilford and his colleagues (Guilford & Zimmerman 1956), in which 13 primary dimensions of personality were found by factor analysis of 69 item clusters, where three or more clusters per factor had been hypothesized in advance. With some exceptions, intercorrelations of the 13 factor scores are generally close to zero. Ten of these dimensions are included in the temperament survey. Cattell's 16 PF was the result of an ambitious plan to sample the entire "personality sphere" (Cattell 1946) more completely than ever before. A total of 171 personality variables was compiled, and large numbers of items were written. Experimental test forms were gr-en to college students, and a series of factor analyses was carried out, extracting more factors than most other investigators would judge to be meaningful and using oblique rather than orthogonal rotations. The 16 factors believed by Cattell to be most significant form the basis for the 16 PF. While the major scales repre-

sented in the questionnaire closely resemble dimensions found by other investigators using similar approaches, the short scales have very low reliability and, if they are to be used at all, are recommended only for research purposes. The overlap of the scales permits the extraction of second-order factors (Cattell 1956). Cattell and his associates have also tried to extend the use of paper-and-pencil personality inventories down the age scale to six-year-olds (Cattell & Coan 1958). For the most part, however, these attempts have not been very successful below young adolescence. Still a different point of view among factor analysts working with personality inventories is that of Eysenck (1953). Where Cattell and Guilford postulate many primary dimensions, Eysenck insists upon a higher level of abstraction, with only three basic dimensions—neuroticism, introversionextroversion, and psychotic behavior. The first two of these are represented in the Maudsley Personality Inventory, developed by Eysenck and used widely in England. Disagreements as to the number of personality dimensions which can be measured reliably by questionnaire methods arise largely because of disputes over the best way to discover and define such dimensions. Employing different methods of factor analysis, Eysenck conservatively sticks to only very general factors. Moreover, he fails to sample systematically throughout the universe of all personality statements that can possibly be put in questionnaire form. In reviewing this dilemma Coan (1964) has pointed out that behavioral organization or personality structure can be conceptualized on four different levels—specific response, habitual response, trait, and type. The selection of subjects, number of factors extracted, kind of rotation employed, and density of personality-variable sampling affect the degree of referent generality or level within the hierarchy at which inferences about dimensions are made. When viewed in this manner, Eysenck, preferring types, has a much higher referent generality than have Cattell and Guilford, who focus on traits and even habitual responses. It is interesting to note that most second-order factor analyses of primary dimensions in personality inventories yield general factors similar to the three proposed by Eysenck, pointing to a basis for resolving the dispute. The California Psychological Inventory (CPI), developed by Gough (1957), is a hybrid of the strict empirical approach, exemplified by the MMPI, and the dimensional approach of Guilford and Cattell. Instead of using factor analysis as a basis for de-

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Inventories fining dimensions, Gough emphasizes concepts drawn from the folk culture or common language as criteria for scale construction. The CPI covers 15 traits, plus three additional scales for detecting invalid or deviant records. The scales were developed by item analysis in terms of behavioral criteria (usually ratings), without regard for their internal homogeneity. However, Gough did take into account dimensional studies of normal personality before selecting the behavioral ratings to be predicted from questionnaire scales. If major dimensions in personality inventories are really stable, they should appear consistently in different inventories, provided the same aspects of the personality sphere are sampled. A number of studies have been conducted comparing two or more personality questionnaires given to the same subjects. Typical of such studies are the one by Mitchell (1963) comparing the CPI with the 16 PF and the one by LaForge (1962) comparing the MMPI with the 16 PF. Although Mitchell found little relationship between the primary factors in the CPI and the 16 PF, the congruence of secondorder factors in the two inventories was quite striking. Six second-order factors were found among the 34 scales, the largest two of which were easily identified as neuroticism and extroversion—introversion, verifying Eysenck's contention that these two general factors run through most personality questionnaires and are of greater importance than the lower-order traits. LaForge also found neuroticism to be the first factor running through both the 16 PF and the MMPI, although his other factors are complex. Because the MMPI comprises clinically derived scales of an overlapping, empirical nature, dimensional analysis using factorial methods is not very satisfactory unless one works directly with the individual item responses rather than the derived scales. Spurious factors in test taking A major problem in personality inventories is the control of response set, stylistic variables, and spurious factors that may be confounded with the obtained scores on personality scales. Self-report tests are subject to falsification by the individual who wishes to make a good impression. Quite aside from any intentional faking, people do not know themselves well enough to give factual answers to most personality or attitude questions. Since some personality inventories allow the individual a range of responses, some subjects give many extreme answers, while others are characteristically cautious. Some will tend to agree with a statement or check "true" rather than "false," regardless of the

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item content. While these confounding variables have been recognized for many years, only recently has a great deal of interest been generated in their psychological meaning and in methods for their measurement and control. In his critical survey of personality assessment, Vernon (1964) reviews the history of this problem. An exhaustive review has also been made by Rorer (1963), who concludes that response style has been greatly overrated as a factor in personality measurement. Other recent reviews of interest have been published by Jackson and Messick (1958), McGee (1962a; 1962fo), Christie and Lindauer (1963), and Holtzman (1965). [See RESPONSE SETS.] Social desirability and acquiescence. The two response styles upon which the greatest amount of research has been done are social desirability and acquiescence. Socially desirable responding is the tendency to give answers that are independently judged by social consensus to be desirable. Acquiescence is the tendency to agree with a statement, regardless of content. Many writers have taken strong positions concerning the significance of these two response styles, positions from which they retreat only with great reluctance. Using the method of successive intervals for scaling items from the MMPI, Edwards (1957a) developed his Social Desirability Scale as a measure of the tendency to respond in the socially desirable fashion. The 39 items in the scale are keyed so that the higher the score, the more the individual endorses the socially desirable alternative. The correlations between this scale and the first general factor on the MMPI are so high that some investigators have argued that most of the variance in the MMPI can be accounted for in terms of this single dimension of social desirability-undesirability (Edwards 1962). It is clear to most observers, however, that the Social Desirability Scale alone is no match for the full MMPI profile (Marlowe & Gottesman 1964; Wiggins 1962; Elvekrog & Vestre 1963; Jackson & Messick 1962). The standard scales in the MMPI cover much more than social desirability. As in the case of social desirability, considerable debate continues over the importance of acquiescence in personality inventories. Jackson and Messick (1962) computed separate scores for trueor-false keyed items for a large number of MMPI scales, as well as for five social-desirability scales, and performed a factor analysis of the intercorrelations of the 40 variables separately for three large, diverse samples of individuals. The three samples yielded identical results. More than half of the total reliable variance could be attributed to the two stylistic dimensions—-acquiescence and social de-

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PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Inventories

sirability. On the other hand, Dahlstrom (1962) takes Edwards and Jackson and Messick to task for interpreting social desirability or tendency to agree primarily as response style and for not considering the possibility that true-or-false answers may nonetheless be veridical, may be attempts at various impression formations, or may be acquiescences to a particular pressure conveyed by the instructions, the examiner, or the test setting. Block (1962) presents data in support of the idea that social desirability and adjustment are basically different concepts even though they obviously are related. With these many conflicting points of view, it is difficult to reach a firm conclusion concerning the relative importance of response styles as confounding variables in personality inventories. Remaining largely unsettled and for the most part ignored is the more crucial question of external validity. Do these response styles measure anything important beyond their interesting correlates with other variables from paper-and-pencil questionnaires? In general, most attempts to demonstrate the personality correlates of stylistic variables by comparing them with independently derived personality measures have yielded negative results (McGee 1962a; 1962k; Foster & Grigg 1963; Appley & Moeller 1963). The behavioral correlates of response styles are few and of questionable significance. While their existence cannot be denied in at least some personality inventories, their interpretation as important variables in their own right is debatable. Variations among personality inventories Most contemporary personality inventories employ a dichotomous response format of true-false or agree-disagree and are designed as omnibus instruments, with multidimensional scales covering different traits. A few have departed from this standard form in one way or another. Edwards (1957£>) developed the Edwards Personal Preference Schedule by pairing statements having equal social desirability values, requiring the subject to choose the member of each pair which is most like him. This forced-choice method makes it more difficult for an individual to fake a socially desirable picture, although response styles are not really eliminated (Borislow 1958; Corah et al. 1958). The 225 paired comparisons lead to scores on 15 scales, patterned after Henry Murray's list of needs. Low intercorrelations between the scales and moderate reliabilities (.60-.87) suggest that the inventory has promise as a research instrument, although its external correlates have been disappointing. [See PERSONALITY: CONTEMPORARY VIEW-

POINTS, article on COMPONENTS OF AN EVOLVING PERSONOLOGICAL SYSTEM.]

The forced-choice format for responding to personality items usually involves pairs or triplets of statements, from which the subject chooses the alternative most like or least like himself. A more extensive variation of this approach is the Q-sort method, introduced by Stephenson (1953) and popularized by Rogers and his associates (Rogers & Dymond 1954). Typically, a number of statements describing traits are printed on small cards, which can then be sorted by the subject into a forced normal distribution, using a limited set of between 7 and 11 categories arranged on a continuum from "most like me" to "least like me." The same statements can be reshuffled and sorted again, using different instructional sets, such as "how I want to become" or "how others view me," instead of "how I really am." Special statistical problems arise in the treatment of such data, because of the ipsative nature of the distributions. The method has been reviewed thoroughly by Wittenborn (1961). Another variation involves changing the response format from a simple dichotomy of yes-no or truefalse to a continuum represented by five to nine gradations of response. Comrey (1964) found that he could improve item reliability by using a ninepoint response format ranging from "always" to "never" for some items and from "definitely" to "absolutely not" for others. Still in experimental form, Comrey's personality inventory consists of three validity scales plus 30 short scales of six items each, derived by repeated factor analysis of item intercorrelations and construction of new items. The nine-point response format yields more information per item than the usual three-point scale, making it possible to achieve split-half reliabilities ranging from .62 to .93 (median .84) for the 30 short scales. A five-point response format was developed by Moore and Holtzman (1965) by combining the usual true-false dichotomy with an intensity scale for measuring the degree of concern or worry reported by the subject. In addition to the lowest point, "false, or does not apply to me," four levels of personal concern were linked with a response of true, ranging from "true but of no concern to me" to "true and of great concern to me." As in the study by Comrey, the use of a multiple-response continuum yielded better results than a dichotomous true-false, this time in a personal-problem inventory containing eight well-defined scales, used in a study of thirteen thousand high school youth. The adjective check list, or trait list, represents

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Inventories an inventory technique at the other extreme. Instead of a short sentence or statement, each item consists of a single trait adjective, such as "friendly" or "timid." Occasionally, bipolar traits are employed rather than single words. A long list of such adjectives is given to the subject, who is asked to mark quickly the items most like him (and perhaps those least like him). An example of a well-developed adjective check list for use as a personality inventory is the one constructed by Gough and Heilbrun (1965). A rather novel approach to the format of an inventory has been successfully developed by Endler and his associates (1962) in their S-K (stimulusresponse) Inventory of Anxiousness. Fourteen different five-point scales are rated separately for each of 11 different situations, making a total of 154 items. The scales contain such content as "My heart beats faster," and "I get an uneasy feeling," while the situations define common events: "You are just starting off on a long automobile trip." Designed as a research instrument, the S—R Inventory permits systematic study of responses, situations, and individual differences with respect to self-reported anxiety, as well as interactions between them. Of all the dimensions revealed in personality inventories, self-reported anxiety, or "neuroticism," is one of the best defined and most widely used. Consequently, a number of attempts have been made to devise questionnaires to measure anxiety. The Taylor Manifest Anxiety Scale was developed, using items from the MMPI (Taylor 1953). The IPAT (Institute for Personality and Ability Testing) Anxiety Scale was constructed by Cattell from the 40 items (20 subtle and 20 obvious) most-highly correlated with the second-order anxiety factor in the 16 PF. And Eysenck's neuroticism scale in the Maudsley Personality Inventory is basically a measure of self-reported anxiety. Correlations between these similar measures of anxiety are sufficiently high to indicate a large common core, although each has its own unique variance as well. [See ANXIETY and NEUROSIS.] Variations of anxiety questionnaires have also been developed for use with children. Patterned after his Test Anxiety Questionnaire, Sarason's Test Anxiety Scale for Children (Sarason et al. 1960) deals specifically with anxiety aroused by events in the classroom, particularly being tested or challenged. The complete children's inventory also includes a general anxiety scale, a lie scale, and a defensiveness scale, which can be used as control measures. A somewhat similar inventory, developed independently by a different approach, is the

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Children's Manifest Anxiety Scale (Castaneda et al. 1956). Other variations in format, content, and purpose of inventories are described in A Study of Values (Allport et al. I960); the Mooney Problem Check List (Mooney & Gordon 1950); and the Minnesota Counseling Inventory (Berdie & Layton 1957). Mental Measurements Yearbook, edited by O. K. Euros, is a standard compendium of most published personality inventories, as well as of other kinds of psychological tests (e.g., Euros 1959). Validity A major problem with personality inventories has been the establishment of their validity. All too frequently an inventory has been published without sufficient evidence that it either has predictive validity with respect to some future behavioral criterion or has concurrent validity in terms of external correlates. In an exhaustive review of earlier work on this problem, Ellis (1946) concluded that personality questionnaires are of dubious value because they fail to correlate with either practical criteria or independent measures of presumably the same personality traits. While some of the same criticisms can still be leveled at many current personality inventories, the thrust of the argument has been blunted somewhat by the successful efforts of more recent investigators to demonstrate the validity, as well as limitations, of contemporary methods. The most extensive research has been done on various empirically derived scales of the MMPI. This work demonstrates the usefulness of the MMPI for certain kinds of actuarial prediction, screening, and group discrimination, although its value for individual clinical diagnosis is still debatable and depends partly on the skill of the clinician. Since most personality inventories combine both the rational and empirical approaches and involve explicitly derived dimensions with trait names to describe them, validation attempts are usually concurrent rather than predictive. Properly conducted concurrent validation must involve two or more independent methods of measuring the same traits in the same individuals. Comparing the GuilfordZimmerman Temperament Survey with Cattell's 16 PF, for example, does not validate either inventory, since both sets of traits are derived by the same method, the self-report personality questionnaire. Personality scores on the inventory must be compared with ratings of behavior, with clinical judgments of the traits, or with trait scores from some other independent method of assessment. The most extensive cross-method correlational

4*2

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Inventories

studies have been undertaken by Cattell and his associates (Cattell 1950; 1957; Cattell & Scheier 1961). The sheer magnitude of Cattail's work represents a tour de force unequaled by previous investigators, even though he is vulnerable to serious criticism (Becker 1960). Generally speaking, the highest concurrent validities are obtained when inventory scores are compared with peer-group ratings for the same traits, regardless of the particular inventory in question. Ratings by trained observers also correlate to some extent with inventory scores. Validity coefficients of this type on the CPI, for example, range from .21 to .57 (Gough 1957). The lowest validity coefficients arise when crossmedia comparisons involving inventory scores and laboratory-type measures or objective performance tests of personality are made. More often than not, such correlations are close to zero. A crucial design for examining validity by the cross-method technique has been proposed by Campbell and Fiske (1959). Usually an investigator is content to show that the correlation for measures of a given trait across two methods is significantly better than chance. A much more rigorous test of validity requires that the cross-method correlation for a given trait be higher than the correlation between any two different traits, whether within the same method or across the two methods. Insisting that both discriminant and convergent validity must be considered, Campbell and Fiske recommend that all the within-method and crossmethod intercorrelations be arranged in a multitrait, multimethod matrix. This matrix can be examined in a number of ways, to determine both the convergent and discriminant validity. An example of this method applied to five traits purportedly measured by the CPI is reported by Dicken (1963). A more successful application of the CampbellFiske method in the validation of a personality inventory has been carried out by Jackson (1965), working with his newly developed Personality Research Form (PRF). Using four different methods of assessing the same 20 traits in a sample of 51 college students, Jackson demonstrated high convergent and discriminant validity for most of the scales in the PRF. Individual validity coefficients for the PRF, using peer ratings of behavior, ranged from .17 to .71 (median .52). The PRF appears to be a most promising instrument, largely because it is one of the first in a new generation of personality inventories that capitalize heavily upon modern test-construction theory and upon high-speed computers for item analysis. Two parallel forms of the PRF, with precise equivalence, are available. Derived originally from Murray's system of needs,

the 20 scales contain 20 items each and are augmented by two control scales, one for social desirability and one for acquiescence. The next few years should see considerable improvement in the power of the inventory approach to personality assessment. While much of the research of the past ten years has been methodological in nature, sufficiently advanced technology is now at hand to overcome some of the more glaring weaknesses in existing personality inventories. It is unlikely, however, that paper-and-pencil self-report methods of assessing personality will ever be much more than just that, namely, a systematic way of measuring how a person judges himself. WAYNE H. HOLTZMAN [Other relevant material may be found in INTERVIEWING, article on PERSONALITY APPRAISAL; OBSERVATION; PROJECTIVE METHODS; PSYCHOMETRICS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ALLPORT, GORDON W.; VERNON, PHILIP E.; and LINDZEY, GARDNER 1960 A Study of Values. 3d ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. -» Allport and Vernon were the authors of the first edition, published in 1931. APPLEY, MORTIMER H.; and MOELLER, GEORGE 1963 Conforming Behavior and Personality Variables in College Women. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 66:284-290. BECKER, WESLEY C. 1960 The Matching of Behavior Rating and Questionnaire Personality Factors. Psychological Bulletin 57:201-212. BERDIE, RALPH F.; and LAYTON, WILBUR L. 1957 Minnesota Counseling Inventory. New York: Psychological Corporation. BLOCK, JACK 1962 Some Differences Between the Concepts of Social Desirability and Adjustment. Journal of Consulting Psychology 26:527-530. BORISLOW, BERNARD 1958 The Edwards Personal Preference Schedule (EPPS) and Fakability. Journal of Applied Psychology 42:22-27. EUROS, OSCAR K. (editor) 1959 The Fifth Mental Measurements Yearbook. Highland Park, NJ.: Gryphon. CAMPBELL, DONALD T.; and FISKE, DONALD W. 1959 Convergent and Discriminant Validation by the Multitrait-Multimethod Matrix. Psychological Bulletin 56:81-105. CASTANEDA, ALFRED; MCCANDLESS, B. R.; and PALERMO, DAVID S. 1956 The Children's Form of the Manifest Anxiety Scale. Child Development 27:317-326. CATTELL, RAYMOND B. 1946 The Description and Measurement of Personality. New York: World. CATTELL, RAYMOND B. 1950 Personality: A Systematic Theoretical and Factual Study. New York: McGrawHill. CATTELL, RAYMOND B. 1956 Second Order Personality Factors in the Questionnaire Realm. Journal of Consulting Psychology 20:411-418. CATTELL, RAYMOND B. 1957 Personality and Motivation Structure and Measurement. New York: World. CATTELL, RAYMOND B.; and COAN, RICHARD W. 1958 Personality Dimensions in the Questionnaire Responses

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: MMPI of Six and Seven-year-olds. British Journal of Educational Psychology 28:232-242. CATTELL, RAYMOND B.; SAUNDERS, D. R.; and STICE, G. 1957 Sixteen Personality Factor Questionnaire. Champaign, 111.: Institute for Personality and Ability Testing. CATTELL, RAYMOND B.; and SCHEIER, IVAN H. 1961 The Meaning and Measurement of Neuroticism and Anxiety. New York: Ronald Press. CHRISTIE, RICHARD; and LINDAUER, FLORENCE 1963 Personality Structure. Annual Review of Psychology 14:201-230. COAN, RICHARD W. 1964 Facts, Factors, and Artifacts: The Quest for Psychological Meaning. Psychological Review 71:123-140. COMREY, ANDREW L. 1964 Personality Factors, Compulsion, Dependence, Hostility, and Neuroticism. Educational and Psychological Measurement 24:75-84. CORAH, NORMAN L. et al. 1958 Social Desirability as a Variable in the Edwards Personal Preference Schedule. Journal of Consulting Psychology 22:70-72. DAHLSTROM, W. GRANT 1962 Commentary: The Roles of Social Desirability and Acquiescence in Responses to the MMPI. Pages 157-168 in Samuel Messick and John Ross (editors), Measurement in Personality and Cognition. New York: Wiley. DICKEN, CHARLES F. 1963 Convergent and Discriminant Validity of the California Psychological Inventory. Educational and Psychological Measurement 23:449459. EDWARDS, ALLEN L, 1957a The Social Desirability Variable in Personality Assessment and Research. New York: Dryden. EDWARDS, ALLEN L. 1957b Edwards Personal Preference Schedule. New York: Psychological Corporation. EDWARDS, ALLEN L. 1962 Social Desirability and Expected Means on MMPI Scales. Educational and Psychological Measurement 22:71—76. ELLIS, ALBERT 1946 The Validity of Personality Questionnaires. Psychological Bulletin 43:385-440. ELVEKROG, MAURICE O.; and VESTRE, NORRIS D. 1963 The Edwards Social Desirability Scale as a Short Form of the MMPI. Journal of Consulting Psychology 27:503-507. ENDLER, NORMAN S.; HUNT, J. McV.; and ROSENSTEIN, ALVIN J. 1962 An S-R Inventory of Anxiousness. Psychological Monographs 76, no. 17. EYSENCK, HANS J. (1953) 1960 The Structure of Human Personality. 2d ed. London: Methuen. FOSTER, ROBERT J.; and GRIGG, AUSTIN E. 1963 Acquiescent Response Set as a Measure of Acquiescence: Further Evidence. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 67:304-306. GOUGH, HARRISON G. 1957 California Psychological Inventory: Manual. Palo Alto, Calif.: Consulting Psychologists Press. GOUGH, HARRISON G.; and HEILBRUN, ALFRED B. JR. 1965 The Adjective Check List. Palo Alto, Calif.: Consulting Psychologists Press. GUILFORD, JOY P.; and ZIMMERMAN, WAYNE S. 1955 The Guilford—Zimmerman Temperament Survey. Beverly Hills, Calif.: Sheridan. GUILFORD, JOY P.; and ZIMMERMAN, WAYNE S. 1956 Fourteen Dimensions of Temperament. Psychological Monographs 70, no. 10:1-26. HOLTZMAN, WAYNE H. 1965 Personality Structure. Annual Review of Psychology 16:119-156.

43

JACKSON, DOUGLAS N. 1965 The Development and Evaluation of the Personality Research Form. Unpublished manuscript, Univ. of Western Ontario. JACKSON, DOUGLAS N.; and MESSICK, SAMUEL 1958 Content and Style in Personality Assessment. Psychological Bulletin 55:243-252. JACKSON, DOUGLAS N.; and MESSICK, SAMUEL 1962 Response Styles on the MMPI: Comparison of Clinical and Normal Samples. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 65:285-299. LAFORGE, ROLFE 1962 A Correlational Study of Two Personality Tests: The MMPI and Cattell 16 PF. Journal of Consulting Psychology 26:402-411. McGEE, RICHARD K. 1962a Response Style as a Personality Variable: By What Criterion? Psychological Bulletin 59:284-295. McGEE, RICHARD K. 1962£> The Relationship Between Response Style and Personality Variables. Part 2: The Prediction of Independent Conformity Behavior. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 65:347-351. MARLOWE, DAVID; and GOTTESMAN, IRVING I. 1964 The Edwards SD Scale: A Short Form of the MMPI: Journal of Consulting Psychology 28:181-182. MITCHELL, JAMES V. JR. 1963 A Comparison of the First and Second Order Dimensions of the 16 PF and CPI Inventories. Journal of Social Psychology 61:151166. MOONEY, Ross L.; and GORDON, LEONARD V. 1950 Mooney Problem Check List. New York: Psychological Corporation. MOORE, BERNICE M.; and HOLTZMAN, WAYNE H. 1965 Tomorrow's Parents: A Study of Youth and Their Families. Austin: Univ. of Texas Press. ROGERS, CARL R.; and DYMOND, ROSALIND F. (editors) 1954 Psychotherapy and Personality Change: Coordinated Research Studies in the Client-centered Approach. Univ. of Chicago Press. RORER, LEONARD G. 1963 The Great Response Style Myth. Oregon Research Institute, Research Monograph 3, no. 6. SARASON, SEYMOUR B. et al. 1960 Anxiety in Elementary School Children. New York: Wiley. STEPHENSON, WILLIAM 1953 The Study of Behavior: Q Technique and Its Methodology. Univ. of Chicago Press. TAYLOR, JANET A. 1953 A Personality Scale of Manifest Anxiety. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 48:285-290. VERNON, PHILIP E. 1964 Personality Assessment: A Critical Survey. New York: Wiley. WIGGINS, JERRY S. 1962 Strategic, Method, and Stylistic Variance in the MMPI. Psychological Bulletin 59:224242. WITTENBORN, J. R. 1961 Contributions and Current Status of Q Methodology. Psychological Bulletin 58:132142. Ill THE MINNESOTA MULTIPHASIC PERSONALITY INVENTORY

The Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI) is a standardized, American test of emotional status and adjustment. It consists of 550 verbal items to which the subject answers true or false about himself. Scores are obtained on 14 scales: 10 that relate to clinical categories and

44

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: MMPI

4 that help provide an estimate of the validity of the test for individual subjects. Scoring involves applying stencils to an answer sheet, either by hand or by various automatic machine methods. A psychograph is made for each subject that provides a score profile, appropriate weights to correct for defensiveness, and separate normative transformations for each sex. In addition, a number of ratios and indexes may be computed for special applications. The initial derivational steps were undertaken in the late 1930s by Starkc 11. Hathaway, a psychologist, and J. Charnley McKinley, a neuropsychiatrist. All the basic work was carried out in the Department of Psychiatry and Neurology at the University of Minnesota Hospitals in Minneapolis. Inpatients and outpatients served as subjects in the carefully selected criterion groups, while hospital visitors, friends and relatives of patients on the various wards, made up the normal control group. Each component scale was derived empirically, containing only items that separated known patients from normals; each scale usually passed through several preliminary forms. Most of these scales are described in a series of articles in Welsh and Dahlstrom (1956). The clinical categories that were the original referents of the scales are hypochondriasis, depression, conversion hysteria, psychopathic deviate, masculinity-femininity, paranoia, psychasthenia. schizophrenia, hypomania, and social introversion. In Table 1, these scales are listed in the order in which they appear in the profile (Hathaway & McKinley 1943). Since its original publication, a large number of special scales and indexes have been developed from the MMPI items. Most of these special procedures, together with a great deal of the data Table

7 — Basic Minnesota Multiphasic Inventory scales SCALE NAME

ABBREVIATION

Validity scales: "Cannot say" score

Lie Confusion Correction

L F K

Clinical scales:

Conversion hysteria

Hs D Hy

Psychopathic deviate

Pd

Masculinity-femininity

Mf Pa Pt Sc Ma Si

Hypochondriasis Depression

Paranoia Psychasthenia Schizophrenia Hypomania Social introversion

Personality CODE NUMBER

from which the original scales were derived, have been brought together in An MMPI Handbook (Dahlstrom & Welsh 1960). The MMPI items and methods have also served as points of departure for several other widely used personality instruments, most notably Cough's California Psychological Inventory (1957), developed with greater emphasis on social-psychological criteria, and Berdie and Layton's Minnesota Counseling Inventory (1957), devised for high school guidance purposes. In addition, translations of the MMPI have been made into at least 15 different languages (see Dahlstrom & Welsh 1960, appendix N). Most of these versions can be considered to be only at the experimental stage at this time, since linguistic and cultural differences preclude simple translation of the items and routine application of the standard scoring keys. However, in this regard, Horiuchi (1963) showed that the D scale worked surprisingly well in separating clinical cases of depressive disorder from normal controls in her Japanese-language version developed at Doshisha University in Kyoto. French, Italian, and Spanish (Spanish American) versions have been restandardized with sufficient care to warrant their use. Nature of the scales. As indicated in Table 1, the basic scales are usually grouped into categories of validity and clinical scales. Validity scales. The main function of the validity scales is to check on the possibility that the test subject may have been unable or unwilling to comply with the test instructions and procedures. Perceptive and conscientious use of these indexes serves to offset many of the widespread objections to personality inventories, which occur because of their reliance upon a subject's language comprehension, contact with reality, cooperativeness, and personal insight. These validity scales also measure some of the same variance that is measured by the clinical scales. Thus, the L scale reflects personal stability as well as pervasive test defensiveness, the F scale mirrors severity of emotional disturbances and contact with reality as well as poor comprehension of English, and the K scale covaries with prognosis in psychiatric treatment as well as the more subtle tendencies toward selfenhancement or self-excoriation that permeate responses to the inventory. A detailed description of the interpretation of validity scales is available in Dahlstrom and Welsh (1960, chapter 5). Clinical scales. When they were first published, the basic clinical scales were routinely designated by the names of traditional psychiatric syndromes, together with a one-letter or two-letter abbreviation (see Table 1). As the research literature grew, in-

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: MMPI creasing evidence of nonpsychiatric interpretive implications was accumulated. Usage has shifted from the restrictive semantic referents of these scale names to the letter symbols and, more recently, to the numerical designations. Thus, the hysteria scale which was derived by comparing the responses of conversion hysteria cases with those of normal adults came to be designated simply by the symbol Hy when it became clear that this scale was useful in evaluating anxiety hysteria and a variety of psychosomatic syndromes as well. More recently, as its fuller significance in evaluating impulse control, emotional immaturity, level of insight, susceptibility to hypnosis, and repressive defenses is recognized, it is deemed less biasing to refer to the hysteria scale as simply scale 3. [See HYSTERIA.] In a similar manner the implications of the elevation of the component scores have changed over the years. A score falling two standard deviations above the average for normal subjects of the same sex was rather rarely achieved by normal subjects on any particular scale but typically fell close to the central tendency of patients showing the psychiatric characteristics under consideration; early clinical usage employed an elevation of two standard deviations as a critical level in score interpretations. These test inferences usually were part of a diagnostic decision process and the elevations were judged to be either "clinically significant" or not. This argument was a probabilistic one, whereas the decision was a categorical one involving placement within a normal or pathological group. Subsequent research has clarified the interpretive implications of scores and of score combinations at various absolute elevations in the profile. A detailed description of the interpretation of the clinical scales is available in Dahlstrom and Welsh (1960, chapter 6). Profiles. More abstract designations of the scales and greater reliance upon scale patterns at particular levels of score elevation have culminated in a system of profile coding and increasing reliance upon configural interpretive summaries (Hathaway & Meehl 1951; Drake & Getting 1959; Hathaway & Monachesi 1961; Good & Brantner 1961; Marks & Seeman 1963; Gilberstadt & Duker 1965). In one such scheme, most of the information in the score profile is disregarded; only the sequence of relative elevations among the scales and a rough index of absolute elevation are preserved. In such a system, patterns are designated by reference to the highest or two highest scales and for some purposes by reference to low points as well. Within the groupings formed by these criteria, additional distinc-

45

tions about absolute elevation, validity scale patterns, or related scale sequences may be drawn. Extended validation. As a behavioral summary, the psychiatric syndrome seems to have been a felicitous choice for a test criterion. Although there are many problems inherent in using them (Meehl 1959), these syndromes occupy a middle ground in degree of abstraction from the behavioral observations upon which they are based. There is by now a large amount of loosely articulated research in psychiatry bearing upon etiology, therapeusis, and prognosis that is centered upon these personality constructs. By their efforts in deriving these scales, both in compiling item groups and in immediately and successfully cross-validating with new-patient groups, Hathaway and McKinley showed that these constructs were workable and at least minimally reliable. By now a long series of publications has substantiated the validational efforts, showing that these scales can similarly separate normals from patients for a range of ages, races, religions, regions of origin, and educational levels. This research has also made clear that there is no mutual exclusiveness among these psychiatric syndromes. Scales separately constructed to distinguish clinical subgroups from normals do not singly also distinguish among the subgroups themselves. Either the patterns among the clinical scales must be used, or special scales must be constructed for these purposes (Rosen 1962). Useful as the syndrome may be as a summary of behavior, there is a legitimate interest in evaluations that are either more concrete and specific or more abstract and inclusive. MMPI scales derived from syndromes have proved useful in evaluating such specific behaviors as anxiety, hostility, hallucinations, phobias, or suicidal impulses. Similarly, broader psychiatric conceptions such as differentiations of psychosis-neurosis, delinquency proneness (Hathaway & Monachesi 1953; 1963), or prognosis under various forms of psychiatric treatment have been studied. Broader applications. Perhaps the best index that the criteria initially chosen led to fruitful and productive scale variables has been the rapid extension of this instrument beyond the special preoccupations and concerns of psychiatry to general areas of personality, to psychology as a whole, and to sociology and the other social sciences. Examples of such areas are psychodynamic processes such as repression, projection, and perceptual defense and vigilance; emotional maturity and control; social conformity, popularity, and leadership; political participation, religious affiliation, and occupational selection.

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PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: MMPI

Research has also appraised the impact of a variety of personal characteristics and demographic variables on MMPI performance. Thus, while it has been known from the outset that the sex membership of the test subject influenced the component scales sufficiently to justify separate norms on six scales ( 1 , 2 , 3, 5, 7, and 8) in the profile, subsequent work has also revealed that even with separate normative tables systematic variations appear in the frequencies of code configurations (see Dahlstrom & Welsh 1960, appendix M). The reported differences are quite consistent with the long-established sex differences in various psychiatric morbidity trends. Similarly, age trends have been studied, the most detailed analyses being made in older adult age ranges. Recently, a cross-sectional comparison has been made between adolescent and young adult levels and a start made upon some longitudinal follow-up studies (Hathaway & Monachesi 1963). [See INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES, article on SEX DIFFERENCES.] Two different approaches have been made to analyze the impact of social class status on MMPI responses. Most of the work has been based upon family origin, or status bestowed on the test subject by his parents, such as father's education, father's occupational level, or family income level. Thus, Gough (1948) and others have studied differences in test patterns among groups of subjects representing different family statuses. They have demonstrated that there is greater defensiveness in the test responses of subjects from higher status families. Gough developed a scale for this dimension on the basis of test data from high school students; some of the early work indicated that the scale was sensitive to subsequent shifts in social class level. That is, if a student could not manage to live and produce at the social level of his own family, one would predict that he would subsequently occupy a lower status. A second approach was employed by Nelson (1952), who used the earned status of his young adult patients as the basis for determining class level, combining data on their educational and occupational levels. His classifications correlated well, but by no means identically, with Cough's for a sample of general psychiatric patients. He also noted different profile patterns, diagnostic trends, and prognostic outcomes covarying with his socioeconomic classification. Critique. In some contrast to the generally successful and encouraging results from this wide range of application of the MMPI to practical problems in personality appraisal, at least two major

lines of criticism of the instrument and the method should be discussed. One of these patterns of criticism has grown out of the research of Edwards (1957), Jackson and Messick (1958), and Campbell and Fiske (1959) and their coworkers. According to Campbell and Fiske, the total variance of a set of test scores can logically be subdivided into methods variance (variability inherent in the test) and trait variance (variability in the personality attribute under consideration). Using a similar framework Messick and Jackson have advanced the formulation that methods variance can be conceptualized in terms of various stylistic features of test performance, such as response biases. These include preferences for a particular response, e.g., true (or false) to an excessive number of items, acquiescence (or conformity) responses, personally or socially desirable responses (responding to items in terms of possible adverse implications rather than in terms of fact; Edwards 1957) and other test-oriented sets and predispositions. These authors contrast these response sets with valid, content-related endorsements of inventory items, the trait variance in the Campbell-Fiske formulation. To the extent that test scores reflect style variance, they provide less valid information, presumably, about the actual content referents of the items in the various scales. Special scales constructed to evaluate these sources of "invalidity," by both Edwards (1957) and Jackson and Messick (see Messick & Ross 1962), have shown high correlations with component MMPI scales. While the issues here are complex (see Dahlstrom 1962; Block 1965), one limitation of the approach that these workers employ can be readily discerned: there is no reason to believe that MMPI-like personality scales, empirically derived against external criteria, necessarily furnish their discriminations solely on the basis of content of the test items. Although much of the information used in the work of these scales may indeed be stylistic (i.e., relying upon identifiable features of a person's approach to a test situation) it may nonetheless be valuable in characterizing a particular personality attribute. So, when high correlations are obtained between empirical scales and stylistic scales, the common sources of variance reflected in the product-moment correlations need not be interpreted as useless, nondiscriminating information bound to a particular inventory or type of test. [See EXPRESSIVE BEHAVIOR; RESPONSE SETS.] A sober re-examination of the pragmatics of MMPI usage is well represented by the work of Little and Shneidman (1959). From judges experienced in particular testing techniques, blind clinical

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: MMPI interpretations were obtained of various test protocols from 12 different subjects. These interpretations included clinical diagnoses, ratings of degree of maladjustment, Q sorts, and true—false statements about the behavioral and adjustment patterns of the subjects. Some of the results were probably biased conservatively by limiting features of the Q decks and the statements covering background experiences; nevertheless, there was generally a disappointing degree of correspondence between these blind test interpretations and similar descriptions by judges who knew the case histories. While the results based on MMPI profiles were generally not much better or worse than the interpretations based on other tests (Rorschach, Thematic Apperception Test, Make-a-Picture-Story), the absolute level of success in these psychodiagnostic endeavors was by no means reassuring. Thus, it appears that even though various MMPI indexes are useful when applied to separate and discrete decisions about patients or clients, there remains unresolved the additional problem of integrating the multitude of possible implications of a particular profile and producing a coherent and accurate personological summary of that test subject. Some investigators have begun to work on this crucial problem; most of the relevant MMPI research has been devoted to combinatorial patterns of the MMPI scores and their interpretive implications (see Dahlstrom & Welsh 1960, appendix M). In addition to the problem of finding the best way to combine MMPI results to reach valid and discriminating psychodiagnostic summaries there also remains the broader problem of combining MMPI score data with nontest information on a particular person. Since the nonpsychometric information is generally less reliable and contains data of unknown degrees of redundancy with the profile information, it is even more difficult to collate it with MMPI variables for the common purpose of accurate depiction of personality. One promising approach, exemplified by Kleinmuntz' pioneering efforts (1963), is the utilization of high-speed computers for the storage, retrieval, and most efficient integration of personological variables, once the first-order relationships have been discerned and made explicit. In this way the limitations of the human clinician may be in part bypassed for this routine activity (see Meehl 1963). W. GRANT DAHLSTROM \Other relevant material may be found in CLINICAL PSYCHOLOGY; INTERVIEWING, article On PERSONALITY APPRAISAL; PROJECTIVE METHODS; PSYCHOMETRICS; SCALING.]

47

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BERDIE, RALPH F.; and LAYTON, WILBUR L. 1957 Minnesota Counseling Inventory. New York: Psychological Corp. BLOCK, JACK 1965 The Challenge of Response Sets: Unconfounding Meaning, Acquiescence, and Social Desirability in the MMPI. New York: Appleton. CAMPBELL, DONALD T.; and FISKE, DONALD W. 1959 Convergent and Discriminant Validation by the Multitrait-Multimethod Matrix. Psychological Bulletin 56: 81-105. DAHLSTROM, W. GRANT 1962 Commentary: The Roles of Social Desirability and Acquiescence in Responses to the MMPI. Pages 157-168 in Samuel Messick and John Ross (editors), Measurement in Personality and Cognition. New York: Wiley. DAHLSTROM, W. GRANT; and WELSH, GEORGE S. 1960 An MMPI Handbook: A Guide to Use in Clinical Practice and Research. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. DRAKE, LEWIS E.; and GETTING, EUGENE R. 1959 An MMPI Codebook for Counselors. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. EDWARDS, ALLEN L. 1957 The Social Desirability Variable in Personality Assessment and Research. New York: Dryden. GILBERSTADT, HAROLD; and DUKER, JAN 1965 A Handbook for Clinical and Actuarial MMPI Interpretation. Philadelphia: Saunders. GOOD, PATRICIA E.; and BRANTNER, JOHN P. 1961 The Physician's Guide to the MMPI. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. GOUGH, HARRISON G. (1948) 1956 A Scale for a Personality Dimension of Socioeconomic Status. Pages 187-194 in George S. Welsh and W. Grant Dahlstrom (editors), Basic Readings on the MMPI in Psychology and Medicine. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. -» First published in Volume 13 of the American Sociological Review as "A New Dimension of Status: 1. Development of a Personality Scale." GOUGH, HARRISON G. 1957 The California Psychological Inventory: Manual. Palo Alto, Calif.: Consulting Psychologists Press. HATHAWAY, STARKE R.; and BRIGGS, PETER F. 1957 Some Normative Data on New MMPI Scales. Journal of Clinical Psychology 13:364-368. HATHAWAY, STARKE R.; and MCKINLEY, J. CHARNLEY (1943) 1951 The Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory: Manual. Rev. ed. New York: Psychological Corp. HATHAWAY, STARKE R.; and MEEHL, PAUL E. 1951 An Atlas for the Clinical Use of the MMPI. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. HATHAWAY, STARKE R.; and MONACHESI, ELIO D. (editors) 1953 Analyzing and Predicting Juvenile Delinquency With the MMPI. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. HATHAWAY, STARKE R.; and MONACHESI, ELIO D. 1961 An Atlas of Juvenile MMPI Profiles. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. HATHAWAY. STARKE R.; and MONACHESI, ELIO D. 1963 Adolescent Personality and Behavior: MMPI Patterns of Normal, Delinquent, Dropout, and Other Outcomes. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. HORIUCHI, HARUYO 1963 An Evaluation of Clinical Depression by Means of a Japanese Translation of the MMPI. Unpublished manuscript, Univ. of North Carolina.

48

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: SituationalTests

JACKSON, DOUGLAS N.; and MESSICK, SAMUEL 1958 Content and Style in Personality Assessment. Psychological Bulletin 55:243-252. KLEINMUNTZ, BENJAMIN 1963 MMPI Decision Rules for the Identification of College Maladjustment: A Digital Computer Approach. Psychological Monographs 77, no. 14. LITTLE, KENNETH B.; and SHNEIDMAN, EDWIN S. 1959 Congruencies Among Interpretations of Psychological Test and Anamnestic Data. Psychological Monographs 73, no. 6. MARKS, PHILIP A.; and SEEMAN, WILLIAM 1963 Actuarial Description of Abnormal Personality: An Atlas for Use With the MMPI. Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins. MEEHL, PAUL E. 1959 Some Ruminations on the Validation of Clinical Procedures. Canadian Journal of Psychology 13:102-128. MEEHL, PAUL E. 1963 Foreword. Pages vii-x in Philip A. Marks and William Seeman, Actuarial Description of Abnormal Personality: An Atlas for Use With the MMPI. Baltimore: Williams & Wilkins. MESSICK, SAMUEL; and Ross, JOHN (editors) 1962 Measurement in Personality and Cognition. New York: Wiley. NELSON, SHERMAN E. 1952 The Development of an Indirect, Objective Measure of Social Status, and Its Relationship to Certain Psychiatric Syndromes. Ph.D. dissertation, Univ. of Minnesota. ROSEN, ALRERT 1962 Development of MMPI Scales Based on a Reference Group of Psychiatric Patients. Psychological Monographs 76, no. 8. WELSH, GEORGE S.; and DAHLSTROM, W. GRANT (editors) 1956 Basic Readings on the MMPI in Psychology and Medicine. Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press. IV SITUATIONAL TESTS

A situational test is "a measure of a person's reaction to a situation that requires an actual adaptive response, rather than a mere 'test' response. The situation may be contrived by the examiner but must be recognized as posing a real problem to be solved, independent of its status as a test" (English & English 1958, p. 504). In this definition the key phrases differentiating situational tests from other personality tests are "posing a real problem" and "requiring an actual adaptive response." Thus the ideal situational test would be one that simulates some significant aspect of an individual's environment (e.g., his superior reprimanding him for poor performance) and evokes typical coping behavior without the subject's being aware that he is undergoing testing. It is interesting that laymen seem to evaluate personality by observing and making inferences about everyday behavior, much as psychologists do with situational tests. Thus, if a friend seems always to organize the games and activities of a social event, we may conclude that he is authoritative and perhaps exhibitionistic; or if we notice

that a fellow office worker maintains a careful arrangement of objects on his desk, we may conclude that he is orderly and very controlled. Clinical psychologists, on the other hand, when confronted with the task of describing and predicting the behavior of a person, traditionally base their evaluations upon samples of verbal behavior elicited by questionnaires, pictures, or inkblots. However, psychologists are becoming more aware that a fairly large difference seems to exist between the content and meaning of the verbal behavior observed through use of traditional tests and the content and meaning of the behavior about which they must make judgments and predictions. Because of this difference, inferences about real-life behavior, drawn only from samples of verbal-test behavior, are now being recognized as hazardous and difficult to make. Moreover, the clinician is reminded that fantasy behavior and self-description may not necessarily have a direct relation to overt behavior, and it is suggested that the clinician use tests that will duplicate the general factors underlying the day-to-day demands of the criterion situation (Cronbach 1956). In this connection it is both interesting and significant that expert clinicians are making more use than previously of so-called extratest behavior, for example, by noting that a patient forcefully throws together blocks he has been asked to assemble (suggesting aggressiveness and impulsiveness) or that a patient exclaims upon being shown an inkblot, "Boy, you're really trying to put something over on me with this one!" (suggesting suspiciousness). Since a major goal of personality assessment is to explain and predict overt behavior and since a person's verbal responses to questionnaires or inkblots may spring from levels of personality quite different from those which are activated when he is coping with a real-life situation, psychologists find themselves in a dilemma. One solution to the problem may be for psychologists systematically to observe actual coping behavior, as well as fantasy and self-report behavior. The method of situational testing is ideally suited for this purpose. Situational testing is intended to provide settings and tasks closely approximating those encountered in the normal course of daily living, thereby yielding samples of a person's characteristic ways of coping with real-life demands and of the personality traits and structures implicated in these coping efforts. Definition of coping behavior. Coping behavior is considered goal-directed, adaptive, and instru' mental. Implicit in the concept of coping is the

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Situational Tests assumption that when an individual is confronted with an object, person, or demand of significance to him, he experiences some disruption in his psychological equilibrium along with the need to readapt himself, that is, to re-establish his equilibrium. In order to re-establish his steady state, the individual calls upon a variety of combined personality and intellectual resources by means of which he physically acts upon, manipulates, or avoids the object confronting him in ways that bring about some adaptive resolution. Although coping behavior can be influenced by many factors, it is always assumed to be determined, in part at least, by an individual's needs, drives, goals, personality structure, and history; the nature of these determinants influences the kinds of changes he effects in person-object relationships. Therefore, the goal of coping behavior is generally assumed to be need gratification, threat reduction, and mastery in achieving a readaptation. When coping, the individual responds to actual physical stimuli of some potential significance to him, rather than to conceptually defined or artificial stimuli. As outlined here, then, so-called expressive aspects of behavior (e.g., handwriting), psychomotor behavior, and physiological and reflex responses are not considered coping behavior. Verbal behavior elicited by inkblots or questionnaires is also excluded. Verbal responses, however, may qualify in certain instances as coping behavior. For example, if an individual actually fails a task and then blames his failure on the make-up of the test, the verbal blaming response is considered to be part of the need-determined coping behavior. History of situational testing Galton. One of the earliest significant statements concerning performance testing of personality was made by Francis Galton (1884). After concluding that the character that shapes our conduct is a durable entity and therefore measurable, Galton proposed that it be assessed by observing definite acts in response to particular situations. However, he noted that such observation need not wait for chance happenings in real life that would elicit significant behavior; he pointedly stated, "Emergencies need not be waited for, they can be extemporized; traps, as it were, can be laid" (p. 182). Substituting the term "test" for "trap," we find that Galton was advocating situational testing. He discussed briefly one of his efforts at setting up "traps." After observing that friends who "have an Inclination' to one another [seem to] ... incline or slope together when sitting side by side" (p. 184), Galton devised a pressure gauge to be

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placed on the legs of chairs in an effort to test this hypothesis. Galton's proposal that personality be measured through carefully recorded acts representative of usual conduct received some attention in the years that followed. The work from 1900 to 1930 is reviewed by Symonds (1931). Perhaps the most significant in this period is the work of P. E. Voelker (see pp. 302-304, 306, 308 in Symonds 1931), whose situational tests of "honesty" were later applied with little modification by many workers, including Hugh Hartshorne and Mark A. May (1928) in their now classic Studies in Deceit. For example, one test measuring cheating consisted of a sheet of cardboard on which were printed ten circles of varying diameters. The subject was instructed to close his eyes and try to write in each circle the appropriate number (one to ten). Successful subjects obviously had cheated by opening their eyes while performing, since the task is impossible to accomplish otherwise. [See MORAL DEVELOPMENT.] Expressive behavior. The early efforts discussed above gave way in the 1930s to studies of expressive features of personality. Although research with expressive movements represented a change in focus, it nevertheless made a contribution to the history and development of situational testing by bringing systematic attention to the importance of nonverbal behavior in personality assessment. The suggestion by Allport and Vernon (1933) that a person's forms of expression (e.g., body postures assumed, type of gait, manner of speaking) are determined by, and therefore reveal, personality was followed by many studies. Werner W. Wolff (1942), who made the largest contribution to this area, used a method in one study closely approaching that of situational testing. He proposed that by observing how a child punched a balloon, one could determine whether he was aggressive or insecure and by observing a child manipulating a jar of cold cream, one could determine whether he reacted cautiously, carelessly, or fearfully to his environment. [See EXPRESSIVE BEHAVIOR.] Objective tests. In the early 1940s there appeared a group of workers who contributed more directly to the technique and concept of situational testing and who distinguished themselves by specifically challenging the adequacy of the inventories and projective devices rapidly growing in popularity as instruments of personality assessment. These investigators argued that the behavior measured in personality assessment should include not only introspective, self-assessing, verbal responses but also responses to objective tests not

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dependent upon the judgment of scorers, in which the individual would be unaware of the diagnostic meaning of his performance. R. B. Cattell (1957) and his colleagues have clearly made the largest contribution in this area. Their aim has been to establish a complete taxonomy of personality and to construct a battery of methods that will measure personality in terms of this taxonomy. Their strategy has been to collect observations from three types of sources, observations based on (1) ratings of life in situ and life records; (2) questionnaires (self-report); and (3) objective tests. Then by means of factor analysis, they have attempted to identify the major dimensions along which individuals differ in each of these realms of behavior and to compare and relate dimensions found in one realm with those found in another. Only the objective tests developed by Cattell have relevance for the topic of situational testing. Some four hundred of these objective tests have been used with various clinical groups and age levels. Three methods are employed: pencil and paper tests; physiological and psychomotor tests; and miniature situational tests. As an example of the first, the subject notes whether he agrees or disagrees with a statement presented to him along with an indication of the percentage of persons who agree with it; the score reflects one's tendency to agree with the majority. An example of a situational test is the "impairment of performance by fright test." Here the individual performs the first of three equally difficult finger mazes under normal conditions, the second while he is shocked periodically, and the third while a cage containing a rat and several cockroaches stands adjacent to the maze. Reviews of factor-analytic studies using these objective measures are available (e.g., Cattell & Scheier 1958). In Great Britain, Eysenck and his colleagues (1947) have also made substantial contributions to the development of objective tests of personality, their research strategy and technique broadly resembling those employed by Cattell in the United States. In addition, estimation of the sizes of squares (Krathwohl & Cronbach 1956) has been suggested as a response that reveals personality. This type of research can be credited with having brought to attention the limitations of the exclusive use of verbal responses, the need for objectivity in scoring, and the usefulness of factor analysis for personality assessment. However, from another standpoint many of these studies are themselves limited, because the experiences or response processes activated in the subject by many of the objective tests used may be

unrelated to responses evoked by some real-life situation of potential interest to the student of personality. Simulation of life situations. Also during the 1940s, a fourth phase developed in the history of situational testing. The subject was presented with a situation constructed by the investigator to simulate as much as possible some real-life criterion; judges rated the degree to which the subject manifested personality traits presumed to be critical for handling the situation. Max Simoneit is credited (see Kelly 1954) with the first attempt to use situational tests, which he developed to assess the suitability of individuals for various military assignments in the German army. Believing that military success depended on an individual's personality, Simoneit began by listing the traits that distinguished the personalities of German military heroes. He then devised situations that were likely to evoke these traits and administered them to officer candidates. This program influenced the one set up by the British War Office Selection Board, which, in turn, influenced the program set up by the U.S. Office of Strategic Services (1948) in the 1940s. The mission of the OSS was to select and maintain a network of agents who would conduct destructive operations behind enemy lines during World War n. The battery of tests used to screen candidates included situational tests for assessing such variables as emotional stability, leadership, and skill in observing and reporting. For example, candidates were asked to direct two recalcitrant workmen (played by actors) in the construction of a giant cube and to supervise the movement of equipment across a brook. After the war, the OSS found that its test ratings did not correspond with overseas staff appraisals of candidates but noted that some of the contributions of the method could not be assessed statistically because war conditions prevented the gathering of adequate criterion data. The OSS studies brought attention to, and stimulated interest in, the method of situational testing during the first years after World War n. Weislogel (1954) discussed the continued use of situational testing by the military. Kelly and Fiske (1951) used situational tests to investigate the selection of students for professional training in clinical psychology. For example, groups of students were asked to place large cement blocks in specified arrangements, or a student was asked to interview a teacher (played by another student) whose sexual conduct had been called into question. After

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Situational Tests examining their data statistically, Kelly and Fiske reported situational tests contributed little, if anything, to the predictions made. The postwar years also saw the emergence of variants of situational tests. The leaderless-group discussion technique, also originated by a German psychologist, J. B. Riefert, in the 1920s, was extensively investigated in the United States (e.g., Bass 1954) and in Britain (Higham 1952), primarily as a means of selecting personnel for industry. Leadership potential was measured by asking a group of subjects to carry on a discussion about a topic usually determined by the criterion situation, and the amount of leadership each subject displayed was rated. Role playing, another variant, was also explored and developed (Mann 1956). After the postwar years, situational testing, in contrast to projective tests and questionnaires, failed to gain momentum and popularity as a method of personality assessment. This seemed to be due in part to the failure of the OSS and clinicalpsychology programs to report statistical support for the predictive power of situational tests, in part to problems inherent in the method. These problems are discussed below after a brief review of current applications of situational testing. Current applications Military applications. Perhaps the greatest attention currently being paid to situational testing is by the U.S. military. Tupes and his colleagues (1958), for example, employed situational tests designed to simulate the present-day job role of an air force officer. In one test the candidate is asked to play the role of a squadron commander confronted by three pilots (played by actors), all of whom wish a leave at a time when only two can be spared. In another, the candidate interviews an actor playing the role of an irate mayor in whose town airmen on leave have recently been aggressive and abusive; and in another, smaD groups of candidates, placed in a prison compound, are asked to escape. Measures obtained from these various situations related significantly to criterion measures obtained six months after candidates were graduated. Kipnis (1962) predicted job performance of U.S. naval personnel with a "handskills test" intended to measure an individual's motivation to persist beyond minimum standards on a tiring task. The examinee, who views the test as a measure of hand and finger dexterity, pencils tally marks, a task that rapidly promotes hand and arm fatigue. The examiner tells the subject what a passing score is (established empirically) and

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notes whether the subject stops or slows down after reaching the announced passing score or continues to strive. General applications. In civilian psychology, situational testing is receiving isolated but concentrated attention from several workers. Lois B. Murphy and her colleagues (1962) have conducted a series of studies designed to identify the "coping styles" children use to handle demands, new opportunities, and the problems they experience throughout development. Murphy uses various naturalistic situations to elicit adaptive responses; for example, children are observed during pediatric examinations, at the zoo, at parties, and while being transported to and from the clinic. Miniature situations test. Santostefano (1960) developed a Miniature Situations Test (MST) in an effort to make available a method that would overcome some of the disadvantages of the naturalistic assessment situation, while nevertheless providing samples of nearly real-life behavior for systematic study. Under the MST method, a child is presented with two objects and invited to act upon one of them as specified (e.g., "You may either water this plant or break this light bulb"; "You may either see how strong you are by squeezing this [a dynamometer] or raise this flag in honor of Abraham Lincoln"). The child is urged to make his choice quickly and is encouraged to make use of feelings he experiences when confronted with the objects. This method assumes that the child will selectively perceive and respond to the objects presented, endowing them with positive, negative, or neutral incentive values according to the dominant motives and personality attributes unique to him and that he will reveal some aspect of his personality through the objects he values or rejects and through the changes he physically imposes upon them. It is also assumed that the choices presented will activate genuine affective and motive states within the child and that although the nature of the instrumental acts required by various situations may vary, the acts are nonetheless related to or derived from the same motive state. Thus, for example, if a child chooses, in several situations, to water a plant, to repair torn paper with Scotch tape, and to help the examiner put on a pair of gloves, it is assumed that his personality functioning is very much characterized by the disposition to bestow affection and to nurture. The MST, in comparison to the freer naturalistic method, seems to have several advantages for personality research. While allowing the free ex-

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pression of personality dimensions in situations requiring the subject to cope with people and objects, the MST (1) provides identical and restricted stimuli to all subjects, giving some assurance that each subject will become equally involved with the stimulus configuration designated as crucial; (2) produces unequivocally identifiable responses; (3) yields measures whose meanings are not completely dependent on the judgments of raters; (4) elicits a wide sampling of personality dispositions represented in the choices performed; (5) makes available, in addition to specific acts, a wide range of behaviors, encapsuled, however, in brief time samples and available for scrutiny and systematic analysis; and (6) is feasible for use in ordinary research settings. Factor-analytic studies have contributed to the construct validity of the miniature situations, as have studies comparing the performance of various clinical groups (e.g., orphans, delinquents, brain-damaged children) with controls. The job effectiveness and conscientiousness of rehabilitated mentally retarded young adults have also been predicted with promising success. Leaderless-group discussion. The leaderlessgroup discussion technique is one variant of situational testing that has continued, since the 1940s, to receive increasingly widespread use in the United States (in the military and industrial spheres), and in England, Australia, and Germany. In one study (Kiessling & Kalish 1961), for example, groups of applicants to the Honolulu Police Academy were asked to assume that they were alone on foot, patrolling an area noted for "cop haters," when they notice two delinquents stealing a tire from a car and suddenly find themselves surrounded by many other delinquents. The group is asked to discuss what one should do and why, while raters evaluate each candidate. Clinical applications. Recently other variations of the situational-testing technique have been proposed to study questions of interest to clinicians. For example, Lerner (1963) noted that recent social-psychological studies, whose results support the traditional notion that schizophrenics are unresponsive and autistic, have used artificial stimuli, such as asking patients to respond to stick-figure drawings to determine their capacity to perceive cues in social roles. Lerner, instead, asked groups of schizophrenics to clean a ward and rated their behavior in terms of, for example, verbal interaction and dependency on the leader. He reported that schizophrenics exhibit appropriate social motivation and responsiveness when behaving in a

meaningful situation. Similarly, Schulman and his colleagues (1962) have proposed situational testing for investigating parent-child interaction. Non-English-speaking countries. The author finds little evidence that the technique of situational testing is in use in non-English-speaking countries. Japan. A recent review (Kodama 1957) of personality tests used in Japan indicates a clear preference for projective and questionnaire devices borrowed from those most popular in the United States. One performance test of personality developed by Japanese psychologists, and apparently widely used, makes inferences about "excitation, adaptation, and temperament" from an individual's continuous performance with addition problems; but it fails to qualify as a situational test because there seems to be no intent to approximate, in the test situation, behavior associated with some reallife criterion. The Soviet Union. Recent surveys of Soviet psychology indicate that techniques for assessing individual differences and personality are not of central interest to Russian psychologists, who are concerned typically with studying intellectual abilities or aptitudes. However, Brozek (1962) notes that one of the distinctive features of Soviet psychology is its emphasis on studying psychological processes under natural conditions. He points out that Russian investigators tend to see abilities (e.g., scientific, technical, literary) as integral components of personality and that one preferred method of studying these abilities is to observe the performance of individuals in "natural experiments," a method highly regarded by Soviet psychologists as an approach most true to life. According to this point of view, observation of the way in which a pupil solves tasks that are presented to him enables the investigator to assess best the psychological characteristics implicated in various abilities. The resemblance between this methodological philosophy and that of situational testing is noteworthy. Germany. In spite of the fact that situational testing originated in Germany, the writer has found little evidence that the technique, except for the variant of group discussion (Rundgespraech, or round-table talk), is currently widely used in that country (Meili 1937). In a critique of psychological tests Simoneit (1954) argues that increased objectivity and quantification in personality assessment has resulted in less psychological meaningfulness and that the commonly used projective tests are inadequate in evaluating a person's true

PERSONALITY MEASUREMENT: Situational Tests feelings; he proposes situational testing and the study of expressive behavior as a remedy to this problem. Implications for theory and practice Considerations in devising and using tests. Three main procedural steps should be followed in devising and using situational tests. The first step is to select and describe the personality characteristics that are critically implicated in the criterion under investigation. The second is to construct tasks that will elicit these particular characteristics; and the third is to choose a method of observation and scoring. These steps are largely interrelated. The more detailed the analysis and understanding of the criterion situation and of the personality characteristics to be isolated and observed, the better one can construct situations to elicit these traits in ways which are identifiable and scorable. The past failure of situational tests to relate to criteria can be attributed, to a large extent, to the fact that workers have not specified in sufficient detail those aspects of the criterion selected as critical (e.g., Stern, Stein, & Bloom 1956). Thus, if situational tests are being used to assess effective parental performance, it should be made clear whether "effective" means setting limits, giving emotional comfort, or expressing an interest in the child's activities. The situations devised by Tupes and his colleagues (1958) are good examples of tests derived from a detailed understanding of the criterion. Several additional general considerations concerning the make-up and use of situational tests are worth noting. Situational tests are intended to be lifelike and therefore should evoke adaptive responses as isomorphic as possible with the behavior and feelings required by the criterion situation. The tasks should be structured in such a way that each subject experiences the same need to respond and to become involved and each is unaware of the specific psychological meaning of his behavior and the intent of the situation. Ideally, scoring should be confined to whether the personality characteristic under question appears or not; if degrees of appearance of a trait are desired, the gradations should be clearly defined in terms of identifiable forms of behavior. Situational testing can be a costly technique because of the elaborate staging, material, and the use of actors and observers sometimes required. Lastly, it is important to recognize that compromises are available between the degree of experimental control and of lifelikeness built into the situational test. The more

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naturalistic the setting and observations, the closer the criterion is approximated; but at the same time, the more expensive the test, the greater the problem of insuring that subjects will become involved with the same stimuli and the more difficult it is to identify critical responses. The less naturalistic the test, the greater the degree of experimental control over stimuli and responses. The concept of levels. In the investigation and clinical assessment of personality, one major goal is to learn about the psychological organization of an individual. For some time this organization has been viewed by psychologists as containing levels (e.g., conscious-unconscious, latent-manifest, depth—surface). Recently much attention has been given to the relation between levels of personality functioning tapped by traditionally used projective and inventory devices and levels activated by situations in everyday living. This interest seems to have grown out of the fact that psychologists continue to experience failure and frustration in their efforts to assess and predict personality functioning by using projective devices and inventories. Lindzey and Tejessy (1956), in discussing this issue, note that perhaps the most perplexing of the many problems facing the user of projective techniques is the difficulty in assigning an inference made about the patient to some specific level of his behavior; that is, will the attribute inferred from the test response be expressed freely in a public setting, or will it be revealed in rarely encountered circumstances, or only in fantasy? Similarly, workers have wondered whether motive states are necessarily reflected in fantasy and whether fantasies are always mirrored in overt behavior; their research findings are equivocal. Questions and concerns such as these have led some workers to develop a theoretical system dealing with levels of personality (e.g., Leary 1957), defining and distinguishing between public, preconscious, and unconscious levels of functioning and their interrelationships, while others have been led to propose that the psychologist use as data only behavior that is as much like the criterion as possible (e.g., Cronbach 1956). The task facing personologists is to discover which test indices obtained at the fantasy or self-report levels are related to coping behavior and then to learn the systems and principles governing the interrelationships among these various links. Relating standardized social-situational tests to projective and questionnaire devices could contribute to a solution of the problems raised in the consideration of levels of personality.

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The criterion problem. Since the 1930s much effort has been devoted to improving the predictions that can be made from various test devices. Recently, however, workers have expressed dissatisfaction over this one-sided enterprise and the primarily negative results it has produced. There is a growing awareness that solutions to the problem of predicting behavior depend as much upon a definition of the criterion situation (the relevant types of behavior and personality traits it evokes) as upon the development of test instruments. The main goal of assessment is prediction relevant to situations of daily living. But naturalistic situations seldom contain easily defined, well-controlled stimulus configurations that are critically implicated in the evocation of behavior considered adaptive in terms of the demands of the situation. Discussion of the criterion problem (Stern, Stein, & Bloom 1956), when combined with discussion of the philosophy and technique of situational testing, provides psychologists with an approach to constructing adequate criterion stimuli against which personality instruments can be tested, an approach, interestingly enough, which closely parallels that used by Simoneit when first devising situational tests. If, for example, an investigator is interested in developing the power of a projective test to predict a child's ability to handle the stresses of the first days of school, he could develop his criterion by observing children in the first days of school and by interviewing teachers, in an effort to isolate those aspects of a child's personality that appear critical in handling the demands of this situation. Situational tests could then be constructed to evoke systematically and reliably those particular personality dimensions, providing adequate criteria with which the investigator could explore the predictive powers of his instrument. Current research concerned with the effects of television on the aggressive behavior of individuals nicely illustrates how failure to define and develop a criterion may lead to inconsistent findings. After showing subjects an aggressive film, one worker (Feshbach 1961) observed the associations they made to aggressive and neutral words, while others (Mussen & Rutherford 1961) observed answers to questions about the desire to aggress. Perhaps it is not surprising, then, that some studies report a decrease in "aggressive behavior" after participation in fantasied aggression and other studies report an increase. It would seem that situational tests, which would provide the subject with the opportunity to aggress overtly and forcefully in terms of well-defined objects and circumstances, would provide a better test of the question whether

fantasied aggression leads to an increase in behavioral aggression. The technique and philosophy of situational testing have been traced historically and related to issues that concern theory, research, and clinical practice in personality assessment. What is the future for situational testing? Some workers have voiced the opinion that its future is dim. However, this writer feels that it is more than a bit paradoxical that psychologists are quick to reject the worthwhileness of test behavior closely resembling aspects of daily living, while at the same time they cling comfortably to their projective devices and inventories, which primarily evoke words as far removed from real-life conduct as the inkblots and pictures themselves. It would seem that the dominating influence of behaviorism and logical positivism has cultivated, at least among American psychologists, a preference for the sterile laboratory as a research setting and a fetish for test instruments, however far removed from the conditions of real life, an influence which seems to be spreading to personality-assessment practices in other countries. However, it is encouraging to note that dissenting voices are growing louder, as are pleas that behaviorism not frighten social scientists away from the study of naturalistic behavior. The survey given here suggests that much of the groundwork has been laid for the development of promising methods that could aid social scientists in predicting the day-to-day behavior of individuals. Use of the situational-test technique might even make the assessing of personality as exciting as Galton's first attempt. SEBASTIANO SANTOSTEFANO [Other relevant material may be found in EXPERIMENTAL DESIGN; PROBLEM SOLVING; PROJECTIVE METHODS; PSYCHOMETRICS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

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STERN, GEORGE G.; STEIN, M. I.; and BLOOM, B. S. 1956 Methods in Personality Assessment: Human Behavior in Complex Social Situations. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. SYMONDS, PERCIVAL M. 1931 Diagnosing Personality and Conduct. New York: Appleton. TUPES, ERNEST C.; CARP, A.; and BORG, W. R. 1958 Performance in Role-playing Situations as Related to Leadership and Personality Measures. Sociometry 21: 165-179. U.S. OFFICE OF STRATEGIC SERVICES 1948 Assessment of Men: Selection of Personnel for the Office of Strategic Services. New York: Rinehart. WEISLOGEL, ROBERT L. 1954 Development of Situational Tests for Military Personnel. Personnel Psychology 7:492-497. WOLFF, WERNER W. 1942 Projective Methods for Personality Analysis of Expressive Behavior in Preschool Children. Character and Personality 10:309-330.

PERSUASION The art of "winning men's minds by words" has occupied the attention of philosophers since long before the time of Plato's and Aristotle's commentaries on rhetoric. But not until the twentieth century has there been any concerted effort of empirically oriented scholars to describe objectively the conditions under which persuasion succeeds or fails. Pioneering contributions. In a recent survey of current knowledge about persuasive communication, four social scientists who made pioneering contributions during the first half of this century have been singled out as the founding fathers of the new field of research on persuasive communication (Schramm 1963). One is the political scientist Harold D. Lasswell, who carried out the first detailed descriptive studies of major propaganda campaigns, focusing on the communications issued by national elites during World War i and by totalitarian movements that tried to influence the masses during the period of the great depression. Lasswell formulated a set of theoretical categories for analyzing the effects of persuasive communications and initiated the development of systematic techniques of content analysis (Lasswell et al. 1949). A second major figure is the sociologist Paul Lazarsfeld, who worked out new methods for investigating the impact of mass media on voting behavior and on the beliefs, judgments, and values of the mass audience. Using poll data from U.S. election campaigns and panel surveys of public reactions to a wide variety of radio programs, Lazarsfeld and his colleagues have described the complex communication networks and cross pressures that exist in modern communities. Their studies (Lazarsfeld et al. 1944; Katz & Lazarsfeld

56

PERSUASION

1955) highlight the influential role of local opinion leaders, who function as "gatekeepers" by promoting or rejecting the evaluative judgments transmitted in the mass media by political parties, business organizations, public welfare authorities, and intellectuals. A third outstanding contributor to scientific research on social influence is the psychologist Kurt Lewin, whose studies emphasized the powerful barriers to change that are created by the primary and secondary groups with which the individual is affiliated. One of his major explanatory concepts to account for resistance to new sources of social pressure is the counterpressure arising from the existence of group norms, in which attitudes are anchored. When attempting to understand why a person accepts or rejects a persuasive message, according to Lewin (1947), the investigator should examine the person's anticipations about whether or not he will be diverging from the norms of his reference groups, such as his family, his work group, and the social organizations with which he identifies. [See the biography of LEWIN.] Another psychologist, Carl I. Hovland, is the fourth contributor to have helped build up systematic knowledge about communication effects and the processes of persuasion. Hovland initiated broad programs of experimental research designed to test general hypotheses concerning the factors that determine whether or not the recipients of a persuasive message will be influenced. Some of the studies by Hovland and his collaborators (see, e.g., Personality and Persuasibility 1959) bear directly on the hypotheses put forth by Lasswell, Lazarsfeld, and Lewin, while others have led to unexpected discoveries and new theoretical analyses of the psychological processes underlying successful persuasion. [See the biography of HOVLAND.] The sections that follow present some of the main generalizations drawn from these and other studies in order to indicate representative hypotheses and empirical findings. [For a fuller discussion of theoretical approaches, see ATTITUDES, article On ATTITUDE CHANGE.]

Resistance to persuasion. During recent decades many self-styled experts in propaganda, journalism, advertising, and public relations have promoted an image of modern man as highly gullible. The new field of mass-communications research, which developed from the work of these four pioneering social scientists, has shattered this image along with other popular preconceptions concerning the alleged power of the mass media to manipulate, exploit, or "brainwash" the public. A review of the evidence accumulated from relevant research stud-

ies indicates that mass communications generally fail to produce any marked changes in social attitudes or actions (see Klapper 1960). The slight effects produced by the press, films, radio, and television are usually limited to a reinforcement of the pre-existing beliefs and values of the audience. Campaigns designed to persuade people to change their values, to modify social stereotypes, or to foster a new political ideology generally mobilize powerful resistances in the public. So pervasive are these resistances, according to the documented accounts of numerous investigators, that one could characterize "successful persuasion" by the mass media as a relatively rare social phenomenon. Hovland, Janis, and Kelley (1953), in their analysis of factors that influence attention, comprehension, and acceptance of persuasive messages, call attention to essential differences between educational instruction and persuasion. Most of the differences pertain to the audience's initial expectations, which have a marked influence on motivation to accept or reject the communicator's conclusions. In the case of instructional communications, where high acceptance is readily elicited, the educational setting is typically one in which the members of the audience anticipate that the communicator is trying to help them, that his conclusions are incontrovertible, and that they will be socially rewarded rather than punished for adhering to his conclusions. In persuasive situations, on the other hand, interfering expectations are aroused, and these operate as resistances. The authors point out that the findings from experiments on communication effects seem to converge upon three types of interfering expectations that operate to decrease the degree of acceptance: (1) expectations of being manipulated by the communicator (e.g., being made a "sucker" by an untrustworthy source, who has ulterior economic or political motives for trying to persuade others to support his position); (2) expectations of being "wrong" (e.g., making incorrect judgments on a controversial political issue or overlooking antithetical evidence that would be grounds for a more cautious or compromise position); and (3) expectations of social disapproval (e.g., from the local community or from a primary group whose norms are not in accord with the communicator's position). This third type of resistance, which reflects Lewin's "social anchorage" concept, has been most extensively investigated. Many studies indicate that when the members of an audience are exposed to a communication advocating a position that goes counter to the norms of one or more of their reference groups, their resistance will vary directly

PERSUASION with the strength of the formal and informal sanctions put forth by the norm-setting group. Quite aside from any special sanctions applied to those who violate the group norms, the mere perception that the vast majority of other members accept a given norm operates as a powerful force on the individual to conform-to that norm (Lewin 1947; Asch 1952; Kiesler & Corbin 1965). Determinants of successful persuasion Most of the substantiated propositions about successful persuasion designate factors that help to decrease psychological resistances when the recipients are exposed to a persuasive communication (see Janis & Smith 1965). Exposure requires not only adequate physical transmission of the message but also audience attention, which will not be elicited if the communication is perceived as deviating markedly from pre-existing attitudes and values or as violating the norms of an important reference group. If a persuasive communica-

OBSERVABLE COMMUNICATION STIMULI*

tion evokes sufficient attention to surmount the exposure hurdle, its success will then depend upon comprehension (i.e., the extent to which the audience grasps the essential meanings the communicator intended to convey) and acceptance (i.e., the degree to which the audience is convinced by the arguments and/or is responsive to the motivational appeals presented in the communication). The main types of factors that have been investigated are those specified by Lasswell's classic formula for communications analysis: Who says what to whom with what effect? Janis and Hovland (1959) present a paradigm of interacting factors that enter into successful persuasion (see Figure 1). Communicator characteristics, the content of the message, the manner of presentation, and other crucial situational factors shown in column 1 are considered to be stimulus variables capable of touching off the key mediating processes (represented in column 3)—attention, comprehension, and acceptance—that give rise to the various

PREDISPOSITIONAL FACTORS

i

r Communication situatio Content characteristics: Topic— content of the conclusions

r

OBSERVABLE COMMUNICATION EFFECTS

INTERNAL MEDIATING PROCESSES

1 r ji General persuasibility 11 J u

57

-

r

I

I

*

1

Attitude change

1 Attention Opinion change

Appeals Arguments Stylistic features Communicator characteristics: Role Affiliations Intentions

Specific predispositions: e.g., responsiveness

Media characteristics: Direct vs. indirect interaction Sense modality

__^

Comprehension

to emotional appeals, to logical arguments, to prestigeful sources

(

Perception change

i

r

I

Affect change

Situational characteristics: Social setting

Acceptance

Extraneous noxious stimuli

Action change

Extraneous pleasant stimuli I

1

i

._!

The categories and subcategories are not necessarily exhaustive but highlight the major types of stimulus variables that play a role in producing changes in verbalizable attitudes.

Figure 1 — Major factors in persuasion

Source: Based on Janis & Hovland 1959.

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PERSUASION

effects designated as attitude change (column 4). The magnitude of the influence exerted by the stimulus variables also depends on different types of predispositional variables (represented in column 2). Communicator and content factors. The most thoroughly investigated propositions bearing on the processes of persuasion are those that specify how one or another of the stimulus attributes is related to successful persuasion. Sometimes communications research has merely confirmed certain of the well-known prescriptions formulated by experts in the art of persuasion. But research occasionally leads to the discovery of unexpected limiting conditions or hitherto unknown relationships that call into question the commonly accepted assumptions about how people can be influenced to change their beliefs or attitudes. Prestige and "sleeper" effects. Studies of prestige effects have confirmed some "obvious" assumptions and refuted other, equally "obvious" ones. Several communication experiments have shown, as might be expected, that there is an immediate gain in acceptance of persuasive communications when the message is given by someone who is initially accorded relatively high prestige by the audience or when the arguments are attributed to a relatively trustworthy source. But, contrary to expectations, it has been found that in the long run, persuasive communications from low-prestige sources turn out to be just as effective as those from high-prestige sources. This phenomenon has been termed the "sleeper" effect (see Hovland et al. 1953, pp. 254-259; Kelman & Hovland 1953). Both positive and negative prestige effects seem to wear off over a period of several weeks. When a communication comes from a nonprestigious or distrusted source, the audience tends at first to reject the message. But as time goes on, acceptance of the originally discounted statements has been found to increase, evidently because with the passage of time, the content of the message is no longer spontaneously associated with the source. One-sided versus two-sided presentations. Another issue that has been systematically investigated is whether persuasion is more effective when it concentrates exclusively on the arguments supporting the propagandist's position or when it includes discussion of the opposing arguments. Hitler and other Nazi propaganda strategists have claimed that in appealing for a specific line of action, no rival or opposing ideas should ever be mentioned, because they invite comparisons, hesitation, and doubt. But the available evidence indicates that this principle holds true only under very limited

conditions, such as when the audience is unaware of the arguments for the other side of the issue. When the audience is strongly opposed to the position being advocated, a persuasive message is generally more effective if it includes the opposing arguments than if it presents only the arguments in favor of one side of the issue (see Hovland et al. 1953, pp. 105-110; Hovland et al. 1949, pp. 201227; Klapper 1960, pp. 113-116). Moreover, even when the audience is not initially opposed to the communicator's position, a two-sided presentation will be more effective in creating sustained changes in attitudes if the communication is given under conditions where the audience will subsequently be exposed to countercommunications presenting the opposing arguments. Inoculation devices. When the members of an audience are pre-exposed to the opposing arguments along with some refutations, they are to some extent "inoculated" against subsequent countercommunications, because the new arguments will be much less impressive and more readily discounted (see Lumsdaine & Janis 1953). This type of inoculation has been found to produce a "generalized immunization effect" under certain conditions, notably when a communication advocates recommendations that the audience already regards as being in line with commonly accepted norms, such as simple health rules. Thus, inclusion of a few arguments that momentarily shake the confidence of members of the audience in cultural truisms they had always taken for granted will reduce the chances of their being influenced by subsequent counterpropaganda, because they become more resistant both to the counterarguments specifically mentioned and refuted in the original two-sided communication and to new counterarguments which might otherwise shake their beliefs (McGuire 1961). Another simple inoculation device has been found to be effective in reducing the influence of unconventional communications that take issue with cultural truisms of the type that people are seldom or never called upon to defend. This device consists of stimulating the members of an audience to build up defenses by warning them in advance that their hitherto unchallenged beliefs will soon be exposed to strong attack (McGuire 1961; 1964; McGuire & Papageorgis 1962). The well-known "freezing" effects of public commitment to a newly adopted policy or course of action form the basis for another type of communication device that prevents backsliding. Experimental studies indicate that resistance to subsequent countercommunications can be built up if,

PERSUASION after presenting impressive arguments and appeals, the communicator uses his persuasive influence to induce his listeners to endorse the position publicly—for example, by voting openly for it, signing a petition, or showing other overt signs of acceptance that will be seen by people in their community (see Lewin 1947; Attitude Organization and Change 1960). Other types of inoculation procedures have been studied to determine the conditions under which acceptance of a new attitude or policy recommendation will be sustained despite subsequent exposure to frustrations, threats, or setbacks that arouse strong negative effects. For example, after having been persuaded to adopt a communicator's recommendations, the audience may subsequently be exposed to warnings or punishments that stimulate avoidance of the recommendations. The emotional impact of the subsequent setback will tend to be reduced if the audience has been given inoculating communications that predict the threatening event in advance, thus eliminating the element of surprise and, at the same time, stimulating appropriate defenses (see Janis 1962). Similarly, in the case of "bad news" events that generate pessimistic expectations about the future, preparatory communications that present grounds for maintaining optimistic expectations can help soften the blow and enable the audience to resist being unduly influenced by the impact of the disturbance (Janis et al. 1951). In general, the eventual success of any attempt at persuading people to carry out a given course of action is likely to be attained if the communicator frankly discusses the possible subsequent difficulties and countercommunications, presenting them in a way that helps to create a cognitive frame of reference for discounting or minimizing them if they do, in fact, materialize. Effectiveness of "primacy." Since most inoculation devices involve familiarizing the audience with counterarguments, two-sided communications might be more advantageous in the long run, even in circumstances where a one-sided communication could be expected to be more successful in producing immediate changes in a higher proportion of the audience. There are, of course, many different ways of arranging the opposing arguments in a two-sided communication, and some ways of inserting them have been found to be more effective than others. For example, when the audience is not familiar with the opposing arguments, a two-sided communication from an authoritative source tends to be more effective if the opposing arguments are presented after, rather than before, the favorable arguments that support the communi-

59

cator's conclusion. By giving strong favorable arguments first, the communication arouses the audience's motivation to accept the communicator's conclusion, so that when the negative material subsequently occurs, it can be better tolerated. Furthermore, if a strong case is made for the communicator's position at the outset, there is a greater likelihood that the recipient will make an early decision to accept the communicator's position and thereafter tend to minimize dissonance or conflict by ignoring the opposing ideas (see Brehm & Cohen 1962; Festinger 1957; 1964; Janis 1957; 1959). This primacy effect, when tested with communications designed to induce opposing attitudes toward the same social objects or policies, proved to be extremely pronounced under conditions where the contradictory material was not spontaneously salient and there was no time interval between the first set of arguments and the second, contradictory set (Asch 1946; Luchins 1957a,- 1957b; Janis & Feierabend 1957). Under other conditions, however, such as where the audience is very familiar with the opposing arguments and has initial doubts about the communicator's honesty, a recency effect might predominate, making it more advantageous to give the counterarguments first, with the main affirmative arguments saved for the end of the communication (see Hovland et al. 1957, pp. 130-147). Emotional appeals. It is commonly recognized that when a person remains unmoved by repeated attempts to persuade him with rational arguments, he might nevertheless show a marked change as soon as emotional appeals are introduced. Probably the most widespread form of emotional appeal in modern Western culture involves the arousal of fear by emphasizing anticipated threats. Antiwar propaganda, public health campaigns, and other efforts at mass persuasion frequently rely upon emotional shock devices to motivate people to carry out preventive measures or to support policies designed to avert potential dangers (for example, promoting a ban against a nuclear weapons test by emphasizing the horrors of war). For maximal effectiveness, this device requires not only that the communications succeed in arousing fear but also that the recommendations function as effective reassurances. The latter term refers to verbal statements—plans, resolutions, judgments, evaluations —that are capable of alleviating or reducing emotional tension. Many communication experiments have been designed to test popular claims about the effectiveness of emotional appeals and to determine objectively the conditions under which such appeals are successful.

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Political leaders and public health authorities often assume that the protective actions or practical solutions they advocate will be more readily accepted, the more they succeed in frightening the audience about the dangerous consequences of failing to adhere to their recommendations. This assumption may occasionally be correct, as in the case of recommendations concerning immediate escape actions (e.g., evacuation of a danger area within a few minutes after an emergency warning is issued). But the assumption appears to be questionable in many instances, especially when the goal is to induce delayed actions or sustained attitudes (e.g., evacuating at some future date, if the threat materializes; supporting a disarmament movement; favoring prodemocratic policies). The available evidence indicates that presenting feararousing material in a persuasive communication tends to stimulate the recipient's vigilance and his need for reassurance. But this does not necessarily increase his motivation to accept authoritative recommendations about ways to avert or cope with the danger, since the person may find other ways to reduce his fear. Whenever fear is aroused to a very high level, resistances tend to be strongly mobilized. This will reduce the effectiveness of a persuasive communication, unless it is outweighed by certain other factors that could facilitate attitude change (Hovland et al. 1953, pp. 56-98; Leven thai 1965). Among the facilitating conditions that increase an audience's tolerance for a strong dosage of fear-arousing material in a persuasive message is the inclusion of one or more highly specific recommendations that offer an apparently good solution to the problems posed by the threat, with no obvious loopholes (Leventhal et al. 1965). When this condition is not met, as is often the case in "scare" propaganda, the use of a strong emotional appeal may produce much less acceptance of the communicator's recommendations than a milder appeal, since the audience will then become motivated to attach little importance to the threat or develop some other form of defensive avoidance that enables them to alleviate their fear. Sometimes strong emotional appeals attain spectacular persuasive effects, but it is difficult to predict accurately that a very high dosage of fear will not exceed the optimal level. Preliminary "program assessment" research with cross-sectional samples of the intended audience is usually needed to make sure that the version of the communication containing a strong appeal is more effective than a version containing a more moderate appeal. Implicit versus explicit conclusions. Many claims are made about effective strategies for in-

ducing people to change their attitudes and values, but some of these claims are difficult to assess empirically. One such notion is that a nondirective approach—similar to that used by many counselors and psychotherapists when dealing with people who seek help in making conflictful decisions of an upsetting nature—will generally be more effective in mass communications than a more directive approach [see MENTAL DISORDERS, TREATMENT OF, article on CLIENT-CENTERED COUNSELING]. One testable implication of this notion is that a mass communication will sway more people if instead of stating an explicit conclusion, the communicator allows the audience to draw its own conclusions from the facts, arguments, and appeals that he presents. Undoubtedly, there are some circumstances where direct suggestions are likely to meet with such insurmountable resistances that an indirect approach is the only hope for exerting any influence whatsoever. But for informative communications dealing with relatively impersonal issues, the available research evidence indicates that it is generally more effective to state the conclusions or recommendations explicitly, even when the propagandist is regarded as biased or untrustworthy (see Hovland et al. 1953, pp. 100-105; Klapper 1960, pp. 84-91, 116-117). One of the main advantages of stating the conclusions explicitly is that it helps to prevent the audience from missing or distorting the essential point of the arguments. Effects of role playing. One type of indirect persuasion that has been carefully investigated involves the use of a special role-playing technique. It has been repeatedly found that when a person is required to play a role entailing the presentation of a persuasive message to others in his own words, he will be more influenced than if he were passively exposed to the same message. This "saying is believing" tendency has been found to occur even when role playing is artificially induced by asking people to take part in a test of their public-speaking ability or to write essays (Janis & King 1954; Kelman 1953). Experimental evidence indicates that mere repetition of a persuasive message has little effect as compared with an improvised restatement and elaboration of the arguments and conclusions (King & Janis 1956). The success of improvised role playing might be attributed to several different psychological processes. Festinger (1957) suggests that the primary gain from role playing comes from efforts to reduce dissonance between what one is saying publicly and what one actually believes, and a number of experiments offer some supporting evidence (e.g., Brehm & Cohen 1962;

PERSUASION Festinger & Carlsmith 1959; Festinger 1964). An alternative explanation is in terms of self-persuasion: when attempting to convey the message to others, the role player is likely to think up new formulations of the arguments, new illustrations and appeals. These are likely to be convincing incentives to himself, especially if he regards the improvised ideas as his "own" (see Hovland et al. 1953, pp. 228-237; Janis & Gilmore 1965; Elms & Janis 1965). This theoretical issue has not yet been settled, and the differential predictions from the alternative explanations are currently under investigation (see Carlsmith et al. 1966; Rosenberg 1965). Personality factors. Numerous studies have shown that social attitudes are frequently resistant to persuasion because they satisfy deep-seated personality needs. Such attitudes are likely to remain unchanged unless self-insight techniques or special types of persuasive appeals are used that take account of the adjustive and ego-defensive functions of these attitudes (see Katz & Stotland 1959; Lass-

61

well 1930-1951; Smith et al. 1956). It is logical, therefore, that assessment of personality attributes should help in predicting whether a given person will be responsive to persuasive messages that deal with a particular topic or that employ one or another type of argument. Studies of authoritarian personalities, for example, indicate that any communication fostering rigid, antidemocratic controls over political dissenters and minority out-groups will tend to be more readily accepted by one particular type of personality (see Adorno et al. 1950). An outstanding characteristic of this personality is a strong latent need to displace hostility away from in-groups toward out-groups—as manifested by symptoms of intense ambivalence toward parents, bosses, and other authority figures, combined with a high degree of inhibition of normal sexual and aggressive activities. Table 1 shows a set of hypothetical diagnostic categories, worked out by Katz (1960), that might prove to be useful for predicting individual differences in responsiveness to persuasion on important

Table I — Determinants of attitude formation, arousal, and change in relation to type of function FUNCTION

ORIGIN AND DYNAMICS

AROUSAL CONDITIONS

CHANGE CONDITIONS

Adjustment

The object of the attitude has proved to be useful for satisfying important needs; it increases one's chances of gaining rewards or decreases one's chances of being punished.

1. Activation of needs. 2. Salience of cues associated with need satisfaction.

1. Failure to gain usual satisfactions from the attitude. 2. Creation of new needs and new levels of aspiration that are not satisfied by the attitude. 3. Shifting of rewards and punishments so that the attitude is no longer reinforced. 4. Impressive demonstration of new and better paths for need satisfaction.

Ego defense

The attitude helps to protect the person from internal conflicts or from becoming highly disturbed by external dangers.

1. Posing of threats. 2. Appeals to hatred and repressed impulses. 3. Rise in frustrations. 4. Use of authoritarian suggestion.

1. Removal of threats. 2. Catharsis which reduces the need for defense against pentup impulses. 3. Opportunity for development of self-insight.

Value expression

The attitude helps the person to maintain his self-identity and his self-esteem; it allows him to express himself or gives him a sense of independence.

1. Salience of cues associated with values. 2. Appeals to individual to reassert self-image. 3. Ambiguities which threaten self concept.

1. Some degree of dissatisfaction with the self. 2. Impressive demonstration of the greater appropriateness of a new attitude for enhancing one's self-image. 3. Loss of usual environmental supports to such an extent that old values are undermined.

Knowledge

The attitude satisfies the needs for understanding, for meaningful cognitive organization, and for consistency and clarity.

1. Re-encounters with the original problem that required a solution or encounters with related problems.

1. Ambiguity created by new information or by a marked change in environment. 2. Meaningful information about a different way of analyzing the problem or about new ways of solving it. Source: From Katz 1960, p. 192.

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PERSUASION

social issues. The first step would be to determine which of the four basic types of functions (column 1) is served by the person's current attitude on the issue in question. The type of need fulfilled by each function is shown in the second column of the table. If one could assess the status of these needs accurately, one would presumably be able to predict the types of situations that would arouse the attitude (column 3) and the general conditions that would have to be met in order to change each individual's attitude (column 4). One of the main reasons why Katz's hypothetical schema is regarded as a promising functional approach to the study of attitude change is that it helps to explain why the conditions required for changing certain attitudes, particularly those diagnosed as serving an ego-defensive function, are not satisfied by the usual forms of persuasion to be found in the mass media. The material in this table carries the implication that no simple psychological formula can be expected to subsume all instances of attitude change. This implication confirms clinical observations, which indicate that unconscious dynamics as well as conscious processes are sometimes involved when a person clings unyieldingly to his stand in the face of strong persuasive arguments or when he readily gives in, without any opposition, on an important social or political issue (see Lasswell 1930-1951). It also agrees with experimental evidence indicating that even when dealing with conscious attitudes, we cannot expect to find only one type of cognitive process that will account for successful persuasion. For example, the striving for consistency among cognitions bearing on the same issue—which Heider (1958) has postulated as a fundamental human tendency in response to all meaningful communications— sometimes appears to be an important determinant of reactions to persuasion, but it does not account for certain instances where other motivational factors, such as pleasurable anticipations of gain, may become the dominant determinants (see Rosenberg & Abelson 1960). Individual differences are to be expected, not only in response to persuasive pressures from arguments that create cognitive imbalances but also in response to emotional appeals (see Janis & Feshbach 1954) and group pressures induced by giving information about the consensus of judgments made by one's peers (see Crutchfield 1955); these are called "content-bound" predispositions. Some research evidence also points to specific personality needs, preferences, and sensitivities that predispose certain persons to be highly responsive to one or another limited type of communicator

(Janis & Hovland 1959); these are termed "communicator-bound" predispositions. In Figure 1, all such sources of individual differences are represented in the second column by the box labeled "specific predispositions." In addition to specific types of predispositional factors, there are also certain personality attributes that predispose people to be swayed by, or to be resistant to, any persuasive message, irrespective of what is said, how it is said, or who says it. This general persuasibility factor (represented by the box at the top of the second column in Figure 1) has been inferred from research on the consistency of individual differences. Such research indicates that when a large audience is exposed to many different types of persuasive communications on many different types of issues, some persons are consistently resistant, whereas others are moderately persuasible, and still others are highly persuasible fsee Abelson & Lesser 1959a; Janis & Field 1959a,- 1959£>). Among the personality factors found to be predictive of low resistance to all forms of persuasive influence are (1) low selfesteem; (2) inhibition of overt aggressive behavior; (3) high fantasy imagery and strong empathic responses to symbolic representations; and (4) other-directed rather than inner-directed orientation, that is, a value system stressing adaptation to the social environment rather than inner standards for regulating one's conduct. It is a puzzling fact, however, that these relationships have been found only in samples of men, since no such relationships have been found as yet in samples of women. These findings have been attributed to differences in the social roles prescribed for women and men in our society, which may also account for the repeated finding that women are more persuasible than men on social and political issues (see Hovland & Janis 1959). Current status of research The hypotheses summarized in the foregoing review of social-psychological studies of persuasion do not constitute an exhaustive prepositional inventory of all available findings but, rather, serve to highlight major relationships that have emerged from systematic research. Supporting evidence comes from carefully controlled experiments, but the studies usually have been carried out with small subpopulation samples, most often limited to American high school or college students in a classroom situation. Consequently, the generality of the hypotheses and the limiting conditions under which they hold true have not yet been adequately explored. There is some reason to expect, how-

PERSUASION ever, that the relationships initially observed in the limited experimental situations will have fairly wide applicability because: (a) they appear to be in line with observations from other, less wellcontrolled investigations of social influence (such as panel studies of opinion trends during political campaigns, market research surveys on widely advertised products, and case studies of responsiveness to psychological counseling or psychotherapy); and (b) in a number of instances where replications have been carried out with other subpopulations in other types of communication situations, confirmatory evidence has been obtained (see Janis & Smith 1965). In any case, the development of experimental techniques, attitude scales, and sophisticated methods for analyzing the effects of many different causal factors and their interactions have now reached the point where we can obtain relevant and cumulative knowledge from systematic studies of the conditions under which persuasive communications are effective or ineffective (see Campbell 1963). As new techniques and methods are used in the rapidly expanding field of communications research, we can expect a fuller account of the influence of the variables discussed, as well as new discoveries concerning the ways in which communication stimuli and predispositional factors interact in the processes of persuasion. IRVING L. JANIS [Directly related are the entries ATTITUDES, article on ATTITUDE CHANGE; PROPAGANDA; SUGGESTION. Other

relevant material may be found in BRAINWASHING; COMMUNICATION; COMMUNICATION, MASS; COMMUNICATION, POLITICAL; GROUPS, articles on GROUP REHAVIOR and GROUP FORMATION; HYPNOSIS; NORMS; SAMPLE SURVEYS; SYSTEMS ANALYSIS, article on PSYCHOLOGICAL SYSTEMS; THINKING, article On COGNITIVE ORGANIZATION AND PROCESSES; and in

the biographies of HOVLAND and LEWIN.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

ABELSON, ROBERT P.; and LESSER, GERALD S. 1959a A Developmental Theory of Persuasibility. Pages 167— 186 in Personality and Persuasibility, by Irving L. Janis et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. ABELSON, ROBERT P.; and LESSER, GERALD S. 1959fc The Measurement of Persuasibility in Children. Pages 141— 166 in Personality and Persuasibility, by Irving L. Janis et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. ADORNO, T. W. et al. 1950 The Authoritarian Personality. American Jewish Committee, Social Studies Series, No. 3. New York: Harper. ASCH, SOLOMON E. 1946 Forming Impressions of Personality. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 41:258-290.

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ASCH, SOLOMON E. (1952) 1959 Social Psychology. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall. Attitude Organization and Change, by Milton J. Rosenberg, Carl I. Hovland, William J. McGuire et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 3. 1960 New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. BREHM, JACK W.; and COHEN, ARTHUR R. 1962 Explorations in Cognitive Dissonance. New York: Wiley. CAMPBELL, DONALD T. 1963 Social Attitudes and Other Acquired Behavioral Dispositions. Volume 6, pages 94-172 in Sigmund Koch (editor), Psychology: A Study of a Science. New York: McGraw-Hill. CARLSMTTH, JAMES M.; COLLINS, BARRY E.; and HELMREICH, ROBERT L. 1966 Studies in Forced Compliance: I. The Effect of Pressure for Compliance on Attitude Change Produced by Face-to-face Role Playing and Anonymous Essay Writing. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 4:1—13. CRUTCHFIELD, RICHARD S. 1955 Conformity and Character. American Psychologist 10:191-198. ELMS, ALAN C.; and JANIS, IRVING L. 1965 Counternorm Attitudes Induced by Consonant Versus Dissonant Conditions of Role-playing. Journal of Experimental Research in Personality 1: 50-60. FESTINGER, LEON 1957 A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance. Evanston, 111.: Row, Peterson. FESTINGER, LEON 1964 Conflict, Decision, and Dissonance. Stanford Studies in Psychology, No. 3. Stanford Univ. Press. FESTINGER, LEON; and CARLSMITH, JAMES M. 1959 Cognitive Consequences of Forced Compliance. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 58:203-210. HEIDER, FRITZ 1958 The Psychology of Interpersonal Relations. New York: Wiley. HOVLAND, CARL I. 1957 Summary and Implications. Pages 129-157 in Carl I. Hovland et al., The Order of Presentation in Persuasion. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 1. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. HOVLAND, CARL L; and JANIS, IRVING L. 1959 Summary and Implications for Future Research. Pages 225— 254 in Personality and Persuasibility, by Irving L. Janis et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. HOVLAND, CARL L; JANIS, IRVING L.; and KELLEY, HAROLD H. 1953 Communication and Persuasion: Psychological Studies of Opinion Change. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. HOVLAND, CARL L; LUMSDAINE, ARTHUR A.; and SHEFFIELD, FRANK D. 1949 Experiments on Mass Communication. Studies in Social Psychology in World War II, Vol. 3. Princeton Univ. Press; Oxford Univ. Press. HOVLAND, CARL I. et al. 1957 The Order of Presentation in Persuasion. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 1. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. JANIS, IRVING L. 1957 Motivational Effects of Different Sequential Arrangements of Conflicting Arguments: A Theoretical Analysis. Pages 170-186 in Carl I. Hovland et al., The Order of Presentation in Persuasion. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 1. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. JANIS, IRVING L. 1959 Motivational Factors in the Resolution of Decisional Conflicts. Volume 7, pages 198— 231 in Nebraska Symposium on Motivation. Edited by Marshall R. Jones. Lincoln: Univ. of Nebraska Press. JANIS, IRVING L. 1962 Psychological Effects of Warnings. Pages 55-92 in George W. Baker and Dwight

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W. Chapman (editors), Man and Society in Disaster. New York: Basic Books. JANIS, IRVING L.; and FEIERABEND, ROSALIND L. 1957 Effects of Alternative Ways of Ordering Pro and Con Arguments in Persuasive Communications. Pages 115-128 in Carl I. Hovland et al., The Order of Presentation in Persuasion. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 1. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. JANIS, IRVING L.; and FESHBACH, SEYMOUR 1953 Effects of Fear-arousing Communications. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 48:78-92. JANIS, IRVING L.; and FESHBACH, SEYMOUR 1954 Personality Differences Associated With Responsiveness to Fear-arousing Communications. Journal of Personality 23:154-166. JANIS, IRVING L.; and FIELD, PETER B. 1959a A Behavioral Assessment of Persuasibility: Consistency of Individual. Differences. Pages 29-54 in Personality and Persuasibility, by Irving L. Janis et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. JANIS, IRVING L.; and FIELD, PETER B. 1959k Sex Differences and Personality Factors Related to Persuasibility. Pages 55-68 in Personality and Persuasibility, by Irving L. Janis et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. JANIS, IRVING L.; and GILMORE, J. B. 1965 The Influence of Incentive Conditions on the Success of Role Playing in Modifying Attitudes. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 1:17-27. JANIS, IRVING L.; and HOVLAND, CARL I. 1959 An Overview of Persuasibility Research. Pages 1—26 in Personality and Persuasibility, by Irving L. Janis et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. JANIS, IRVING L.; and KING, BERT T. 1954 The Influence of Role Playing on Opinion Change. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 49:211-218. JANIS, IRVING L.; LUMSDAINE, ARTHUR A.; and GLADSTONE, ARTHUR I. 1951 Effects of Preparatory Communications on Reactions to a Subsequent News Event. Public Opinion Quarterly 15:487-518. JANIS, IRVING L.; and SMITH, M. BREWSTER 1965 Effects of Education and Persuasion on National and International Images. Pages 190-235 in Herbert C. Kelman (editor), International Behavior: A Socialpsychological Analysis. New York: Holt. KATZ, DANIEL 1960 The Functional Approach to the Study of Attitudes. Public Opinion Quarterly 24:163204. KATZ, DANIEL; and STOTLAND, EZRA 1959 A Preliminary Statement to a Theory of Attitude Structure and Change. Volume 3, pages 423-475 in Sigmund Koch (editor), Psychology: A Study of a Science. New York: McGraw-Hill. KATZ, ELIHU; and LAZARSFELD, PAUL F. 1955 Personal Influence: The Part Played by People in the Flow of Mass Communications. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1964. KELMAN, HERBERT C. 1953 Attitude Change as a Function of Response Restriction. Human Relations 6: 185-214. KELMAN, HERBERT C.; and HOVLAND, CARL I. 1953 "Reinstatement" of the Communicator in Delayed Measurement of Opinion Change. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 48:327-335. KIESLER, CHARLES A.; and CORBIN, LEE H. 1965 Com-

mitment, Attraction, and Conformity. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 2:890-895. KING, BERT T.; and JANIS, IRVING L. 1956 Comparison of the Effectiveness of Improvised Versus Non-improvised Role-playing in Producing Opinion Changes. Human Relations 9:177-186. KLAPPER, JOSEPH T. 1960 The Effects of Mass Communication. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. (1930-1951) 1951 The Political Writings of Harold D. Lasswell. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. et al. (1949) 1965 Language of Politics: Studies in Quantitative Semantics. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. LAZARSFELD, PAUL F.; BERELSON, BERNARD; and GAUDET, HAZEL (1944) 1960 The People's Choice: How the Voter Makes Up His Mind in a Presidential Campaign. 2d ed. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. LAZARSFELD, PAUL F.; and MENZEL, HERBERT 1963 Mass Media and Personal Influence. Pages 94-115 in Wilbur Schramm (editor), The Science of Human Communication: New Directions and New Findings in Communication Research. New York: Basic Books. LEVENTHAL, HOWARD 1965 Fear Communication in the Acceptance of Preventive Health Practices. New York Academy of Medicine, Bulletin 41:1144-1168. LEVENTHAL, HOWARD; SINGER, ROBERT; and JONES, SUSAN 1965 The Effects of Fear and Specificity of Recommendation Upon Attitudes and Behavior. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 2:20-29. LEWIN, KURT (1947) 1958 Group Decision and Social Change. Pages 197-211 in Society for the Psychological Study of Social Issues, Readings in Social Psychology. 3d ed. New York: Holt. LUCHINS, ABRAHAM S. 1957a Experimental Attempts to Minimize the Impact of First Impressions. Pages 6275 in Carl I. Hovland et al., The Order of Presentation in Persuasion. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 1. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. LUCHINS, ABRAHAM S. 1957£> Primacy-Recency in Impression Formation. Pages 33-61 in Carl I. Hovland et al., The Order of Presentation in Persuasion. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 1. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. LUMSDAINE, ARTHUR A.; and JANIS, IRVING L. 1953 Resistance to "Counterpropaganda" Produced by Onesided and Two-sided Propaganda Presentations. Public Opinion Quarterly 17:311-318. McGuiRE, WILLIAM J. 1961 The Effectiveness of Supportive and Refutational Defenses in Immunizing and Restoring Beliefs Against Persuasion. Sociometry 24: 184-197. McGuiRE, WILLIAM J. 1964 Inducing Resistance to Persuasion: Some Contemporary Approaches. Volume 1, pages 191-229 in Advances in Experimental Social Psychology. Edited by Leonard Berkowitz. New York: Academic Press. McGuiRE, WILLIAM J.; and PAPAGEORGIS, DEMETRIOS 1962 Effectiveness of Forewarning in Developing Resistance to Persuasion. Public Opinion Quarterly 26: 24-34. Personality and Persuasibility, by Irving L. Janis et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 2. 1959 New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. ROSENBERG, MILTON J. 1965 When Dissonance Fails: On Eliminating Evaluation Apprehension From Attitude Measurement. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 1:28-42.

PETRIE, W. M. FLINDERS ROSENBERG, MILTON J.; and ABELSON, ROBERT P. 1960 An Analysis of Cognitive Balancing. Pages 112-163 in Attitude Organization and Change, by Milton J. Rosenberg et al. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 3. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. SCHRAMM, WILBUR (editor) 1963 The Science of Human Communication: New Directions and New Findings in Communication Research. New York: Basic Books. SHERIF, MUZAFER; and HOVLAND, CARL I. 1961 Social Judgment: Assimilation and Contrast Effects in Communication and Attitude Change. Yale Studies in Attitude and Communication, Vol. 4. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. SMITH, M. BREWSTER; BRUNER, JEROME S.; and WHITE, R. W. 1956 Opinions and Personality. New York: Wiley.

PETRIE, W. M. FLINDERS William Matthew Flinders Petrie (1853-1942) was the founder of Egyptology. An only child, he was born at Charlton, near London. His parents were cultured people, and he inherited an adventurous streak from his grandfather, Matthew Flinders. Considered too delicate for normal schooling, young Petrie followed his mother's interest in numismatics and collected coins for the British Museum. His own reading was extensive, and his education in mathematics, begun by his father, was reinforced by a university extension course, his only contact with orthodox instruction. Long walks in southern England sharpened his eye to the difference between natural contours and traces of man's early constructions, and his first book, Inductive Metrology (1877), presented his idea that the units of measurement used in ancient plans were indicative of date and culture. With his bent for mathematics, Petrie contemplated astronomy as a career, but lack of a degree barred him from it, and he was not pressed to earn a living. Egypt. A casual interest in Charles Piazzi Smyth's theory that Biblical prophecy was enshrined in the measurements of the Great Pyramid grew into a resolve to investigate its truth, and in 1880 Petrie began his survey, which exploded the very theory he had hoped to prove. This work, The Pyramids and Temples of Gizeh (1883), remained the standard account until 1925, when it was partially superseded by a new survey. The journey to Egypt had far-reaching effects, for Petrie saw the destruction of antiquities going on around him and realized that it was his life's work to salvage all he could. During the next fifty years he published about a hundred books, mostly excavation reports. Funds were provided by friends

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and by the Egypt Exploration Fund (now Society), and later he founded the Egyptian Research Account and the British School of Archaeology in Egypt. After his marriage in 1897, he was ably seconded by his wife in the collection of funds. He became the first Edwards professor of Egyptology at University College, London, in 1892, a chair which he held until 1933. Stratigraphy in excavation. In 1890, under the auspices of the Palestine Exploration Fund, Petrie made a brief but revolutionary excursion into southern Palestine. Despite Heinrich Schliemann's excavations of mounds at Troy, none of the people working in the Palestinian field had examined a mound, though Schliemann and Wilhelm Dorpfeld had recognized that these common features of the Asian landscape represented an accumulation of occupation. Using pottery as the main guide, Petrie's new system of recording all finds, however small, was put to the test at Tell el Hesy in a six weeks' campaign, and the results were published in a book of that name (1891). Through erosion, layers of the mound were visible in section, and Petrie noted exactly where each potsherd was found. He saw that every layer had its characteristic pottery, and he outlined absolute dates for the main types, which soon proved to be correct. Sequence dates. Petrie's greatest work was accomplished in the last decade of the nineteenth century, based on his excavation of about nine hundred tombs in Egypt. His book, Diospolis Parva (1901), established the sequence of prehistoric periods before the coming of the Dynastic Race to Egypt, estimated by him at that time as occurring in the fifth millennium B.C., although the date is reduced in current literature by a thousand years. His conclusions were reached by stages: first, he prepared a numbered corpus of pottery; then he listed the contents of each grave, arranging them in order to bring pots (represented by corpus numbers) of like shape together in the series. New forms stood out in the arrangement, and each stage was necessarily linked to older and later phases. He assigned a relative date ("Sequence Date"; e.g., SD 30-80) to each phase, representing a fixed order of a given series of burials. Then he checked the sequence against that based on pottery alone by repeating the process on other grave goods such as stone vases and ivories. Petrie's system is still the standard way of placing prehistoric tomb groups in Egyptian history, and it can be adapted for research in every field. With 25 years of experience behind him, Petrie wrote Methods and Aims in Archaeology (1904), the first book of its kind, and although in later

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years he may not always have followed his own precepts, they remain sound in principle. Sinaitic inscriptions. In 1904-1905 Petrie went to Sinai; he discussed the physical and historic relations between Egypt and Palestine in Researches in Sinai (1906). Besides hieroglyphic records of Egyptian mining expeditions, Petrie found sculpture in foreign style, sometimes inscribed in a new script, perhaps an early attempt at alphabetic writing. Excavations in Palestine. After World War I, Petrie decided to devote his remaining years to problems which could best be solved in Palestine. From 1926 onward, he or his staff dug at four sites south of Gaza, of which the most rewarding was Tell el Ajjul. The rich finds were described in a five-volume report, Ancient Gaza (1931-1952). Petrie died in Jerusalem in 1942 at the age of 89. Dedicated to his self-appointed task, he created Egyptology where before there was dilettantism or mere plunder; and his genius imposed discipline upon the previous disorder. His autobiography, Seventy Years in Archaeology (1931), records his triumphs and frustrations on the way, but nothing can detract from his achievements or from his wide view of what archeology should be—the study of how man has attained his present position and powers.

OLGA TUFNELL [See also ARCHEOLOGY.] WORKS BY PETRIE

1877

Inductive Metrology: Or, the Recovery of Ancient Measures From the Monuments. London: Saunders. (1883) 1885 The Pyramids and Temples of Gizeh. Rev. ed. London: Field & Tuer; New York: Scribner. 1891 Tell el Hesy (Lachish). London: Watt. 1901 Diospolis Parva: The Cemeteries of Abadiyeh and Hu, 1898-1899. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. 1904 Methods and Aims in Archaeology. London and New York: Macmillan. 1906 Researches in Sinai. London: Murray; New York: Button. 1931 Seventy Years in Archaeology. London: Low, Marston. 1931-1952 Ancient Gaza. 5 vols. British School of Archaeology in Egypt, Egyptian Research Account, Publications, Vols. 53-56, 64. London: The School. -> Volumes 1-4: Ancient Gaza: Tell el Ajjul. Volume 5: Ancient Gaza and the City of Shepherd Kings.

PETTY, WILLIAM William Petty (1623-1687), the English economist and first systematic exponent of "the art of political arithmetic," was a self-made man with a

wide range of talents and immense mental energy. He was the son of a clothier, traditionally described by his biographers as "poor," but if, as is likely, Petty's father left him the good house and 8 acres of land that he owned in his birthplace, Romsey, in 1685, the family was comfortably above the poverty line. Certainly, when the young Petty went to sea as a cabin boy at the age of about 14, he was sufficiently literate in Latin and Greek to gain entry to the Jesuits' college at Caen, where he was put ashore on breaking a leg; there he studied Latin, Greek, French, and mathematics. Then, after a short spell in the Royal Navy, he went on to study medicine at the universities of Utrecht, Amsterdam, Paris, and Oxford. By 1651 he had taken his Oxford degree of Doctor of Physic and entered the London College of Physicians. At the age of 28, he became vice-principal of Brasenose College and professor of anatomy at Oxford. Although one of the leading intellectuals of his day and a founding member of the Royal Society, Petty was a man of the world rather than a scholar. He wrote more than he read. He was a persistent inventor: he patented a double-writing device before he got his medical degree, and he pursued his design for a twin-hulled ship through four prototypes. He worked out a scheme for the rebuilding of London after the Great Fire of 1666. In 1652 he went to Ireland as physician-general to the army, which was no sinecure in a country ravaged by the plague and other lethal epidemic diseases. Within two years of his arrival in Ireland he had taken over the complex task of surveying the forfeited estates of the Irish rebels as a basis for their redistribution among the English conquerors. This task, too, he performed with his usual efficiency and drive and with the determination and pugnacity which earned him many enemies and carried him into countless lawsuits. He spent much of his working life defending his Irish survey and handling his own Irish estates, but he still managed to read a number of communications to the Royal Society on topics varying from dyeing practices in the clothing trade to the testing of mineral waters and to achieve a formidable and serious literary output on economic, demographic, naval, medical, and scientific subjects. A good deal has been written about Petty, and the published opinions of his contemporaries leave no doubt of the respect and esteem with which he was regarded. It is unlikely that he was author, as has been claimed, of the "Natural and Political Observations Upon the Bills of Mortality," which was signed by his friend John Graunt (see Graunt [1662] 1963, vol. 2, pp. 314-435), but he could

PETTY, WILLIAM well have been; and the title page of his own "Observations Upon the Dublin-Bills of Mortality" ([1683] 1963, vol. 2, pp. 479-491) explicitly associates him with the earlier work, which was a pathbreaker in demographic analysis. John Aubrey, his first biographer, the diarists John Evelyn and Samuel Pepys, and the economist and statesman, Davenant, all men of distinction in their own right, regarded Petty as one of the outstanding men of their time. Petty's claim to fame as an economist lies not so much in his originality or his theoretical ability as in his analytical skill. His insistence on measurement and his clear schematic view of the economy make him the first econometrician, and he was constantly evolving and using concepts and analytical methods that were in advance of his time. His evaluation of the gain from foreign trade in "Another Essay in Political Arithmetick Concerning the Growth of the City of London" ([1682] 1963, vol. 2, pp. 451-478) is based on a statement of the benefits of the division of labor and specialization and was written a century before Adam Smith's famous account. Petty put so much stress on the role of labor in creating wealth that he has been regarded (for instance, by Marx) as an early exponent of the labor theory of value. But, as is shown by a characteristic and frequently quoted passage from his "Treatise of Taxes and Contributions" ([1662] 1963, vol. 1, pp. 1-97)—"Labour is the Father and active principle of Wealth as Lands are the Mother"—his theory of production and value is based on the two original factors of production of the early economists. He was the author of the first known national income estimates, in "Verbum sapienti" ([1665] 1963, vol. 1, pp. 99120), "Political Arithmetick" ([c. 1676] 1963, vol. 1, pp. 233-313), and "Treatise of Ireland" ([1687] 1963, vol. 2, pp. 545-621), although he did not trouble to define or develop his concepts and was rough, even careless at times, in his use of figures. Some of the calculations in his "Treatise of Taxes and Contributions" and elsewhere are essentially exercises in what is now called "cost-benefit analysis." He was the first writer, so far as we know, to grasp the concept of the velocity of money, again in "Verbum sapienti," although in his "Quantulumcunque Concerning Money" ([1695] 1963, vol. 2, Pp. 437-448) there is no trace of it. He was not above manipulating his data in ways that would justify his polemical arguments, and it would be rash to accept his statistics uncritically. But he was no slave to political prejudice, and his analysis of the economy of his time for England and Ireland —for example, "The Political Anatomy of Ire-

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land" ([1671-1676] 1963, vol. 1, pp. 121-231) — and his various essays on "political arithmetick" are both shrewd and penetrating. PHYLLIS DEANE [Other relevant material may be found in the biography of GRAUNT.] WORKS BY PETTY

(1662) 1963 Treatise of Taxes and Contributions. Volume 1, pages 1-97 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. (1662-1695) 1963 The Economic Writings of Sir William Petty. 2 vols. Edited by Charles H. Hull. New York: Kelley. -> Contains Petty's main writings and a general bibliography. (1665) 1963 Verbum sapienti. Volume 1, pages 99-120 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. -* Written in 1665; first published posthumously in 1691. (1671-1676) 1963 The Political Anatomy of Ireland. Volume 1, pages 121-231 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. -> Written between 1671 and 1676; first published posthumously in 1691. (c. 1676) 1963 Political Arithmetick. Volume 1, pages 233-313 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. -» First written c. 1676; first published surreptitiously in 1683 as "England's Guide to Industry." The first authorized edition was published posthumously in 1690 by Petty's son. (1682) 1963 Another Essay in Political Arithmetick Concerning the Growth of the City of London, 1682. Volume 2, pages 451-478 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. (1683) 1963 Observations Upon the Dublin-Bills of Mortality, 1681, and the State of That City. Volume 2, pages 479-491 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. (1687) 1963 Treatise of Ireland, 1687. Volume 2, pages 545-621 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. -» Written in 1687; first published posthumously in 1899. (1695) 1963 Sir William Petty's Quantulumcunque Concerning Money, 1682. Volume 2, pages 437-448 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. -> Published posthumously. The Double Bottom or Twin-hulled Ship of Sir William Petty. Edited by the Marquis of Lansdowne. Oxford: Roxburghe Club, 1931. History of the Cromwellian Survey of Ireland: A.D. 1655— 1656. Edited by Thomas A. Larcom. Irish Archaelogical and Celtic Society Publications, Vol. 15. Dublin Univ. Press, 1851. -> Commonly called the "Down Survey." The Petty Papers. 2 vols. Edited by the Marquis of Lansdowne. London: Constable, 1927. The Petty-Southwell Correspondence: 1676-1687. Edited by the Marquis of Lansdowne. London: Constable, 1928. SUPPLEMENTARY

BIBLIOGRAPHY

AUBREY, JOHN (1898) 1957 Sir William Petty. Pages 237-241 in John Aubrey, Brief Lives. Edited from the original manuscripts and with a life of John Aubrey by Oliver L. Pick. Ann Arbor: Univ. of Michigan Press.

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BEVAN, WILSON L. 1894 Sir William Petty: A Study in English Economic Literature. Volume 9, pages 370472 in American Economic Association, Publications. Baltimore: The Association. FITZMAURICE, EDMOND G. P. 1895 The Life of Sir William Petty: 1623-1687. London: Murray. -» Contains Petty's autobiographical will. GRAUNT, JOHN (1662) 1963 Natural and Political Observatir-^ Upon the Bills of Mortality. Volume 2, pages 314-435 in William Petty, The Economic Writings . . . New York: Kelley. -> The authorship of this work is in doubt. GREENWOOD, MAJOR 1928 Graunt and Petty. Journal of the Royal Statistical Society 91:79-85. PASQUIER, MAURICE 1903 Sir William Petty: Ses idees economiques. Paris: Giard & Briere. STRAUSS, EMIL 1954 Sir William Petty: Portrait of a Genius. London: Bodley Head; Glencoe, 111.: Free Press.

PHENOMENOLOGY The word "phenomenology" is derived from the Greek phainein, "to show," from which came phainemenon, meaning "that which appears." Thus, phenomenology in a general sense could be literally the orderly study of phenomena, or appearances, and could as such encompass much of traditional philosophy and science. In its restricted sense, however, it refers to the study of phenomena as phenomena and more specifically to a twentiethcentury movement in German philosophy centered loosely on Edmund Husserl. A good English introduction to Husserl's philosophy has been provided by Marvin Farber (1943), and the whole phenomenological movement has been reviewed by Herbert Spiegelberg (1960). The various forms of existentialism, which have developed particularly in France since World War n, may be regarded as offshoots of the phenomenological movement but should not be identified with it. Phenomenology and existentialism, while primarily philosophical, have had important repercussions in psychology, psychiatry, theology, literature, drama, and the fine arts. The present article will limit itself to a brief sketch of the philosophical background and a somewhat fuller account of psychological phenomenology [see PSYCHOLOGY, article on EXISTENTIAL PSYCHOLOGY, and the biography of HUSSERL]. Philosophical phenomenology Philosophical phenomenology is essentially a method of philosophical analysis rather than a school in the traditional sense of the term. The phenomenologist attempts to suspend or "place in brackets" (einklammern} all metaphysical and epistemological presuppositions, to identify and describe the essences of experience as they are in-

tuitively apprehended (Anschauung, Wesensschau), and on this basis to provide a fresh approach to the classic problems of metaphysics, epistemology, psychology, logic, ethics, and aesthetics. Husserl believed that in this way philosophy could be rescued from unproductive speculation and re-established as a rigorously empirical discipline (strenge Wissenschaft'). Phenomenology is thus empirical in its insistence on a continuous and unbiased scrutiny of experience, but not empiricist as the word is commonly used to refer to explanation through past experience. It shares the empirical emphasis of Locke and his successors and of some of the positivists—e.g., Ernst Mach—differing from these primarily on grounds that their analyses of experience were neither rigorous nor complete. Phenomenology is not to be confused with phenomenalism, the doctrine that knowledge is limited to the data of experience and that the knower is consequently incapable of transcending the world of phenomena, nor with psychologism, the contention that all philosophical problems can be reduced to terms of psychology. History of modern phenomenology. Antecedents of modern phenomenology are to be found in the many classic attempts—e.g., that of St. Augustine—to found a philosophy on the data of intuition. The modern movement begins, however, with Descartes, whose "method" involved the suspension of all beliefs and the acceptance as true of only those ideas which are presented "so clearly and distinctly as to exclude all ground of doubt." Although Kant's distinction between the phenomenal and the noumenal world rests in part on phenomenological analysis, the post-Kantian (e.g., Hegelian) use of the term "phenomenology" and its loose use in the sciences to denote anything observable are not regarded as relevant. Husserl's phenomenology goes back to Descartes for its inspiration and draws liberally from the psychological analyses of William James (1890) and Husserl's teacher Franz Brentano (1874), particularly from the latter's doctrine of intentionality. Husserl's early interest was in the phenomenological basis of mathematics and logic, from which he moved to epistemology and eventually to a transcendental phenomenology, which is usually regarded as a form of metaphysical idealism. Among his publications the most important for psychology is his Logische Untersuchungen (1900-1901). The Jahrbuch fur Philosophic und phanomenologische Forschung, which he edited from 1913 to 1930, also contains contributions to psychology, and the Husserl archives at Louvain are yielding further material of psychological interest. His more strictly philosophical works, how-

PHENOMENOLOGY ever, have had a profound influence on the existentialist psychologies [see the biographies of JAMES; KANT]. Other influential German philosophers who shared in the phenomenological movement were Alexander Pfander, Max Scheler, Nicolai Hartmann, and Moritz Geiger. Scheler in particular, although not a disciple of Husserl, became widely known for his extension of the phenomenological method into the fields of ethics and value theory. It was Martin Heidegger, however, Husserl's pupil and successor at the University of Freiburg, who perhaps unintentionally popularized the term "existentialism" and who, through his often baffling metaphors and neologisms, has been in some measure responsible for phenomenology's reputation as an obscure and almost esoteric metaphysical system. Since the publication of Sein und Zeit (1927) Heidegger has moved steadily away from a straightforward phenomenology and has concerned himself more and more with the ontological problem—that of the fundamental meaning of being (Sein). In spite of his early enthusiasm for the National Socialist ideology he has been an influential figure in recent continental European philosophy, particularly in French existentialism and in the existentialist movements in theology and psychiatry. Since World War n the phenomenological movement in philosophy has been most active in France under the leadership of Jean-Paul Sartre and Maurice Merleau-Ponty. Both men have accepted in principle Husserl's phenomenological method but have pushed further in the direction of a detailed examination of the phenomena of human existence (the human situation) and thus toward a complete existentialist philosophy. Sartre's more strictly phenomenological contributions are to be found in his studies of imagination and emotion; in his novels and plays and in his more systematic philosophical works, e.g., Being and Nothingness (1943), he presents existentialism as a philosophy of life. Merleau-Ponty is also known both as a phenomenologist and as an existentialist. His most important phenomenological contributions have been his analyses of perception (1945) and of language (1952). Psychological phenomenology Psychological phenomenology, too, is essentially a n approach rather than a particular kind of theory or system, and it owes as much to Goethe, Purkinje, and the physiologist Ewald Hering as it does to Husserl. Whereas Husserl's phenomenology is logically prior to all empirical science, concerned w ith essences rather than with "matters of fact,"

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psychological phenomenology is frankly and explicitly descriptive. It represents what David Katz called an attitude of "disciplined naivete," the attempt to suspend all presuppositions (biases, implicit assumptions) and observe and describe the world of phenomena (consciousness, immediate experience, phenomenal world, psychological field) as it is naively apprehended. Husserl regarded this kind of psychology as an important empirical discipline, coordinate with the other empirical sciences but not to be confused with "pure" phenomenology. Psychological phenomenology is in the tradition of all the psychologies since Descartes which have accepted as their task the scientific study of consciousness, and it is thus to be distinguished from the faculty psychologies, the depth psychologies, and the psychologies which limit their subject matter to externally observed or logically inferred behavior. Phenomenology and introspection. Phenomenological description must not be equated, however, with the introspective analysis of the Wundtian school, best represented in the English literature by Edward B. Titchener. For Titchener (1929), "existential" experience consists of the pure, irreducible, conscious content (sensation, feeling, image) which is left after all object reference or meaning context has been deliberately brushed aside. To confuse the sensation itself with the stimulus which arouses it—e.g., the color with the light wave—is to commit the stimulus error. The phenomenologist would accept introspective analysis as a legitimate technique for the establishment of correlations between the variables of physical stimulation and the dimensions of consciousness, as in psychophysics, but he would reject the assertion that the introspectively identified sensations are necessarily the elements of consciousness. He would also agree with the introspectionist that the physical, physiological, or other conditions which give rise to a phenomenon, or which can be correlated with it, should not be confused with the phenomenon itself. Just as color is not an array of light waves, so the person we perceive is not the person who may "really" exist; one is a phenomenal datum, the other an independently definable process, entity, or condition which may or may not be causally related to the phenomenon. The phenomenologist differs radically from the introspectionist in his insistence on the acceptance as legitimate psychological data of the very phenomena which the introspectionist emphatically rejects, namely, such phenomena as organization, directedness, attractiveness, or requiredness—phenomena which for the introspectionist are secondary out-

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comes of association or interpretation. If we suspend our presuppositions, the phenomenologist argues, and refuse to impose on the phenomena any theory as to their origin or their veridicality, we still find ourselves confronted with a meaningful world of things, events, and people, organized and interrelated in vastly complex ways. Elimination of biases and presuppositions. Our first phenomenological task is to observe, describe, and analyze the structures, properties, dimensions, and interrelations of phenomena as they are naively apprehended. This, the phenomenologist contends, is a highly disciplined activity, fully as rigorous as introspection, analogous to but not identical with the phenomenological reduction of Husserl [see the biographies of TITCHENER; WUNDT]. The various biases or presuppositions which must be placed in brackets have been variously classified and need not be detailed here. Some of these stem from the reductive atomism of classical Newtonian physics and can be recognized as implicit in the associationist psychologies developed since the work of John Locke; others stem from the Darwinian emphasis on explanation by reference to origins, evident both in behaviorist learning theory and in Freudian psychoanalysis; and still others reflect the confusion of logical implication with psychological content so frequently encountered in theories of motivation. Without denying the value of reductive analysis or of developmental studies, the phenomenological psychologist would argue that these and other biases involve a prejudgment of the phenomena and the consequent risk that significant phenomena, such as the melodic property of a series of tones or the physiognomic properties of a face, will be dismissed as of no consequence because they disappear in reductive analysis or seem to be the products of past experience. He would argue further that in the recent history of psychology this deliberate bracketing of implicit assumptions and the acceptance of all data of experience, however subtle or evanescent, as intrinsically valid, has led to significant extensions of psychological knowledge and advances in psychological theory. Phenomenology and contemporary psychology The phenomenological method has been applied to many areas of psychology, most systematically perhaps in the experimental study of perception, particularly in connection with the traditional problems of space, time, motion, color, sound, and touch. These are obviously the phenomena most readily accessible to observation under conditions of experimental control. The phenomenal world contains much more, however, than things and

events with their properties and interrelationships. It also contains the phenomenal self and phenomenal "other selves," with their feelings, emotions, and desires; and it contains a whole welter of phenomenal structures, states, and processes which have been traditionally classified as memories, fantasies, choices, beliefs, and the like. These phenomena also invite the interest of the phenomenologist, and even though they are difficult to bring into the laboratory, they are steadily yielding to other techniques of investigation. Some of the most promising of these techniques are being developed by the clinician, whose patient may be incapable of giving a full and free account of his experience and must consequently be induced through indirect devices to reveal what is there for him. The range of phenomenological investigation is thus steadily broadening to include what have been traditionally thought of as noncognitive processes. As facts are being accumulated and techniques refined, more and more attention is being devoted to the reconstruction of the phenomenal world of the "other person," including that of the child, the deviant, the person who has grown up in a culture radically different from one's own, even members of other species. Basic to the investigation is always the attempt to establish the "what" of experience. To explain the "why" one must transcend phenomenology and become a systematic psychologist or even a philosopher. Most of the phenomenologists have gone beyond their phenomenology, but phenomenology has produced no single psychological theory. In the available space only a few of the most significant contributors to psychological phenomenology can be mentioned. Experimental psychology of perception. The pioneer in the experimental phenomenology of perception is undoubtedly David Katz, whose The World of Colour appeared in 1911. Before him, Goethe (1810) and Purkinje (1819-1825) had published detailed descriptive analyses of the world of color, and Hering in Outlines of a Theory of the Light Sense (1872-1875) had countered Helmholtz' empiricist theory of color constancy with a nativist theory based on the acceptance of naively apprehended object color as psychologically valid. Karl Stumpf in his Tonpsychologie (1883-1890) had also made use of the phenomenological method, but Stumpf s interest in phenomenology was as much philosophical as it was psychological. Helmholtz had explained the approximate constancy of object color as the interpretation of primary, physically bound sensation elements by unconscious inference. Katz bracketed Helmholtz' physicalistic assumptions and proceeded to explore the world of color in all its modes of appearance

PHENOMENOLOGY (Erscheinungsweisen'), demonstrating that while film colors (Flachenfarben) vary simply and directly with changes in retinal stimulation, the same does not hold true for surface colors (Oberflachenfarben}, which are phenomenally inherent in the perceived object. Impressions of surface color and of illumination are phenomenally covariant, changes in total retinal stimulation being registered, within very wide limits, as changes in impression of illumination, with the consequence that object color tends to remain phenomenally constant. As a result of Katz's phenomenological studies of color and of his similar studies of the world of touch in Der Aufbau der Tastwelt (1925), the facts of phenomena] constancy have become basic to a reconstructed psychophysics and psychophysiology of perception. [See PERCEPTION, article on PERCEPTUAL CONSTANCY; VISION, article On COLOR

VISION AND COLOR BLINDNESS; and the biographies of HERING; KATZ; STUMPF.] Gestalt theory. Perhaps even more rewarding has been the phenomenological approach to perceptual organization represented by the Berlin group of gestalt psychologists. The reality of gestalt qualities had been recognized by Christian von Erenfels in his article "Uber 'Gestaltqualitaten'" (1890) and by Stumpf, but it was Max Wertheimer's experimental studies of apparent movement (1912) which set the stage for the gestalt movement. The older theories could not admit as psychologically valid an experience of movement when there is no physical movement in the stimuli; phenomenal movement had to be explained away as an illusion. Wertheimer, like Katz, simply accepted the phenomenal fact as valid, insisting that movement as such must have its direct neural correlate; hence the controversial principle of isomorphism. Wertheimer's pioneer experiments led to a long series of studies of gestalt phenomena in perception, memory, thinking, and motivation, many of which have been reviewed by Koffka (1935). While the gestalt theories which emerged, notably the physiological and the psychological field theories, go beyond phenomenology, the basic approach is in each case phenomenological. It should be noted that this approach, although prominently associated with the gestalt group, has been broadly characteristic of experimental psychology in western Europe. Examples of this approach are to be found in the work of Albert Michotte on phenomenal causality, Jean Piaget on developmental psychology, F. J. J. Buytendijk on expressive movement, and Geza Revesz and Albert Wellek on the psychology of music. [See GESTALT THEORY.] Verstehende psychologic. Related to the experimovement but not to be identified with it

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is the "understanding" psychology (verstehende Psychologies of Wilhelm Dilthey, Max Scheler, Eduard Spranger, Karl Jaspers, and Ludwig Binswanger. Distinguishing broadly between the Naturwissenschaften (natural sciences) and the Geisteswissenschaften (mental or humanistic sciences), Dilthey (1883) placed in the former category the reductive or "explaining" psychology of the laboratory and in the latter the psychology which seeks an intuitive understanding of man's value orientations as revealed both in individual life and in history. This kind of psychology, systematized by Spranger as a sixfold value typology in his Types of Men (1914), has had considerable influence on the study of personality, both in Germany and elsewhere. Although the verstehende Psychologic is not strictly phenomenological, it represents the attempt at an intuitive, nonanalytic penetration of the inner life of the other person; a somewhat shaky phenomenological basis for it is to be found in Scheler's The Nature of Sympathy (1913). Scheler's descriptive analysis of the various forms of sympathy is part of his attempt to lay the phenomenological groundwork for a broadly inclusive philosophical anthropology. The relevance of the verstehende Psychologic to psychopathology is perhaps best demonstrated in Jaspers' General Psychopathology (1913) and Binswanger's Grundformen und Erkenntnis menschlichen Daseins (1942); both authors are to be ranked among the leading existentialists. [See SYMPATHY AND EMPATHY.] The phenomenological movement is still distinctively European. In the United States, leading interpreters of philosophical phenomenology in the Husserl tradition are Marvin Farber and Herbert Spiegelberg. The phenomenological emphasis in experimental, developmental, and social psychology is recognizable in what has come to be known as "cognitive theory," a useful summary and evaluation of which was made by Martin Scheerer (1954). In the psychology of personality and in psychotherapy there is a vigorous and growing existentialist movement, influenced greatly by Binswanger's Daseins analyse. ROBERT B. MACLEOD [Directly related are the entries PSYCHOLOGY, article on EXISTENTIAL PSYCHOLOGY; THINKING. Other relevant material may be found in MENTAL DISORDERS, TREATMENT OF, article On CLIENT-CENTERED COUNSELING; PERCEPTION; and in the biographies of HUSSERL; KATZ.]

BIBLIOGRAPHY BINSWANGER, LUDWIG (1942) 1953 Grundformen und Erkenntnis menschlichen Daseins. Rev. ed. Zurich: Niehaus.

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BRENTANO, FRANZ C. (1874) 1924-1925 Psychologie vom empirischen Standpunkt. 2 vols., 2d ed. Leipzig: Meiner. DILTHEY, WILHELM (1883) 1951 Gesammelte Schriften. Volume 1: Einleitung in die Geisteswissenschaften. Leipzig: Teubner. EHRENFELS, CHRISTIAN VON 1890 Uber "Gestaltqualitaten." Vierteljahresschrift fur wissenschaftliche Philosophic I...J Soziologie 14:249-292. FARBER, MARVIN 1943 The Foundation of Phenomenology: Edmund Husserl and the Quest for a Rigorous Science of Philosophy. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. GOETHE, JOHANN WOLFGANG VON (1810) 1840 Theory of Colours. London: Murray. H> First published as Zur Farbenlehre. HEIDEGGER, MARTIN (1927)1962 Being and Time. New York: Harper. -» First published in German as Sein und Zeit. HERING, EWALD (1872-1875) 1964 Outlines of a Theory of the Light Sense. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. -» First published in German as Zur Lehre vom Lichtsinne. A revised and enlarged edition was published in 1920 as Grundziige der Lehre vom Lichtsinn. HUSSERL, EDMUND (1900-1901) 1922-1928 Logische Untersuchungen. 2 vols. Halle (Germany): Niemeyer. -» Volume 1: Prolegomena zur reinen Logik. Volume 2: Untersuchungen zur Phdnomenologie und Theorie der Erkenntnis. JAMES, WILLIAM (1890) 1962 The Principles of Psychology. 2 vols. Gloucester, Mass.: Smith. JASPERS, KARL (1913) 1963 General Psychopathology. Univ. of Chicago Press. -» First published in German. KATZ, DAVID (1911) 1935 The World of Colour. London: Routledge. -> First published in German as Die Erscheinungsweisen der Farben und ihre Beeinflussung durch die individuelle Erfahrung. A revised and enlarged edition was published in 1930 as Der Aufbau der Farbwelt. KATZ, DAVID 1925 Der Aufbau der Tastwelt. Leipzig: Earth. KOFFKA, KURT 1935 Principles of Gestalt Psychology. New York: Harcourt. MERLEAU-PONTY, MAURICE (1945) 1962 Phenomenology of Perception. New York: Humanities. -» First published in French. MERLEAU-PONTY, MAURICE 1952 Sur la phenomenologie du langage. Pages 91-109 in Colloque International de Phenomenologie, Bruxelles, 1951, Problemes actuels de la phenomenologie. Paris: Desclee de Brouwer. PURKINJE, JAN E. 1819-1825 Beobachtungen und Versuche zur Physiologic der Sinne. 2 vols. Prague: Calve; Berlin: Reimer. -» Volume 1 was published in Prague and Volume 2 in Berlin. SARTRE, JEAN-PAUL (1943) 1956 Being and Nothingness. New York: Philosophical Library. -> First published in French as L'etre et le neant. SCHEERER, MARTIN 1954 Cognitive Theory. Volume 1, pages 91-142 in Gardner Lindzey (editor), Handbook of Social Psychology. Cambridge, Mass.: AddisonWesley. SCHELER, MAX (1913) 1954 The Nature of Sympathy. London: Routledge. -> First published as Zur Phdnomenologie und Theorie der Sympathiegefiihle. The second revised and enlarged edition—which was later translated into English—was published in 1923 as Wesen und Formen der Sympathie.

SPIEGELBERG, HERBERT (1960) 1965 The Phenomenalogical Movement. 2 vols. 2d ed. The Hague: Nijhoff. SPRANGER, EDUARD (1914) 1928 Types of Men: The Psychology and Ethics of Personality. 5th ed. Halle (Germany): Niemeyer. -> First published as Lebensformen: Geisteswissenschaftliche Psychologie und Ethik der Personlichkeit. STUMPF, KARL 1883-1890 Tonpsychologie. 2 vols. Leipzig: Hirzel. TITCHENER, EDWARD B. 1929 Systematic Psychology: Prolegomena. New York: Macmillan. WERTHEIMER, MAX 1912 Experimentelle Studien iiber das Sehen von Bewegungen. Zeitschrift fur Psychologie und Physiologic der Sinnesorgane 61:161-265. -» Reprinted in Wertheimer's Drei Abhandlungen zur Gestalttheorie published in 1925 by the Philosophische Akademie, Erlangen.

PHILANTHROPY The terms "philanthropy" and "charity" have often been used interchangeably, but changes in attitude to the phenomenon of giving have meant that charity now has a somewhat derogatory connotation, and so it is gradually giving way to the more acceptable concept of philanthropy. The Oxford English Dictionary's definition of philanthropy as being "the disposition or active effort to promote the happiness and well-being of one's fellow men" introduces the modern conception of charitable effort which stresses the total well-being of the individual rather than merely relieving distress. Philanthropy, too, seems a more appropriate term for the highly organized types of giving typical of modern industrialized societies. Participation in philanthropic activity is now more characteristic of the individualistic laissezfaire societies in which the ideology of personal liberty and noninterference by the state is widely held than of those with communist political systems. In some of the individualistic societies it plays such an important role that its organized agencies have become closely integrated with the whole social structure. Every year vast sums of money are collected for an infinite number of philanthropic purposes, and an increasing number of people participate in the work of collecting money through highly organized fund-raising campaigns. So well has this form of activity come to serve certain needs that in many countries it has even been incorporated in government policy in the form of tax exemptions for contributions to charitable agencies. It has become such an accepted form of behavior that few now escape the demands of giving, and many important institutions are partly or wholly dependent on it. On the other hand, in countries in which the

PHILANTHROPY rights of the community take precedence over the rights of the individual, there is less need for voluntary philanthropy because the state takes responsibility for most if not all of the needs of its people. No adequate data have been gathered to tell the history of philanthropy all over the world. Anthropologists have shed light on the practice and attitudes to giving in a number of preliterate societies. Historians have given us accounts, often with much detail, of a few Eastern societies, ancient Greece and Rome, and some of the medieval European countries. These studies show that the scope of charity has undergone many changes with regard to beneficiaries, the type of benefits, and those held responsible and that these have reflected the changing social structures of the societies concerned. But there is very little accurate information on the philanthropic activity of many societies, even in modern times, and there are few scientific studies of the effect of philanthropic activity on the giver and on the recipient. History In early times, charity was usually motivated by religious faith, and so its history in different societies can, in part, be understood by studying their religious ideologies. However, religious zeal is largely the product of a complex of forces; thus, even though the ideal of philanthropy was articulated through the religious functionaries, there were always other underlying reasons that prompted philanthropic giving. It seldom, if ever, occurred either when the giver did not receive some practical or psychological reward, or when there was no punishment for not giving. Active participation in philanthropy has through the ages been much more characteristic of Christian, or Western, than of pagan, or Eastern, societies, and of those belonging to Protestant rather than to Roman Catholic or Orthodox religions (Grubb 1917, p. 837). In preliterate societies, the family, kin, caste, tribe, or clan looked after its own people as a natural duty. The wealthier and those in high positions were expected to bear the larger share of looking after the destitute, and sometimes the village would look after all its members. But almsgiving, in the sense of the duty of everyone to give to those outside their own close circle, was not necessary. For to belong to a large family or clan was to be part °f a system that supplied social and economic security. The continuing strength of the ties of family, kin, tribe, or caste in Africa and Asia is one of the main reasons for the difference in the organization of philanthropy in the East and the

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West. Another is the fact that almost all the new nations have begun their independence with a certain amount of guaranteed social security in their constitutions. Certain current trends in philanthropic thinking and organization go back very far in history. The idea that giving would ensure a reward in heaven was found in Egypt many centuries before the Christian era, and giving was not limited to family or clan. In ancient Rome, the idea was first introduced that citizenship was the basis of the right of relief for every person, no matter whether he was destitute or not; this foreshadowed the principle of universality. Philanthropy in this sense had very little connection with poverty and was not necessarily motivated by pity, nor was it considered an important virtue. The state looked after its citizens, and the wealthy did not give large sums for charity but, rather, aided the state with such gifts as fitting out navies. Some organized charities did eventually develop around the first century A.D. Another philanthropic ideal that is still held by some Christians is the belief that one-tenth of a person's income should go to charity. This idea, called the tithe, goes far back in the history of Hebrew giving and was a religious duty. The system of tithing was fairly common among many ancient peoples and was often collected in the form of a general tax rather than as a gift to God or the poor. Thus our present acceptance of state taxation for charity could be said to be an idea that was also suitable for the charitable needs of earlier societies. The teachings of Jesus with regard to giving, which have had great influence in determining philanthropic attitudes down to the present day in the Western world, can also be traced to earlier religious attitudes toward charity. In particular, Jesus' teaching that the spirit of the giver is more important than the size of the gift, and that it is more blessed to give than to receive, emphasized the virtues of unselfishness and giving as a personal sacrifice. In the East, religion has also usually been the main force to motivate giving. Many verses in the Koran exhort the believer to give alms. This is considered a basic duty, and the destitute and poor can demand alms as a right. The Muslims thus look on almsgiving as a compulsory act, but one that enhances the prestige of the giver. In China, the teachings of Confucius and Mencius were especially important in implanting the ideal of benevolence. The Chinese have always been generous givers, especially in the last two centuries. Up until the communist regime, large amounts of money were donated voluntarily, and

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many local charities were coordinated through organizations like the Hall of United Benevolence, which was established as early as 1805; this foreshadowed the modern trends toward the Community Chest. The idea of state philanthropy, however, did not exist before the communist regime. The Hindu religion also stresses that there will be a reward ior generosity, after death as well as in the present world. But in other respects, the concept of Hindu charity is different from that found in the West. Traditionally almsgiving was not looked on as a matter of bestowing gifts to the poor and needy because of compassion and sympathy, at the whim of the individual giver. Rather, sharing possessions and relieving the wants of others was a habitual activity. This attitude was implanted at such an early age, and was so deeply accepted at all levels of Hindu society, that it explains why ascetics have been able to wander far and wide in India, knowing that they would always be cared for. Manu's teaching, however, did not include the conception of collective, disinterested responsibility, and so it was not until the nineteenth century that the idea of state responsibility and organized philanthropy developed in India. The trends which foreshadowed modern philanthropy can be more easily traced in the Western Christian countries. For since they led the industrial revolution, they were forced to alter their patterns of giving sooner than the less developed countries of Africa and the East. In the early Christian era the religious institutions taught that giving alms was an intrinsic and essential part of a Christian's duty. But there was no over-all control of giving in the sense that all the poor and destitute were equally served. Rather, a giver gave according to his conscience and the amount of social pressure to which he was exposed, directly to the recipient. This meant that the giver usually saw the problems of the recipient at first hand and thus made charity a personal affair. The great changes that took place in the whole conception and organization of charity were due, first of all, to the decline of medieval society in Europe and to the ensuing disorganization which loosed forces that gradually undermined the former, tightly structured feudal way of life. The dissolution of the monasteries, the steady increase in population from 1400 on, the beginning of a serious rural-urban movement, plagues, and wars all aggravated the problem of poverty and destitution. The growing towns, too, gradually provided the possibility of group concern over poverty, for destitution had grown so extensive and evident that it could no longer be ignored. It was soon seen as a

serious, continuing social problem, and this made its relief a social as well as a religious duty. It was soon evident, too, that the church, which had formerly had a near monopoly over charity, could no longer cope with the situation; thus, private and secular charitable institutions began to arise to fill the gap. This movement to secular organizations was nourished by the mounting wealth of the industrial middle classes. Thus historical circumstances, which shifted the power of the former feudal lords and the medieval church, redistributed wealth and power, and brought about the beginning of a new industrial society, also caused a redistribution of responsibility for charity. For the dislocations and maladjustments caused by these momentous changes produced a situation which was too heavy for the church and local piety to handle (Jordan 1959, pp. 55-63). This new approach to philanthropy gradually became defined and supported by law. The earliest and most famous law was that passed by Queen Elizabeth i in 1601 to "create, control and protect the funds that had been allotted or donated to charity." It made the local community responsible for providing for the destitute whose families were unable to look after them. But it went no further than to mark out those responsible for the needy. Laws created to deal with this new social phenomenon, however, necessarily lagged behind the rapidly growing needs. For no one could foresee the extent of the fundamental changes that were taking place or envisage the coming industrial revolution, which would produce new types of destitution and poverty far beyond the capacity of the individual family or voluntary agencies to look after. Part of the gap was filled in by wealthy individuals who gave large gifts of money to relieve the misery of those caught in the new social and economic dislocations. These gifts resembled the grants awarded by the numerous modern American foundations, but differed from them in that they were solely for relief, for in that era prevention was not recognized, nor was the future state of the destitute of much interest (Andrews 1956, p. 38). They did, however, serve the function of enabling people to test out new ways of coping with the situation. In this sense the givers could be looked on as initiators of social change. Social legislation As time went on, the agrarian and industrial revolutions gained momentum, until in the twentieth century the industrialized countries faced a completely new way of life which had brought

PHILANTHROPY about so much economic and social uncertainty that citizens could no longer be protected from the misery of destitution by haphazard relief. Moreover, by that time it was recognized that there were problems to be alleviated in other areas of life. Thinkers, writers, statesmen, and politicians gradually began to accept and then to define a new conception of social welfare. And the public slowly and grudgingly accepted the fact that the state must bear the major share of public relief. This new attitude was gradually incorporated into the state legislation of a number of Western nations. Western countries. The Scandinavian countries, some of the Commonwealth countries, and England, with their relatively stable political systems, were among the first countries to lead the way to the welfare or "social service" state, although part of the Scandinavian experiment was influenced by the first embracing movement to ameliorate the conditions of the workers, which had been introduced in Germany by Bismarck in the 1870s. This statesman had persuaded his government to adopt the most extensive program of social legislation that the world had ever seen, in order to cut the ground from under the feet of his socialistic opponents. The northern European countries and Australia served as the first social laboratories whose experiments could be watched and appraised by the rest of the world. In addition to voluntary or compulsory insurance, introduced in many of the western European countries in the nineteenth century, other social legislation was enacted after World War I and the 1930 depression. Countries such as France and England led the way to further legislation after World War n, inspired in part by the Beveridge Report (Great Britain . . . 1942). This report greatly influenced both public opinion and social legislation, for it was introduced at a time when the destruction and privations of the war had so stirred people that they were ready for a constructive approach to social problems. In England the real change in attitude and practice came about during and after World War n. Rising costs and the heavy taxation of the postwar years caused donations to private charities to decline sharply. This forced many of the former voluntary agencies to depend on the government for at least part of their income in such forms as grants in aid. By the 1960s the social services provided by the welfare state, either directly or through local authorities, impinged on the life of each citizen from birth to death. These services are now regarded as one of the basic rights of all citizens. Thus the principle of universality, the con-

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ception of the desirability of universal coverage for all persons and all needs, gradually emerged. Some of the countries in central Europe, Czechoslovakia in particular, were also early in establishing some governmental measures of social security. The countries of eastern Europe were a little later, and those of Latin America, on the whole, did not bring in state legislation until the 1920s. After that there was a rapid movement toward social assistance in many of these countries, although they were greatly hampered by distances, difficulties of communication, the slow rate of industrial development, and the great number of people living in primitive conditions. Chile, however, has had very advanced social legislation since 1924. In no country did the transition from private giving to state control go through without a struggle, and all countries enacted their social legislation in a piecemeal way and in different sequences of coverages, with no coordinated effort for overall security, until the communists came to power. The advance toward the universal provision of basic support has cut heavily into the former activity of voluntary organizations and private philanthropy, although even in the United Kingdom, with its well-established welfare state, so many voluntary agencies raise money for charitable purposes that it is impossible to estimate their number or the amount of money they raise or spend. Developing countries. As the less advanced countries of Asia and Africa became politically independent in the 1950s and 1960s, they attempted to establish a sound basis of social security for their people. Such attempts were hampered by the conditions of their economies, low standards of living, and overpopulation. Many of them still have to depend on voluntary effort and money to cover all their needs. The history of the extension of philanthropy in India is much like that of the Western countries. In the nineteenth century, changing conditions gradually made it apparent that individual effort alone could not provide for all the contingencies of Hindu life, so voluntary social agencies began to take over some of the burden. In the nineteenth century the Christian missionaries in particular led in setting up social services, and many Hindu reformers, such as Ghandi, were instrumental in furthering this voluntary work. After India had gained its independence in 1947, the government embodied state responsibility for many measures of social security in the constitution of 1950. However, the immensity of the problems faced by the new government, the lack of finances to train personnel to carry out the proposed reforms,

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and the belief that only private volunteers could provide the "human touch" essential to counterbalance the impersonal administrative machinery of a welfare state made the planning commission of the first five-year plan determined to set up the principle that the major responsibility for organizing activities in such schemes as the welfare of women and children, education, and community development should fall to private voluntary agencies. The central Social Welfare Board was established in 1950 to coordinate and administer these agencies. It functions as an autonomous body and enables members to move more rapidly as new problems or social crises arise. A number of foundations have also arisen, and money-raising campaigns on the North American pattern are held in crises such as floods (Kulkarni 1961, p. 68). Most of the less advanced countries are still at the stage when their people are looked after to a large extent by the extended family system of tribal groups. One of their main problems is that sudden and rapid industrialization is making them alter their traditional patterns of duty and responsibility almost overnight. Japan, however, has been an exception. It had a modified pension scheme as early as the 1870s and was the first Far Eastern country to establish a modern social security system (Durand 1953, pp. 85-157). Japan's first Community Chest drive in 1947 showed that the Japanese had accepted the conception of the responsibility of citizenship, which entails impersonal and regular giving. Communist countries. The social legislation and philanthropic outlook of communist countries are difficult to compare with those of capitalist countries, where private initiative and individual ownership of the means of production are dominant. The communist countries have gone further in legislating for the needs of their peoples than have other countries. From the time of the 1917 Revolution in Russia the government has been determined to institute a complete system of social assistance. This ideal was embodied in the first constitution of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, which claimed that every citizen had the right to education and to many types of social assistance. Soviet citizens have been trained in this ideology for so long that they now take it for granted that the government will provide them with extensive social welfare benefits and universal education, as well as supply a society in which they will have cultural and even spiritual well-being. In the Soviet Union only religion is not covered by state protection, and must be supported by voluntary effort. Any congregation that is wilting to pay

the salary of its clerics and the costs of maintaining the buildings may hold services in a church, mosque, or synagogue. The Soviet citizen is also able to contribute his time to different voluntary agencies, for the constitution permits Russians to form voluntary organizations to pursue scientific research, experiment in education, encourage sports, etc. There are also occasions when some disaster brings about the need for immediate action. In such cases voluntary contributions are solicited. But there is no formal philanthropic structure for the continued solicitation of funds for long-term projects (Maxwell 1962, pp. 652-655). In the countries with more laissez-faire philosophies and democratic governments the struggle to define the public and private areas of responsibility still continues. In its essence it is an underlying struggle between individualism and collectivism. The individualistic view holds that voluntary charitable agencies must be administered and financed by volunteers because they are one of the important bulwarks against complete state control. Moreover, it is felt that in a period of rapid social change, governments cannot act rapidly enough when new problems arise. So there is still the need for voluntary philanthropists who can experiment on a small scale even in controversial fields, without causing too much general disruption. Many voluntary agencies have gradually been forced to relinquish their control to the state when the financial burden has become too much for them to bear, or when a problem has become so widespread that it cannot be handled by private donations of time or money. North American philanthropy The expansion of philanthropy and its new forms of organization have gone further on the North American continent, particularly in the United States, than in any other part of the world. Indeed, voluntary giving has grown to such an extent in the past seventy years that some people speak of a "philanthropic revolution." North American attitudes to private philanthropy have been very deeply influenced by the tradition of the frontier, with its individualistic philosophy and suspicion of government control. Private initiative is still thought of as the key to American progress and success, for it has led to most of the inventions, medical discoveries, educational experiments, and basic research which have enabled the United States to become the leading industrialized nation. It has also led to the patterns of organization necessary to run a very complex society. This attitude, as well as the businessman's desire to re-

PHILANTHROPY tain control over philanthropic activity, has deeply influenced American business and philanthropic efforts. Indeed, many businessmen feel that corporations should give freely to philanthropy, for in this way they will retain control over areas of life which are still free of government control. This philosophy, combined with the rich resources of the American continent, produced accompanying attitudes that poverty and destitution are mainly the result of a lack of initiative and apathy and that therefore receiving public relief is a shameful thing. As in other countries, however, the twentieth century showed that the social dislocations of rapid industrialization and urbanization were too vast and complex to be relieved by private contributions, even in a rich country. Up to the 1930s, health, welfare, research, and, to some extent, higher education were believed to be mainly the responsibility of private philanthropy. But the great depression of the 1930s forced Americans to accept an enlargement of governmental functions. And so the state began to take over the financing and direction of one voluntary agency after another, assisted by such movements as the New Deal. This movement, however, did not diminish the actual donations to private philanthropy. For they have continued to increase in size, largely because of the affluence of the postwar era and the opening up of new fields for experimentation engendered by the rapidly changing social and economic conditions. Corporate donation. Part of the growth of donations in America is due to the increase in number and size of business enterprises. For as corporations have grown in size, there has been an increasing demand on the part of the public that they take a leading role in financing the social services of the community. Corporations soon recognized that philanthropic activity could become a very important part of their public relations, for it is an excellent medium through which they can demonstrate their interest and participation in community welfare. Today it is one of the most fruitful advertising media for all corporations, big and small. The recognition of the part corporations could play in financing voluntary agencies was first introduced at the end of the nineteenth century by the Y.M.C.A., an organization that had been imported into America in 1851 from England. The Y.M.C.A. had set a new pattern for raising money: intensive drives for money over a short period of time, the use of sophisticated techniques to raise money, and an emphasis on corporation donations. Other voluntary agencies soon copied this pattern, and it is still the typical large North

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American fund-raising practice. Soon definite quotas were set for the contributions of most large corporations. World War i was instrumental in spreading this new philanthropic pattern because it multiplied local problems and brought about many appeals for the relief of sufferers in Europe. At the same time, the patriotic wartime spirit, the large wartime earnings, and the legal right to deduct charitable contributions from the taxable income of individuals and corporations all combined to establish habits of giving on the part of citizens from all income groups. Another trend in philanthropic activity that was established during the war was that of coordination of effort. There was a growing realization that while much of the voluntary work was overlapping, many of the needs were being overlooked. This coordination took the form of Community Chests, which combined a number of charities under one appeal, and United Appeals. By 1929 it was estimated that there were 331 Community Chests in America. These chests had raised $73 million in that one year alone. Again, corporations played a large part in financing this expansion. In 1936 a revenue act was passed which allowed corporations an exemption of up to 5 per cent of their net income for charitable contributions. As the result of this tax and the unprecedented prosperity of the postwar years, corporation giving rose sharply after World War n. This is seen in figures which show that whereas corporation support for 13 Community Chests (for which figures are available) in 1920 was 23.8 per cent of the total amount collected, in 1950 it was 39.5 per cent for 69 Community Chests reporting returns (Andrews 1952, p. 158). The total philanthropic donations of corporations has also risen steeply. The Bureau of Internal Revenue estimates that whereas in 1936 corporations donated $30 million to charitable purposes, in 1951 the figure was over $300 million. Although this figure is large, a breakdown in terms of total giving to philanthropy and type of giver shows that corporation contributions are only 5 per cent of the total annual receipts. The rest is made up of donations from foundations (3 per cent), individual gifts (74 per cent), and other sources (18 per cent) (Andrews 1952, p. 19). The donations do not come only from the corporation budget but also directly from employees. This source was tapped when the growing number of campaigns caused strong competition between fund raisers during World War I and forced them to move further down the economic ladder to achieve their objectives. Employees were a well-

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organized group from which to solicit. This movement was encouraged in so many corporations that by 1950 a large number permitted payroll deductions for the major national and city-wide campaigns in North America (Committee . . . 1953, p. 19). The rise in *he contributions of corporations has enabled them to take over the control of raising and allotting money to many philanthropic agencies. Management can determine the amount that will be given, and since the same men are often found on the boards of a number of the larger corporations, they have come to form an "inner circle" which can control both the gifts that are given and the selection of the top executives in the philanthropic agencies and in the more important and prestigious fund-raising campaigns, such as those for hospitals and universities. Once the modern fund-raising pattern had been established, it did not take the business world long to realize that donating manpower to campaign activity would be as good an advertising device as donating money. Moreover, this was a means by which the organizing and executive ability of promising young men could be tested. In fact, taking part in philanthropic activity, and particularly fund-raising campaigns, has become an essential part of the successful businessman's career. His participation brings him into contact with men who are influential in business, gives him training, and enables him to demonstrate his ability publicly in the highly competitive field of raising money (Ross 1954). Social functions of philanthropy The type of charity has varied from country to country and from one historical period to another, but philanthropy has always been the reflection of a class society because it has depended on a division between rich givers and poor recipients. Even when the poor have themselves been the givers, they have always made up the largest proportion of recipients. The wealthy have not only given because they have more but because, by alleviating distress, they have secured their own positions against those who might displace them and thus have avoided revolt. At the same time, giving has been a means of enhancing their status in the eyes of their fellow men. W. K. Jordan believes that many of our present attitudes toward philanthropy have come down from the early Elizabethan days, in which the maladjustments were so intense that they simply could not be ignored by anyone who was in any way sensitive to suffering (Jordan 1959, p. 146). The Protestant Reformation in England

was partly a product of these conditions and partly in its turn the means of reinforcing the conception of the responsibility of the top classes for the "havenots," even when the structure of the classes changed and the industrialists began to replace the aristocrats. The association of financial responsibility with upper-class position continued to be as strong in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as it had been in the seventeenth. The chief charitable offices in Western Protestant countries have traditionally been the prerogative of the top social classes. The well-known term "Lady Bountiful" suggests the part that upper-class women played in philanthropic activity in the nineteenth century. At that time the aristocratic classes in England had leisure and were just becoming conscious of the necessity of justifying their position because of the growing political strength of the lower classes. They also retained from the past the sense of noblesse oblige, a feeling of responsibility for persons of inferior economic and social status. These factors led them to this voluntary work, although the agencies they established were at first so scattered that they either did not cover all needs or else suffered from overlapping. The idea that the top social classes should bear responsibility for the lower continued in the twentieth century, which ushered in new types of problems and necessitated an expansion of philanthropic activity. Today upper- and middle-class men and women hold many executive positions on boards of charitable agencies and fund-raising campaigns in all countries that engage in private philanthropy. In fact, philanthropy is now such an important part of the expected activity of women as well as men that it is very difficult for them to escape working in at least some of the important fund-raising campaigns. For some women fund raising has become such a time-consuming activity that they often regard it as a career. Training for it begins at home, where children are subtly initiated into their future philanthropic roles. This training may be reinforced in such associations as the Junior League, the top social club for young North American women, where actual practical training is given for leading roles in voluntary agencies. One activity that supports the relationship between philanthropy and the upper classes is that of the charity ball, which has become an important adjunct to the life of the social elite in most large North American cities. These balls are organized by committees of society women and are often

PHILANTHROPY spectacular affairs. They combine the display of wealth and position with the worthy purpose of helping a good cause. Many studies have shown this dual relationship between philanthropic activity and social position. Warner's study of Yankee City (Warner & Lunt 1941) was perhaps the first comprehensive study to demonstrate in detail the relationship between social position, wealth, and philanthropy. Although the philanthropic pattern has moved further down the social scale with the tremendous increase in formal organizations, upper-class men and women still hold far more of the most prestigious community positions in the important voluntary agencies than do those of the lower classes. Modern trends Professionalization. Modern philanthropy serves many and varied functions for the givers, the collectors, and the business world, as well as for the recipients. The more obvious functions that philanthropy has played through the centuries, such as relieving the lot of the poor and needy, is easy to see, but the more subtle aspects of its effects have seldom been analyzed. Nor has the way in which it has become integrated into many aspects of the social structure been fully realized. During this process a core of professionally trained administrators and fund raisers has arisen to handle the complex problems that the extension of philanthropy has brought about. And a number of professional organizations have grown up with the specific purpose of directing the larger fundraising campaigns and training volunteer canvassers. These people were at first looked on as "professional beggars," but by now the importance of their role is recognized and they have an accepted professional status. The organization and coordination of philanthropy have eliminated much of the early spontaneity of giving. They have also brought about a more rational assessment of people's ability to give and the introduction of scientific methods of surveying community and national needs and of raising money. Thus philanthropy has entered the field of planning. This trend has meant that the sense of personal involvement with a problem which in the past led to many worthwhile reforms has given way to impersonal donating to a charitable budget. However, emotional appeals are still effective, and certain charities like the Salvation Army and the March of Dimes draw money easily. The ideology of philanthropy. Parallel to the centralization of many former charities under the

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jurisdiction of the state there has arisen the centralization of private giving under the control of businessmen. Business institutions have thus succeeded the religious institutions on which early charity depended for inspiration and control. This change has brought about a change in the ideology of philanthropy. Implicit in the religious ideology of giving was the idea that the giver, as well as the recipient, would receive some benefit from the gift, either in this world or the next. This is illustrated by such well-accepted quotations from the Bible as "Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days." This implication of future reward is still present in the modern ideology of giving, but the individual reward is no longer thought of as coming in the next world. Rather, it is expected in this one, either in the emotional form of personal satisfaction received from sacrifice and doing one's duty or as a more tangible reward in the form of direct or indirect benefit from better medical services, better homes, playgrounds, and the like. Attitudes of donors. The attitude of the donors, too, has tended to change. Much of the spontaneity and emotional satisfaction that were derived from personal giving to a need that the donor could observe at first hand has disappeared, and people tend to give more from a rational appraisal of the situation or from strong, inescapable pressures exerted by friends and community leaders. These pressures, combined with the multiplicity of demands that most citizens face each year, have made many people apathetic to even the most distressing situations, resentful of canvassers, and resistant to their appeals. Collectors thus face more and more problems in raising money each year. Up to the middle of the nineteenth century there was an almost complete disregard on the part of the public of the donation's effect on the recipient. The recognition that one of the most important rights of the citizen is that of public assistance has changed this attitude and has helped to eliminate much of the humiliation and shame that taking charity had engendered in earlier times. Furthermore, state control has meant a broadening of the base of givers. Not only does a larger proportion of the population give regularly and continuously through taxation but also few people, even in the lowest income brackets, escape the pressures that come through the payroll deductions for charitable gifts that are incorporated in the rules of many large corporations, or the systematic canvassing of people of moderate and low incomes. Even children do not escape, for they can be induced as captive

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audiences in schools to give to as many charitable agencies as the school permits. This is rationalized in terms of training future adult subscribers. The basic problem of philanthropy has changed from that of caring for the physical needs of a relatively few destitute people living in simple societies to attempting to meet the physical, social, and psychological needs of total populations living in highly complex societies. The emphasis is now being placed on securing a "better," "happier," or "healthier" world for all; and the focus has shifted from the relief of immediate want to long-term planning that will prevent future want. This trend toward prevention, whose development has been due to the growth of scientific knowledge, has eliminated the need for charity in some areas. It has also led to a change in the motivation to give; the emotional identification with someone else's problems has been largely replaced by a rational appraisal of present and future needs. AlLEEN D. ROSS

[See also COOPERATION; FOUNDATIONS; POVERTY; TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE; VOLUNTARY ASSOCIATIONS, article OH SOCIOLOGICAL ASPECTS; WELFARE STATE; Other

relevant material may be found under PLANNING, SOCIAL.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ANDREWS, F. EMERSON 1952 Corporation Giving. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. ANDREWS, F. EMERSON 1956 Philanthropic Foundations. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. ANGER, CHARLES A. 1963 Donations, Bequests and Grants. Pages 327-328 in Britannica Book of the Year: 1963. Chicago: Benton. BRUCE, MAURICE 1961 The Coining of the Welfare State. London: Batsford. COMMITTEE ON CORPORATE GIVING IN CANADA 1953 Corporate Giving in Canada. Edited by Albert A. Shea. Toronto: Clarke. DURAND, PAUL 1953 La politique contemporaine de securite sociale. Paris: Dalloz. -> See especially pages 85-157. FARNHAM, CARL H. 1957 World Trends in Social Security Benefits: 1955-1957. International Social Security Association, Bulletin 10:407-434. GREAT BRITAIN, INTER-DEPARTMENTAL COMMITTEE ON SOCIAL INSURANCE AND ALLIED SERVICES 1942 Social Insurance and Allied Services. Papers by Command, Cmd. 6404. London: H.M. Stationery Office; New York: Macmillan. -» Known as the Beveridge Report. GRUBB, EDWARD 1917 Philanthropy. Volume 9, pages 837-840 in Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics. New York: Scribner. JORDAN, WILBUR K. 1959 Philanthropy in England, 1480-1660: A Study of the Changing Pattern of English Social Aspirations. London: Allen & Unwin. KULKARNI, P. D. 1961 The Central Social Welfare Board: A New Experiment in Welfare Administration. New York: Asia Publishing House.

MAXWELL, ROBERT (editor) 1962 Information U.S.S.R.: An Authoritative Encyclopaedia About the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. New York: Pergamon. MENDELSOHN, RONALD 1954 Social Security in the British Commonwealth: Great Britain, Canada, Australia, New Zealand. London: Athlone. NELSON, GEORGE R. (editor) 1953 Freedom and Welfare: Social Patterns in the Northern Countries of Europe. Sponsored by the Ministries of Social Affairs of Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway, and Sweden. Copenhagen: No publisher. Philanthropy. 1962 Volume 21, pages 735-736 in Encyclopedia Americana. New York: The Encyclopedia. PUMPHREY, RALPH E.; and PUMPHREY, MURIEL W. (editors) 1961 The Heritage of American Social Work: Readings in Its Philosophical and Institutional Development. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. RAMAN RAO, AJJARAPU V. 1966 Industrial Social Services in a Developing Economy. Bombay: Allied Publishers. Ross, AILEEN D. 1952 Organized Philanthropy in an Urban Community. Canadian Journal of Economics and Political Science 18:474-486. Ross, AILEEN D. 1953 The Social Control of Philanthropy. American Journal of Sociology 58:451-460. Ross, AILEEN D. 1954 Philanthropic Activity and the Business Career. Social Forces 32:274-280. Ross, AILEEN D. 1958 Control and Leadership in Women's Groups: An Analysis of Philanthropic Money-raising Activity. Social Forces 37:124-131. SCHUMAN, FREDERICK L. 1957 Russia Since 1917: Four Decades of Soviet Politics. New York: Knopf. SEELEY, JOHN R. et al. 1957 Community Chest: A Case Study in Philanthropy. Univ. of Toronto Press. SILLS, DAVID L. 1957 The Volunteers: Means and Ends in a National Organization. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. Social Insurance in the U.S.S.R.: 1933-1937. 1938 International Labour Review 38:226-242. WARNER, W. LLOYD; and LUNT, PAUL S. 1941 The Social Life of a Modern Community. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press.

PHILOSOPHY For discussion of the philosophy of science and its relationship to the social sciences, see SCIENCE, article on THE PHILOSOPHY OF SCIENCE; aZso relevant are the articles CAUSATION; POSITIVISM; SCIENTIFIC EXPLANATION; and the biographies of BACON; CASSIRER; COHEN; DEWEY; HUSSERL; JAMES; PEIRCE; SCHLICK; SCHUTZ; WHITEHEAD. The philosophy of history is discussed in HISTORY, article on THE PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY; and in the biographies Of CROCE; DlLTHEY; HEGEL; HUME; MARX; SlMMEL; SOROKIN; SPENGLER; VlCO. Articles that deal with other aspects of philosophy are ETHICS, article on ETHICAL SYSTEMS AND SOCIAL STRUCTURES; POLITICAL THEORY; UTILITARIANISM. The relevance to the social sciences of certain major figures in the history of philosophy is discussed in the biographies, of AQUINAS; ARISTOTLE; AUGUSTINE; BENTHAM; DESCARTES; HEGEL; HOBBES; HUME; KANT; LOCKE; MILL; SPINOZA.

PHOBIAS PHOBIAS A phobia is an irrational, persistent fear of a particular object or place, class of objects or places, etc. Used as a noun or combining form, phobia denotes fear or dread, and in medicine and psychiatry it is joined either with names of objects, situations, etc., or with Greek-derived forms of such names; thus, street phobia, or agoraphobia (from the Greek agora, or "market place"). As a symptom complex the phobia also includes any avoidances and inhibitions employed to forestall impending attacks of anxiety. Thus, an agoraphobic person may be unable to leave his home without incurring anxiety and may therefore remain in it constantly. A person with rat phobia may stop his ears when rats are mentioned in conversation. The phobic person may elaborate and form compromises to keep the dreaded object, or the idea of it or allusion to it, at a distance (e.g., by restricting his activities, putting general or special taboos on certain localities, etc.). Whether a state of mind is to be considered rational or irrational eventually depends on commonsense judgment. This judgment is usually that of the phobic person himself, who knows that the feared object is harmless or in any case should not provoke such intense, unmasterable anxiety. Often ashamed or aware of the absurdity, the phobic patient may nevertheless try to rationalize that there is a possibility of "danger." Accessory circumstances often determine whether a given fear is rational or not, but judging the degree of rationality is still ultimately a matter of common sense. In early childhood the matter of rationality is irrelevant. The fears of small children are rarely rational according to adult standards. Children's insecurity and fear of strangers are neither rational nor irrational. Animal phobias of small children resemble in many ways the fears of certain savages, with whom they share a "totemistic" attitude, the differentiation between man and other animals not being well established. Gradual development of the sense of reality through experience and education leads to such differentiation. History and semantics. Modern interest and ideas about the phobias began with an article by Westphal, "Die Agoraphobic" (1871). The term agoraphobia was invented in this case to denote a morbid fear of open places and is usually extended to mean a fear of streets or the outdoors generally. The German words used were Platzangst and Platzfurcht, which retain the idea of an open square. To one of Westphal's three patients, a certain square in Berlin looked as if it were miles

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wide. The patient complained that any attempt to cross the square or to walk on certain streets brought on a severe attack of anxiety accompanied by trembling, head sensations, palpitation, etc. The presence of a companion prevented or assuaged the anxiety and enabled the patient to skirt the square with somewhat lessened fear. He did not fear traffic; indeed, he felt no anxiety if he could stay near a carriage while crossing. To see houses with windows was also reassuring, but to walk along windowless walls, like those of certain barracks, would bring on an anxiety attack, and he could not go into the Tiergarten, where there were no houses. Absence of human beings or signs of life, an empty street or park, was more dangerous than traffic. Phobeio, the Greek word from which phobia is derived, means "I fear," but in earliest times it meant both "I am afraid" and "I am put to flight"; for Homeric Greeks, emotion and tendency to action were "close together" (Onians 1951, p. 19). Greek words can be readily used in compounds, and phobo- and -phobia were used as combining forms. Hence, -phobia easily became one of a large class of suffixes (including -mania, -philia, -pathy, etc.) that were adopted by medical and psychological writers. Thus we have hydrophobia, fear of water, at one time also called phobodipsia, fear of drinking; photophobia, fear and avoidance of light, a medical but not necessarily a psychiatric term; xenophobia, fear and avoidance of strangers or foreigners. An obsolete term of this sort is panophobia, the night terror of infants. (See Sauvages 1763.) Name inventing has periodically flourished and waned in science and medicine. In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, partly in emulation of Linnaeus, imaginative nomenclature was in vogue. Psychiatrists participated heartily in wordbuilding, particularly after Esquirol's adventures with the suffix -mania (1838). They made such wide use of the suffix -phobia that Benjamin Rush (1825) jocularly suggested the name rum phobia for what he opined must be "a very rare distemper." He also facetiously suggested doctor phobia and church phobia (cited in Menninger et al. 1963). Such near-slang usage emphasizes the avoidance aspect and ignores any anxiety. It has been resuscitated in current psychiatric writings in such terms as school phobia, job phobia, and the like, where the anxiety may not be of the conscious phobic type at all. The modern popularity of the word and suffix began with Westphal's coining of agoraphobia. The new term was widely accepted, and many analo-

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gous terms were invented (see Janet & Raymond 1903). For several decades after Westphal many types of phobias were described and named. Some names are still in use, some are obsolete, and others are met with only occasionally. Claustrophobia still refers to the morbid fear of entering or staying in closed spaces, and ereuthophobia is a word generally understood to mean a fear of blushing. Aelurophobia and gephyrophobia are rather rare and are ordinarily superseded by cat phobia and bridge phobia, respectively. Zoophobia, or animal phobia, is inclusive, applying to dogs, cats, birds, etc. Besides the newly described phobias, others were retrieved from earlier literature and given new names. By 1914, G. Stanley Hall could list 136 words ending in -phobia; many of these were never subjects of clinical description but were apparently purely philological virtuoso inventions. The history of this period and pertinent references are to be found in Krafft-Ebing (1895), Janet (see in Janet & Raymond 1903), and Loewenfeld (1904). The study of the phobias and other neuroses went well beyond philology. Obsessions and compulsions were described by Westphal (1877), and many studies dealt with nervousness, neurasthenia, and anxiety states other than phobias, such as hysteria and hypochondria. This work culminated in a general conception of the neuroses, or psychoneuroses, a group of conditions with all sorts of nonpsychotic psychological symptoms not attributable to recognizable pathological changes in the body. [See OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE DISORDERS.] Classification. The general tendency was to group phobias along with obsessions and compulsions under one heading, on the grounds that they were "compulsive emotions" (Zwangsaffekte). Even today German textbooks usually put quotation marks around the word phobia or refer to die sogenannten Phobien—-the so-called phobias (Bumke 1924; Bleuler 1916). French writers, following Janet (see in Janet & Raymond 1903), group phobias with other anxiety states, compulsions, and obsessions under the general rubric psychasthenia. Such classification has some point, at least superficially, for many adults troubled by obsessions and compulsions also may have one or more phobias. However, there are certain cases, adult and infantile, in which there are phobias but no obsessional symptoms. Moreover, Stekel (1908), psychoanalyzing phobic patients of the "pure" type, found that they resembled the conversion hysterics he had treated, differing only in that where the phobic patient suffered an anxiety attack, the classical hysterical patient would manifest a conversion

symptom. For this nearly pure type of case Freud suggested to Stekel the designation anxiety hysteria and justified this term in a paper on a childhood phobia (1909). As psychoanalytic conceptions of anxiety developed, and particularly as analysis of phobias in small children progressed, it became evident that phobias might or might not be found in obsessional persons and that they were to be found in patients of all types. Freud's final theory of anxiety (1926), which interpreted phobias in a novel and original way, lessened the interest in classification. Although in a general way earlier authors recognized psychological influences as precipitating and predispositional factors, they did not distinguish the phobia from other neurotic disorders in regard to etiology. From the mid-nineteenth century through the beginning of the twentieth, all neuroses were supposed to arise from constitutional weakness or deficiency ("degeneration" in some authors' terminology) and essentially from a subtle hereditary or inherent defect of the nervous system. Except for Freud and those who accepted his views phobias were, in short, stigmata of the degeneres superieurs or of psychasthenia. Freud and psychoanalysis Freud's early papers on anxiety and the neuroses contained incidental discussion of certain phobias (1894; 1895a; 1895b), but he first clearly expressed his thoughts on this matter in the case history of "little Hans" (1909; see also Strachey 1962). There he recognized a class of phobias of psychic origin, resembling in many ways the agoraphobia previously described; he gave them the name anxiety hysteria. Phobias were conceived not as illnesses, nor yet precisely as signs of an illness, but as a set of findings: anxiety plus certain special avoidances and inhibitions. In such cases, as time goes on, overt anxiety decreases pari passu as restrictive measures increase. An anxiety state becomes more and more of a phobia. Infantile zoophobias. Freud characteristically looked to the phobias of children for a situation that would furnish a clue, uncomplicated by later elaborations, to their essential meaning, much as he had found simple, direct wish fulfillments in children's dreams that threw light on the complicated and distorted wish-fulfilling dreams of adults. The childhood zoophobias did indeed provide a relatively simple picture of the elements in the formation of phobias and ultimately of psychogenic symptoms in general. The two cases best studied and most cited are the horse phobia of "little Hans" (Freud 1909) and the wolf phobia of the young

PHOBIAS Russian referred to as "the wolf-man" (1918). In later discussions of anxiety, anxiety hysteria, and symptom formation Freud constantly used the material of these cases to illustrate; and develop his theories (see 1915a; 1915£>; 1926). In The Problem of Anxiety (1926) Freud explained Hans's phobia as originating in oedipal wishes. Hans was in love with his mother and was jealous of his father, toward whom he harbored hostile wishes; these wishes came into conflict with his love for his father. The aggression led to a fear of castration, the possibility of which he believed to be a reality. Repressing his love for his mother and his hostility toward his father from consciousness, he displaced his aggression and consequent fear from his father to horses, which he feared would bite off his penis. Thus, to form his phobic symptom, after his repression of the original impulses, Hans used three defense mechanisms: displacement, reversal, for actually his feelings were dangerous to his father rather than the other way round, and regression from the genital idea of castration to the oral idea of being bitten. The wolf-man's phobia arose from a different component of the Oedipus complex, from an inverted oedipal wish. Having observed parental coitus, he identified himself with his apparently castrated mother and feared castration if he permitted himself feminine longings for his father. His fear of castration was displaced to the picture of a wolf in a storybook. The fear that came to consciousness when he ran the risk of seeing the picture was of being devoured—an oral equivalent of the desired passive genital satisfaction. Memories recovered during his analysis established the connection between the wolf and the idea of castration. Avoidance here took the convenient form of not looking at the wolfs picture. From these and other cases of childhood zoophobia Freud asserted that the motive for repression was castration anxiety and that the repressed wishes were the erotic or aggressive components of the Oedipus complex, whether normal or inverted. Repression was then followed by an appropriate displacement, determined by individual experience. Other infantile phobias are based on other types of anxiety, particularly on a fear of losing love, which serve as motives for repression. Because of a child's limited experience, the choice of animals is not large. The Angsttier ("dreaded animal") is apt to be a horse, cow, dog, cat, bird, chicken, beetle, or wasp. Totemism and zoophobia. The study of the zoophobias showed that a child could displace his feelings about his father to an animal and that this

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displacement reflected ambivalence. Hans not only feared horses but admired them, and at one point in his therapy he began to jump around like a horse and even bit his father (Freud 1909). His ambivalent attitude and his identification with the animal gave Freud one argument for interpreting the totem animals of primitive peoples as substitutes for the father, and he spoke of the "return of totemism in childhood" (1913, chapter 4). Mechanisms in the phobia. The defense mechanism of displacement, by which the repressed wishes return to consciousness in disguise, is basic for all phobias, including those of adults. Avoidance behavior or restriction of function follows upon this. In adult phobias, too, the wishes are aggressive or erotic—largely the latter; they are the revived wishes of childhood, usually in new garb. Freud compared the content of the phobia to the manifest fagade of the dream (1916-1917), implying that many defense mechanisms may alter the original content and give a conscious picture different from the unconscious latent fantasy. Thus regression modified the wolf-man's fantasy of being castrated into a conscious fear of being devoured. This further altered the picture, in which the father had already been changed to a wolf by displacement. The displacement mechanism is fundamental, since it is the first and invariable means used by the ego in distorting material that comes back from repression. Other defense mechanisms, such as regression, reversal, and identification, are accessory or secondary in altering the content of the manifest phobic picture. Additional defense mechanisms are described by Sigmund Freud (1926) and some relevant to children by Anna Freud (1936). In the more complicated adult phobias several instinctual wishes may gain expression at the same time through the same content, as a dream may fulfill several wishes at the same time through what is called overdetermination (see Deutsch 1929; Weiss 1935; Fenichel 1944; Lewin 1952). From the study of the simple phobias Freud constructed a paradigm for the formation of neurotic symptoms in general: threatened eruption of an instinct from repression (or from the id); anxiety or threatened anxiety as the signal of such impending danger; subsequent alterations in the ego by means of defense mechanisms that produce symptoms, each type of which (conversion, phobia, obsession, etc.) appears because of the predominance of one (or a few) defense mechanisms. Thus, the meaning of the word symptom is completely altered. No longer an indication of some underlying illness, it is considered a "structure"

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composed of alterations in ego functioning due to the mutual interaction of id, ego, and superego. Some individual phobias Like the dream, the phobia may show much variation in regard to its manifest fagade. However, as certain fr°quent types of dreams have a nearly standard interpretation, so certain phobias, studied through psychoanalysis, show a relative constancy in unconscious meaning. For example, many wellstudied cases of agoraphobia show that the feared streets are unconsciously conceived as places suitable for sexual adventures (see Deutsch 1929; Katan 1937; Miller 1953; Weiss 1935). The companion chosen as protector by some agoraphobes represents a person to whom they are unconsciously hostile and whom they therefore put in the same jeopardy as themselves. Fear of crossing bridges is a feminine fear of childbirth. A fear of falling, on the street or elsewhere, is also feminine, one of its meanings referring to the figurative sexual fall. Claustrophobic anxiety is connected with unconscious ideas of being buried alive and with prenatal life (Lewin 1935). Generally speaking, these unconscious fantasies are either of temptation or punishment. Fear of being alone often indicates a temptation to masturbate under such circumstances. Fears of insanity may include this temptation, as well as a fear of symbolic castration (head equals penis). Fears of dirt refer to sexuality thus conceived. Animal fears have been discussed above. An interesting phobia is the fear of spiders, representing the devouring and dangerous female genitalia. Butterflies may represent beautiful and tempting women; beetles and crawling insects may represent genitalia of small children. This list could be extended greatly; but many other interpretations depend on the individual prephobic history, which determines the relative importance of the fantasy and the suitability of the object chosen for its representation. BERTRAM D. LEWIN [For a conception of phobias that contrasts with the one in this article, see MENTAL DISORDERS, TREATMENT OF, article on BEHAVIOR THERAPY; see also ANXIETY and EMOTION. Other relevant material may be found in DEFENSE MECHANISMS; HYSTERIA; MENTAL DISORDERS, article on CHILDHOOD MENTAL DISORDERS; and in the biography of FREUD.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

ABRAHAM, KARL (1922) 1953 The Spider as a Dream Symbol. Pages 326-332 in Karl Abraham, Selected Papers. Volume 1: Selected Papers on Psychoanalysis. New York: Basic Books. -» First published as "Die Spinne als Traumsymbol."

BENEDEK, THERESE 1925 Notes From the Analysis of a Case of Ereuthophobia. International Journal of Psycho-analysis 6:430-439. BLEULER, EUGEN (1916) 1951 Textbook of Psychiatry. Authorized English edition by A. A. Brill, with a biographical sketch by Jacob Shatsky. New York: Dover. -» First published as Lehrbuch der Psychiatric. BORNSTEIN, BERTA (1931) 1935 Phobia in a Two-anda-half-year-old Child. Psychoanalytic Quarterly 4:93— 119. H> First published in German. BORNSTEIN, BERTA 1949 The Analysis of a Phobic Child: Some Problems of Theory and Technique in Child Analysis. Psychoanalytic Study of the Child 3/4:181-226. BUMKE, OSWALD (1924) 1948 Lehrbuch der Geisteskrankheiten. 7th ed. Berlin: Springer. DEUTSCH, HELENE 1929 The Genesis of Agoraphobia. International Journal of Psycho-analysis 10:51-69. DEUTSCH, HELENE (1930) 1932 Psychoanalysis of the Neuroses. London: Hogarth. -» First published in German. See especially Chapter 6, "Anxiety States"; Chapter 7, "A Case of Hen Phobia"; and Chapter 8, "Agoraphobia." ESQUIROL, JEAN E. D. (1838) 1845 Mental Maladies: A Treatise on Insanity. Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard. -> First published in French. FENICHEL, OTTO (1932) 1934 Outline of Clinical Psychoanalysis. New York: Norton. -» First published as Spezielle psychoanalytische Neurosenlehre. See especially Chapter 2. FENICHEL, OTTO 1944 Remarks on the Common Phobias. Psychoanalytic Quarterly 13:313-326. FENICHEL, OTTO 1945 The Psychoanalytic Theory of Neurosis. New York: Norton. -» See especially "Anxiety as Neurotic Symptom: Anxiety Hysteria," pages 193-215. FERENCZI, SANDOR (1913) 1952 A Little Chanticleer. London: Hogarth. -» First published as "Ein kleiner Hahnemann." FREUD, ANNA (1936) 1957 The Ego and the Mechanisms of Defense. New York: International Universities Press. -> First published as Das Ich und die Abwehrmechanismen. FREUD, SIGMUND (1894) 1962 The Neuro-psychoses of Defense. Volume 3, pages 43-61 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. -» First published as "Die AbwehrNeuropsychosen." FREUD, SIGMUND (1895a) 1962 On the Grounds for Detaching a Particular Syndrome From Neurasthenia Under the Description "Anxiety Neurosis." Volume 3, pages 87-139 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. -> First published as "Uber die Berechtigung von der Neurasthenic einen bestimmten Symptomen-Komplex als 'Angstneurose' abzutrennen." FREUD, SIGMUND (1895k) 1962 Obsessions and Phobias: Their Physical Mechanism and Their Aetiology. Volume 3, pages 71-81 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. -> First published in French. FREUD, SIGMUND (1909) 1955 Analysis of a Phobia in a Five-year-old Boy. Volume 10, pages 3-149 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete

PHYSICAL ANTHROPOLOGY Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. FREUD, SIGMUND (1913) 1955 Totem and Taboo. Volume 13, pages ix-162 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. FREUD, SIGMUND (1915a) 1957 Repression. Volume 14, pages 143-158 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. FREUD, SIGMUND (1915b) 1957 The Unconscious. Volume 14, pages 161-204 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. FREUD, SIGMUND (1916-1917) 1952 A General Introduction to Psychoanalysis. Authorized English translation of the rev. ed. by Joan Riviere. Garden City, N.Y,: Doubleday. -» First published as Vorlesungen zur Einfiihrung in die Psychoanalyse. FREUD, SIGMUND (1918) 1955 From the History of an Infantile Neurosis. Volume 17, pages 3-122 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. FREUD, SIGMUND (1926) 1936 The Problem of Anxiety. New York: Norton. -» First published as Hemmung, Symptom und Angst. A British edition was published by Hogarth in 1936 under the title Inhibitions, Symptoms and Anxiety. FRIEDMAN, PAUL 1952 The Bridge: A Study in Symbolism. Psychoanalytic Quarterly 21:49-80. HALL, G. STANLEY 1914 A Synthetic Genetic Study of Fear. American Journal of Psychology 25:149-200, 321-392. JANET, PIERRE; and RAYMOND, FULGENCE (1903) 1919 Les obsessions et la psychasthenie. 3d ed. 2 vols. Paris: Alcan. -> Pierre Janet was the sole author of Volume 1. KATAN, ANNY A. (1937) 1951 The Role of "Displacement" in Agoraphobia. International Journal of Psychoanalysis 32:41-50. KRAEPELIN, EMIL (1883) 1909-1915 Psychiatric. 8th ed., rev. 4 vols. Leipzig: Barth. -» See especially Volume 4, Part 3. KRAFFT-EBING, RICHARD VON 1895 Nervositat und neurasthenische Zustande. Volume 12, part 2 in H. Nothnagel (editor), Specielle Pathologie und Therapie. Vienna: Holder. LEWIN, BERTRAM D. 1935 Claustrophobia. Psychoanalytic Quarterly 4:227-233. LEWIN, BERTRAM D. 1952 Phobic Symptoms and Dream Interpretation. Psychoanalytic Quarterly 21:295-322. LOEWENFELD, LEOPOLD 1904 Die psychischen Zwangserscheinungen. Wiesbaden (Germany): Bergmann. -> See especially pages 330-355. MENNINGER, KARL; MAYMAN, MARTIN; and PRUYSER, PAUL 1963 The Vital Balance: The Life Processes in Mental Health and Illness. New York: Viking. -» See especially page 444. MILLER, MILTON L. 1953 On Street Fear. International Journal of Psycho-analysis 34:232-240. ONIANS, RICHARD B. 1951 The Origins of European Thought. Cambridge Univ. Press. RUSH, BENJAMIN 1825 Medical Inquiries and Observations Upon the Diseases of the Mind. Philadelphia: G «gg.

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SAUVAGES DE LA CROIX, FRANCOIS BOISSIER DE (1763) 1768 Nosologia methodica sistens morborum classes juxta sydenhami mentem &- botanicorum ordinem. 2 vols. Amsterdam: Tournes. STEKEL, WILHELM (1908) 1923 Conditions of Nervous Anxiety and Their Treatment. London: Routledge. -> First published in German. See especially Part 2, pages 163-376. STERBA, EDITHA (1933) 1935 Excerpt From the Analysis of a Dog Phobia. Psychoanalytic Quarterly 4:135160. -» First published in German. STRACHEY, JAMES 1962 Appendix [to Freud's "Obsessions and Phobias"]. Volume 3, pages 83-84 in Sigmund Freud, The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. London: Hogarth; New York: Macmillan. WEISS, EDOARDO 1935 Agoraphobia and Its Relation to Hysterical Attacks. International Journal of Psychoanalysis 16:59-83. WEISS, EDOARDO 1936 Agorafobia: Isterismo d'angoscia. Rome: Cremonese. WESTPHAL, CARL F. O. 1871 Die Agoraphobic: Eine neuropathische Erscheinung. Archiv fur Psychiatric 3:138-161. WESTPHAL, CARL F. O. 1877 Uber Zwangsvorstellungen. Berliner klinische Wochenschrift 46:669; 47:687. WULFF, M. W. 1928 A Phobia in a Child of Eighteen Months. International Journal of Psycho-analysis 2: 354-359.

PHONETICS See LINGUISTICS. PHYSICAL ANTHROPOLOGY The article under this heading provides a broad overview of the field of physical anthropology. Specific areas within the field are reviewed in EVOLUTION, articles on PRIMATE EVOLUTION and HUMAN EVOLUTION; GENETICS, article OU RACE AND GENETICS; RACE; SOCIAL BEHAVIOR, ANIMAL, article

on PRIMATE BEHAVIOR. Parallel areas within the field of psychology are reviewed in EUGENICS; INDIVIDUAL DIFFERENCES; PSYCHOLOGY, article On CONSTITUTIONAL PSYCHOLOGY. Also relevant are the biographies of BOAS; BROCA; DARWIN; HOOTON; HRDLICKA; KRETSCHMER; KROEBER; PEARSON; ROHEIM; WEIDENREICH; WISSLER. Physical anthropology, linked by tradition and by academic usage with the behavioral science of anthropology, is nevertheless a discipline that is basically biological. The long-established connection between two such apparently disparate subjects might suggest a common origin obscured by increasing specialization and ultimate subdivision. This, however, is not the case. Physical anthropology had an origin quite independent of anthropology, or to put it another way, it had roots going back to developments that had little or nothing to

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do with the beginnings of anthropology and its cultural preoccupation. Origins of physical anthropology. One of the classic themes of physical anthropology—the races of mankind—emerged from the zoological and taxonomic studies of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Ac early as 1684, Bernier published an article in the Journal des s$avans on this subject; this article was one of the first attempts, if not the first, to do for the varieties of mankind what the zoologists and botanists had for some time been seeking to achieve for the bewildering and exciting array of newly discovered flora and fauna that the age of discovery had made known to European students. Following Bernier's pioneer attempt at a classification of man, Linne in 1735 proposed another based on taxonomic principles developed from the experience of several generations of botanists and zoologists attempting to find some kind of order in the enormous variety of nature. By including man in the world of living organisms susceptible to a common systematic treatment, he did much to advance the notion that it was proper to consider man as a biological organism and an object of scientific study. By the end of the eighteenth century, the anatomical and morphological variation of man as a field of serious investigation was well established by the contributions of anatomists, physicians, and representatives of other cognate fields. By the turn of the century the contributions of two anatomists, Blumenbach and Camper, stood out as particularly formative in this area, which had not yet developed into what we would now call a discipline. Both were notable for seeking new methods of analyzing racial differentiation and Camper in particular for introducing quantitative techniques in the search— particularly the measurement of the facial angle. The predominance of anatomy in the formative stages of physical anthropology is also reflected in the contributions made by the studies on man and the primates that were initiated by Tyson's Orangoutang, sive homo sylvestris (1699). The very nature of the inquiry into the racial differentiation of mankind required a comparative methodology, the basis of which was supplied by Tyson. The comparative method has continued to be one of the distinctive features of physical anthropology. The intimate relationship between anatomy and physical anthropology was maintained during the nineteenth century. Some of the outstanding physical anthropologists continued to be men trained in anatomy or medicine. The first names that come to mind are Retzius, Broca, and Virchow, but there are many others. This tradition has continued down

to the present day in Europe, where medical training remains a standard preparation for research in physical anthropology. And, indeed, this tradition is so strong that the association of physical anthropology with cultural and social anthropology is far less intimate there than it is in the United States and in England. Nineteenth-century developments. Despite its early connections with anatomy and other biological subjects, physical anthropology eventually came under the aegis of anthropology. One of the reasons for this association lies in the fact that among the dominant problems to which the emergent anthropology of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries addressed itself were the cultural evolution of mankind and the relationships of various groups within such a frame. Every body of data that appeared to contribute to an eventual solution was appropriated. Thus, anthropologists not only used data on cultural phenomena but also drew evidence from racial and anatomical studies, as well as from linguistics. Later, when archeology became productive of appropriate information it was drawn into the association. Since at this stage of its development physical anthropology had neither a disciplinary identity nor much of an organizational life of its own, it was readily absorbed, at least in the tradition followed in the United States. Indeed, its very name suggests this. The subject matter of physical anthropology remained largely confined to the races of man and whatever comparative anatomical studies were pertinent until the era inaugurated in 1859 by Darwin's publication on the origin of species. Interest in the fossil record of man and its significance for the unraveling of human evolution became evident almost at once. Human fossils such as the Gibraltar and Neanderthal skulls (both discovered just before Darwin's publication and virtually ignored at the time for the lack of an intellectual readiness to see their importance) now took on a new meaning and eventually became recognized as appropriate for physical anthropological techniques which were concerned with comparative human anatomy. Thus, although many of the specialists in the area of human evolution were drawn from older and well-established academic disciplines such as anatomy, medicine, and paleontology, their special interest in the fossil record of man was generally regarded as falling within the category of physical anthropology and served to widen and enrich the subject. Race, comparative human anatomy (with special emphasis on osteology), and human evolution continued to constitute the major concerns of physical anthropology until well into the present

PHYSICAL ANTHROPOLOGY century. This does not mean that expansive tendencies into related areas and problems were absent. But for the most part these tentative explorations were abortive either because the intellectual environment was not favorable or for lack of a fruitful methodology. Broca, for example, examined in an interesting, but ultimately sterile, way the problem of hybridism in man. Without the benefit of modern genetics, this inquiry lacked the foundations for a solid development and now has only historical interest. Methodology. During the nineteenth century, physical anthropology established its classic techniques for measuring the human form; they remained the primary instruments for its research until well into the twentieth century. Data were obtained by a series of standardized observations and measurements. The observations, mainly on qualitative characteristics or those not readily open to measurement, were evaluated by reference to graded scales and charts meant to cover the range of variation. The direct measurements were taken from fixed landmarks wherever these could be established or from areas that could be described with some degree of precision. As variations of technique and measurement proliferated and interfered with comparability of results, it became necessary to establish some uniformity of practice. Several international congresses dealt with this problem, the last one being held at Monaco, in 1911. The techniques along these lines that were designed for osteological material are collectively known as osteometry. Those adapted especially for living subjects are grouped under anthropometry. Physical anthropology was one of the first of the biological disciplines to make extensive use of mathematics, particularly statistics. The problem of dealing with populations, the necessity of using a sampling process, and ultimately the need to devise methods of handling large bodies of data derived from an array of individuals required mathematical evaluation. The suitability of the data of physical anthropology for statistical treatment was especially recognized by Karl Pearson. Almost from the beginning the pages of Biometrika, a journal he established in 1900, were opened to papers that exploited this potentiality, and he himself contributed notably to this development (see Pearson 1920; Wilks 1941). Twentieth-century trends In the present century the field of physical anthropology has grown rapidly to become something closer to a biology of man than it was before. This growth has come about through the development

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of traditional inquiries and the influence of discoveries in other disciplines. Postnatal growth, for example, has become a subject closely linked with physical anthropology, in part because it is a phenomenon that contributes to the understanding of human variation, in part because the technique for studying growth was derived originally from the anthropometric measures devised by physical anthropologists, and perhaps to some extent because it had not been already firmly attached to some established discipline. More recently, physical anthropologists have explored the patterns of over-all growth and have investigated a wide variety of growth problems relating to specific areas of the body, such as the dentition and face. They have established norms. They have examined the factors that affect growth and have sought to discover the dynamics in the growth process that throw light on various anomalies and abnormalities. Discoveries in other areas of science, such as genetics, have also had profound effects upon the recent developments in physical anthropology. In the study of isohemagglutination, the observation of the Hirszfelds in 1916 that various populations exhibited distinct and different frequencies of the ABO blood groups led shortly afterwards to a very active interest of physical anthropologists in exploring this approach as a means of clarifying racial differentiation (see Hirszfeld & Hirszfeld 1919). Field studies in great number were undertaken to determine world-wide variations in these reactions and to seek some basis for their use in identifying racial differences. As other systems of blood groups, such as M-N and Rh, and various hematological characters were discovered, they were added to what has now become an impressive array of hematological variations arising from genetic mutations. And although blood typing and hematology have developed into highly specialized areas with their own problems and goals, they continue to be employed as tools by physical anthropologists, not only in studying racial problems but also in analyzing the dynamics of population genetics. A considerable portion of the physical anthropological literature is still devoted to these applications. It is perhaps worth noting that the earlier expectation that blood groups would provide a genetic and quantitative basis for racial classification replacing older methods has not yet been borne out. The use of blood groups alone has thus far proven to be less than adequate for this purpose, although they retain much value as adjunct criteria. Perhaps even more significant in the recent history of this discipline has been the general impact of genetics upon it. Beginning as early as 1905,

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when Farabee published a study on the inheritance of brachydactyly in man—the first on human heredity based on Mendelian genetics—physical anthropologists have applied genetic principles to their problems and have gained, thereby, considerable insight into processes that would otherwise have been inaccessible. Similarly, Eugen Fischer, a decade after the effective establishment of genetics as a branch of biology, applied this new method to the study of racial hybridism in man with his study of the Rehobother bastards (1913). This was followed by Shapiro's field study (1929) on the English-Tahitian descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty, Rodenwaldt's investigation of the hybrids on Kisar (1927), and Davenport and Steggerda's work on the Negro-white mixtures on Jamaica (1929). At present, population genetics is the aspect of genetics that is being applied most fruitfully to many areas traditionally cultivated by physical anthropology. As in other interdisciplinary contacts, the resulting interactions have created a flow of geneticists into physical anthropology and of physical anthropologists into genetics. Population genetics has been especially valuable in providing insights and leads in the study of the racial differentiation of mankind. The dynamic interaction between mutation and environmental selection and the processes of adaptation that result from this are seen as basic to human racial differentiation, just as they are to animal differentiation. The effects of isolation and genetic drift have become as valid for human groups as they are for Drosophila. Even some of the older concepts of race have been swept away. One can no longer entertain the view, once widely held, that the races of man were originally uniform and that the present heterogeneity of human populations is entirely the product of miscegenation. According to the conclusions drawn from studies based on population genetics, it is more likely that some degree of polymorphism has always been characteristic of human races. Illustrative of the tendency of physical anthropologists to make use of other specialties that promise to throw light on traditional problems is their use of physiological approaches to race. Although not much has as yet been done along this line, some work shows promise. In particular, the adaptative responses of man to various environments is an area of much significance but one which is as yet little known. Enough, however, has been achieved to indicate that this represents an area fruitful of insights into the biological nature of man. Another interesting example of the interaction

between physical anthropology and other disciplines—in this case medicine and psychiatry—is the field of studies of human constitution. The notion that personality types are recognizable from physical stigmata has existed since Greek antiquity. From this ancient concept came the medieval terminology of "humors" of the body, from which the words "phlegmatic" and "sanguine" are derived. About a century ago, this rather naive and certainly primitive idea began to be re-examined in the effort to find, if possible, a more convincing demonstration of a linkage between body build and variations in behavior, disease, and temperament. The pioneering work of MacAuliffe in France and of Pende in Italy culminated in the system proposed by the psychiatrist Kretschmer (1921) in Germany and was later extended into clinical and diagnostic medicine by Draper in the United States (see Draper et al. 1944). This system envisaged a threefold division of body types—asthenic, athletic, and pyknic—with associated and distinctive types of temperament and susceptibility to specific diseases. It was based upon the assumption that body variations in build were correlated with psychological and physiological patterns of behavior. Although much skepticism existed then, as now, on the validity of this thesis, it has continued to engage the attention of a number of researchers. Sheldon, in particular, has evolved a far more sophisticated and useful classification of body build based on three major variables, which he has termed ectomorphy, mesomorphy, and endomorphy (1940). According to this system each individual can be rated for each component, whereas in earlier schemes most individuals could scarcely be fitted into the extreme types. This is the method preferred by most investigators currently working in this field. One of the more recent developments in physical anthropology reflects a growing appreciation of the role that culture and social organization have played in human evolution. One form of this trend is the study of primate behavior. It is notable that after a period of development during which physical anthropology had turned increasingly to strictly biological concerns, in turning to the study of the behavior of primates it is, in a sense, renewing its links with anthropology itself. The pioneer work in this area—beginning with the investigations of Carpenter (1934; 1940) and Zuckerman (1932; 1933)—has recently been carried forward vigorously by a number of students who have not only experimented with the behavior of primates in captivity but have made prolonged and detailed observations of wild animals. Much

PHYSICAL ANTHROPOLOGY of *his work has been inspired both by the insights into human behavior that such studies may be able to furnish and by the belief that social and behavioral characteristics have played a greater role in human evolution than has been previously appreciated or, at least, identified. This development, which certainly in part arises from physical anthropology's continuing interest in human evolution, has, I believe, been stimulated specifically by the great advances made in the last generation in recovering the fossil record of man's emergence. The important discoveries made in China in the late 1920s and 1930s by Black (1930), Weidenreich (1935), and Pei (1934); the enrichment of the record through the work of von Koenigswald in Java in the 1930s (1950); and the opening of totally new geographic areas and systemic groups in south Africa by Dart and Broom in the 1920s and 1930s mark the beginning of a new era in the study of human fossils (see Dart 1925; Broom & Schepers 1946). The south African fossils (the Australopithecines), in particular, forced a revolutionary re-examination of the older concepts, leading to their rigorous modification to fit the new facts, and in general provided a stimulus to the whole field, which has remained in active ferment ever since. More recently, Leakey's discoveries relating to early hominids in the vicinity of Olduvai in east Africa have served to sustain this interest (1951; 1959). From these and other fossils and from the assistance now available from related fields, it is possible to place the appearance of manlike primates at the beginning of the Pleistocene, perhaps as long as 2V2 million years ago. Contrary to the older conception of a hominid evolving both in brain and in his adaptation to erect posture pari passu, it is now clearly evident that it was the latter that came first and, in fact, triggered the former. The anatomical evidence that early hominids had gone a long way toward an accommodation to erect posture before much expansion had occurred in the brain is overwhelming. To many students it seems likely that erect posture, by freeing the hands, with their innate capacity for grasping and manipulating objects, opened the way for the development °f technology. And this, in turn, as it became part °f man's environment, exerted a selective pressure that was reflected in an expansion of the brain. Such an interplay, with its continuation of a selection for intelligence, was reinforced by social developments and particularly by the perfection °f language with its abstract symbolism. HARRY L. SHAPIRO

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BERNIER, FRANCOIS 1684 Nouvelle division de la terre, par les differentes especes, ou races d'hommes qui 1'habitent . . . . Journal des scavans (Amsterdam) 12:148-155. BLACK, DAVIDSON 1930 On an Adolescent Skull of Sinanthropus pekinensis in Comparison With an Adult Skull of the Same Species and With Other Hominid Skulls, Recent and Fossil. Paleontologia Sinica, Series D, Vol. 7, no. 2. Peking: Geological Survey of China. BLUMENBACH, JOHANN F. (1795) 1950 On the Natural Variety of Mankind. Pages 25-39 in Earl W. Count (editor), This Is Race. New York: Schuman. -> An extract from the original De generis humani varietate nativa. BROCA, PAUL 1877 Les races fossiles de VEurope occidentale. Paris: No publisher given. BROOM, ROBERT; and SCHEPERS, G. W. H. 1946 The South African Fossil Ape-men: The Australopithecinae. Transvaal Museum, Pretoria, Memoir No. 2. Pretoria: The Museum. CAMPBELL, BERNARD 1966 Evolution: An Introduction to Man's Adaptations. Chicago: Aldine. CAMPER, PIETER 1791 Dissertation physique sur les differences reelles que presentent les traits du visage chez les hommes. Utrecht (Netherlands): Wild & Altheer. ->• Written in Dutch. Published posthumously. CARPENTER, C. R. 1934 A Field Study of the Behavior and Social Relations of Howling Monkeys (Alouatta palliata). Comparative Psychology Monographs 10, no. 2:1-167. CARPENTER, C. R. 1940 A Field Study in Siam of the Behavior and Social Relations of the Gibbon (Hylobates lar). Comparative Psychology Monographs 16, no. 5:1-212. COMAS Y CAMPS, JUAN 1960 Manual of Physical Anthropology. Springfield, 111.: Thomas. -» First published as Manual de antropologia fisica. COON, CARLETON S. 1962 The Origin of Races. New York: Knopf. DART, RAYMOND A. 1925 Australopithecus africanus, the Man-ape of South Africa. Nature 115:195-199. DARWIN, CHARLES (1859) 1964 On the Origin of Species. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. -> A facsimile of the first edition. Numerous editions have been published, including a reprint of the sixth edition in 1927 by Macmillan, and a variorum text edited by Morse Peckham, published by the University of Pennsylvania Press in 1959. DAVENPORT, CHARLES B.; and STEGGERDA, MORRIS 1929 Race Crossing in Jamaica. Washington: Carnegie Institution. DOBZHANSKY, THEODOSius 1964 Heredity and the Nature of Man. New York: Harcourt. DRAPER, GEORGE; DUPERTUIS, C. W.; and CAUGHEY, J. L. JR. 1944 Human Constitution in Clinical Medicine. New York: Harper. FARABEE, WILLIAM C. 1905 Inheritance of Digital Malformations in Man. Cambridge, Mass.: Peabody Museum. FISCHER, EUGEN 1913 Die Rehobother Bastards und das Bastardierungsproblem beim Menschen. Jena (Germany): Fischer. HARDY, G. H. 1908 Mendelian Proportions in a Mixed Population. Science 28:49-50. HIRSZFELD, L.; and HIRSZFELD, H. 1919 Of Different Blood. Lancet 197, no. 2:675-679.

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HULSE, FREDERICK S. 1963 The Human Species. New York: Random House, KOENIGSWALD, GUSTAV H. R. VON 1950 Fossil Hominids From the Lower Pleistocene of Java. Part 9, pages 59-61 in International Geological Congress, Eighteenth, London, 1948, Report. London: Geological Survey and Museum. KRETSCHMER, ERNST (1921) 1936 Physique and Character: A": Investigation of the Nature of Constitution and the Theory of Temperament. London: Routledge. -> First published in German. LEAKEY, L. S. B. 1951 Olduvai Gorge. New York: Cambridge Univ. Press. LEAKEY, L. S. B. 1959 A New Fossil Skull From Olduvai. Nature 184:491-493. PEARSON, KARL 1920 The Problems of Anthropology. Scientific Monthly 11:451-458. PEI, WEN-CHUNG 1934 A Preliminary Report on the Late Paleolithic Cave of Chou Kou Tien. Geological Society of China, Bulletin 13, no. 3:327-358. RETZIUS, GUSTAF (1909) 1965 The Development of Race Measurements and Classification. Pages 94-102 in Alfred L. Kroeber and T. T. Waterman (editors), Source Book in Anthropology. Rev. ed. New York: Johnson Reprint. -» First published as "A Review of, and Views on the Development of Some Anthropological Questions." RODENWALDT, ERNST 1927 Die Mestizen auf Kisar. 2 vols. The Hague: Nijhoff. SHAPIRO, HARRY L. (1929) 1962 Heritage of the Bounty: The Story of Pitcairn Through Six Generations. Rev. ed. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. -> First published as "Descendants of the Mutineers of the Bounty" in Volume 11 of Bernice P. Bishop Museum, Honolulu, Memoirs. SHELDON, WILLIAM H. 1940 The Varieties of Human Physique: An Introduction to Constitutional Psychology. New York: Harper. TYSON, EDWARD (1699) 1751 Orang-outang, sive homo sylvestris: Or, the Anatomy of a Pygmie Compared With That of a Monkey, an Ape, and a Man. 2d ed. London.- Osborne. VALLOIS, HENRI V. 1937 L. Mac Auliffe. Anthropologie 47:419 only. VIRCHOW, RUDOLF 1882 Der Kiefer aus der SchipkaHohle und der Kiefer von la Naulette. Zeitschrift fur Ethnologic 14:277-310. WEIDENREICH, FRANZ 1935 The Sinanthropus Population of Chou Kou Tien. Geological Society of China, Bulletin 14, no. 4:427-461. WEINBERG, W. 1908 Uber den Nachweis der Vererbung beim Menschen. Verein fur Vaterlandische Naturkunde in Wiirttemberg, Stuttgart, Jahreshefte 64: 369-382. WILKS, S. S. 1941 Karl Pearson: Founder of the Science of Statistics. Scientific Monthly 53:249-253. WRIGHT, SEWALL 1948 On the Roles of Directed and Random Change in Gene Frequency in the Genetics of Populations. Evolution 2:279-294. ZUCKERMAN, SOLLY 1932 The Social Life of Monkeys and Apes. New York: Harcourt. ZUCKERMAN, SOLLY 1933 Functional Affinities of Man, Monkeys, and Apes. New York: Harcourt.

PHYSIOCRATS See under ECONOMIC THOUGHT.

PHYSIOLOGICAL PSYCHOLOGY See under PSYCHOLOGY. PIGOU, ARTHUR CECIL Arthur Cecil Pigou (1877-1959), professor of political economy at Cambridge University from 1908 to 1943, is today best known for his contributions to the theory of economic welfare. He succeeded Alfred Marshall as professor at the age of 31 (a remarkable fact in the mature society of Edwardian Cambridge), to the delight of Marshall but to the chagrin of the older generation, and particularly Foxwell, who had believed their claims superior. He remained a professor at Cambridge until his retirement and indeed continued to live in King's College, of which he had been a fellow from 1902, until his death in 1959. Pigou was born in 1877, the eldest son of Clarence Pigou and his wife, Nora, at Beachlands, Ryde, in the Isle of Wight, the family home of his mother. His father was a retired army officer, descended from a Huguenot line which had long had connections with India and China, first as traders, in later generations as civil servants. His mother's family came from a line which had earlier won distinction and wealth in Irish administration. With such a family background it was rather a matter of course that Pigou should be sent, like his father, to Harrow, but it was his own very considerable abilities that won him an entrance scholarship. At Harrow he was a good enough athlete to win approval in an age in which athletics carried more honor than did scholarship and serious enough scholar to win many of the prizes open to Harrovians. He ended his schooldays as the first boy on the modern side to be head of the school. He went to Cambridge as a history scholar of King's College and spent his first two years reading history as a pupil of that remarkable oddity, Oscar Browning. But to his Cambridge contemporaries Pigou was best known as a leading figure in the Union Debating Society, where from his first term he made his mark and was outstanding as an orator, in a generation of brilliant speakers. It was not until his third year at Cambridge that Pigou began to study economics, and only because the Cambridge syllabus of that time required it as part of the moral sciences tripos. Thus, Pigou's introduction to economics came first by way of history and second by way of philosophy and ethics. Indeed, until he became a fellow of King's College and began to teach economics, Pigou could scarcely be regarded as a specialist in that subject. He had

PIGOU, ARTHUR CECIL submitted, in his first attempt to obtain a fellowship at King's, a thesis entitled Robert Browning as a Religious Teacher, which later became his first book, published in 1901. He had won the chancellor's medal for English verse, as well as the Adam Smith prize for an essay on the principles and methods of industrial peace. He began to lecture on economics in 1901, before his election to the King's fellowship (at a second submission) and was made Girdler's lecturer in the summer of 1904. He was lecturing in 1903, surprisingly, on the history of labor in the nineteenth century. But in 1901/1902 he had already begun to give to the second-year students the course on advanced economics that was the basis of the education of hundreds of Cambridge economists over the next thirty years. In that course Pigou acted as expositor of the theoretical ideas developed by Marshall. Inevitably, as presented by Pigou, those ideas took a form of their own. But it was primarily through Pigou that the Marshallian tradition was handed down and became the Cambridge school of economics. While Marshall's lectures had become less and less systematic as the years went on, Pigou (educated in the more systematic habits that the school of moral sciences had inherited from Sidgwick, whose lectures on ethics and political science he had attended) gave to the exposition of Marshall's theories a clarity and architecture that they had lacked in Marshall's personal teaching. To the end, Pigou remained a devoted and almost uncritical pupil of Marshall's, indeed an almost idolatrous worshiper. It was Pigou, more than any other, who brought up a generation of Cambridge economists in the conviction that (in his often-repeated words) "it's all in Marshall" and the belief that if they were in error, it was because they had misunderstood Marshall or had overlooked some essential passage in the holy writ. It was not until the coming of Piero Sraffa in the middle 1920s and of such younger lecturers as Joan Robinson and John Hicks in the 1930s that Cambridge escaped from an uncritical acceptance of the Marshallian orthodoxy; but then, and even much later, through Robertson, Guillebaud, and others of us, Cambridge retained its essentially Marshallian tradition. In these years it was as a lecturer that Pigou was at his best. The Cambridge economists of the 1920s owed to Keynes their sense of the importance of the economic issues and their sense of urgency to achieve essential reforms; but it was Primarily to Pigou (and also, in later years, to Dennis Robertson and others) that they owed their training in the disciplines of economic reasoning.

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The same qualities that one finds in Pigou's books were paramount in his lectures. Clarity of analysis, division and subdivision where it was appropriate, a willingness to follow an argument through to the end and to refine it as it needed to be refined, all these were the characteristics of his own presentation and of what he demanded in others. Curiously, this eloquence and clarity in teaching did not ordinarily carry over, as it did so abundantly in the case of Keynes, to an enjoyment of personal argument and discussion with his pupils. We admired Pigou; after a lecture we would sometimes shyly ask him a question, and he would answer, either jocularly or even more shyly. But most of us as undergraduates hardly knew him outside a lecture room, while we knew Keynes quite intimately, through his Political Economy Club. Pigou's first book on economics, Principles and Methods of Industrial Peace, an expansion of his Adam Smith prize essay, appeared in 1905. It is interesting to go back to that book, not only for its matter but also for its method, which remained characteristic of Pigou throughout his life and which deeply impressed his pupils. He applied to economic material the method of the philosopher, clarifying the issues, dissecting them and analyzing them, trying to see how different assumptions regarding the material might modify conclusions— the analytical method applied with great precision to an essentially qualitative argument. He used statistics but rarely, and only to establish or to indicate the order of magnitude of some relevant fact. This is very far from the form of argument of the modern, statistically minded economist. While Pigou, as his working life continued, gradually acquired the habits of mathematical economics, he was not by instinct and training a mathematical economist. His thinking remained primarily that of a philosopher trained in analysis. His first book eschews mathematics completely. Welfare economics. It was in 1912 that Pigou published the book which, in retrospect, is the most important of his works—Wealth and Welfare, as it was called in its first edition. It was expanded vastly over the next thirty years and, as The Economics of Welfare (1920a), played a major part in the education of the Cambridge economists of the 1920s and 1930s, and indeed of economists generally. Those who came to it when it had acquired middle-aged embonpoint would do well to restudy it in its slimmer, more youthful, and more rapidly moving form. Its characteristics are those of the 1905 book—beautiful clarity of reasoning and thought; the method of qualitative analysis rather than of statistical argument; the sparing

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introduction of mathematical argument, and only where necessary to a precise formulation. Above all the early version possessed a beauty of architectural design and construction that was lost as new extensions were added over the years. Pigou's ultimate reputation will, one suspects, depend on the judgment by future generations of the work in the field of economic welfare that was principally enshrined in that book. He started from two existing ideas, to be found, in the Cambridge tradition, in the work of Marshall and of Sidgwick. Marshall had discussed (as had Bastiat and others before him) the concept of maximum satisfaction and the conditions under which an economy would achieve it. Sidgwick, in dealing at a less rigorous level with the same problem, had made use of the idea of divergence between utility to the individual and utility to society. Pigou's book was more ambitious. He set out to examine, first, the full conditions of maximum satisfaction; second, the conditions under which private and social product (as he preferred to call them) might be different, so that the maximum would not be achieved under a system of private enterprise; and third, the measures which might be taken to bring the two into equality. In one important respect Pigou's work was fundamentally different from that of his successors in the field of welfare theory. He was primarily concerned (as his first chapter shows) with "fruit" rather than "light": with writing a theory of welfare that was applicable in practice. Pigou's definition of maximum economic welfare made it dependent on the average volume, the distribution, and the variability of the national dividend. Any course, he argued, which without compulsion increased efficiency and the volume of the dividend or which increased the proportion of the dividend which was received by poor persons or which (without diminishing its volume or injuring its distribution) diminished the variability of the dividend would increase economic welfare. The greater part of Wealth and Welfare as originally written, and an ever-increasing part of it as it grew through the various editions of Economics of Welfare, was devoted, in the first place, to the differences between social and private marginal net products arising from imperfect divisibility, to elements of monopoly and similar factors, and to the methods of controlling monopoly and otherwise correcting these divergencies; second, it considered methods of remunerating labor and the practicability and desirability of interference to raise the wages of poorer workers. Wealth and Welfare treated rather scantily the whole question of taxation as it involves transfers from the rela-

tively rich to the relatively poor, which later editions of Economics of Welfare treated more fully and systematically. Much of Pigou's work, as far as it relates to monopoly, to pricing policies of public activities, and to wage bargaining, for example, has been so thoroughly absorbed into the present corpus of economic doctrine that it has long ceased to be identified consciously with his name. Antipathy to his conclusions has been much keener and much more continued with regard to his argument that measures to equalize incomes would increase economic welfare. Pigou himself in 1912 was a liberal —neither an extreme radical nor a socialist. He was almost certainly thinking in terms of minor, marginal changes within the framework of a liberal society. By definition he excluded redistributions which would so affect incentives as to reduce the national dividend. But his conclusions were inherently so radical that they evoked criticism and resistance among economists who would not have felt equally critical of his more familiar and acceptable arguments where they related to monopoly or public utility pricing. Once these criticisms had been voiced, other economists felt bound, from a purely academic standpoint, to examine their validity. In later editions Pigou slightly modified his actual presentation of the argument for increased welfare with less inequality of income, but the essentials remained the same. He began by assuming that individuals are of similar temperament and anticipating the potential criticism that at present rich and poor are temperamentally different, argued that there is evidence that with greater income equality and with time any differences of temperament and taste would disappear. He satisfied himself, by appeal to evidence based on social inquiries, that the assumption he proposed was a plausible one. But in a strict sense, he did not prove it. The subsequent discussions of welfare theory have started with the problem of the meaning and measurability of utility and that of the validity of interpersonal comparisons and have inevitably led to the difficulties of measuring the national income in welfare terms and defining the circumstances in which it can be said to have increased. In particular, ingenious attempts have been made to identify the cases in which, without any interpersonal comparisons and thus without ambiguity, welfare can be said to have been increased. But even with the addition of the compensation principle, these discussions have tended to leave untouched a large number of real cases in which (as in the case of redistributional taxation) the poorer may be sup-

PIGOU, ARTHUR CECIL posed to benefit at the expense of the richer who will suffer some loss; even the compensation principle does not provide a complete and satisfactory solution. Pigou himself took no active part in these discussions, but he was persuaded in 1951 (when he was in his 74th year) to contribute to the American Economic Review a short article which shows his final thinking. In this final summing up of his thinking, Pigou argued, first, that (in Bertrand Russell's words) satisfactions are not in principle incomparable, even if they are not directly measurable. One can thus attach meaning to marginal changes. But he conceded that one cannot hope to establish absolute magnitudes of total utility or to be able to answer the question (which in his Study in Public Finance [1928] he had attempted to answer) whether a tax proportioned to total income will inflict equal sacrifice upon everyone, whatever the size of his income. Second, he turned to interpersonal comparisons and argued that "the utilities enjoyed by different people are not in their nature incomparable. . . . The question whether they are comparable in fact is a more difficult one" (1951, pp. 291-292). His final stand so well states not only his own attitude and that of Robertson (who in this, as in many other respects, remained his pupil and adherent) but also the attitude of many working economists, other than the specialists in this field, that it deserves quotation in full: Now, if we take random groups of people of the same race and brought up in the same country, we find that in many features that are comparable by objective tests they are on the average pretty much alike; and, indeed, for fundamental characters we need not limit ourselves to people of the same race and country. On this basis we are entitled, I submit, to infer by analogy that they are probably pretty much alike in other respects also. In all practical affairs we act on that supposition. We cannot prove that it is true. But we do not need to do so. Nobody can prove that anybody besides himself exists, but, nevertheless, everybody is quite sure of it. We do not, in short, and there is no reason why we should, start from a tabula rasa, binding ourselves to hold every opinion which the natural man entertains to be guilty until it is proved innocent. The burden is the other way. To deny this is to wreck, n ot merely Welfare Economics, but the whole apparatus of practical thought. On the basis of analogy, observation and intercourse, inter-personal comparisons can, as I think, properly be made; and, moreover, unless we have a special reason to believe the contrary, a given amount of stuff may be presumed to yield a similar amount of satisfaction, not indeed as between any one man and any other, but as between representative members of groups of individuals, such as the citizens of Birmingham and the citizens of

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Leeds. This is all that we need to allow this branch of Welfare Economics to function. Of course, in working it out, positive conclusions can only be reached subject to very important qualifications, (ibid., pp. 292293) Pigou, that is to say, remained to the end a believer in the validity of the welfare economics that he had done so much to create. He admitted that certain conclusions rested on assumptions that could not be proved, but he believed that these assumptions accorded best with the available evidence. He believed that the economics of policy making was a serious academic study and not merely a politically loaded exercise. In some repects Pigou, even if imprecise, at least was on the side of the angels: If he believed, rather than proved, that a transfer from richer to poorer was likely to increase welfare, it was, one suspects, partly because he was the sort of person he was. Public involvement and retreat. Throughout his life he was a passionate believer in justice; this was apparent in the way he handled all the problems of running the faculty of economics at Cambridge. If you were working with him, you had to satisfy him that what you proposed was a completely just solution of the problem in hand. To him it was just and proper, whatever could or could not be proved about capacity to absorb satisfactions, that the poor should be treated as if they were equal in value and capacity to the rich. If one could invent exceptions, the exceptions would seem, to anyone of his Victorian uprightness, a case of special pleading. He was always a protector and defender of the underdog. At moments we could visualize him as the severe but just head of the school at Harrow. Pigou's early years, before he was made professor, were the years of the great tariff disputes. Fresh from his triumphs in the Union debates, Pigou threw himself into the conflict and toured the country making free-trade speeches. The probable line of his argument can be deduced from political pamphlets, including The Riddle of the Tariff (1903), and from the much more sophisticated and academic Protective and Preferential Import Duties (1906). But to those who knew him only later in life, what is interesting is that at this stage he was a speaker widely in demand and responsive to those demands, anxious to influence public opinion and policy. With Alfred Marshall he was a signatory in 1903 of the professors' letter to The Times, which gained some notoriety in the tariff disputes of the day. In this phase of his life he was very far from being the recluse he became in later years. His powerful conscience created problems for

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him when war came in 1914, as was the case with many of his Cambridge contemporaries. Although still young (he was then 36), he was not prepared to undertake military service that entailed an obligation to destroy human life. But he devoted all his university vacations to driving an ambulance for a Friends' ambulance unit, and he insisted, no doubt at the instigation of the same conscience, on undertaking jobs of particular danger. Toward the end of the war he was persuaded by Clapham, in peacetime one of his colleagues at King's, to accept a post in the Board of Trade. He achieved, however, no distinction as a civil servant. It could not be claimed for him that he ever possessed the practical administrative abilities that carried Keynes, Walter Lay ton, Hubert Henderson, and others of the Cambridge economists of that generation rapidly into positions of authority and responsibility. He was never, as an economist, quick to see intuitively the order of magnitude and the potential dangers of economic forces, and he was never a person to whom colleagues turned instinctively for advice in the sphere of economic policy making. This limitation betrayed him when, first as a member of the Cunliffe Committee of 19181919 and later as a member of the Chamberlain Committee of 1924-1925 on currency and Bank of England note issues, he was one of those who recommended an early return to the gold standard at the pre-1914 exchange rate—-a. policy that was to be flagellated by Keynes in his Economic Consequences of Mr. Churchill (1925). From the early 1920s onward, Pigou withdrew, save for brief exceptions and an occasional letter to The Times, from taking part in national affairs and devoted himself more and more completely to Cambridge. Increasingly, over these years, Pigou retreated into the ordered life of a recluse. He lectured a couple of hours a week in a course which, excellent as it was, remained essentially unchanged for twenty years and cost him little effort. He worked incessantly and regularly at his books. He consumed all that was written in economics, seeking always realistic illustrations for quotation in his own work, and in addition he devoured every detective story available. He would march out on an afternoon walk to Coton or thereabouts. Within this private world were a few privileged friends. They were usually chosen because they shared his love of mountains, and they climbed with him at Buttermere, where he had built a house, or in the Alps. No account of Pigou would be complete without mention of the mountains. These he loved, with these he illustrated problems in his lectures, and to these he hurried away when term ended. He was

a keen and enthusiastic, but not a supremely great, climber; he introduced to climbing many who, like Wilfrid Noyce, became greater climbers. Around Buttermere he invented and pioneered new rock climbs. In the Alps he achieved most of what is possible to the best. Into this private world few women were admitted; the exceptions in later life were the wives of his climbing friends and other women who knew him in that life. His clothes progressively became more and more those of a hermit, and one never knew in what sartorial disarray or in what superannuated castoffs he would next appear. It was through exposure while climbing that he acquired an illness affecting the heart, which from the beginning of the 1930s increasingly curtailed both his climbing and his other activities. This affliction greatly impaired his vigor and energy and left him, through the rest of his life, with intermittent phases of debility. It affected his lecturing: in the 1920s he had been vigorous and immensely stimulating; in the 1930s the liveliness and stimulus somehow slipped out of the lectures; and in his later years, although essentially unchanged, they had lost something of their power to grip an audience. And in the same way, something of the vigor and domination departed from his writing, distinguished as it still remained. Other writings. Over these years he had written much. Unlike the present generation, he tended to write books rather than articles, although on occasion he contributed the latter also. In 1914 appeared Unemployment, a small, popular book in which Pigou, following the thinking of that time, attributed unemployment principally to lack of flexibility of wage rates. In the 1920s there appeared two books reflecting his interest in war finance, A Capital Levy and a Levy on War Wealth (1920Z?) and The Political Economy of War (1921), books which had great influence on current thought. In 1923 a collection of his journal articles was published, entitled Essays in Applied Economics; in this volume was included an important article which had first appeared in 1917 in the Quarterly Journal of Economics, "The Value of Money." In a period in which economists at Cambridge were all expectantly waiting for Marshall to publish his formulation of monetary theory (Money, Credit & Commerce appeared only in 1923), this 1917 article had for long been the only printed source other than Marshall's evidence before the Gold and Silver Commission. Industrial Fluctuations (1927), A Study in Public Finance (1928), and The Theory of Unemployment (1933) continued Pigou's stream of output.

PIGOU, ARTHUR CECIL They represent the most distinguished work of the pre-Keynesian epoch and played a significant part in the rapid development of economics during that period. Inevitably these books, in retrospect, have become dated more than his work in other fields. But one wonders whether some of this work, with its emphasis on variations of harvests, on variations of the rates of invention and of consumer stock-building of newly invented durables, and on other nonmacroeconomic factors, may not be overdue for rediscovery and adaption to newer macroeconomic theories. In 1935 there followed The Economics of Stationary States. This book, which appeared shortly after the publication of the ideas developed by Chamberlin and Joan Robinson and makes occasional use of concepts worked out by them, is in another sense very remote from their thinking. Pigou set himself the question of the way in which equilibrium is reached in a stationary state, defined rigorously as one in which the population, its quality and age and sex distribution, its stock of equipment, technology, and tastes, are all fixed. He approached his results through a long series of simplifying assumptions, beginning with Robinson Crusoe economics and progressing only by stages into the problems of specialization and exchange and a monetary economy with markets, many commodities, elements of monopoly, of transport cost, and the rest. He rejected the idea of a progression from perfect competition to monopoly through a chain of closer and less close substitutes. He assumed that "there can only be one single type of (homogeneous) commodity or service. Commodities that are good substitutes for one another are not, as is sometimes suggested, in 'an imperfectly competitive market.' My use does not allow this. In respect of any number of different commodities or services, however good substitutes they may be, there are at least that number of different markets" (1935, pp. 77-78). Pigou was, in fact, not directly concerned in this book with the same problems as Chamberlin and Joan Robinson. As "The Passage to Real Life," its last chapter, makes clear, this work on stationary states presented itself to his mind as a path-clearing operation in a longer progress toward a more dynamic economics. But he conceived of the development of an economy, not as more or less steady, dictated by continuous technical progress and capital accumulation, but rather as a set of steps— stationary states that are disturbed by spasmodic changes in technology, in accumulation, or in other factors. A new set of environmental conditions Would imply a transition (which, he emphasized,

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lay outside the scope of the book) toward a new stationary state. This work represents Pigou's analytical skill at its highest. But it made curiously little impression on contemporary economics, either in Cambridge, elsewhere in England, or in America, and it now seldom receives detailed study. A rereading discloses some of the difficulties of relating Pigou's thinking to that of others. He seldom acknowledged an idea; his acknowledgments are more numerous than a very unworthy index would suggest, but they are, as always, almost entirely acknowledgments of facts or terminology. That he had read and absorbed a great deal is evident. But, like Keynes, he was never a writer who began with a systematic reading of the literature of his predecessors and contemporaries. Throughout this period there were numerous revisions of The Economics of Welfare; there were, in fact, four main editions and six additional reprintings between 1920, when Wealth and Welfare first acquired its new name, and 1952. These occupied most of Pigou's time. There were also a variety of smaller books of essays and lectures; as well as some elementary and pedagogic writings of lesser importance. These latter include Income (1946), The Veil of Money (1949), and Essays in Economics (1952). For a period they had their place in the teaching of economics. Relationship with Keynes. Keynes's General Theory appeared in 1936. It affected Pigou doubly. First, Keynes had dared to attack Marshall, for whom Pigou had more than a pupil's reverence. The contemporary Cambridge belief that "it's all in Marshall" was certainly Pigou's belief. But it was enshrined in the more fundamental belief that if you could not find it in Marshall, it was because Marshall had had to write for the general reader and not because the idea would have been anything new to Marshall. That apart, Keynes had made his chief attack on the classical economics as embodied in Pigou's Theory of Unemployment (1933). Thus, Pigou was on the defensive—principally, I think, because of Marshall; while he had a great sense of authority as professor, he was not a vain man, and as subsequent events showed, he was not unprepared to admit that he had been in the wrong. His defense took the form of a severe review of the General Theory in Economica. He condemned Keynes's "patronage extended to his old master Marshall," and his iconoclastic treatment of classical economists as a group. Thus, indignantly, he imagined Keynes making the following attack: "Professor Pigou, in a book on Unemployment, . . . has committed a variety of sins. Professor Pigou is a classical economist; therefore

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the classical economists have committed these sins!" (Pigou 1936, pp. 115-116). In defense of Marshall, Pigou was prepared, if necessary, to sacrifice himself. Whether Keynes could have achieved a radical rethinking of economics without wounding, as he did, Pigou and Robertson, among others, is a question that will be eternally debated. I have always believed that this was the sad but necessary cost of the revolution of thought. With Robertson, the wounds went so deep that they never could be healed. With Pigou, time brought a healing. And indeed the wounds were never as severe: Keynes and Pigou were both fellows of King's; they dined at the same high table; they immensely respected each other. And Keynes, anxious as he was to see his theories accepted, was almost equally anxious to see Pigou's reputation preserved; he was very conscious that in attacking Pigou, he was attacking ideas which he himself had held only a few years earlier. When Pigou asked for something to be published in the Economic Journal, which at that time Keynes and I edited, Keynes would accept it without demur but would seek to persuade Pigou to agree to minor changes on points where he believed that subsequent discussion might show Pigou to be wrong. When Keynes was ill for a period and I accepted from Pigou, and printed as Pigou wrote it, the article "Real and Money Wage Rates in Relation to Unemployment" (1937), Keynes was greatly distressed lest I should have done something that might discredit Pigou. It was an oddly tolerant and mutually admiring relationship, which never came near to reaching the misery of the cleft between Robertson and Keynes. Pigou continued his work on the problems of the General Theory, publishing in 1941 Employment and Equilibrium, which remains a vigorous defense of the classical position, with new refinements but with essentially the traditional approach. He emphasized the multiplicity of the causes of unemployment and argued that it results from a complicated system of interrelated factors. He brought to the surface the real-balance effect that has since come to be associated with his name. This socalled Pigou effect identifies one of the possible ways in which rising prices may tend to reduce excessive demand and thus restore equilibrium: they decrease the net indebtedness of the public sector to the private sector, and this reduction in the real assets of the private sector may serve to lower aggregate demand. But Pigou's thinking in this field continued to change and develop; he had, indeed, a remarkable fertility of mind until well into his seventies. And in 1949 Pigou, eight years

after retirement, asked some of us who were then running the economics faculty at Cambridge whether he might have a couple of lectures in which to say certain things about the General Theory. In those two lectures, even more moving to hear than to read, he said, in effect, that he had come to feel, with the passage of time, that he had failed to appreciate some of the important things which Keynes had been trying to argue in the General Theory and that he had been oversevere in his Economica review. It was the noble act of a scrupulously honest man, who put truth beyond vanity and another's reputation beyond his own. Assessment. It is not easy to place Pigou in the theogony of economists. In the reactions of the 1960s he has probably been more underrated than any other economist of first distinction. Outside the field of welfare economics, one does not instantaneously associate him with any of the major instruments of economic analysis that one uses daily. He is not, in that sense, to be ranked with Smith, Ricardo, Marshall, or Keynes, if one thinks only of the British school. But modern economics would have been very different without him. MarsJiall was almost certainly right in thinking that Pigou was the proper successor to create a new disciplined and professional school of analytical economics in Cambridge. As teacher and creator of a tradition within Marshall's economics tripos, he set a pattern for a generation of Cambridge economists, and Pigou's pupils, teaching a Pigouvian version of Marshall's economics, are widely distributed around the Anglo-Saxon world. But Pigou's innate and notorious shyness, ever increasing as the years went by, cut him off from all informal discussion of economics, both with Cambridge colleagues and foreign visitors. Pigouvian economics came from the brain of Pigou and from his reading of published material; it was not refined by the cut and thrust of personal argument. Occasionally he would ask privileged pupils and friends (David Champernowne for example) to help him with mathematical or other analysis and accept from them criticism and suggestions. But to the ordinary run of his Cambridge colleagues he could not have been more different from Keynes and Robertson in these respects. Even those of us who were privileged to stay with him in the mountains learned to limit our conversation to the problems of ascents, the merits and demerits of the authors of detective stories, and, occasionally, the flaws in a book on economics, to save the others the labor of reading it. Pigou's isolation from the world inevitably meant

PINEL, PHILIPPE isolation from foreign economists. He read conscientiously, but he was not sufficiently intimate with any non-Marshallians to project himself into their minds and thinking; and he was too loyal an admirer of Marshall to want very much to do so. Pigou's great qualities were those of the classical economists. He was, it might truly be said, the last of the classical school and the last of the great Victorians, who had the misfortune to survive to an age which had lost its reverence for them. He himself showed to the end unflagging interest in the work of the younger generation and no trace of embitterment at its development of economics along lines that he had not foreseen. AUSTIN ROBINSON [See also CONSUMPTION FUNCTION; MONEY, article on QUANTITY THEORY; WELFARE ECONOMICS; and

the

biographies of KEYNES, JOHN MAYNARD; MARSHALL; ROBERTSON; SIDGWICK.] WORKS BY PIGOU 1901 Robert Browning as a Religious Teacher: Being the Burney Essay for 1900. London: Clay. 1903 The Riddle of the Tariff. London: Johnson. 1905 Principles and Methods of Industrial Peace. New York: Macmillan. (1906) 1935 Protective and Preferential Import Duties. London School of Economics and Political Science. 1912 Wealth and Welfare. London: Macmillan. 1914 Unemployment. New York: Holt. (1917) 1951 The Value of Money. Pages 162-183 in American Economic Association, Readings in Monetary Theory. Philadelphia: Blakiston. -> First published in Volume 32 of the Quarterly Journal of Economics. It is thought that Pigou's first title for the essay was "The Exchange Value of Legal Tender Money," and it appears under this title in Essays in Applied Economics 1923. (1920a) 1960 The Economics of Welfare. 4th ed. London: Macmillan. 1920fo A Capital Levy and a Levy on War Wealth. New York: Oxford Univ. Press. (1921) 1941 The Political Economy of War. New & rev. ed. New York: Macmillan. 1923 Essays in Applied Economics. London: King. (1927) 1929 Industrial Fluctuations. 2d ed. London: Macmillan. (1928) 1956 A Study in Public Finance. 3d ed., rev. New York: St. Martins. 1933 The Theory of Unemployment. London: Macmillan. 1935 The Economics of Stationary States. London: Macmillan. 1936 [A Book Review of] General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money, by J. M. Keynes. Economica New Series 3:115-132. 1937 Real and Money Wage Rates in Relation to Unemployment. Economic Journal 47:405-422. (1941) 1949 Employment and Equilibrium: A Theoretical Discussion. 2d rev. ed. London: Macmillan. (1946) 1948 Income: An Introduction to Economics. London: Macmillan. 1949 The Veil of Money. London: Macmillan.

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1950

Keynes's General Theory: A Retrospective View. London: Macmillan. 1951 Some Aspects of Welfare Economics. American Economic Review 41:287-302. -> This article forms Appendix XI of the 1952 and subsequent printings of Economics of Welfare (1920a). 1952 Essays in Economics. London: Macmillan. SUPPLEMENTARY BIBLIOGRAPHY

BRAHMANANDA, P. R. 1959 A. C. Pigou (1877-1959). Indian Economic Journal 6:466-487. CHAMPERNOWNE, DAVID G. 1959 Arthur Cecil Pigou, 1877-1959. Journal of the Royal Statistical Society Series A 122:263-265. JOHNSON, HARRY G. 1960 Arthur Cecil Pigou, 18771959. Canadian Journal of Economics and Political Science 26:150-155. KEYNES, JOHN MAYNARD 1925 The Economic Consequences of Mr. Churchill. London: Woolf. KEYNES, JOHN MAYNARD 1936 The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money. London: Macmillan. -»• A paperback edition was published in 1965 by Harcourt. KEYNES, JOHN MAYNARD 1937 The General Theory of Employment. Quarterly Journal of Economics 51: 209-223. MARSHALL, ALFRED (1923) 1960 Money, Credit &• Commerce. New York: Kelley.

PINEL, PHILIPPE Modern psychiatry was born of the efforts of a few great pioneers. Among them, Philippe Pinel (1745-1826) stands out: his was the first major achievement, at once scientific and humanitarian, in the treatment of insanity. The oldest of seven children, Pinel was born to a pious Roman Catholic family in a small village in the Tarn in southern France. His grandfather and father were physicians; his mother, a very strong character, dominated his youth. Her death, when Pinel was only 15, moved him to take orders. He joined the Oratorians but soon left monastic life, becoming instead deeply imbued with the new philosophical outlook of Locke, Condillac, Voltaire, and Rousseau. Pinel was a brilliant student and a great admirer of the classics, of Hippocrates, and of Plutarch; he read Greek, Latin, and also English, from which he was to translate some of the works of his contemporary, William Cullen. Initially Pinel studied in the Faculty of Letters at Montpellier, but he was above all interested in natural science and mathematics. Personal acquaintance with Paul Joseph Barthez, a renowned physician of the faculty at Montpellier, led him to study medicine. Studious, reserved, and simple in tastes, Pinel had few friends, but those he had were close ones, especially Jean Antoine Chaptal,

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the future scientist. Pinel's erudition made a variety of careers possible, but once he arrived at Paris he decided to devote himself to psychiatry. Pinel's career is inseparable from its political context: The French Revolution made it a duty to protect all individuals, even the insane, against enslavement by others. Pinel first became professor of medical physics, but he was next appointed physician of the hospital of Bicetre, the ancient grange aux gueux ("beggars' farm") at the gates of Paris, where "the insane . . . are treated as criminals, by mercenaries, contrary to either reason or humanity." Pinel denounced this state of affairs, asserting, "I am convinced that the only reason these insane people are so intractable is that they are deprived of air and liberty" (Semelaigne 1888, p. 35). At that time they were, in fact, kept chained. Thanks to his persistent efforts, reason triumphed over prejudice, and soon the insane were no longer regarded as possessed by demons, but as mentally ill. This was certainly Pinel's greatest achievement. However, he refused to accept the excesses of the revolutionary movement: churches were being robbed, and Pinel from within his hospital coolly condemned the raging iconoclasts and the powerful authorities who supported them. During one uprising the mob was about to hang him; he was saved by the vigilance of a recently "unchained" patient whom he had taken into his personal service. Beginning in 1795, Pinel held a position at the Salpetriere hospital in Paris. There too he had to start from the ground up, replacing the orderlies, refurbishing the sordid rooms, and eliminating the use of chains. His psychiatric researches led to two fundamental works, La nosographie philosophiquc (1798), awarded a prize by the Directory, and Le traite medico-philosophique sur I'alienation mentale (1801), his major work. He had a wide audience among medical students; although not eloquent and sometimes absent-minded, Pinel was greatly appreciated in scientific quarters. The fundamental innovations to be found in Pinel's works are of several kinds. First, he insisted on the humanitarian treatment of patients. He had a humane, moral attitude toward the mentally ill, having long talks with them in which he "skillfully gave them a drive that they thought was due to their own initiative" (Semelaigne 1888, p. 118). He substituted understanding and gentleness for violence, strait jackets for chains, and insisted on the temporary nature of even this restraint. Second, he made administrative changes. He

distributed patients in several pavilions according to their condition, thus foreshadowing the dynamic organization of the psychiatric hospital of today. He also urged that asylums be governed by physicians. Finally, he made innovations in therapy. He tried to diversify the treatment of the "raving" patients according to the etiology of their disease. He saw to it that they had games and music to amuse them. "Skill," he said, "consists less in the use of remedies than in the deeply judicious art of using or not using them at the right times" (ibid., p. 102). He completely rejected unnecessary bleedings and sudden cold baths but made good use of warm, sleep-inducing baths. In addition to such physical measures, he had workshops set up for therapeutic purposes, paying the patients wages. He advocated having farms—to be worked and managed by the convalescent patients—attached to asylums. Far in advance of his time, he proposed the establishment of institutions for convalescents in transition between the hospital and the outside world; this innovation was developed further by his students. The doctrine that Pinel had worked out was not universally accepted after his death. Although the basic elements of his approach were applied, they were applied incompletely and without the effort and commitment he had had. We do not know if this failure was due to postrevolutionary political reaction, to a lack of medical men capable of carrying on his work, or to the absence of a sufficiently elaborated theoretical structure. In any case, only today are the foundations laid by Pinel being properly developed. P. SIVADON and P. SABOURIN [For discussion of the subsequent development of Pinel's ideas, see CLINICAL PSYCHOLOGY; MENTAL

DISORDERS; MENTAL DISORDERS, TREATMENT OF; PSYCHIATRY.] WORKS BY PINEL (1798) 1818 La nosographie philosophique: Ou, la methode de I'analyse appliquee a la medecine. 6th ed. Paris: Bros son. (1801) 1962 A Treatise of Insanity. New York: Hafner. -» First published as Le traite medico-philosophique sur I'alienation mentale. WORKS ABOUT PINEL

COURBON, P. 1927 Pinel psychiatre. Annales medicopsychologiques 85, part 2:30—52. FOUCAULT, MICHEL (1961) 1965 Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason. New York: Pantheon. -» First published as Folie et deraison: Histoire de la folie a I'age classique. LECHLER, WALTHER H. 1960 Neue Ergebnisse in der Forschung iiber Philippe Pinel. Thesis, Univ. of

PIRENNE, HENRI Munich. -» This work is the result of research conducted by Pierre Chabbert and Walther H. Lechler. PINEL, C. 1860 Philippe Pinel. Journal of Psychological Medicine and Mental Pathology 13:184-205. SEMELAIGNE, RENE 1888 Philippe Pinel et son oeuvre au point de vue de la medecine mentale. Paris: Imprimeries Reunies.

PIRACY See INTERNATIONAL CRIMES.

PIRENNE, HENRI Henri Pirenne (1863-1935) was a Belgian historian. After studying under Godefroid Kurth and Paul Fredericq, he received his doctorate of letters at the University of Liege in 1883. In 1885 he was appointed to a teaching position at that university but the following year moved to the University of Ghent. There he taught until 1930 and between 1919 and 1921 acted as rector of the university. He taught medieval history and from 1893 on held the first chair of economic history in Belgium. Several circumstances contributed to Pirenne's interest in the social aspects of history. He had personal experience with the Walloon woolen industry, since his father managed a factory in the town of Verviers, and he became aware of the acuteness of social distress in Belgian industry at the time that he completed his university studies. His interest in social and economic history was enhanced by postgraduate studies in Germany with Gustav Schmoller and through his acquaintance with Karl Lamprecht; his contact with Arthur Giry in Paris in 1884-1885 strengthened his interest in urban history. Pirenne worked out a synthesis of social, economic, and political factors in the study of the history of his own country (1900-1932), especially of certain mass movements. Thus, he ascribed the process of political unification of the areas on opposite sides of the language frontier to their similar economic and social structure. This does not mean that he was a historical materialist: important individuals play a significant part in his explanation of events, as does chance. Throughout his career, Pirenne studied the history of towns. In his first important contribution to this field (1893-1895), he rejected previous e xplanations of the origin of towns. His own theory w as that towns developed as the result of the revival of commerce in the tenth and eleventh centuries and that their original nuclei were settleof merchants. When he later, in 1927, wrote

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Les villes du moyen age, characteristically subtitled Essai d'histoire economique et sociale, he remained loyal to his original theories but developed certain aspects of the subject more fully. He expanded especially the discussion of Italian and Russian towns. In order to place in proper perspective the effect of the development of the cloth industry on the growth of Flemish towns, Pirenne decided to write a history of that industry. A preliminary step was the collection and publication of the available source materials, and this was accomplished by Pirenne in collaboration with Georges Espinas (1906-1924). Pirenne himself, however, was never to write the history of the industry; others did so, piecemeal, according to his guidelines. Pirenne pioneered in historical demography. His study of the population of Ypres in the fifteenth century set the pattern for such studies in Belgium (1903). Another of his important intellectual contributions was contained in his article "The Stages in the Social History of Capitalism" (1914), which aroused great interest in international historical circles at the beginning of this century; it presented the theory that the evolution of capitalism did not follow a straight line but rather a cyclical pattern, in which each phase of development toward freedom and progress was followed by one characterized by regulation and conservatism, which was in turn succeeded by a phase in which a generation of homines novi reintroduced progressive tendencies. Pirenne's comprehensive interpretation of medieval social and economic history in his Economic and Social History of Medieval Europe (1933) was to influence economic historians for at least a quarter of a century after his death. Two aspects of this work deserve particular mention: the importance of the role ascribed to long-distance trade as the primary stimulus to economic evolution and the characterization of the end of the Middle Ages as a period of contraction. The scope of Pirenne's influence may be inferred from his close connection with the two most important Continental periodicals devoted to social and economic history, the Vierteljahrschrift fur Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte and the Annales d'histoire economique et sociale: both these journals published important articles by Pirenne in their earliest issues. Even after his death, Pirenne attracted considerable attention through his posthumously published book, Mohammed and Charlemagne (1935), in which he suggested that the crucial break between

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antiquity and the Middle Ages did not occur in the fifth century but rather about the year 700, when the Muslims had conquered the southern shores of the Mediterranean. The theory was based chiefly on economic considerations and gave rise to heated controversy. H. VAN WERVEKE [Directly related are the entries CAPITALISM; CITY. Other relevant material may be found in HISTORY, article on ECONOMIC HISTORY.] WORKS BY PIRENNE

(1893-1895) 1939 L'origine des constitutions urbaines au moyen age. Volume 1, pages 1-110 in Henri Pirenne, Les villes et les institutions urbaines. Paris: Alcan; Brussels: Nouvelle Societe d'Editions. 1900-1932 Histoire de Belgique. 7 vols. Brussels: Lamertin. (1903) 1951 Les denombrements de la population d'Ypres au XVe siecle (1412-1506). Pages 458-488 in Henri Pirenne, Histoire economique de I'occident medieval. Bruges (Belgium): Desclee de Brouwer. 1906-1924 ESPINAS, GEORGES; and PIRENNE, HENRI (editors) Recueil de documents relatifs a I'histoire de I'industrie drapiere en Flandre. 4 vols. Brussels: Kiessling. -» Additions to this work were published in Volume 93 of the Academic Roy ale des Sciences, des Lettres et des Beaux-arts de Belgique, Brussels, Commission Royale d'Histoire, Bulletin. (1910) 1915 Belgian Democracy: Its Early History. London and New York: Longmans. -» First published as Les anciennes democraties des Pays-Bas. A paperback edition under the title Early Democracies in the Low Countries was published in 1963 by Harper. 1914 The Stages in the Social History of Capitalism. American Historical Review 19:494-515. (1927) 1956 Medieval Cities: Their Origins and the Revival of Trade. Gloucester, Mass.: Smith. -> First published as Les villes du moyen age: Essai d'histoire economique et sociale. 1932 Guilds, European. Volume 7, pages 208-214 in the Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences. New York: Macmillan. (1933) 1936 Economic and Social History of Medieval Europe. London: Trubner. -> First published in French. A paperback edition was published in 1956 by Harcourt. A new, revised French edition with a critical bibliography by H. van Werveke was published in 1963 by Presses Universitaires de France. (1935) 1958 Mohammed and Charlemagne. London: Allen & Unwin; New York: Barnes & Noble. -> First published, posthumously, in French. A paperback edition was published in 1963 by World. (1936) 1956 A History of Europe: From the Invasions to the XVI Century. 8th ed. New York: University Books. -» First published, posthumously, in French. SUPPLEMENTARY BIBLIOGRAPHY

GANSHOF, F. L. 1959 Henri Pirenne. Volume 30, columns 671—723 in Academie Royale des Sciences, des Lettres et des Beaux-arts de Belgique, Brussels, Biographie nationale. Brussels: Bruylant. Henri Pirenne: Hommages et souvenirs. 2 vols. 1938 Brussels: Nouvelle Societe d'Editions. LYON, BRYCE 1960 L'oeuvre de Henri Pirenne apres vingt-cinq ans. Moyen age 66:437-493.

PITT-RIVERS, A. H. L. F. Augustus Henry Lane Fox (1827-1900), the man who now holds a very high place in the history of archeology and anthropology as General Pitt-Rivers, was born into an ordinary English and Scottish aristocratic family. His father was W. A. Lane Fox of Hope Hall in Yorkshire, and his mother, Lady Caroline, was a daughter of the eighteenth earl of Morton. He changed his name to Pitt-Rivers in 1880, when he unexpectedly inherited the estates of his uncle George Pitt, the second baron Rivers. Owing to his own exceptional endowments, he and his descendants were to enter into a more intellectual aristocracy, for he himself married a daughter of Lord Stanley of Alderley, and one of his daughters became the wife of the well-known archeologist John Lubbock, afterward Lord Avebury. He began his career in the conventional aristocratic tradition, going to Sandhurst Military College and afterward being commissioned in the Grenadier Guards. He was. in fact, a successful soldier, distinguishing himself in the field in the Crimean War and retiring with the rank of lieutenant general. Quite early, however, his originality and gift for research made themselves felt and he was charged with tasks which involved investigating the history of small arms in the British Army and, subsequently, their improvement. His work in this field had important military results, but far more important was the influence it had on his own thinking. This was a time when biological evolution was on everyone's mind, and Pitt-Rivers' study of muskets and rifles made him realize that principles similar to those of biological evolution could be applied to human artifacts. They, too, evolved in a sequence of minute improvements—or, occasionally, followed abortive lines of development which led to their disappearance. While he thought, he also bought—-and gathered in. He had soon amassed large collections of specimens, some ancient, some the handiwork of surviving primitive peoples (or savages, as he usually called them). His house in London became so crowded with weapons, skulls, stone implements, pottery, and other works of primitive art and craft that he decided to found a public museum, arranged according to his evolutionary system. The authorities established the greater part of it in Bethnal Green in east London, and Pitt-Rivers himself wrote the illustrated catalogue in time for the opening in 1874 (South Kensington Museum 1874).

PITT-RIVERS, A. H. L. F. In a paper presented to the Anthropological Institute in that year, he pointed out that, while archeology had imposed classifications on prehistoric artifacts, nothing of the kind had been attempted in ethnology and museums had hitherto been arranged by regions (see Evolution of Culture). His own collections were now exhibited to show the development of forms and their transmission from one people to another. Although he classified the objects of material culture, he insisted on the mental processes behind them, seeing each category as representing an idea —the idea of the spear thrower, of the bow—each original idea subsequently being modified by lesser ideas for improvements. He carried the biological analogy so far as to say that human ideas can be divided into genera, species, and varieties. The collections soon grew too large for the accommodation at Bethnal Green and were transferred to Oxford, where the Pitt-Rivers Museum, still arranged on evolutionary lines, now plays an important part in the teaching of anthropology at the university. Pitt-Rivers had long been interested in ancient cultures, and when he inherited the vast (29,000 acres) Rivers estates around Cranborne Chase in Dorset, the focus of his attention inevitably shifted from ethnology to prehistory. For the Chase lay in the heart of chalk country exceptionally rich in prehistoric remains, and he found himself the possessor of large numbers of monuments dating from the Stone Age down to Roman times. It is a proof of his gifts and of his stamina that, beginning in a new field on retirement from military service, when he was over fifty years old, he was able to make himself one of the world's pioneers in scientific archeology. Almost at once he set to work on the excavation of burial mounds, earthworks, and prehistoric villages. And the precision and thoroughness which he had developed in the army he applied to such effect that his excavating techniques were, from the first, as accurate as those demanded by modern standards. In particular he saw that things still incomprehensible to him would be understood by later workers and that it was therefore a duty to record everything he observed in meticulous detail. This he did, regardless of either time or cost, and as a result it has indeed proved possible for Modern archeologists to utilize his findings. He was an innovator, too, in paying attention especially to the exploration of settlement sites and m excavating them completely. These laborious a nd expensive undertakings were in striking contrast to the hasty opening of burial mounds which

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was then still prevalent. They provided almost the first reliable evidence concerning the living conditions of early man in Britain. He not only recorded every type of find on plans and sectional drawings that were far ahead of their time but also had exact models carved in mahogany of all the principal excavated monuments. Soon he had again accumulated so much material that only a museum could house it. He had one built not far from his house at Rushmore, and it is still maintained, with its fine display of local antiquities, in the midst of the Dorset countryside. He had set altogether new standards in excavation, and he did no less in scientific publication. Between 1887 and 1898 he published his discoveries in four privately and sumptuously produced volumes entitled Excavations in Cranborne Chase. The importance of Pitt-Rivers' work received adequate public recognition even in his own day, although his reputation has certainly increased as archeology has caught up with this extraordinary pioneer. In fact, he became the first inspector of ancient monuments in Britain after the passing of the Ancient Monuments Protection Act in 1882. He was made a fellow of the Royal Society, vice-president of the Society of Antiquaries of London, and was a most energetic president of the Anthropological Institute. Although he had made himself a scientist, General Pitt-Rivers remained very much a soldierly aristocrat. He caused his numerous assistants to wear his colors and on occasion to ride to excavations on penny-farthing bicycles, following humbly in the wake of his high dogcart. As a landowner he was, however, somewhat eccentric. He planted his estate at Rushmore with exotic trees and shrubs and stocked it with wild animals, which are said sometimes to have terrified visitors and countryfolk. He also provided a brass band to play for his tenants on Sundays—and expected them to attend. He remained true to his rational and scientific principles to the end. He ordered his body to be cremated after his death and left his head to the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. This museum was destroyed by a bomb during World War n. JACQUETTA HAWKES [For discussion of the subsequent development of PittRivers' work, see ARCHEOLOGY.] WORKS BY PITT-RIVERS

1883

On the Development and Distribution of Primitive Locks and Keys. London: Chatto & Windus.

1 02

PLANNED PARENTHOOD

1887-1898 Excavations in Cranborne Chase, Near Rushmore, on the Borders of Dorset and Wilts: 1800-1896. 4 vols. London: Printed privately. 1890 King John's House, Tollard Royal, Wilts. London: Printed privately. 1900 Antique Works of Art From Benin: Collected by Lieutenant-General Pitt-Rivers. London: Printed privately. The Evolution ~f Culture, and Other Essays. Oxford: Clarendon, 1906. Edited by J. L. Myres. -» Essays first published between 1867 and 1875. See especially pages 1-19, "Principles of Classification." SUPPLEMENTARY

BIBLIOGRAPHY

GRAY, HAROLD ST. GEORGE 1905 Index to Excavations in Cranborne Chase and King John's House, Tollard Royal. Taunton Castle, Somerset: Printed privately. -» See especially "A Memoir of Lieut.-General PittRivers," pages ix-xxxvi, and a bibliographical list of the works of Pitt-Rivers, pages xxxvii-xliii. SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM, LONDON, BETHNAL GREEN BRANCH (1874) 1877 Catalogue of the Anthropological Collection Lent by Colonel Lane-Fox. London: Science and Art Department of the Museum. TYLOR, EDWARD B. 1901 Augustus Henry Lane Fox Pitt-Rivers: 1827-1900. Volume 22, pages 1140-1142 in Dictionary of National Biography, Supplement. London: Smith. WISSLER, CLARK 1934 Pitt-Rivers, Augustus Henry LaneFox. Volume 12, pages 141-142 in Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences. New York: Macmillan.

PLANNED PARENTHOOD See FERTILITY CONTROL.

PLANNING, ECONOMIC i. WESTERN EUROPE ii. EASTERN EUROPE in. DEVELOPMENT PLANNING

J. Tinbergen John Michael Montias W. Arthur Lewis

WESTERN EUROPE

Planning is engaged in by all sorts of institutions; among them, business enterprises and governments. This article mainly deals with government planning. Present-day planning is rooted partly in socialism, partly in modern economic ideas as expressed in national accounts, Keynesian theories, and anticyclical policy generally. The latter expresses the desire to understand and influence the economy—the national economy, to begin with—as a whole. This desire was strengthened by the great depression, when it was clear that something had gone wrong. At the same time, planning, based on market analysis and similar techniques, has been increasingly applied in big business enterprises. Over-all government planning was not applied in western Europe before World War n. Restricting

ourselves to democratically ruled countries, we may say that the first examples of over-all planning were found in the United Kingdom, where the Economic Section of the Cabinet Offices prepared estimates of the national product and some of its components as a basis for the organization of the war effort. Immediately after the war, when a number of democracies started to function again, the Netherlands and Norway followed the British example— each in its own way and for the purpose of postwar reconstruction. France soon followed in 1946. In a sense, some national planning was imposed on all member countries of the Organization of European Economic Cooperation (OEEC), created to administer the European Recovery, or Marshall, Plan, which started operations in 1948. Not long afterward Italy began an exercise in planning, known as the Vanoni Plan, for a balanced development of north and south. This plan was not given official status but served as an important background to Italian policy. In Sweden and Denmark planning developed gradually out of business cycle policy: the annual reports, for instance, of the Swedish Konjunkturinstitut hesitantly progressed in presenting estimates of the next year's inflationary or deflationary gaps, adding suggestions for counteracting them. Several years later, in 1959, Belgium established its Programming Bureau. The remaining countries did not have official agencies in charge of planning, but all OEEC members fully cooperated in the planning exercise of that organization for the period 1955-1960 (OEEC 1957). The planning issue became relevant for Germany when, in its Action Program, the Commission of the European Economic Community stated the necessity for some planning at the community level (European Economic Community 1962). The topic was widely discussed (Albrecht 1964; Plitzko 1964), and these discussions showed the differences in terminology and ideology still prevailing in western Europe, mainly in Germany, though even there they were more seeming than real. This article will discuss the definition of planning which seems to be the most practical one; the theory of planning; the concepts of economic order and economic policy serving as the background of planning; the methods of short-term and long-term planning; the organization and procedure of planning activities; the supervision of plans and their testing; and the impact of planning on society. Definition and theory of planning. Present-day western European countries have "mixed" rather than purely "capitalist" or "free-enterprise" econ-

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Western Europe omies. They have public sectors of considerable size, and they exert various types of controls over the private sectors. This state of affairs is a product of a pragmatic policy but is consistent with modern economic theory. If the question is asked what economic order—that is, what set of institutions— will maximize welfare under the constraints imposed upon us by nature—that is, the laws of technology and psychology—the answer is a mixed order (Tinbergen 1959; Myrdal 1960). The old idea of Paretian welfare economics, according to which free enterprise would produce the optimum, is tenable only if the laws of technology exclude external effects and indivisibilities [see WELFARE ECONOMICS]. Where external effects and indivisibilities do exist, activities characterized by either of them should not be left to private enterprise. A set of tasks for the community, represented by government, can be derived on the basis of this distinction. They consist of activities showing external effects or indivisible means of production and of a number of otherwise determined policy tasks. Among the former we have public production of energy, transportation services, education, and information. Among the latter we encounter the regulation of unstable markets, the redistribution of income (as required even by the Pareto optimum conditions), the organization of the monetary system, and the determination of the optimum level of savings and of an optimum level of total demand (high and stable employment). Taken together, these tasks constitute such a complicated set of activities that their efficient execution requires preparation. Planning is just that. (Over long periods the most desirable development of an economy should coincide more or less with the theoretical concept of optimal growth [see ECONOMIC GROWTH, article on MATHEMATICAL THEORY].) We will not use the word "planning" in the sense of a particular order or policy, such as a command order with detailed intervention. Depending on the scope of the tasks assumed by the government, planning of these tasks will also be more or less extensive. Independently of the scope of the tasks, however, their preparation requires, in principle, the determination of general goals for the most desirable economic development of the country. The government's activities then must be conducive to that most desirable development. To the extent that such an optimum development requires government activities, it represents a task-setting device for various public institutions. The delineation of private activities is not, as a rule, coercive but, rather, "indicative." It constitutes a background for

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the appraisal—in the future—of the actual accomplishment of the private sector. This does not necessarily mean that all deviations from the plan must be considered "errors" of the private sector. There may have been good reasons to deviate from the plan. Moreover, the difference between the role of the plan for the public sector and for the private sector should not be exaggerated. Only in the abstract can government completely control all its activities. In reality it consists of so many levels and units that its activities cannot all be determined at the top. The lower units, such as the municipalities, can be influenced mainly by indirect means, and there is not so much difference, from this point of view, between municipalities and private enterprises. Moreover, a certain degree of codetermination may be given to the private sector in the formation and the execution of the plan. Planning should be seen as a manifestation of the ever-growing tendency consciously to organize human activity. In this process there is a continuous search for efficiency in its broadest sense. In the particular case of economic planning this means, on the one hand, that social or group needs are increasingly recognized as aims and, on the other hand, that no means, including planning, should be used where not positively contributing to these aims. We observe a gradual expansion of the fields to which planning is being applied; thus, education is now rapidly becoming more planned than some decades ago, and there is a tendency to extend planning to ever larger geographical areas. Finally we observe the integration of hitherto isolated and incoherent pieces of planning into a broader, more coherent frame. Thus, town and country planning are now becoming integrated into national economic planning. Economic order and economic policy. We have already stated that the optimum economic order must be described as a certain set of institutions. Examples of such institutions are private enterprises, public enterprises, markets, social insurance schemes, tax systems, monetary systems, and hierarchies of public authorities. Institutions in turn are characterized by certain rules of conduct or as instruments of the society's economic policy. Examples are tax rates and social insurance benefits. Apart from a static concept of an optimum order, there is a continual process of striving for and managing the optimal order, which we usually call economic policy. In a general way, any economic policy may be described by its aims and its means. Both aims and means may be qualitative or quantitative.

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Most institutions as such must be described in qualitative terms; their rules of conduct or policy instruments can sometimes be described in a quantitative way. Thus, the level of a tax rate, of an import duty, or a public investment has a quantitative aspect. We will use the word "target" for a quantitative aim and the word "instrument" for a quantitative means and reserve the words "aims" and "means" for situations where both qualitative and quantitative aspects are present. There is a causal nexus from means to aims, with intermediary consequences of the use of means which may be called intermediate or derived aims, as distinct from final aims. Thus, the ultimate aim may be higher utility or satisfaction for the citizenry, but higher consumption may be the first derived aim, higher incomes the second, higher employment the third, and higher investments the fourth. Clearly, short-term policies will be characterized more by derived or "nearer-by" aims than long-term policies will be. We will put the dividing line between short-term and long-term policies at somewhat more than a year. The standard example of short-term plans will be an annual plan and that of long-term plans a five-year plan. Often a five-year plan will be classed as a mediumterm plan and the phrase "long-term plan" or "perspective plan" will be used to indicate 15- to 25-year plans. In western Europe the emphasis has been on the shorter range, mainly because of the already developed character of the economies. For less developed economies, perspective plans are more important than for developed economies. For short-term policy in western Europe a wellknown set of targets has been (1) full employment; (2) balance of payments equilibrium; (3) a level of net investment somewhere near 15 or 20 per cent of national income; (4) an increase in the share of lower income groups in national income; and (5) stable prices. It should be noted that full employment has been interpreted variously, but often as a level of unemployment less than 2 or 3 per cent of the labor force. It should also be noted that the fourth aim has seldom been expressed in figures and, finally, that price stability has not been attained. A compilation of the targets or "objectives" of economic policy in Western countries, including the United States, was made by Kirschen and his collaborators (Kirschen et al. 1964, p. 148). They added a listing of instruments, making a two-entry table indicating which instruments are supposed to help attain which objectives. The table contains 16 objectives: (1) full employment; (2) price sta-

bility; (3) improvement in the balance of payments; (4) expansion of production; (5) promotion of internal competition; (6) promotion of coordination; (7) increase in the mobility of labor; (8) increase in the mobility of capital; (9) international division of labor; (10) satisfaction of collective needs; (11) improvement in the distribution of income and wealth; (12) protection and priorities to regions or industries; (13) improvement in the pattern of private consumption; (14) security of supply; (15) improvement in the size or structure of population; and (16) reduction in working hours. The main instruments of economic policy in western European countries have been public finance and social insurance, the regulation of unstable markets, and some quantitative restrictions in foreign trade. A fuller list is given in the table just discussed. It is subdivided into 17 instruments of public finance; 17 instruments of money, credit, and the exchange rate; 16 instruments of direct control; and 11 types of changes in the institutional framework. These numbers probably do not exhaust the number of instruments available. One may enter into much more detail by distinguishing between a number of sectors or industries, and both in wartime and postwar Western economies and in communist-ruled economies, a very large number of instruments consist of investment encouragement or quantitative restrictions for single industries. In many instances there is a choice among several instruments to attain the same target. In principle, both the aims and the means are the subject of autonomous choices of the community: questions of taste, in a way. The restrictions on this autonomy are that the means and the aims should not be mutually inconsistent; this implies that the means should, in the degree used, lead to the aims. In practice the autonomy is of little consequence because of the similarity in tastes among different nations. As a rule the aims are not very different among nations; the autonomy on the side of means usually consists of excluding some extreme means, such as forced labor and detailed intervention. The choice among the some sixty instruments mentioned by Kirschen depends largely on the effects expected from each. The knowledge of these effects is equivalent to knowledge about the operation of the economy. Kirschen's table suggests some qualitative knowledge of this kind in that it indicates, for each objective, the instruments supposed to effect it. What is needed for planning purposes, however, is quan-

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Western Europe titative knowledge. This has been accumulated for the last half century by an ever-increasing volume of statistical and econometric research. The remainder of this article will discuss the various elements of the planning process, that is, of the preparation of economic policy. The main elements may be defined as the tasks, the methods, the organization, and the procedure of planning. What is meant by the tasks will be clear from what has been said in the present section. They consist primarily of making up plans, either year by year or for longer periods. In addition there are preparatory studies, especially those concerning alternative methods of production in some industries and those concerning the structure of consumer demand. There may also be special studies of the effects of the introduction of new institutions or of particular measures—for instance, to increase productivity or to regulate a given market. Studies about the consequences of European integration represent another example of an element in the planning process. The methods of short-term planning. By the "methods of planning" will be understood the technical methods used to estimate the framework of figures constituting the hard core of any plan. This quantitative job must always be preceded by a qualitative analysis of the changes in the social order deemed desirable and of the significance that should be attached to the economic phenomena that are to be estimated quantitatively. For shortterm plans the changes in the social order cannot be large, since such changes usually take time. The main emphasis will be on the quantitative part of the process, which may be seen as the necessary adjustment of the economy to short-term changes in world markets and to autonomous changes in private behavior, with a view to maintaining full employment and achieving some of the other targets mentioned in the preceding section, including the portion of a long-term plan of development pertaining to the year considered. As already stated, this requires knowledge of many reactions of the economy to autonomous changes and to induced ones. Examples of such reactions are demand and supply elasticities (both with regard to prices and to other determinants) in a number of markets, such as the market for consumer goods, for export goods, and so on. The main problem is to find the values of the instrument variables—taxes, public investments, credit and wage policies, etc.—given the policy targets and the changes in external or exogenous data. We will use the latter term here in the restricted sense of not including changes in

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instrument variables. Sometimes such exogenous variables are indicated as "other data." Essentially there are two methods of solving the main problem: trial and error and the mathematical method. By the latter is meant a systematic use of symbols and equations (or more generally constraints, including inequalities) expressing the reactions mentioned before and a number of technical relationships, which must be satisfied simultaneously by all the figures in the plan. As a rule, combinations of both methods will be used; one may even argue that certain portions of mathematics do not surpass the level of trial and error. Yet the weight given to one or the other of the two extremes differs among countries, and the Netherlands Central Planning Bureau is known for a rather extensive use of simple mathematical models for the framework of planning. The models used (Netherlands . . . 1956; Tinbergen 1956) can be characterized as generalized Keynesian models, since the Keynesian consumption equation is one of the most important. Since the Netherlands is a small country, export and import demand play a considerable role. Supply equations have been given the special shape of price fixation equations. Capital as a factor limiting production does not enter the system: it is assumed that in the short run capital goods are redundant, but labor does enter as a limiting factor. Public finance is described in some detail, distinguishing various types of revenues. Investment is split into private and public, and the private into investment in fixed equipment and in stocks. The models used often consist of some thirty or forty equations. They are adapted to the particular purpose they have to serve. The models used for the general plan differ from those used for special studies (see below). They do not contain financial flows, that is, changes in the main types of financial assets, since so little is known about the propensities to hold various kinds of assets. Financial flows are dealt with separately, using balance equations and a number of less formalized assumptions about the changes in single asset holdings (see below). The formal model refers to the main commodity flows, prices, and current payments of incomes, expenditures, taxes, etc. The application of the model starts with an estimate of the initial position, that is, the situation in the year preceding the plan year. This position, of course, has to be in part estimated and is presented in the form of national accounts and the balance of resources and expenditures. The next step consists of an estimate of the

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probable changes in exogenous data (in the restricted sense defined before, that is, excluding policy instruments). An important part is played by estimates of the changes in exports, taking into account income changes of the country-groups of destination, changes in the price levels of competitors and of Dutch exports, incidental changes in trade policies, etc. Another important datum is the level of private investment to be expected in the coming (plan) year. Investment estimates are based partly on econometric relations but, because of the latter's unreliability, also on a direct survey of a large number of firms. A number of items of public expenditure are also considered data, and figures for these are obtained from the treasury. Agricultural supplies are usually known from crop statistics for the current year and are estimated at the "normal" level for the plan year. Seasonal fluctuations in building and demand for fuel are also assumed to be normal. The coefficients of the equations reflecting reactions, technological or institutional relationships, etc., are taken from econometric and statistical studies and are revised periodically. With these figures given and with given targets, the system of equations can be used to determine the most desirable values of the instrument variables and of the economic variables not representing targets. The results are discussed with various ministries, and as a rule the published plan will be the result of these discussions, avoiding a deviation of policy and plan. The influence the plan exerts is mainly through these discussions. Sometimes alternative figures are added in order to show the possible effect of changes in instrument variables. Thus, the effects of possible changes in wages other than the ones envisaged or of public expenditure for different purposes have been shown in some plans. Once the current money flows have been estimated, financial flows (changes in assets) are estimated so as to produce the most desirable development. The main problems involved in annual planning may be summarized, using the schema of B. Hansen (1955) as follows. From the table of resources and uses we derive the permissible volume of private consumption as the residual between production on the one hand and investment and public expenditure on the other (assuming balance of payments equilibrium on current account). From permissible consumption we derive the necessary tax level. From the financing equation for private investment we derive the necessary increase in banking credit to business. From the balance sheet of the commercial banks we then

derive the necessary change in reserve requirements, which constitutes the main instrument of monetary policy. The methods of long-term planning. France has given attention to long-term planning to a greater extent than has the rest of western Europe. The French example is now being followed by other countries, including the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and Belgium. Long-term planning has not been entirely absent in the other countries but has been applied somewhat less systematically. The method of the French Fourth Plan, as set out by Gazes (1962, pp. 33 ff.), was that of successive approximations. In a first approximation, a projection was made for a set of 17 sectors—presumably using input-output coefficients in addition to those already mentioned in "The methods of short-term planning"—employing three alternative assumptions with regard to the general rate of growth: 3, 4.5, and 6 per cent annual growth. In a second approximation, after the government expressed a preference for a rate of 5 to 5.5 per cent, more detailed figures were prepared by "vertical committees" covering 27 main branches and 300 subbranches. The figures were checked by "horizontal committees" dealing with general aspects such as financing of investment, current demand versus supply, manpower and education supply, and so on. The method is not too different from methods several authors have recommended to developing countries; one difference is in the relative scarcities of the factors of production. Capital is less scarce and labor more scarce in developed than in developing countries. This will come up in the concrete appraisal of single projects and in the choice of technologies. For developing countries this appraisal of projects is often added as a third phase. Lately, a geographical subdivision of the nation to be planned for has been added and a corresponding phase in long-term planning methods distinguished. Long-term planning methods have also been developed for special purposes, such as the preparation of institutional reforms or educational planning. In the Netherlands, an extensive study was made of the introduction of unemployment insurance in a new form and of the introduction of profit sharing by workers. In both cases mathematical models were used in which variables appeared characteristic for the particular problem studied; for instance, in the first example the contributions to be made by employers and employees, the benefits to the unemployed, etc. A further example of special models is the model used to study

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Western Europe the consequences of Benelux integration (Verdoorn 1960). Organization and procedure of planning. The "organization of planning" considers the hierarchic relations within the group of persons and administrative units charged with the tasks of planning. The "procedure of planning" considers the nature and time order of outside contacts made during the execution of planning activities. In the description of the organization, the distinction will be made between the external and the internal organization of the main administrative unit charged with planning. This unit will sometimes be an office, like the Netherlands Central Planning Bureau, within one of the ministries; sometimes it will have a more independent status, as in France, where it is called a commissariat. In a number of developing countries it is a ministry by itself. The level may thus be different, but as a rule it has some interdepartmental character. It may either be organized under the prime minister or, if elsewhere (treasury, ministry of economic affairs), have the right to deal with all ministries

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without special permission of the minister concerned. The ideal situation, in the author's opinion, is for the planning unit to be directly responsible to the prime minister. The preceding remarks refer to the external organization. The internal organization is determined by the number and nature of the divisions and subdivisions and the division of labor among them. It also depends upon the size and the background of its staff. As a rule, different divisions will deal with long-term and short-term planning work, since experience teaches that charging the same persons with these two types of work leads to neglect of the long-term tasks—they are usually considered less pressing than short-term ones. Research in the narrower sense of basic scientific analysis, as distinct from the applied type of planning proper, will be entrusted to a separate division or be the task of the long-term planning division. Current advisory work can best be entrusted to the short-term planning division. Sometimes subdivisions will be established to deal with individual sectors of economic life.

Table 1 — Schedule of the French Fourth Plan

GOVERNMENT

PLANNING COMMISSARIAT AND RESEARCH SERVICE

SOCIAL AND PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION

Preliminary studies for 1965 and 1975 (1959 and beginning of 1960) - Investment and Planning Section of the Economic and Social Council (spring 1960) Directives of government to Commis--^sariat; appointment of members of Committees of Modernization Elaboration of accounts for 1965 derived from government directives (July 1960) Start of work of 27 Modernization Committees (summer 1960); reply to questionnaire (February 1961) First check of physical and financial consistency of work by committees (March 1961); elaboration of a provisional synthesis for 1965 on the basis of a growth rate of 5 per cent Decision by government on rate of ^~ growth and distribution of public investments (April 1961) -^ Continuation of work on the basis of new growth rate of 5.5 per cent Final synthesis (May 1961); draft plan <EApproval of draft by government ^(September 1961) ~^ Consultation of High Planning Council (October 1961); consultation of Economic and Social Council (November 1961) Parliamentary vote on draft law approving Fourth Plan Source: Adapted from Gazes 1962, p. 34.

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The planning unit may have branches for individual sectors, for instance, in some specialized ministries (agriculture, manufacturing industry, trade, transportation, education) or for individual regions (state planning units in a federation). But the organization may also be different, if the tasks are entrusted f o the corresponding ministries or lower public authorities. In our terminology the contacts with these branches are then no longer internal but external, and form part of the "procedure" of planning. Clearly, the number of persons engaged by the central unit depends on which of these two forms of organization has been chosen. Usually in western European countries this number is not very high. In France the Commissariat employs only about forty persons; the Netherlands Central Planning Bureau is somewhat more centralized and employs some one hundred persons, whereas the Norwegian unit is smaller. In the French system, however, about three thousand persons, distributed over some three hundred working groups, collaborate in the committees dealing with the single sectors (Gazes 1962, p. 35). This number far surpasses the number of committee members in the Netherlands, which amounts to less than one hundred. We now come to the subject of the procedure of planning. In France, as the preceding figures show, outside contacts are highly developed. The time order of the various contacts is well illustrated in Table 1. In the Netherlands, sector plans have occasionally been discussed with representatives of some sectors but not systematically prepared by working groups, as in France. Some steps in this direction have recently been taken. Until now, since the emphasis is on macroeconomic means of economic policy, the usual procedure, once agreement has been reached provisionally with the various government departments, has consisted mainly of consultation with central organizations of employers and employees, and with independent experts, both in the Socio-economic Council and in the Central Planning Commission. Apart from the committee work, which is far more voluminous in France than elsewhere, so far the procedure is not very different from that of the French. Major changes in general government policies in the Netherlands (where wages are, to some extent, under the supervision of the government) have as a rule been preceded by advice given by the Socio-economic Council, based on research and plans made in the Central Planning Bureau.

Supervision and testing of plans. In western Europe, planning agencies are not charged with the supervision of the implementation of plans. There is far less scope for such supervision by a separate agency than there may be in developing or in communist-ruled countries, since in the latter such an important part is played, within economic policy, by the individual public investments envisaged. Such projects may be in need of progress supervision by a special agency, although this is a debatable issue. The general view held in western Europe is that planning units are advisory bodies and that supervision proper is precisely the government's responsibility, that is, the responsibility of the executive agencies. Indirectly, any deviation of actual policies from those recommended by the planners will show up in the next plan, since this always starts out with a survey of the year preceding the plan year. Routine statistics will show any such deviations; but there may be a need for some special statistics on the progress made in big investment projects. Such statistics have been developed in the Netherlands during the last decade. It has become customary also, in the Netherlands and elsewhere, to report not only investment planned for the coming year by private business but also actual investments completed in the year before and estimated investments in the current year, therefore covering three years in all. If supervision proper is not considered a task of the planning unit, testing of previous plans is very much so. By testing is meant an analysis of actual compared with recommended development. In principle, actual development of any variable may be considered the result of three types of factors, each of them also used to get the estimated "most desirable" development of the same variable: (a) the values of the exogenous variables (excluding policy instruments); (b) the values of the instrument variables; and (c) the values of the coefficients of the model used. As a consequence, deviations between planned and actual values may be ascribed to (a) deviations in the values of the exogenous variables, that is, forecasting errors in these variables; (b) deviations in the values of the instrument variables, that is, between actual and recommended policies; and (c) deviations in the values of the coefficients, or errors in the model. If we like, we can combine (a) and (c) and call them forecasting errors in the endogenous variables. It is possible to give a special form to the comparison between predicted and observed values of either exogenous or endogenous variables by count-

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Western Europe ing the number of cases where, in three successive years, turning points were either (i) correctly predicted, or (ii) wrongly predicted, i.e., predicted where none occurred, or (iii) not predicted, i.e., where they did occur. The reason for choosing this particular test is that with so-called naive forecasting methods, turning points will never be found: it is essential for these methods that they extrapolate the direction of change observed between the first two years. Thus, Theil (1958) found that the Netherlands Central Planning Bureau correctly predicted 13 out of 14 turning points in a number of variables over a number of periods, wrongly predicted another 5 and did not predict the one left of the 14 observed turning points. The record for a number of forecasts made by Scandinavian institutions was that out of 21 turning points, (i) 15 were correctly forecast, (ii) 3 wrongly forecast, and (iii) 6 were not forecast. A similar test consists of scrutinizing whether acceleration or deceleration occurred. Out of 91 Dutch cases, 71 were predicted in the correct way (either acceleration or deceleration); out of 74 Scandinavian cases, 62 were characterized in the correct way. From other studies (by C. van der Panne, in Dutch) it was found that relatively good forecasts between 1949 and 1955 were made of price indexes, indirect taxes, public employment, and the value of exports, whereas relatively poor forecasts were made of invisibles, imports and exports, investments, productivity, and the salaries of civil servants. The impact of planning on society. To conclude, we may ask the general question "What has been the impact of planning of the western European type on society?" Clearly the effects, if any, must be the justification of the efforts and other sacrifices made. For the time being, the answers to this question can only be approximative; and even this phrase may be a euphemism. For well-defined markets with well-defined regulations, the impact of such regulations may sometimes be estimated with a fair degree of accuracy. For the economy as a whole only little can be said. The main point to be made is that planning has succeeded in avoiding the main inconsistency in unplanned economies of the pre-1914 type, namely, the underutilization of productive capacity as a consequence of business cycles and of structural disequilibria. It is highly probable that the disappearance of the business cycle after World War n has been obtained with the aid of macroeconomic planning of the type described in this article. A

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crude estimate of the contribution to national product to be attributed to anticyclical policy can be obtained from the estimates of unused capacity prevailing in pre-1914 economies. Two measures are conceivable: the extent of unused labor and the extent of unused equipment. The figures for unused labor are represented by unemployment percentages. Figures on capacity are very uncertain, as shown by recent studies by Hickman (1965, p. 114). This is due in part to the fact that production at lowest cost is well below capacity production. Therefore our estimate must be seen as only a first crude approach to the problem. But a fair guess of unused capacity may be 10 to 15 per cent, meant as an average for unplanned societies. This guess implies that anticyclical policy may have contributed 10 to 15 per cent to national income. The further question may now be asked, "What degree of detail in planning is optimal?" It is the author's contention that the optimum degree of detail in planning is below the degree of detail applied in the communist-ruled societies. Some support is given to this contention by a recent assessment of the fluctuations in economic activity in various countries over the period 1950-1960 (Staller 1964). These fluctuations appear to be roughly 4 per cent for all communist countries, 1.5 per cent for the Soviet Union, 4 per cent for all Western countries, and 7.5 per cent for the United States. The gain from more detailed planning as applied in the Soviet Union appears to be less than 3 per cent. This points to decreasing returns for the intensification of planning, if one tries to imagine the much higher level of planning effort in the Soviet Union as compared with western Europe. The question is in need of more precise research. J. TlNBERGEN

[See also ECONOMETRIC MODELS, AGGREGATE.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

ALBRECHT, KARL 1964 Planifikateure beim Werk: Wirtschaft zwischen Zwang und Freiheit. Dxisseldorf (Germany): Econ-Verlag. BJERVE, FETTER J. 1959 Planning in Norway: 1947— 1956. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. CAZES, BERNARD 1962 La planification francaise: Esprit et methodes. Problemes de I'Europe 18:31-39. EUROPEAN ECONOMIC COMMUNITY, COMMISSION 1962 Memorandum of the Commission on the Action Programme of the Community for the Second Stage. Brussels: The Commission. FOURASTIE, JEAN; and COURTHEOUX, JEAN PAUL 1963 La planification economique en France. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. FRISCH, RAGNAR 1961 Survey of Types of Economic Forecasting and Programming: A Brief Description

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of the Oslo Channel Model. Unpublished manuscript. -> Paper read at the International Association for Research in Income and Wealth, 7th Conference, 1961. GEARY, ROBERT C. (editor) 1962 Europe's Future in Figures. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. HANSEN, BENT (1955) 1958 The Economic Theory of Fiscal Policy. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. -> First published as Finanspolitikens ekonomiska teori. HICKMAN, BERT G. 1965 Investment Demand and U.S. Economic Growth. Washington: Brookings Institution. JOHR, WALTER A.; and SINGER, H. W. 1955 The Role of the Economist as Official Adviser. London: Allen & Unwin. KERVYN DE LETTENHOVE, ALBERT 1962 La progranimation en Belgique. Problemes de I'Europe 18:24-30. KIRSCHEN, ETIENNE S. et al. 1964 Economic Policy in Our Time. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. KLEIN, LAWRENCE R.; and GOLDBERGER, A. S. 1955 An Econometric Model of the United States: 1929-1952. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. KRUSE, HANS H. 1962 L'Allemagne et la planification de 1'economie. Problemes de I'Europe 18:12-23. MASSE, PIERRE (1959) 1964 Le choix des investissements: Criteres et methodes. 2d ed. Paris: Dunod. MEADE, JAMES E. 1955 The Theory of International Economic Policy. Volume 2: Trade and Welfare. Oxford Univ. Press. MYRDAL, GUNNAR (1960) 1963 Beyond the Welfare State: Economic Planning and Its Implications. Yale University School of Law, Storrs Lectures on Jurisprudence, 1958. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. NETHERLANDS, CENTRAAL PLANBUREAU 1956 Scope and Methods of the Central Planning Bureau. The Hague: The Bureau. ORGANIZATION OF EUROPEAN ECONOMIC CO-OPERATION 1957 Europe To-day and in 1960. Volume 2: Europe in 1960. Eighth annual report. Paris: The Organization. PLITZKO, ALFRED (editor) 1964 Planung ohne Planwirtschaft. Basel (Switzerland): Kyklos. SANDEE, J. 1962 La planification economique aux PaysBas. Problemes de I'Europe 18:45-48. SANDEE, J. (editor) 1964 Europe's Future Consumption. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. STALLER, GEORGE J. 1964 Fluctuations in Economic Activity: Planned and Free-market Economies: 19501960. American Economic Review 54:385-395. STAMMATI, GAETANO 1962 La programmation economique en Italic. Problemes de I'Europe 18:40-44. STONE, RICHARD; and BROWN, J. A. C. 1962 A Longterm Growth Model for the British Economy. Pages 287-310 in Robert C. Geary (editor), Europe's Future in Figures. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. THEIL, HENRI (1958) 1961 Economic Forecasts and Policy. 2d ed., rev. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. TINBERGEN, JAN (1956) 1964 Economic Policy: Principles and Design. 2d ed. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. TINBERGEN, JAN 1959 The Theory of the Optimum Regime. Pages 264-304 in Jan Tinbergen, Selected Papers. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing. TINBERGEN, JAN 1964 Central Planning. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. VERDOORN, PETRUS J. 1960 The Intra-block Trade of Benelux. Pages 291-329 in International Economic Association, Economic Consequences of the Size of

Nations. Edited by E. A. G. Robinson. New York: St. Martins. WOLFF, PIETER DE 1960 Wirtschaftsprognose als Grundlage der Volkswirtschaftspolitik unter besonderer Beriicksichtigung der niederlandischen Verhaltnisse. Pages 109-124 in Dortmund, Sozialakademie, Internationale Tagung, 1959, Wirtschaftsprognose und Wirtschaftsgestaltung. Edited by Hans Bayer. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. ZWEIG, FERDYNAND 1942 The Planning of Free Societies. London: Seeker & Warburg. II EASTERN EUROPE

The nations of eastern Europe, defined to encompass Poland, Czechoslovakia, East Germany, Hungary, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Rumania, and Albania, are ruled by Marxist-Leninist parties exercising dictatorial powers in the name of the proletariat. While the leaders of these parties may differ among themselves in points of doctrine or in their foreign policy, they are all committed to public ownership of the basic means of production and to the pursuit of certain economic goals, including chiefly the promotion of heavy industry by means of state direction and control. The economies of eastern Europe, with the partial exception of Yugoslavia, are centrally managed by a complex apparatus of government and party officials similar in most respects to that prevailing in the USSR. Yugoslavia differs from the other communist states in that its economic organization is substantially more decentralized; in the Yugoslav system, which will be described in the last part of this article, market prices play a significant role in determining the allocation of resources under the over-all guidance and supervision of state policy. Early stages. Nationalization of large-scale industry, banking, and foreign trade in Czechoslovakia, Poland, and Yugoslavia proceeded rapidly after liberation from Nazi occupation and was virtually completed by 1946. In the countries allied with the losing side in the war—East Germany, Hungary, Rumania, and Bulgaria—which were burdened with heavy reparations payments, mainly in favor of the Soviet Union, comprehensive nationalization measures were delayed until 1947 and 1948. In the area as a whole the "socialization" of local industry and retail establishments and handicrafts, which were either placed under state management or reorganized as cooperatives, occurred chiefly between 1949 and 1951, after which date a minority of these enterprises were allowed to remain in private hands. Since then the number of private enterprises has varied from time to time as state policy became more or less liberal in the issuance of licenses and in the allocation of raw

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Eastern Europe materials to the private sector. Agriculture, for a time, represented a notable exception to the policy of rapid socialization. Over three-quarters of existing farms remained in private hands until the late 1950s in all countries but Bulgaria, where a majority of farms were already collectivized in 1951. By 1962, however, collectivization was "virtually completed in every east European country, with the exception of Poland. By 1949-1950 the principal features of the Soviet economic model had been adopted in the management of the socialized sector of the east European states. The resulting economic systems were virtually identical up to 1956. Each Politburo, ostensibly under the guidance of the Central Committee of the Party, formulated the general economic policies of the country. The Secretariat of the Central Committee supervised the execution of these policies by government organs. Responsibility for drafting long-term plans (from four to six years in the several countries) and for elaborating current (one-year) plans was vested in a Planning Commission formally attached to the Council of Ministers. In the late 1940s the economic ministries, which supervised the management of the state-owned industries, were organized according to broad sectors (e.g., industry, light industry, agriculture). In the course of time, these ministries underwent progressive fragmentation. By 1955, for instance, Czechoslovakia's machine-building and equipment industry was managed by three separate ministries. Enterprises were directly subordinated to industrial departments of the ministries, called chief administrations or central boards (e.g., in Poland, the Central Board for Agricultural Fertilizers under the Ministry of the Chemical Industry). In conformance with Soviet practice, enterprises were normally placed on khozraschet: they became autonomous accounting and financial entities which, subject to the directives they received from their superior authorities, were expected to minimize costs, show profits, and pay taxes to the central budget; each had its own account at the national bank, which financed its short-term credit requirements. Up to 1953-1954, the trend was toward ever more comprehensive planning under centralized direction. The bulk of materials consumed by industry were rationed out by the Planning Commission to economic ministries on the basis of balanced estimates. In theory, all state-run enterprises were supposed to take an active part in the process of elaborating the plans: on the basis of the control figures handed down by their ministries, they drew up counterproposals, which usually

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proposed more ambitious output targets than those they had received and which also called for more materials and other resources than the control figures provided for. When the Planning Commission summed up the "counterplans," they frequently turned out to be internally inconsistent. The changes in targets and materials allocations the Planning Commission eventually had to make to harmonize the plans rendered most of the preliminary paper work nugatory. The above system, known as "planning from below" or "counterplanning," was replaced in Czechoslovakia in 1953 and in Poland in 1954 by a new scheme known as "planning from above," where enterprises were formally cut out from the planning process. Henceforth, the option to consult subordinate enterprises was left to the discretion of the ministries. They could do so, if they wished, to obtain information on the consumption of materials or on productive capacities at the plant level; but they could also rely on statistical data obtained through other channels. This more centralized procedure for elaborating the plans was accompanied by a gradual reduction in the workload of the Planning Commission, as an increasing number of balancing and allocation decisions were delegated to the ministries and to lower administrative organs. The new scheme was designed to enable the central authorities to cut the time spent on the mechanics of plan setting and to concentrate their efforts on improving the substance of the plans. To this reform, which took place about the time of Stalin's death, there corresponded certain changes in economic policy which also affected the role of the plans as instruments for governing the pace and pattern of economic growth. Prior to 1953, industrialization proceeded at an extremely rapid pace in every nation of the area, irrespective of its initial level of development. The long-term plans promulgated during the Korean War overtaxed the capacities of the individual economies, which could not simultaneously build up their heavy industries, including armaments manufactures, expand their output of consumer goods, and promote their agriculture. The yearly plans, which were bent toward the achievement of the long-term plans, also overcommitted resources. Hence, priorities had to be established to determine which sectors would suffer the shortfalls. Each year, resources in short supply were deflected from light industry, residential construction, and agriculture and toward metallurgy, machine building, and other branches of heavy industry. Since the yearly plans were often poorly balanced, crucial allocation

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decisions had to be taken in the course of the planyear on an ad hoc priority basis. The rationing of consumer goods, which prevailed in the entire area in the early 1950s, was symptomatic of this abnormal state of affairs. Increased emphasis on consumer goods. In the summer and fall of 1953, however, a New Course was launched by the ruling parties of eastern Europe, in line with developments in the Soviet Union, which significantly raised the priority standing of consumers' goods and services. Consumers' rationing was generally abolished either just before the death of Stalin (as in Poland) or shortly thereafter (as in Czechoslovakia and Rumania). From then on, shortfalls in the output of consumer goods manifested themselves in declining inventories in retail stores, in queues, and in overt or covert price increases; in countries such as Czechoslovakia, which are dependent on food imports to supply their population, agricultural failures gave rise to balance-of-payments crises. Now that the claims on resources of heavy and light industry and of agriculture were more nearly equal, an allocation system based on ad hoc priority decisions was too blunt an instrument to carry out state policy. The current plans had to have sufficient "authority" to guide the economy throughout the year. The need for a priori consistency of the plans compelled the planners to budget their resources more realistically. The trend toward more careful balancing was reinforced after the Poznan riots of June 1956 and the Hungarian revolution in October and November of the same year. Since that time the ruling parties in the region, but especially in the more developed nations, have recognized as a political constraint on the formulation of national economic plans that the total level of consumption and the average level of urban real wages must not be adversely affected by investment efforts or by circumstances of any sort. (It is remarkable, for instance, that private consumption increased slightly in Czechoslovakia in 1963, even though national income declined by 3-4 per cent during that year.) Another factor making for a more systematic attempt to achieve consistency in the current plans after 1953 was the increasing relative scarcity of labor available to industry, not only in Czechoslovakia and East Germany, where the pool of surplus labor from agriculture had been exhausted some time previously, but even in Rumania, where the intake of labor from the countryside was greatly reduced, compared with the first industrialization campaign after 1949. (The area-wide shortage of housing and other urban fa-

cilities contributed to the decision to slow down rural-urban migration.) The increasing scarcity of manpower reduced the planners' ability to correct mistakes in the allocation of materials or investment funds by lavishing surplus labor on the sectors that had not received their share of critical resources. In the years since 1956, the economic reforms carried out in certain of the east European states have broken the previous pattern of institutional uniformity and have given rise to discrepancies from the Soviet model as well as to divergencies among the individual states of the region. Before describing the reforms that eventually caused the systems to diverge, it may be in order to consider the problems the central planners of these economies continued to face in common. Principal planning problems. The principal problem the central planners have to solve consists in preparing an internally coherent set of balanced estimates for materials and equipment. The "material balances" actually worked on by the Planning Commission in each country are those for "funded" materials and equipment, that is, for the crucial items which it rations out with the approval of the Council of Ministers. In Czechoslovakia these items made up less than half of the total consumption of materials in the mid-1950s. In both Czechoslovakia and East Germany, this proportion was higher in heavy than in light industry and in the production of raw materials and semifabricates than in processing sectors. What is also significant is the share of each material's "consumption for productive purposes," calculated according to standard norms based on approved engineering practice. In Poland, according to a special survey conducted in 1959, this share was over 90 per cent for steel semifabricates and for cement, 84 per cent for sulfuric acid, 67 per cent for bituminous coal, between 60 and 65 per cent for tanned leather, salt, soda ash, and pine lumber, and as little as 5 per cent for refined petroleum products. The principal gaps in the availability of information at the planning center are, first, the coefficients relating the inputs of nonfunded materials to the outputs of funded or nonfunded goods and, second, the coefficients corresponding to the consumption of funded products not subject to standard norms. The reliability of the coefficients themselves has often been limited. Allotments of materials were made to economic ministries, which then subdivided them among their central boards. These latter ultimately parceled out their quotas among their subordinate enterprises. At each administra-

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Eastern Europe tive level—whether functional or regional—lower organs bargained for more generous rations of materials from their immediate superiors. If the central authorities persisted in drafting overambitious plans, then there was pressure from above, at each echelon, to cut back requirements below what enterprises considered a safe minimum. While the range within which this bargaining can affect final allotments has become more narrow with the passage of time, the bargaining process has not been eliminated. Decreasing or increasing returns to scale have also been a source of instability in the technical coefficients. If an industry has surplus capacity that may be utilized during periods of peak demand for its products at a high unit cost—due to the operation of worn or obsolete equipment—its average input coefficient will tend to rise with the level of its output. When the product was homogeneous—electric power, for instance—the coordinating organ on occasion made rough adjustments in the coal- or oil-input coefficients for varying levels of power output; but where the product-mix was complex, this task defied bureaucratic solution. Another factor bearing on the stability of coefficients, about which next to nothing is known at the planning center, is the possibility of reducing the consumption of material inputs by the substitution of other factors. Enterprises were frequently forced to adapt to materials shortages by expending more labor on their products. At best, the central authorities could make a rough adjustment in the allotments of materials to enterprises in anticipation of these economies; but neither input—output nor any of the planning techniques.in use at present are capable of predicting with any degree of precision the enterprise's ability to make these adjustments without running into acute shortages of material inventories, such as may eventually cause production breakdowns. In the absence of electronic computers, which were not available in planning practice in any country of eastern Europe during the period under consideration, the preparation of an internally consistent central plan is a laborious and time-consuming task. Given the limited information on input coefficients and productive capacities available to the Planning Commission, failure to make optimal use of this information in order to relate the total outputs targeted in the various sectors to the quantities of each product available for final demand adds a significant source of potential error. The principal theoretical problem in this regard is the occurrence of "feedbacks" on output levels due to interdependences in the technology matrix. If the

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planners proceed from a known final demand to calculate a mutually consistent set of output levels, they will find that as soon as they have added enough output to an initial level to satisfy materials requirements derived directly from final demand, they will need to make a secondary adjustment to meet the added demand for materials caused by this last increase in output. Theoretically, it may take five or six rounds of adjustment before a satisfactory degree of consistency has been achieved (satisfactory at least in terms of the range of error to which the coefficients are subject). In practice, however, feedbacks were reduced by two factors. It was known in advance that a certain number of sectors—in eastern Europe these were generally the sectors producing raw materials and semifabricates—would be operated at capacity; their output being known in advance, no feedback effects had to be allowed for in these sectors. The only feedbacks were those associated with sectors that were free of capacity restraints in the normal range of their operation, and these feedbacks were likely to be small. Furthermore, the balancing usually started with trial levels of gross output for all sectors. If these output levels were not too far removed from the final, mutually consistent targets, large feedbacks were avoided. Since there was flexibility on the final demand side, insofar as the planning authorities were more or less indifferent between various closely related bills of goods, fewer output adjustments were necessary; this also helped to cut down on the computing workload. While it was possible to prepare a single balanced version of the plan, there was usually no time to draw up alternative versions or to trace the effects of a change in demand for one or more endproducts on the outputs that were not tightly restricted by capacity limits. Another computing task which, while presenting no theoretical difficulty, was still extremely demanding on the limited bureacratic facilities of the central planning organizations is the reconciliation of the material and equipment balances with the "synthetic" plans. These include the costs and profits plans of industry and trade, investment plans, the state budget, and all other macroeconomic plans that may be affected by the material balances (via reductions in material costs, larger sales due to increased outputs, etc.). Repeated references in the economic literature of the area to national economic plans whose component parts were not harmonized testify to the difficulty of elaborating "complex" plans. To construct efficient as well as consistent plans,

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the Planning Commission would have to collect information on alternative production processes open to enterprises and to choose from among these processes the ones most likely to economize on factors in short supply. In practice, the central planners had no systematic procedure either for collecting or for processing this information. (There was no analogue in current practice to linear or nonlinear programming.) This deficiency was especially serious insofar as it affected investment and foreign-trade decisions, which normally involve choice either among domestic processes for producing a given good or between domestic production and imports. (Since exports alone in countries such as Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Hungary represent between 30 and 45 per cent of national income, the correct allocation of resources between industries supplying the national market and industries oriented mainly toward exports is crucial.) Since the mid-1950s, economic calculation, based on comparisons of capital outlays with economies in operating expenses and on comparisons of the domestic costs of exportables with their foreign-currency prices, has become an important alternative to the traditional method of balanced estimates in arriving at suboptimal decisions. These calculations, however, are undermined by defects in domestic prices, to the extent that the latter are used to compute costs and returns. As late as 1965, the price systems of the east European socialist states, with the single exception of Yugoslavia, were still grounded on the principle that the price of each producer good should be set at its average cost of production among the enterprises responsible for the bulk of its output, plus a small profit margin calculated as a percentage of costs. Since price reforms were promulgated only once every three to five years, and relative costs tended to change rapidly, the structure of current costs soon diverged from established price ratios. Even current cost levels did not express opportunity costs, if only because neither interest charges on capital nor rents on the use of land were accounted for. It should also be noted that prices of imported goods, owing in part to the artificiality of exchange rates applied to foreign prices, were improperly related to the domestic prices of home-produced substitutes. 1956-1965: divergencies among states. During 1956 the excessive centralization of the command economies came in for sharp public criticism, particularly in Poland and Hungary. The immediate reforms that were promulgated at the time, however, went no further than the extension of certain

rights and prerogatives to the directors of enterprises, in line with recent Soviet initiatives in this direction. Prior to mid-1957, when the Soviet government abolished most ministries in charge of industrial sectors and subordinated most industrial enterprises to regional economic councils, the organization of the east European economies was still closely patterned after the Soviet. It may fairly be said that the first important divergence stemmed from the failure of the east European states to follow the Soviet example and shift from a functional to a regional hierarchy of economic organs. Bulgaria and East Germany. Only two countries—Bulgaria and East Germany—eventually adopted, in whole or in part, the new Soviet design. Both of these countries abolished their industrial ministries. In East Germany, the supervision of industrial sectors was entrusted to specialized departments of the state Planning Commission, whose role as chief planning organ was reinforced, from 1958 on, by new executive responsibilities. Enterprises of national significance were grouped in associations (Vereinigungen Volkseigener Betriebe) directly subordinated to the Planning Commission. Economic councils were also formed in regions (Bezirke) and districts (Kreise), but, in contrast with the situation of the councils in the Soviet Union, they had direct authority only over enterprises of local importance. In view of this crucial limitation on the power of the councils, the reforms of 1958 and 1959 did not alter the essentially functional character of East Germany's industrial organization. In Bulgaria, however, out of 800 large enterprises formerly attached to ministries, 700 were given over to district national councils. The remaining 100 enterprises were placed under the central control of the Committee for Industry and Technical Progress, the Committee for Construction and Architecture, the Ministry of Transportation and Communication, the Ministry for Education and Culture, and the Central Union of Cooperatives. In conjunction with the reorganization of the economy, 30 districts, corresponding to natural economic regions, were carved out of the 12 existing districts. But even in Bulgaria the regionalization was not complete, inasmuch as the branch committees, in particular the Committee for Industry and Technical Progress, retained exclusive responsibility for issuing methodological instructions to enterprises and continued to exercise certain "directional" functions, described in official language as "the fulfillment of the plan of industrial enterprises for the development of new products, for inter-enterprise cooperation and specialization,

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Eastern Europe for the introduction of technical progress, for the timely manufacture of essential machines and equipment earmarked for construction projects of national importance, and for the distribution of machines and equipment among districts in cases where the districts concerned have not reached agreement with each other." In Albania, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, and Rumania, the old system of industrial management by specialized ministries has been maintained to the time of writing in 1967. Within this system, however, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and, to a minor extent, Hungary have introduced reforms tending toward the devolution of administrative powers onto lower organs and toward the increased autonomy of socialized enterprises. In 1964 and 1965, Bulgaria and East Germany also took further initiatives in this direction. The only countries that have adhered strictly to the old, tightly centralized system for planning and managing industry are Rumania and, as far as is known, Albania. Czechoslovakia. The most comprehensive of the reforms tending toward decentralization were undertaken in Czechoslovakia for the first time in 1958 and 1959 and again in 1966 and 1967. In 1958, enterprises were consolidated into "productive economic units"—operating as enterprises in their own right or as associations of enterprises —which were directly responsible for the entire production of a sector; in certain cases where production facilities were spread over a large number of plants, the productive economic units were entrusted with the guidance and supervision ("gestion") of the entire output of the sector, including by-products originating in other units. The balancing and distribution of less essential products formerly carried out in the Planning Commission and in the ministries devolved on the productive economic units, which were expected to keep in close touch with their customers and to coordinate their production decisions with each other, without supervision of higher authorities. The old ministries remained in operation, but their activities were oriented less toward routine direction of their subordinate enterprises than toward ensuring the technical progress and the rationalization of production in their sector. Two new types of incentives were created: (1) to recompense the managerial staff and workers, the average wage of the enterprise was linked to labor-productivity increases, and a bonus fund was set up on the basis °f the fulfillment of the enterprise's profit plan; (2) to widen the financial autonomy of the enterprise, it was authorized to keep a significant share of the year-to-year increases in its registered profits,

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which share could be raised by higher authorities if the enterprise agreed to take on more challenging tasks. As a result of the new system of "enterprise stimulation" and of certain changes in financial regulations, the share of decentralized investments, in large part financed from enterprise profits and depreciation allowances, rose to 60 per cent of total investments in 1960 and 1961. While the 1958-1959 reforms enlarged the autonomy of Czechoslovak enterprises in a number of areas, price setting for all important producer and consumer goods remained the exclusive prerogative of the central authorities. No alteration was made in the practice of pegging producers' prices to an initial level of average unit costs and keeping them in force for several years, regardless of changes in supply and demand relations. In 1963, when the reforms were for the most part abandoned and recentralization took place, the failure to adapt the price system to the decentralization was widely criticized. The collapse of the reforms and the eventual abandonment of the five-year plan originally scheduled for 1961 to 1965 were attributed by the partisans of decentralization to the distorting effects of prices on the decisions of enterprises, to the plan's excessive tautness, which made demands on the construction sector and export industries widely in excess of their capabilities, and to a crisis in the balance of payments, due in large part to shortfalls in agriculture. The proponents of tight central controls, including the highest Party authorities, laid the failure to an excessive devolution of powers on lower organs and to a slackening of discipline. In late 1964 and early 1965, after a year and a half of debate, the views of the decentralizers apparently prevailed. The Central Committee of the Communist party called for another round of decentralizing reforms. This was effected in 1966-1967. The newest Czechoslovak reforms, in a significant departure from all previous attempts at remodeling the economic system, now provide for some flexibility in producers' prices. Prices set by free negotiation between suppliers and purchasers will apply to goods representing an estimated 7 per cent of total industrial output. The bulk of these freely priced items are produced in consumer goods industries. In addition, lower and upper limits within which prices are allowed to fluctuate have been imposed on a wide range of goods. Recent experience has shown that prices quickly gravitate to the upper limit, so that the significance of this innovation is rather restricted. These limits and the prices of all other goods will still be set by central organs. In general, the quasi-monopolistic

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position of enterprises, most of which have once again been consolidated and now compass the bulk of the output in their speciality, and the narrow leeway open to buyers to substitute imports for domestic supplies rule out any substantial degree of competition in the newly created "markets." The 1966-1967 economic reforms also call for the imposition of charges on the fixed capital and the inventories of enterprises, at rates of 6 and 2 per cent respectively, to be paid into the state budget. (As early as 1964, Hungary had introduced a similar "capital users' charge," calculated at a rate of 5 per cent of the gross value of fixed assets and of working capital.) The chief incentive to enterprises now consists in the part of "gross income" (equivalent to value added) left to them after deduction of capital charges and of various other obligations to the state. This residue is earmarked for decentralized investments, contingency reserves, housing projects and other social amenities, and wages, salaries, and bonus payments to the staff of the enterprise. In the spirit of the new system, plans are to be implemented via financial pressures and inducements rather than by direct commands. Output targets and limits on the consumption of materials and other inputs, however, may still be issued to enterprises by central planning authorities. Although it is not yet apparent how widely the central organs will avail themselves of their prerogatives, there was considerable apprehension among the proponents of the reforms that this permissive regulation might be used to reimpose the petty tutelage over enterprises that prevailed in former years. Poland. In Poland, wide-ranging discussions took place between 1956 and mid-1958 which became known as the "debate over the Polish economic model." The Economic Council, whose membership included Poland's most influential economists, issued a number of "theses" on the economic model and on price-setting policy which proposed the establishment of a partially decentralized economic system, guided by prices shaped under the influence of supply and demand. However, these theses were not approved by the Party and never received legislative sanction. The decentralizing measures actually promulgated in 1959 did not go as far as the Czechoslovak reforms. Moreover, these measures were eroded by centripetal forces between 1960 and 1963. The associations of enterprises, created in 1959 to replace the old central boards formerly operated as functional departments of the ministries, gradually ceased to represent the interests of their members, as their

mission had initially been conceived. In July 1964, however, new legislation designed to widen the powers of the associations was put into effect, which may tend to reduce the excessive degree of centralization attained in recent years. In Poland, as in Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Hungary, a number of enterprises have been assigned a special status. Their managers are for the most part rewarded according to a bonus system based on profits; some of them have also been given a privileged position in choosing their suppliers and in procuring the materials they require to adapt the structure of their output to market demands. A few have been given permission to alter their sales prices. These experiments, if they are successful, may pave the way to comprehensive legislation covering the bulk of industry in the countries mentioned. Yugoslavia. The "Yugoslav model" has exerted considerable influence on the character of the economic reforms at present contemplated in the experimenting countries. It may be observed that the first steps taken toward decentralization in Yugoslavia in 1950 and 1951 were also aimed at relaxing the rigid system of distribution in light industry. Retail trade establishments, formerly bound by the plan to specific sources of supply, were allowed to choose their suppliers among wholesalers and manufacturers. These first reforms, in the case of Yugoslavia, were approximately coeval with the formation, in July 1950, of the workers' councils, which already entailed a more radical departure from Soviet precedent. (In Poland and Hungary, workers' councils were set up in many enterprises in the summer of 1956; they were liquidated in Hungary by the end of the same year and had lost all effective power in Poland by 1959.) The members of the Yugoslav councils, which represent a little over 10 per cent of the total number of employees in the socialized economy, are elected from among the workers and the management staff of each enterprise. The main prerogative of the workers' council is to determine the share of the profits remaining at the disposal of the enterprise to be distributed as bonuses and extra income to the staff and the share to be plowed back as investment. The council also has a voice in appointing and dismissing enterprise directors. In general, it is expected to supervise the over-all orientation of the enterprise, including the composition of its output, technologies employed, and price-setting decisions. Prior to 1952, the influence of Yugoslav workers on output and price policy was hampered by the centralized system, which bound up the enterprise

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Eastern Europe in minute regulations. At the beginning of that year, a sweeping program of decentralization was undertaken. Operational planning by central authorities was scrapped, along with its panoply of allocation orders and mandatory production targets. The Planning Commission, as well as the interindustrial councils, whicn had inherited many of the operational responsibilities of the economic ministries abolished in early 1950, were deprived of their executive powers. Henceforth, the coordination of production and investment decisions was to be achieved through a flexible price mechanism, while the federal government, using indirect financing controls and centralized investment policy, was to prod the economy toward the goals specified in the long-term plans. Prices were freed in three steps. First, the planners worked out new "economic prices" for raw materials and semifabricates. These prices were roughly on a level with the free prices of nonrationed consumer goods (which far exceeded the former prices of administratively rationed producer goods), while imported materials were priced according to a higher, more realistic exchange rate. Second, after January 1, 1952, all producers, wholesalers, and retailers of manufactured goods were invited to set prices for their products on the basis of market demand and costs, in line with the recently established level of materials prices. In the third phase, which was put off until May 1952 to avoid upsetting the freshly established markets, prices of raw materials and semifabricates were finally allowed to seek their natural level. By taxing enterprises in proportion to their wage bills, however, the federal government retained a decisive influence on cost levels and, indirectly, on prices. Later, as more flexible financial regulations were introduced, the central authorities partially relinquished even this indirect method of price control. In May 1954, the Yugoslav government found it necessary to impose price ceilings on a few raw materials and semifabricates to curb monopolistic tendencies and an incipient inflation. By 1955 the list numbered 40 materials, including steel, gasoline, copper, and lumber, altogether amounting to some 50 per cent of the total value of materials bought by industry. In addition to these outright controls, less stringent regulations were later issued to prevent unjustified price increases in other sectors. The extent to which the government has resorted to these more flexible price regulations has varied with the degree of inflationary pressure to which the economy has been exposed: they were loosened in 1961 and tightened again in 1963 and 1964 to check inflationary tendencies.

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Foreign exchange, except for short-lived experiments in the mid-1950s, has remained subject to centralized allocation. Up to 1961, the foreign exchange proceeds of exports were converted into domestic currency at the official exchange rates, which were then multiplied by coefficients varying according to the type of product exported. The coefficients were calculated to cover the domestic costs of exporters, whether the items exported were high-cost or low-cost. Coefficients were also applied to the payments in domestic currency for imports. They were scaled so as to discourage what were considered to be unnecessary imports and to protect high-cost domestic producers from foreign competition. In 1961 the dinar was devalued and the coefficients were nominally abolished. Nevertheless, exports were still facilitated by subsidies in the form of bonuses amounting to 10 to 32 per cent of the official rate. Quantitative restrictions remained in force for 70 per cent of the total value of imports. Together with the allocation of foreign exchange, the distribution of investments provides the government with significant leverage to conduct its economic policy. The federal government makes available to the Investment Bank and to the Agricultural Bank, via the general fund, fiscal receipts from the socialized sector—including taxes on capital assets, on profits, and on the turnover of retail trade—together with the proceeds of foreign loans. The general fund of the federation, in addition to seven constituent republics' investment funds, which are also managed by the Investment Bank, make up 70 per cent of the resources used for investment lending. The Investment Bank lends these funds to socialized enterprises, in contrast with the situation prevailing in the rest of eastern Europe, where almost all long-term investments are financed by outright budgetary grants. Enterprises are induced to economize on funds not only by the necessity of repaying loans, along with interest charges, but also by having to invest some of their own funds in projects in which the Investment Bank participates. This method of matching funds provides the central authorities with additional control over the volume of investments. The Investment Bank distributes investment funds in accord with Yugoslavia's long-term development plan. While the economic viability of projects and their profitability in terms of dinars are taken into account, these are not overriding considerations. In the mid-1950s, however, some of the bank's funds were auctioned off to enterprises according to the rates of return claimed on investment projects and to the interest rates borrowers

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were willing to pay for borrowed funds; but this system could not be allowed to remain in effect under conditions where prevailing prices provided such an inadequate reflection, in terms of the planners' priority scale, of the relative importance to the national economy of the different sectors. In 1965, the Yugoslav economy, despite the introduction in recent years of various recentralizing measures taken in conjunction with the government's efforts to subdue inflation, remained far more decentralized than any other east European economy. Nevertheless, a number of Yugoslavs concerned with economic affairs, including highplaced officials in Croatia and Slovenia, have voiced their support for further decentralization along market lines and for the elimination of some of the formal and informal controls hemming in the management of socialized enterprises. Opposition to these views emanates from economists and officials concerned with the development of the less industrialized regions of the country, such as Macedonia, Montenegro, and Bosnia and Herzegovina, where socialized enterprises are not yet capable of withstanding competition from abroad or from the more advanced republics to the north and where, in the opinion of these "centralizers," funds ought to be invested on a priority basis even if market criteria cannot be met. As in the rest of eastern Europe, divergent views on the goals of development policy and on the speed at which they might be attained underlie the conflicts among the proponents of different institutional means for integrating the national economy. JOHN MICHAEL MONTIAS [See also COMMUNISM, ECONOMIC ORGANIZATION OF; ECONOMIC DATA, article on THE SOVIET UNION AND EASTERN EUROPE; ECONOMIC THOUGHT, article OU

SOCIALIST THOUGHT.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ACADEMIA REPUBLICII POPULARE ROMINE, INSTITUTUL DE CERCETARI ECONOMICS 1964 Dezvoltarea economicd a Rominiei: 1944-1964 (The Economic Development of Rumania: 1944-1964). Bucharest: The Academy. ALTON, THAD P. 1955 Polish Postwar Economy. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. ARNOLD, HANS; BORCHERT, HANS; and SCHMIDT, J. (1955) 1961 Okonomik der sozialistischen Industrie in der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik. 6th ed. Berlin: Die Wirtschaft Verlag. BALASSA, BELA A. 1959 The Hungarian Experience in Economic Planning: A Theoretical and Empirical Study. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. BRUS, WLODZIMIERZ 1961 Ogolne problemy funkcjonowania gospodarki socjalistycznej (General Problems in the Functioning of a Socialist Economy). Warsaw: Panstwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe.

DABCEVIC-KUCAR, SAVKA 1963 Decentralized Socialist Planning: Yugoslavia. Pages 183-216 in Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Center for International Studies, Planning Economic Development: A Study. Edited by Everett E. Hagan. Homewood, 111.: Irwin. FLEMING, J. MARCUS; and SERTIC, VICTOR R. 1962 The Yugoslav Economic System. International Monetary Fund, Staff Papers 9:202-242. HOFFMAN, GEORGE W.; and NEAL, FRED W. 1962 Yugoslavia and the New Communism. New York: Twentieth Century Fund. KASER, MICHAEL 1965 COMECON: Integration Problems of the Planned Economies. Oxford Univ. Press. KORNAI, JANOS (1957) 1959 Overcentralization in Economic Administration: A Critical Analysis Based on Experience in Hungarian Light Industry. Oxford Univ. Press. -» First published in Hungarian. MARCZEWSKI, JAN 1956 Planification et croissance economiques des democraties populaires. 2 vols. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. MICHAL, JAN M. 1960 Central Planning in Czechoslovakia: Organization for Growth in a Mature Economy. Stanford Univ. Press. MONTIAS, JOHN M. 1962 Central Planning in Poland. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. PORWIT, KRZYSTOF (1964)1967 Central Planning: Evaluation of Variants. New York and London: Pergamon Press. -» First published in Polish. PRAGUE, VYSOKA SKOLA EKONOMICKA, KATEDRA NARODOHOSPODARSKEHO PLANovANi 1963 Ndrodohospoddfske pldnovdni v CSSR (National Economic Planning in the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic). Prague: Nakladelstvi Politicke Literatury. PRYOR, FREDERIC L. 1963 The Communist Foreign Trade System. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. SIROTKOVIC, JAKOV 1961 Problemi privrednog planiranja u Jugoslaviji (Problems of Economic Planning in Yugoslavia). Zagreb (Yugoslavia): Naprjied. SPULBER, NICHOLAS (1955) 1957 The Economics of Communist Eastern Europe. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. UNITED NATIONS, ECONOMIC COMMISSION FOR EUROPE 1961 Economic Development in Rumania. Economic Bulletin for Europe 13, 2:55-107. WARD, BENJAMIN 1957 Workers' Management in Yugoslavia. Journal of Political Economy 65:373-386. WELLISZ, STANISLAW 1964 The Economies of the Soviet Bloc: A Study of Decision Making and Resource Allocation. New York: McGraw-Hill. ZAUBERMAN, ALFRED 1964 Industrial Progress in Poland, Czechoslovakia and East Germany, 1937-1962. Oxford Univ. Press. Ill

DEVELOPMENT

PLANNING

This article confines itself to development planning in economies with substantial private enterprise sectors. In this context, a development plan is a document which sets out the chief measures that the government intends to take in order to raise national output per person. The typical development plan will include most of the following: (1) a survey of current economic conditions, especially national income, productivity, foreign trade,

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Development Planning and trends in each major industry; (2) a survey of the current social situation, especially population changes, education, health, housing, and social security; (3) an evaluation of progress achieved under the preceding plan; (4) a statement of general objectives of economic and social policy; (5) estimates of growth, or targets, for each major economic or social component during the period covered by the plan; (6) suggested measures designed to raise the rate of economic growth, especially measures to stimulate saving and investment and to increase productivity, and measures to improve the institutional framework of economic activity, such as land reform or reorganization of the markets for commodities, labor, or capital; (7) a program of government expenditures, capital and recurrent. The plan normally looks several years ahead. Typical periods are three, four, five, and six years. Longer plans are sometimes made for 10, 15, or even 20 years ahead; these are sometimes called "perspective" plans. The shorter (three- to five-year) plans include statements of what the government intends to do. A 15- or 20-year plan cannot serve this purpose; its object is partly to try to identify long-term trends, as a guide to planning services which require a longer perspective, such as harbors, hydroelectricity, roads, and education. A fiveyear period is too short for perspectives in such matters but is also too long for specific commitments to some others. Hence, governments normally make a new capital budget every year, and this, rather than the plan, is the final commitment to expenditure. Similarly, statements relating to policy are not final until embodied in legislation. The first documents resembling development plans were published just after World War n. Most countries had established economic controls during the war, including rationing of some consumer goods, raw materials, or foreign exchange, and this experience gave to the idea of planning a degree of respectability which it had not achieved before the war. In Europe the emphasis of these plans was on reconstruction, with equal attention to the private and public sectors, but in the less developed countries the prime concern of the early Plans was to improve government policy making, a nd to establish priorities for government expenditure. There is nothing novel in surveys of current economic or social conditions; many governments nave issued such surveys from time to time and several now do this annually, whether or not there !s a development plan. There is also nothing novel J n announcing measures designed to raise the rate

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of economic growth. What development planning introduced was a comprehensive review of public expenditures looking several years ahead, with publication of a priority list. Before this concept was introduced, it was not usual for governments to review all their likely expenditures for more than a year ahead; reviews stretching five or ten years ahead were a novelty and were an improvement of government procedures. Despite much subsequent elaboration of planning techniques, medium-range projection of expenditures continues to be the main object of a development plan. With time, the emphasis of a development plan has tended to shift away from the review of government expenditures and toward other measures designed to raise the rate of economic growth. The general economic survey aspect and concern for the economy as a whole have increased. Some development plans are now devoted mainly to discussing such subjects as industry, agriculture, mining, investment, saving, and the balance of payments, and a few give only a sketch of proposed government expenditures. The nature of a plan for industry or agriculture or mining depends, in the first place, on whether the sector is under public ownership and operation, as in countries under communist control. Where public ownership and operation are in effect, a plan acts as an authorization to managers of industrial plants, telling them how much capital they may invest, and even perhaps how much of each commodity to produce and how much labor and material to use. Exactly what such a plan must contain is now under active discussion in communist countries. If industry depends on private investment, a development plan can exert negative control but not positive control; i.e., it can prohibit investment in certain fields, but it cannot force persons to invest in other fields if they do not wish to do so. Hence, in the private sector, "plan" is not quite the right word for what a development plan tries to do; it is as much concerned to analyze, inform, persuade, and indicate inducements which the government offers as it is to describe the restrictive controls with which the economy will be managed. How comprehensively the private sector is treated varies from plan to plan. If the government intends to take the initiative in inducing private investors to follow a particular course, or in shaping industrial institutions (e.g., marketing), or in providing finance through credit institutions, the plan may contain an extended discussion of each major industry, indicating what the govern-

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ment hopes will be the outcome. The closer the relations between government and commodity production, the more extensive must be the sections of the plan which deal with individual commodities. Beyond this, a development plan may make a projection, for the whole economy, of output, consumption, saving, investment, imports, and exports in every sector for, say, five years ahead. The primary purpose of such a projection is to provide a consistent background for policy. It ensures that assumptions about investment are consistent with assumptions about domestic savings, foreign borrowing, and the budget surplus; that each of these, in turn, is consistent with assumptions about income, taxes, government expenditure, and demand and supply in each major sector. The use of an input-output matrix is particularly helpful in economies where industries use each others' products as raw materials or equipment, since it is otherwise difficult to assess the full ramifications of an expected change in demand for any particular commodity (e.g., to trace the effects of an expected increase in the demand for bicycles on the steel, iron ore, rubber, coal, oil, chemical, and other industries which produce components or components of components). A projection is not a plan; it is a background exercise which planners do to clarify the interrelationships in their thinking. It is worth doing in complex economies, where interrelationships are not easily held in the head, but is less useful and hardly necessary in small countries with simple economies. A forecast for the whole economy is also the basis of what is now called "indicative planning." The argument here is that it helps investors in any one industry to know what is proposed in all other industries, since these others generate demand for its product. If all investors believe that the economy will grow only at an average annual rate of 3 per cent, they will keep their own investment levels low, and so bring about a low rate of growth. If, on the contrary, they all expect an annual growth rate of 10 per cent, they will all make large investments to cope with this rapidly growing demand, and so the growth rate will be high. Consequently, if, after consultation with all concerned, the government issues a projection based on the highest rate of growth that can be achieved with the resources likely to be available, this "indication" of what is possible in each industry may itself serve to induce a higher level of private investment than would otherwise occur. France is the leading practitioner of indicative planning, which is gaining ground mainly in

western Europe because the sophisticated relationship between government and private enterprise which the exercise requires is more common and the statistics more readily available in the advanced than in the poorer countries. Policy objectives. The elements which go into deciding what to put into a development plan cannot be described in a few words. The following section sketches briefly a few of the principal concerns of development planners. At low levels of development, ignorance is the principal obstacle to development: ignorance of physical resources, ignorance of markets, and ignorance of techniques. The first object of the plan must be to reduce ignorance. Development planners begin with surveys. The land should be mapped and surveyed for minerals, water, and fertile soils. Adequate staff must be provided for the departments of geology, hydrology, meteorology, survey, and soil survey. Equally important is research into the utilization of these natural resources, especially agricultural research, and research into industrial uses of local products. Next comes economic, statistical, and market research. The planner's first task is to see that all these fields of survey and research are covered, since it is these that will yield potential development projects. Development flows from applying skills to natural resources. A policy for improving skills is therefore fundamental to planning. This covers all levels of training and education, including general (primary, secondary, university) as well as vocational (trade schools, farm institutes, specialized institutions) education, institutional as well as onthe-job training, and adult education (especially agricultural extension) as well as schooling for the young. Since a poor country cannot afford all the education which is offered in rich countries, choices have to be made. It is possible by projecting national income to estimate roughly how many jobs there will be for persons with various kinds of special skills, and provision can be made for training them. Projecting the effects of general education is more difficult and not, perhaps, so helpful, since in most poor countries today the demand for places in school exceeds any figure that could be reached by trying to estimate the productivity of general education expenditures. Infrastructure plays an important role in attracting (or its absence in repelling) new investment. Electric power, water, and communications (railways, roads, ports, telephones) often absorb nearly as much capital as industry and agriculture added together. Because of the need to build in advance

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Development Planning of demand, such investments are especially risky in less developed countries. Thus, the governments of such countries play a larger role in providing infrastructure, or in guaranteeing investment in such undertakings, than is necessary in more developed countries. The planner's objective is to discover the most productive projects, public or private, and to ensure them priority. Productivity cannot be calculated simply in terms of current prices, since current prices do not necessarily reflect the true relative scarcity of resources or the true net benefit to the economy as a whole, and also may not sufficiently reflect future gains. A large part of the literature of development economics discusses the desirable criteria for investment; the substitution of "accounting prices" or "shadow prices" for current prices when calculating costs and benefits to the economy as a whole; and the assessment of benefits and costs deriving from the interdependence of investments. Such calculations show that the set of projects which private investors would choose if seeking to maximize their profits is not necessarily the set which maximizes national income. Hence, if the government seeks to maximize national income, it must offer inducements to invest in some projects and impose restrictions on investment in others. Administering such inducements and restrictions is an important art, in which the poorer countries tend to be relatively unskilled. Investment criteria include capital-intensity, that is, the ratio between the capital invested in a project and the number of persons whom it employs. In countries plagued with unemployment, open or disguised, labor-intensive techniques are preferable to capital-intensive techniques if the difference in cost per unit of output is not very great; for lower productivity per man may yield a larger total output if more men are employed. Another consideration is the distribution of investment among the geographical regions of the country. It is desirable to concentrate investment where the growth potential is greatest, but this may have to be modified in favor of reducing regional disparities in per capita income or of providing work where unemployment is relatively high. Given an adequate infrastructure and adequate knowledge of feasible investments, the planners must persuade or induce entrepreneurs to invest. Persuasion and inducement are seldom needed for investments within the scope of small-scale enterprises; in most underdeveloped countries there is no shortage of small businessmen to invest in commerce or small industrial enterprises, such as grain mills, printeries, trucking, bottling plants,

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cinemas, and the like. What is lacking is experience in building and operating large factories or mines. Most governments are anxious to attract outside entrepreneurship for such undertakings and at the same time to arrange training programs in which their own people may acquire managerial skills. Most countries start developing by exporting agricultural products or minerals. The income thus generated creates demands which are met in the first instance by imports, but which also present an opportunity for domestic production of substitutes for imports. The possibilities of import substitution are limited, however, partly by natural resources and partly by the economies of specialization. When these limits are reached, further development will bring an increase in imports which has to be matched by an increase in exports. Development planners therefore need to watch the effect of development on imports and to keep the import propensity in balance with the export propensity, either by increased efficiency in import substitution or by increased efficiency in exporting. Failure here brings a balance of payments crisis and structural inflation. Failure of agricultural output to expand at an adequate rate is normally one of the main causes of slow economic growth or of structural inflation. Small farmers are quick to take up profitable crops and have produced large supplies of such commercial crops as cocoa, coffee, bananas, rubber, and cotton. Now that population is increasing more rapidly in the less developed than in the more developed countries, the challenge to farmers is, rather, to meet domestic needs by increasing the productivity of existing crops (especially domestic foods), and this seems harder to achieve. Measures to raise agricultural productivity (especially new breeds and varieties, use of fertilizers, disease and insect controls, irrigation, and new methods of processing and storing) are the core of any good development plan, since increases in agricultural output are needed to raise living standards, to provide an expanded market for industrial output, and to serve as a basis for higher savings, taxes, and earnings of foreign exchange. Before World War n, governments of poor countries spent mainly on day-to-day administration of law and order. Planning can easily double the recurrent budget and add as much again in public expenditure on capital account, if the money can be raised. Public expenditure increases partly because an infrastructure of services is required to support an increased output of agriculture or manufactures, but it increases just as much because the public demands some services for their own sake,

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irrespective of their effect on productivity (e.g., curative medicine, general education, social security benefits). How much to spend on public services is a political rather than an economic decision, in the sense that from the economic standpoint the public should have as much service as it is willing to pay for. When development planning began, most poor countries were spending less than 20 per cent of gross national income on gross capital formation and public expenditure together, whereas the rate of growth and standards of public service they now demand would require at least 30 per cent. Foreign investment and foreign aid contribute, but at the beginning of the 1960s the net inflow from these sources averaged only about 4 per cent of the poorer countries' incomes; the main part of the cost must be met from domestic sources. Domestic private saving is low and has to be supplemented by public saving out of taxes and other revenues. Rapidly increasing demands for public expenditure and for public savings have forced equally rapid increases in taxation; in this sense, creating a good tax structure with adequate rates is fundamental to success on both the economic and the political levels. What development planning tries to ensure is that the moneys so raised will be spent intelligently, but this depends even more on political institutions and good sense than it does upon economic techniques. Development plans are full of figures, but policy matters more than figures. The public sector, to which most of the figures relate, is seldom as large as 20 per cent of a poor economy, and development cannot be ensured even by the most intelligent planning of the public sector. In the last analysis, economic growth depends on the willingness of thousands or millions of private citizens to make some change: to change their jobs, acquire new skills, try out new techniques, or invest in new resources. The secret of successful development is to provide a framework which induces people to make the best use of the opportunities which exist in their economy. Effectiveness. Development plans vary widely in the extent to which they are taken seriously. A few are followed faithfully by the governments which have issued them, a few cease to be consulted within six months of publication, and the rest range between these extremes. The hazards of the plan derive from three sources: (1) lack of realism and commitment; (2) differences between those who make the plan and those who make economic decisions; (3) difficulties in forecasting. The original purpose of planning was to select

priorities in government expenditure. However, a five-year plan is not an expenditure authorization; normally authorization occurs only in the annual budget. Hence, what a government actually authorizes in due course is not necessarily tied to what it has put into the plan; and it cannot be assumed that the plan is a true statement of what it intends to do, even at the moment when the plan is issued. If this is true of the public-sector part of the plan, it applies even more to the private sector. Nobody is committed by what the plan says about the private sector. Hence, those who prepare the plan are not constrained by having to put into effect what they are saying. Why does a government issue a plan to which it does not intend to adhere? Such a plan usually predicts a larger achievement than is possible with the available resources. This may be done for one of two reasons, either as a political smoke screen or as a means of attracting larger resources. A development plan has something of the same status as a party's political program. It is not a final commitment (only the annual budget authorizes ), so the government can make promises which it would like to carry out if it had the resources, without stopping to count the actual resources too closely at the moment of publication. Obviously a document published in this frame of mind does not deserve to be called a plan, since the essence of planning is matching needs against resources and determining priorities. The second reason for publishing a plan in excess of available resources is to attract more resources. A large gap between needs and resources may attract either internal or external resources. One problem of poor countries is that people have not learned to pay large sums in taxes. Their governments have in the past taxed only for administration, war, and personal enrichment, so it is axiomatic that paying taxes is a useless burden. The modern welfare state, supplying schools, hospitals, agricultural education, farm-to-market roads, village water supplies, and so on, is a new phenomenon; the public is accustoming itself to demanding these services from the government faster than it is accustoming itself to paying taxes. The strategy of making a plan in excess of resources demonstrates to the public that it can have more of what it wants if it is prepared to pay more taxes. The government of the typical underdeveloped country has substantially increased the share of taxes in the national income over the past 15 years, and this has certainly been aided by the practice of setting high targets for the public sector in development plans.

PLANNING, ECONOMIC: Development Planning The same strategy may work with administrators of foreign aid. These administrators look for gaps in a development plan which they think they can fill. A plan which showed resources equal to desired expenditures would leave no room for foreign aid. This problem can, however, be solved without violating the chief purpose of planning, which is to determine priorities. A good development plan assigns degrees of priority to the projects which it includes. Hence, there is always a list to use for drawing out more taxes or more foreign aid. Implementation. The plan may be well designed in every sense but yet may fail because it is made by people who cannot put it into effect. This is obvious in regard to the private sector; what the planners write may bear no relationship to what investors mean to do. But it applies also to the public sector. A government is not monolithic; power to make decisions is diffused among many ministries and departments. Many a "good" plan fails because it is ignored by the very ministries which are supposed to implement it. Hence, the machinery for implementing the plan is of crucial importance. If the plan is to have a good chance of being implemented, the agency which makes the plan must meet three tests: (1) it must have the support of the head of the government; (2) it must allow all the leading decision makers in the economy to participate in drawing up the plan; and (3) it must control crucial decisions at the stage of implementation. Governments usually establish a special agency for making a development plan. Its size varies according to the size of the country, the complexity of the plan, how the preparatory work is shared with other government agencies and departments, and the extent of the planning agency's responsibility for implementation. Normally ministries and departments prepare their own proposals and have preliminary survey and estimation done by their own engineering and other experts; but if the departments are weak in these techniques, a good deal of preparatory technical work will fall on the agency, which must then have its own architects, engineers, accountants, and other experts. The agency should also be able to rely on the statistical authorities, the government's economic advisory services, and the development corporations for a great deal of the statistical and economic material it needs but may have to supplement this to a greater or lesser extent with its own investigations. There is no formula for dividing the preparatory w ork between the planning agency and other government agencies, other than that the planning

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agency will find itself having to do such necessary work as the others fail to do. Similarly, implementation depends to some extent on the competence of the other agencies. There are cases where the planning agency has become the sole authority for executing all public works, cases where it merely records how implementation is proceeding, and extreme cases where it has nothing whatsoever to do with implementation. Since the plan accords priorities to ministerial proposals, rejecting many outright, the planners must have authority vis-a-vis the ministries. Typically the planning agency is responsible to the prime minister or president, and its chief executive officer is frequently a well-known administrator brought in from outside the civil service and paid above the civil service rates. Unless the agency's head has the confidence and support of the head of the government, the agency will have no effective influence on what goes into the plan. This is not enough, however. The planning agency needs the support not only of the head of the government but also of his strongest ministers. A typical device is to have a special subcommittee of the cabinet for "development plan affairs" which includes the minister of finance and the chief ministers for industry and agriculture. However, the problem is not confined to ministers. Department heads and civil servants are also powerful and can sabotage a plan if they do not agree with it. The only way to have fair certainty that the plan will be effective is to bring into the planning process all the leading persons in the government apparatus, ministerial and administrative, who have the power to make important decisions, and produce a plan which is, as far as practicable, acceptable to them. The same goes for the part of the plan relating to the private sector. A plan for private investment in which the private investors have had no say is not likely to have much effect. Hence, persons knowledgeable and influential in all the industries where substantial change is desired must be consulted in the making of the plan. The machinery for consultation varies in structure and formality. In some small countries all the chief decision makers can sit around the same table, whereas large countries need a network of planning committees including officials and private citizens. Typically, not enough opportunity is given for consultation. The planning agency makes a plan which is unacceptable to important decision makers outside its circle, and they simply ignore it. This is especially apt to happen in countries with a federal structure, where the plan covers many

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functions which are state or provincial responsibilities without adequate assurance that state and provincial authorities are willing to play the role which the plan assigns to them. If the plan is to be effective, the planning agency must have some control over its implementation. In the public sector, implementation is governed by the annual capital budget, which is the authority for expenditure. The planning agency is in the strongest position when the making of the annual capital budget is assigned to it rather than to the authority which makes the annual recurrent budget (the ministry of finance or the budget bureau). This division brings its own problems. Since capital expenditure brings recurrent expenditure, the planning agency must consult the budget bureau when making the capital budget, and the budget bureau must consult the planning agency when making the recurrent budget. If, as is sometimes the case, the planning agency has no control over the annual capital budget, the plan is soon forgotten, and actual expenditure may bear little relation to the plan forecast. The part of the plan relating to the private sector is not so easily controlled by a single agency. Implementation may involve the issue of licenses (for building, imports, or investment), tariffs, subsidies, recommended legislation, and many other kinds of action, vested in half a dozen ministries. The planning agency should be represented on all committees which make decisions involved in implementing the private sector of the plan, though it cannot hope to have a controlling voice. Implementation does not depend entirely on machinery. The most important prerequisite is a realistic plan. If the plan makes assumptions which are far from reality, civil servants and private persons are forced, willy-nilly, to ignore it when making important decisions. However realistic the plan may be at the time it is made, its influence will decline unless it is continually revised. Events turn out differently from what was expected; new physical resources are discovered; the financial situation changes; and so on. With the passage of time the relevance of the published document must inevitably decline. Hence, the plan must be flexible. The private-sector part of the plan is necessarily flexible. If investors turn up with good schemes not previously considered, they will not be turned away; and if other investors decide to abandon proposals which were highly regarded at the time of making the plan, they cannot be forced to continue. Usually the government's concern is only to ensure a high level of private investment; whether this is in one project or an-

other is likely to be of secondary importance, except in industries considered (rightly or wrongly) to be "strategic" in some sense. Not all governments see the situation in this light; some believe that their officials' assessment of investments is better than the private investor's and try to induce or coerce the private investor to keep in line with the published plan; they have only limited success. The public-sector part of the plan is revised every year for the annual budget. Whether conditions have changed or not, the government is continuously besieged by ministers trying to bring forward schemes which are not in the plan, some that were previously rejected, some that are new. As time passes, the published plan must become less relevant. Some countries will openly abandon a plan two or three years before it is due to expire, and issue a new one in its place; others establish new priorities without formally abandoning the plan; still others abandon both the plan and any consistent priorities. A plan must not be considered to have failed merely because things turned out differently. Its value lies in organizing consistent thinking at the time it is made. Constant revision is as important a part of planning as is the process of making the original document. The fact that the economy will not turn out as forecast is not an argument against planning. Decisions cannot all be postponed because we cannot forecast the future correctly; planning helps to clarify what we expect, to reveal its inconsistencies, and therefore to improve the process of making decisions. W. ARTHUR LEWIS [Directly related are the entries CAPITAL, HUMAN; CAPITAL, SOCIAL OVERHEAD; FOREIGN AID, article on ECONOMIC ASPECTS; INPUT-OUTPUT ANALYSIS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

HAQ, MAHBUBUL 1963 The Strategy of Economic Planning: A Case Study of Pakistan. Karachi: Oxford Univ. Press. HIRSCHMAN, ALBERT O. 1958 The Strategy of Economic Development. Yale Studies in Economics, No. 10. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. LEWIS, JOHN P. 1962 Quiet Crisis in India: Economic Development and American Policy. Washington: Brookings Institution. LEWIS, W. ARTHUR 1966 Development Planning. London: Allen & Unwin. MASON, EDWARD S. 1958 Economic Planning in Underdeveloped Areas: Government and Business. New York: Fordham Univ. Press. MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, CENTER FOB INTERNATIONAL STUDIES 1963 Planning Economic Development: A Study. Edited by Everett E. Hagen. Homewood, 111.: Irwin. TINBERGEN, JAN 1958 The Design of Development. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press.

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Introduction UNITED NATIONS, SECRETARY GENERAL 1963 Planning for Economic Development. New York: United Nations. WALINSKY, Louis J. 1963 The Planning and Execution of Economic Development: A Nontechnical Guide for Policy Makers and Administrators. New York: McGrawHill.

PLANNING, SOCIAL i. ii. in. iv.

INTRODUCTION REGIONAL AND URBAN PLANNING RESOURCE PLANNING WELFARE PLANNING

Charles Madge Herbert J. Cans Richard L. Meier Martin Rein

INTRODUCTION

Social planning involves the drawing up of plans for future action in regard to social institutions and resources. A "social" plan is designed to meet the needs of a society, which means, in many cases, an entire nation. This usage, in which social planning is equivalent to societal planning, is generally accepted by social scientists (see, for example, Myrdal 1959); but social planning is sometimes also used to mean planning by a group as opposed to planning by an individual. Also social planning is sometimes viewed as complementary to, rather than inclusive of, economic planning; in that case, social planning means the planning of a society's noneconomic activities. Recent history. In the present century, and especially since World War n, there has been a rapid growth in the importance of social planning, both as an idea and as an institutional complex. Although the index to the Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences does not refer to social planning as such, its article entitled "National Economic Planning" concludes: ". . . the direction of modern society would seem to be toward a planned economy" (Lederer 1933, vol. 11, p. 205). In spite of controversy, often at a high level of intellectual abstraction, on whether so comprehensive a concept of planning is either possible or desirable, the idea of social planning appears to have been institutionalized over the greater part of the modern world and in the programs of international organizations, so that, whatever its logical and philosophical status, it has achieved de facto recognition. In this it may be compared to the ideas of progress, equality, and welfare, stemming from the same broad trend of modern life toward industrialization and technical rationality. During the earlier part of the industrial era the liberal ideology of laissez-faire was in the ascendant. Governments did indeed make social and eco-

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nomic interventions, but on the whole it was only old-fashioned autocrats and certain socialist minorities who thought in more total terms. Military general staffs were, in the pre-1914 period, the bodies most likely to draw up "plans." Since modern warfare depends on industry, military planners could not ignore industrial and civil questions. World War i involved a far more comprehensive mobilization by the major belligerent governments of all their resources, economic and social as well as military, than had ever before been contemplated. National emergency brought home the importance of, for instance, national levels of health and education to a total war effort. In some countries the war was followed by revolution, and in all the major European countries involved there was a recognition, at all political levels, of the need for social and economic reform. The idea of social planning, and especially of national economic planning, emerged into full daylight during the interwar years. The problem of the business cycle, and unemployment, strengthened this tendency and led to increased state intervention and planning even in the United States, where, however, faith in individual private enterprise remained strong. World War n repeated and intensified the effects of World War i. Not only was there total planning for the war itself, but plans for postwar reconstruction began to materialize, in Great Britain and some other countries, almost as soon as the war started. After the war, international organizations multiplied, and social planning became international. Moreover, by the mid-1960s nearly all colonial territories had gained independence, and a large group of new nations had started programs of national development, in which the idea of a "plan" was almost de rigueur. Scope and theory As early as 1841, Friedrich List had written: "It is the task of politics to civilise the barbarous nationalities, to make the small and weak ones great and strong, but, above all, to secure to them existence and continuance. It is the task of national economy to accomplish the economical development of the nation, and to prepare it for admission into the universal society of the future" (1841, p. 142 in 1§04 edition). While his doctrines served the purposes of militaristic nationalism in Germany after Bismarck and in Japan after the Meiji restoration, they also contributed, if indirectly, to Soviet Russian state planning. "Historically, Friedrich List preceded Marx as the father of the theory of planning; Rathenau, who organized the first modern

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planned economy in the Germany of the first world war, preceded Lenin, whose approach to the problem of planning in Soviet Russia was consciously based on the German precedents" (Carr 19511953, vol. 2, p. 363). List also emphasized the distinction between present and future advantage from the national standpoint. He not only justified protective tariffs for young industries but stressed the importance of developing "immaterial" productive forces, such as technical knowledge and skill. Thus even during this early period it was seen that while the core of social planning consists in a plan for balanced capital investment in industry and agriculture, national plans must also allocate resources for education, health, housing, and other kinds of social investment. Planning and social values. Decisions on priorities to be adopted cannot simply be based on economic calculations; essentially they are political decisions based on social values. The decisions embodied in a plan are made for political reasons; they also have long-term political effects (Diesing 1962, p. 231). Although the models of development currently used by national planners are economic and based on quantitative analysis, it can be argued that only when the economic model has been transformed into a general social model can policy conclusions logically be inferred from it (Myrdal 1959, p. 166). It is relatively easy to decide that capital should be invested, for instance, in a steel plant with a given capacity and location. An economic decision, such as the siting of an industry, can to some extent control the direction of social trends, such as urbanization and population movement. But even in societies with comprehensive state planning, it has not been possible to achieve full control over internal migration, let alone over demographic growth. The noneconomic part of social planning must at the present time largely consist in attempting to foresee some of the ways in which economic decisions will affect social behavior and some of the ways in which social behavior will impede or facilitate the implementation of the economic decisions. Thus, social planners must take logical account of nonlogical motivation (Pareto [1916] 1963, vol. 3, chapter 11). "Radical planners have to cope with the paradoxical situation that the success of their intellectual labor, which is an achievement of reason and logic, is best secured if the indispensable consensus rests on a non-logical basis" (Speier 1937, p. 476). How rational can planning be? But these difficulties are not new. They are inherent in govern-

ment and in the framing and execution of policies and programs generally. In what, then, does the added problem of the social planner consist? It would seem to stem from the more ambitious attempt of the planner to arrive at decisions rationally. By comparison with earlier procedures, this attempt involves more systematic fact-finding before the plan is formulated, more systematic coordination of separate decisions and policies, and more explicit formulation and phasing of objectives. Another feature of planned, as against unplanned, national development is the greater stress on evaluation of results achieved and on objective measurements of success or failure. In a nutshell, the problem of social planning is how to insure that it at least approximates to its rational intentions— a problem that falls fairly and squarely in the lap of the social sciences. Social planning as ideology: pro and con. The idea of comprehensive social planning has been criticized as a pseudo-scientific or "scientistic" delusion stemming from Comtean positivism, which in turn is seen as stemming from the Ecole Polytechnique instituted in Paris after the French Revolution. The desire to apply engineering technique to the solution of social problems is seen as a dangerous aberration (Hayek et al. 1935, p. 210; Hayek 1944 passim; 1952, pp. 94, 105). "All such general plans of social reconstruction are merely the rationalization of the will to power. For that reason they are the subjective beginnings of fanaticism and tyranny" (Lippmann 1937, p. 365), Such strictures were a reaction not so much against Bolshevik or Nazi total planning (though these of course were conspicuous features of the interwar political scene) as against the idea that liberal democracies could, and indeed should, seek to avoid maladjustment (socioeconomic and psychological) by democratic planning (Zweig 1942; Mannheim 1935; 1950). Early in the 1930s Karl Mannheim propounded a new stage of "thought at the level of planning," in which the balance of the planned and unplanned activities of society was about to be decisively tipped in the direction of the former. In this view, liberalism appeared "as a transitional phase between two forms of planned order" of which the earlier was that of medieval Christendom, while the new phase was the result of "the growth of a coherent and co-ordinated system of social techniques" within the modern national state (Mannheim [1935] 1940, pp. 160, 362). Although freedom and democracy, in the sense these words have in the liberal West, were undoubt-

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Introduction edly highly valued by Mannheim, his penchant for portentous phraseology laid him open to charges of "historicism" (a belief in inevitable laws of historical development) and "holism" (a belief that social reconstruction should be all-embracing). Karl Popper sharply attacked Mannheim's concept of planning as Utopian and totalitarian; instead, Popper advocated piecemeal social engineering, in which social arrangements are changed "by small adjustments and readjustments" rather than by trying to redesign society as a whole. However, he did not exclude the possibility "that a series of piecemeal reforms might be inspired by one general tendency, for example, a tendency towards a greater equalization of incomes. In this way, piecemeal methods may lead to changes in what is usually called the 'class structure of society'" (Popper 1957, pp. 66, 68). While a Popperian social planner might fail to see the wood for the trees and a Mannheimian might lose his way in the wood, it is doubtful that we really have to choose between these two approaches. The controversy, begun in the 1930s and concluded in the 1950s, seems increasingly unreal. Without wishing to suggest a unilinear trend, one cannot fail to observe the continued increase in the number of plans and planning agencies, both in advanced industrial and in underdeveloped countries. There has, however, been no corresponding development of a general theory of social planning. For hints of such a theory one must look at comparative cross-national studies by economists, historians, political scientists, and sociologists (Shils 1963; see also Duveau 1954; Bettelheim 1959; Ossowski 1959). In the rich countries planning takes on a less comprehensive and programmatic character than in the poor countries, which are compelled to attempt what in the light of the history of the rich countries appears as a short cut (Myrdal 1959, P- 159). In some underdeveloped countries (for example, India) social planning is combined with a democratic political system of free elections based on universal suffrage. In others (for example, China) there is planning along with what has been described as a "mobilization system," in which the goals of development are high and possibly unrealistic and stress is placed on militancy and single-party organization (Apter 1963a). The more ambitious the plan, the more necessary it will seem to promote consensus by fostering a sense of emergency in the face of external and internal danger (Speier 1937). If the plan succeeds, perhaps this a tmosphere of "political religion" can be relaxed

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(Apter 1963£>). It may be surmised that "total" and "piecemeal" theories are the poles between which actual ideologies of social planning vary. Practice and organization Historical priority for comprehensive national planning in peacetime must go to the Soviet Union. After initial hesitations, planning machinery was effectively established by 1925 (Carr 1958-1964, vol. 2, p. 490); the first five-year plan started in 1928. In Germany, the first Nazi four-year plan started in 1933. Fascist Italy launched a plan in the same year, which also saw the start of the Roosevelt administration's scheme for the development of the Tennessee Valley in the United States, while in 1934 the Turkish government adopted a five-year plan for the industrialization of the country (Zweig 1942), and there was published in India, not yet independent, a pioneering first program of planned development (Visvesvaraya 1934). In 1950, soon after independence, the Indian government set up its Planning Commission. India's first five-year plan covered the period 19511956. This was probably the first instance of so influential a planning body being set up within the framework of a parliamentary democracy, and its constitutional status has been criticized (Chanda 1958, p. 92; Jagota 1963). Ghana has had three five-year development plans, the first dating from 1951, when it was still a British colony (Gold Coast); the second and third plans were instituted after the country became independent in 1957. Since 1950 both the number of newly independent nations and the number of national economic plans have been increasing rapidly. In 1964 there were about 125 nations, of which some 93 were currently defined as "developing." Nearly all these had development plans (Moyes & Hayter 1964). Wide variations in political context and in the capacities of nations to provide expert staff for planning bodies must be borne in mind, but the trend toward the institutionalization of social planning is unmistakable. Comparative study by social scientists and historians of this new wave of national plans has barely begun but must surely in coming decades become a leading concern of macrosociology. The example of India. The Indian government's Planning Commission has nine members, drawn from the central political leadership and including the prime minister, the finance minister, the defense minister, and the minister for planning. It is assisted by a National Development Council (which includes the chief ministers of the

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states) and has a secretariat of 369, excluding the 240 attached to the Program Evaluation Organization and the Community Projects Administration (Indian Institute of Public Administration, New Delhi, 1958). The staff includes economists and other social scientists and promotes relevant research proje<^s in the universities and research institutes. It is also assisted by numerous foreign advisers, either on a bilateral or an international basis. In broad terms, the members, staff, and advisers of the Planning Commission constitute the intellectual, theoretical, perspective-seeking wing of the political elite. Their function of preparing middleterm and long-term plans serves to remove many of them from the cruder pressures of everyday political existence. There is thus an institutional differentiation between long-term and short-term politics. Can the long-term prevail over the shortterm? What is the interaction between the two? These are important questions for future empirical investigation. Planning as propaganda. National plans are "approved" by parliaments and other national bodies. To this extent they are statutory, though in practice their standing is somewhere between a legal prescription and a political aspiration. "Consensus is the key phenomenon of macrosociology" (Shils 1963, p. 23). In 1954 the Indian Planning Commission requested state governments to arrange for the preparation of district and village plans, especially in relation to agricultural production, rural industries, and cooperation (India [Republic], Planning Commission, 1956). In some states not only were village plans requested but each family was asked to prepare its plan. It is hardly surprising that this kind of "planning" remained a device of political propaganda and even as such had little impact. Nonetheless the propagandistic significance of the national plan, and its place in the ritual of "political religion," are not to be ignored. The function of a plan is not only to allocate national resources but to mobilize national effort. CHARLES MADGE [Directly related are the entries PLANNING, ECONOMIC; POPULATION, article on POPULATION POLICIES. Other relevant material may be found in FOOD, article on WORLD PROBLEMS; HOUSING; PUBLIC HEALTH;

and

in the biographies of LIST; MANNHEIM.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

AFTER, DAVID E. 1963a System, Process and the Politics of Economic Development. Pages 135-155 in North American Conference on the Social Implications of Industrialization and Technological Change, Chicago,

1960, Industrialization and Society: Proceedings. Paris: UNESCO. AFTER, DAVID E. 1963& Political Religion in the New Nations. Pages 57-104 in Chicago, University of, Committee for the Comparative Study of New Nations, Old Societies and New States: The Quest for Modernity in Asia and Africa. Edited by Clifford Geertz. New York: Free Press. BETTELHEIM, CHARLES 1959 Problemes et techniques de la planification sociale. Pages 169-197 in World Congress of Sociology, Fourth, Transactions. Volume 2: Sociology: Applications and Research. London: International Sociological Association. CARR, EDWARD H. 1951-1953 The Bolshevik Revolution: 1917-1923. 3 vols. New York: Macmillan. -* Constitutes Volumes 1-3 of Edward H. Carr's History of Soviet Russia. CARR, EDWARD H. 1958-1964 Socialism in One Country: 1924-1926. 3 vols. New York: Macmillan. -» Constitutes Volumes 5-7 of Edward H. Carr's History of Soviet Russia. CHANDA, ASOK K. 1958 Indian Administration. London: Allen & Unwin. DIESING, PAUL 1962 Reason in Society: Five Types of Decisions and Their Social Conditions. Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press. DUVEAU, GEORGES 1954 Utopie et planification. Cahiers internationaux de sociologie 17:75-92. HAYEK, FREDERICK A. VON 1944 The Road to SerfdomLondon: Routledge; Univ. of Chicago Press. HAYEK, FREDERICK A. VON 1952 The Counter-revolution of Science: Studies on the Abuse of Reason. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. HAYEK, FREDERICK A. VON et al. 1935 Collectivist Economic Planning: Critical Studies on the Possibilities of Socialism. London: Routledge. INDIA (REPUBLIC), PLANNING COMMISSION 1956 Second Five Year Plan. New Delhi: Government of India Press. INDIAN INSTITUTE OF PUBLIC ADMINISTRATION, NEW DELHI 1958 The Organisation of the Government of India. Bombay: Asia Pub. House. ->• See especially Chapter 26 on the Planning Commission. JAGOTA, S. P. 1963 Some Constitutional Aspects of Planning. Pages 173-201 in Ralph J. D. Braibanti and Joseph J. Spengler (editors), Administration and Economic Development in India. Durham, N.C.: Duke Univ. Press. LEDERER, EMIL 1933 National Economic Planning. Volume 11, pages 197-205 in Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences. New York: Macmillan. LIPPMANN, WALTER (1937) 1943 Inquiry Into the Principles of the Good Society. Rev. ed. Boston: Little. LIST, FRIEDRICH (1841) 1928 The National System of Political Economy. London: Longmans. -> First published in German. MANNHEIM, KARL (1935) 1940 Man and Society in an Age of Reconstruction: Studies in Modern Social Structure. New York: Harcourt. -» First published as Mensch und Gesellschaft im Zeitalter des Umbaus. MANNHEIM, KARL 1950 Freedom, Power, and Democratic Planning. New York: Oxford Univ. Press. MOYES, ADRIAN; and HAYTER, TERESA 1964 World III: A Handbook on Developing Countries. Oxford: Pergamon Press; New York: Macmillan. MYRDAL, GUNNAR 1959 The Theoretical Assumptions of Social Planning. Pages 155-167 in World Congress of Sociology, Fourth, Transactions. Volume 2: Sociol-

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Regional and Urban Planning ogy: Applications and Research. London: International Sociological Association. OSSOWSKI, STANISLAW 1959 Social Conditions and Consequences of Social Planning. Pages 199-222 in World Congress of Sociology, Fourth, Transactions. Volume 2: Sociology: Applications and Research. London: International Sociological Association. PARETO, VILFREDO (1916) 1963 The Mind and Society: A Treatise on General Sociology. 4 vols. New York: Dover. -> First published as Trattato di sociologia generale. Volume 1: Non-logical Conduct. Volume 2: Theory of Residues. Volume 3: Theory of Derivations. Volume 4: The General Form of Society. POPPER, KARL R. 1957 The Poverty of Historicism. Boston: Beacon. SHILS, EDWARD 1963 On the Comparative Study of the New States. Pages 1-26 in Chicago, University of, Committee for the Comparative Study of New Nations, Old Societies and New States: The Quest for Modernity in Asia and Africa. Edited by Clifford Geertz. New York: Free Press. SPEIER, HANS 1937 Freedom and Social Planning. American Journal of Sociology 42:463-483. VISVESVARAYA, MOKSHAGUNDAM 1934 Planned Economy for India. Bangalore (India) : Bangalore Press. ZWEIG, FERDYNAND 1942 The Planning of Free Societies. London: Seeker & Warburg. II REGIONAL AND URBAN PLANNING

In its generic sense, planning is a method of decision making that proposes or identifies goals or ends, determines the means or programs which achieve or are thought to achieve these ends, and does so by the application of analytical techniques to discover the fit between ends and means and the consequences of implementing alternative ends and means. Urban (or city) and metropolitan planning apply this method to determine public investment and other policies regarding future growth and change by municipalities and metropolitan areas. City planning has existed ever since man began to build towns and to make decisions about their future. In most societies, but particularly in the United States, there has been little consensus about these decisions. The diverse classes, ethnic groups, and interest groups that live in the city have different conceptions of how the city ought to grow a nd change and of who should benefit from the policy and allocation decisions. Consequently, these groups have attempted, directly or indirectly, to influence the ends, means, and techniques of planing, and even the role of the planners. A sociological analysis of American city planning must ask who plans with what ends and means for which interest group. Since the variables in this paradigm are affected by changes in the population and power structure of the American city, the analysis is best carried out historically.

1 29

Planning as civic reform American city planning can be said to have begun with the laying out of the infant country's first cities, usually by engineers who mapped grid schemes of rectangular blocks and lots, largely for the benefit of land sellers and builders (Blumenfeld 1949). Most American cities came into being without prior planning, however, and with only sporadic attempts to regulate their growth. By the middle of the nineteenth century, the provision of utilities and other municipal services could not keep up with the rapid increase in population, and the cities became overcrowded and congested, with vast slums in which epidemics, unchecked crime, and political corruption were commonplace. Shortly before the Civil War, these conditions stimulated the formation of a number of civic reform movements, which were the forebears of contemporary city planning. The reform groups were made up of predominantly Protestant and upper-middle-class civic and religious leaders whose major end was the restoration of order. They sought physical order through slum clearance and the construction of model tenements to improve housing conditions and through the park and playground movement, which tried to preserve the supposedly healthgiving features of the countryside by building parks and other recreational facilities in the crowded areas. They sought social order through the erection of educational and character-building facilities such as schools, libraries, and settlement houses, hoping that these would Americanize the immigrants and make them middle class, and thus eradicate crime, vice, and even the harmless forms of lower-class hedonism. They promoted political order through the "good government" movement, which advocated nonpolitical methods of urban decision making to eliminate the new political machines and the fledgling socialist movement. They were attempting to maintain the cultural and political power they had held before the arrival of the immigrants by imposing on the city the physical and social structure of Protestant, middle-class, preindustrial America. The means by which they proposed to achieve these ends included new legislation to regulate and control city growth; the use of public administration and, later, scientific management procedures to run the city; and the establishment of "facilities," such as parks and settlement houses, which would improve living conditions and alter the behavior of their users. After the reformers had built a few model facilities with private funds in the slums of

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several eastern cities, they realized that they lacked the resources to alter the entire city by this approach, and so they began to use their considerable social status and what remained of their political influence to propose that the cities take over their programs as municipal functions. The reformers' efforts were supported by architects, who had created the City Beautiful movement during the 1890s to develop park, civic center, and other schemes to enhance the city, and by downtown business and property interests, who sought higher land values and also favored efficiency in government to minimize taxes. Others, especially upper-middle-class homeowners, were disturbed by the invasion of commercial and industrial establishments, low-status residents, and slums into previously "good" neighborhoods. These groups called on the city to pass zoning legislation, which would prohibit such invasions by regulating the kinds of buildings and land uses permitted in different zones. Zoning not only encouraged the kind of order, beauty, and efficiency sought by its advocates but also segregated land use and population by class. The rise and fall of the "master plan" By the end of World War I, planning and zoning had become municipal responsibilities. Since their advocates usually opposed the political machines, these functions were incorporated in quasi-independent city planning and zoning commissions, headed by lay boards of civic leaders and businessmen. These commissions were staffed principally by civil engineers and architects, who were called city planners. The new agencies and professionals codified and further operationalized the ends and means they had inherited from the reformers, principally through the "master plan," which proposed both the traditional solutions and some new ones in a single comprehensive scheme. The typical master plan, which has changed relatively little since the first one was drafted in 1914, portrays a future ideal: a city without slums, divided into zones for each major land use, with efficient highway and mass transit systems, vastly increased amounts of open recreational space and other public cultural facilities, and served by a system of neighborhood, district, and downtown retail and civic centers. The proposals for new facilities and rearranged land-use and transportation patterns are synthesized into a master plan map, with proposals for implementing this map through a zoning ordinance to order land use as prescribed by the plan, building codes to discourage slums, subdivision regulations to guide the development

of vacant land, and governmental reorganization schemes to coordinate the proposed changes (Bassett 1938; Dunham 1958; Kent 1964). No master plan has ever become a blueprint for the growth of the city, although individual recommendations have often been implemented. Perhaps the main reason for the failure of the master plan was its assumption of environmental or physical determinism. Like the nineteenth-century reformers, the master planners assumed that people's lives are shaped by their physical surroundings and that the ideal city could be realized by the provision of an ideal physical environment. Since they were architects and engineers, they believed the city was a system of buildings and land uses that could be arranged and rearranged through planning, without taking account of the social, economic, and political structures and processes that determine people's behavior, including their use of land. The ends underlying the planners' physical approach reflected their Protestant middle-class view of city life. As a result, the master plan tried to eliminate as "blighting influences" many of the land uses and institutions of lower-class and ethnic groups. Most of the plans either made no provision for tenements, rooming houses, second-hand stores, and marginal loft industry, or located them in catch-all zones of "nuisance uses," in which all land uses were permitted. Popular facilities that they considered morally or culturally undesirable were also excluded. The plans called for many parks and playgrounds but left out the movie theater, the neighborhood tavern, and the clubroom; they proposed churches and museums but no night clubs or hot dog stands (Wood et al. 1966). The units into which the plan divided the city were determined by transportation routes and other physical criteria, and did not reflect established social groups or ecological conditions of change and growth. Neighborhood boundaries ignored class and ethnic divisions in the population, and the planners made a conscious effort to break up ethnic enclaves in order to achieve nineteenthcentury Americanization goals. The planners' certainty about how people ought to live and how the city ought to look resulted in a nearly static plan, a Platonic vision of the city as an orderly and finished work of art. The only land uses programmed for future growth were those favored by middle-class residents, high-status industrial and commercial establishments, the real estate interests catering to both, and the tax collector. The planners' unwillingness to recognize alternative values also made them unable to see the

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Regional and Urban Planning role of politics in implementing the plan. Believing that their solution was the best blueprint for the future, its formulators thought that they needed only to publish their report, obtain support from the civic leaders and businessmen who sat on the boards of the planning commission, and then persuade elected officials that the plan expressed the public interest. The planners' opposition to partisan political methods of decision making convinced them that the plan was "above politics" and that anyone who rejected it was acting from selfish, and therefore evil, motives. The master planners did not realize that the ends they sought were opposed by many voters, that most city residents place less value on parks and open space than planning ideology dictated, and that most residents do not center their life on the elementary school, as the neighborhood unit plan proposed. Worse yet, the plan advocated a middle-class life style for all, but it did not recommend economic programs to enable low-income people to move out of tenements and buy singlefamily houses. As a result, master plans have rarely generated any widespread enthusiasm among the voters but have always aroused considerable political opposition from the groups who would have to pay economically, socially, and politically for the proposed changes. The master planners were also hampered by conditions not of their making. For one thing, their authority to plan stopped at the city limits, although the growth processes which they sought to control cover a much wider area. Also, the planners were poorly funded, so that their conclusions were often based on whatever data, however inadequate, were already available. Yet their methodology was ultimately also a function of their own ends, means, and techniques. Their belief in physical determinism limited their analysis to the determination of the land-use implications of their demographic and economic projections, and their faith in the solutions they proposed discouraged consideration of the fit between ends and means and of the consequences of these means (Meyerson & Banfield 1955; Altshuler 1965). Yet although master plans had little impact on city development, some of the planners' ideas were adopted. For example, their arguments that excessive land coverage inevitably produced traffic congestion, that off-street parking was necessary, and that zoning too much land for commercial use in the hope of increasing tax income would also leave ^uch land lying needlessly unused were eventually ac cepted in principle by city officials. Being politically weak, however, the planners could not stand

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up to the powerful economic interests who opposed the implementation of these principles, and being apolitical in their approach, they could not develop compromise solutions, which would have salvaged at least some of their proposals. Master planning activity reached a new high after World War n, especially in areas of rapid suburbanization. At the same time, however, planners working in the cities began to lose confidence in the master plan. As cities began to grow and rebuild again, many of the development proposals that came before the planning commission conflicted with the master plan, and the conflict was usually resolved in favor of the new proposals. Some planners argued that, in order to be useful, the master plan had to be constantly revised and updated, but others began to suggest that planning was not only a method but also a process of decision making and that master planning was only one tool among many to be employed in this process. The emergence of rational planning Since 1950 the city has increasingly become the residence of a small number of rich people and a rapidly rising number of poor nonwhites. The latter are forced to live in ghetto slums, and these slums, as well as the pathologies associated with poverty, are reducing the livability of the city for the middle class and creating new problems for city officials. Low-income neighborhoods and residents cannot pay the taxes needed to provide them with municipal services, and the exodus of middleclass residents, stores, and industries to the suburbs is also depriving the city of its most profitable sources of tax income. Some help is now coming from the federal government, which is providing financial support for new city programs. City planning has been funded by federal subsidies as well, particularly for transportation and urban renewal plans. Transport and metropolitan planners. Master planners have concerned themselves with transportation ever since car ownership began to increase urban congestion and suburbanization. After World War n, however, the new spurt in car buying and the growth of suburbia resulted in the building of expressways, subsidized by federal grants, in every American city. These made it more convenient to use cars and thus encouraged the exodus to suburbia even more. As a result, they not only failed to reduce congestion but also took more customers away from the already declining mass transit systems. Consequently, by the late 1950s a number of large cities began to formulate massive transporta-

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tion planning studies, which aimed to determine the location of future expressways and to revitalize mass transit as part of a metropolitan-area transportation system serving the city and its suburbs. Since new transportation facilities stimulate further urban development and thus affect land-use patterns and the economic base of the cities (Mitchell & Rapkin 1954), the transportation planners were in effect formulating a new kind of master plan (Fagin 1963). In this process, they introduced several innovations into planning. Well financed and able to measure the amount and flow of traffic with relative ease, the planners obtained large masses of data and brought in the newly available computer to analyze them. Moreover, since the aim of their plan was limited to serving the transportation needs of the area and the achievement of the economically most productive and most efficient land-use patterns, they were working with a smaller number of ends than were the master planners. This enabled them to formulate a number of alternative schemes, rather than a single one, using the computer and later the simulation model to choose a final plan from among the alternatives ("Land Use . . . " 1959). Because the studies were staffed by transportation experts, economists, and operations researchers rather than by architects and master planners, the ends and means of traditional city planning were of lesser importance. Finally, their plans were metropolitan. Because so much of the traffic flow was generated in the suburbs, transportation planning could not end at the city limits, and regional planning bodies were set up to do the studies. Metropolitan planning had been advocated by city planners and public administrators for more than a generation. The control of growth and the achievement of order and efficiency required a metropolitan government to coordinate municipal services and planning for the city and its suburbs in a single supergovernment, which would do away with the duplication and conflict among the many hundreds of local bodies. The appeal for metropolitanism fell on deaf ears, however. The suburbs rejected any plan which would require them to share their power with, or give up their local authority to, the city. The cities were predominantly Democratic, working class, and Roman Catholic, and the suburbs were predominantly Republican, middle class, and Protestant; thus political, class, and religious conflicts were endemic, and they were magnified when cities became increasingly nonwhite (Banfield & Grodzins 1958). Moreover, the suburbs had no great interest in metropolitan planning or coordination.

Their middle-class homeowners could well afford the duplication of municipal services and were unwilling to accept any infringement on their local autonomy, not to mention the possible arrival of lower-status and nonwhite city residents in exchange for a slight saving in taxes. These considerations may even prevent the implementation of the regional transportation systems now being planned. Urban renewal programs. The second stimulus for change in city planning theory and practice has come out of urban renewal programs. In 1949 the federal government set up the urban renewal program, which funneled considerable amounts of money to the cities, with a view to the elimination of slums (Woodbury 1953; Wilson 1966). Intense political opposition to public housing prevented it from making any significant inroads on the slums, and thus the federal government turned to private enterprise, hoping that it would rebuild on land that had been cleared and reduced in price by federal grants. The program received strong local support from the cities, which expected that new building programs would increase their tax revenues, and from downtown businessmen, who saw urban renewal as a way of replacing the slum dwellers of the inner city with more affluent customers and, later, as a way of modernizing downtown districts with federal aid. The theory behind urban renewal was the traditional nineteenth-century one that if slum dwellers were relocated in decent housing, they would give up their lower-class ways and the social pathologies thought to "breed" in the slums. Since inexpensive housing was in short supply, however, and the private redevelopers of cleared sites were building only luxury housing, the displaced were often forced to move into other slums, where they usually had to pay higher rents (Anderson 1964; Hartman 1964; Greer 1965). In clearing entire neighborhoods, urban renewal also destroyed viable social communities, thus saddling the displaced with emotional costs as well (Gans 1962; Fried 1963). In the larger cities, the unanticipated consequences of slum clearance created so much political opposition that by the start of the 1960s, when the market for luxury housing had been sated, the promiscuous use of the bulldozer was halted. Renewal agencies are now experimenting with rehabilitation, so as to minimize relocation, and are proposing new subsidies for both builders and lowincome residents in order to increase the supply of low-cost housing (Frieden 1964; Abrams 1965). Initially, renewal had been carried out on a project-by-project basis, but once the choice sites desired by private builders had been used up, city

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Regional and Urban Planning planners were asked to develop more comprehensive urban renewal programs. The selection of future renewal sites required the determination of the best re-use of the sites on the basis of city-wide considerations; and the federal government provided planning grants to the cities to create "workable programs," which had to demonstrate how individual projects fitted into a larger, more comprehensive renewal plan before federal renewal funds were made available. Subsequently, the federal government broadened its requirements, for example, by including social considerations in the choice of sites, and set up the "community renewal program" (Grossman 1963). In many cities the community renewal programs resemble the traditional master plan, but in others the failure of urban renewal to help the slum dwellers has called attention to the need for solving the more basic problems of the low-income population. This concern, together with the "War on Poverty," is encouraging planners in a number of cities to develop quite different kinds of plans. Thus there have been innovations in the choice of ends and means as well as in the techniques of planning. Urban renewal is no longer conceived solely as a process of eliminating slums, but as a means of dealing with the problems that force poor and nonwhite people into them. Some community renewal programs are exploring programs of job creation, opening up housing, educational, and other opportunities to nonwhites, and improving social services in the hope that these, together with housing programs, will eliminate the deprivation of the slum dwellers as well as the slums. New ends, such as equality of opportunity and redistribution of public resources to the poor, are complementing those of order and efficiency, particularly since it is being realized that social order can be maintained only through greater economic and political equality. The means are new as well, since, to an increasing extent, programs to help people are being added to those for changing the physical environment. In 1966, the federal government formally integrated social and physical planning for urban renewal by developing the Demonstration Cities program, later retitled the Model Cities program, through which 60 to 70 American cities were to be funded to rebuild and rehabilitate almost completely the physical and social structures of their major slum ghetto neighborhoods (Taylor et al. 1966). Systemic planning. The extension of economic a nd other opportunities bears little resemblance to traditional planning solutions, and the outcome of the planning process is no longer en-

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visaged as a master plan but as a set of incremental or developmental programs that will improve present conditions, formulated so that they can be plugged into the ongoing decision-making processes of city officials (Fagin 1959; Mitchell 1961; Webber 1963a). Physical determinism is thus being replaced by a broader systems approach, which seeks to deal with the causes of the problem. In this conception of the planning process, land-use studies are less relevant, and the community renewal planners are turning to surveys of the present behavior and future wants of the populations for whom they are planning, analyses of the quality of opportunities and social services now available to them, and economic as well as political studies to determine the feasibility and the results of the programs and policies they recommend. This conception of planning also presages a change in the role of the planner. The city planner is no longer a nonpolitical formulator of long-range ideals but is becoming an adviser to elected and appointed officials. Planning commissions are being reorganized into planning departments that take their place in the mayor's cabinet, and consequently the planner's traditional antipathy to politics has decreased. The planner's new role and his rising influence are partly a result of changes in the city and in city hall. The new problems of the city and the gradual replacement of the working-class machine politician by the middle-class, college-educated politician-administrator, supported by professionally trained bureaucrats, have made city governments much more responsive to expert advice, while the reduction of class differences between the planners and the new politicians has improved communication between them. In addition, downtown business and property interests have become more favorable to planning, partly because they, too, face new problems they cannot solve themselves and partly because the planners share their concern with the revitalization of the central business district. Moreover, planners are becoming more sympathetic to the city and are giving up their traditional antiurban ideology. As the suburbs threaten to engulf the city and to endanger the survival of the upper-middle-class cultural and civic institutions that have traditionally been located in the city, the planner has become an advocate of urbanism, supporting schemes to bring the middle class back into the city. Finally, with federal funds rapidly becoming a major source of support for local planning and state planning agencies and metropolitan ones also participating in local planning activities, the

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planner is no longer so closely tied to the small group of local businessmen and civic leaders who have traditionally supported him against his political opponents. This has encouraged him to pay more attention to the needs of other interest groups in the city, and, since the advent of the "War on Poverty," p?rticularly the low-income population. His greater concern with people has also made him more aware of the diversity of values among residents and more in favor of direct citizen participation in the planning process, rather than depending on the traditional appeal for citizen endorsement of the planner's decisions (Wilson 1963). The rational programming approach. The changes in the conditions under which planners work have been complemented, and even preceded, by changes within the planning profession and in the recruitment of planners, especially the entrance of social scientists into city planning. During the 1930s, social scientists helped to conduct national and regional planning studies in various federal agencies. After World War n, the University of Chicago established a planning school which taught national as well as city planning and was the first to stress social science rather than architectural techniques (Perloff 1957). Subsequently, this curriculum spread to other planning schools, and students with social science backgrounds streamed into them, so that today architects and engineers are fast becoming a minority in these schools. The Chicago school approached planning as a method of rational programming. Briefly, it argued that the essence of planning is the deliberate choice of ends and the analytic determination of the most effective means to achieve these ends, these being means which make optimal use of scarce resources and which, when implemented, are not accompanied by undesirable consequences. The Chicago planners argued that ends are not imposed by planning ideology or by a priori determinations of the public interest, but by political and market processes and by other forms of feedback from those affected by planning. According to this view, means and consequences are determined through predominantly empirical analyses, and by other studies that test the fit of means to ends and predict the consequences of these means (Meyerson & Banfield 1955; Meyerson 1956; Davidoff & Reiner 1962; Perloff & Wingo 1962). Rational programming has much in common with concepts of planning and methods of rational decision making being developed in political science, public administration, and management; thus, it is reducing the differences between city planning and planning for other clients and ends.

In turn, this has enabled city planning to use the personnel and approaches of other disciplines, including operations research (Branch 1957; Wheaton 1963), decision theory (Dyckman 1961), costbenefit analysis (Lichfield 1960), input-output studies (Isard et al. I960), information theory (Meier 1962), and simulation models ("Urban Development Models" 1965), as well as sociological and manpower analyses for understanding the behavior, attitudes, and ends of the clients of planning [Willmott & Cooney 1963; Reiner et al. 1963; see also ADMINISTRATION, article on ADMINISTRATIVE BEHAVIOR; REGIONAL SCIENCE]. The social scientists and the rational programmers owe no allegiance either to the master plan or to physical determinism. Aided by research findings, which indicate that the portions of the physical environment with which city planners have traditionally dealt do not have a significant impact on people's behavior (Rosow 1961; Wilner et al. 1962), and by studies of social organization and social change, which demonstrate that economic and social structures are much more important than spatial ones, the rational programmers devote their attention to institutions and institutional change rather than to environmental change (Webber 1963b; 1964). The new conception of planning has also affected general land-use planning, creating a greater concern with the social and economic functions of land use and leading to incremental policy formulations for rearranging it (see, for instance, Wheaton 1964). Even urban design, traditionally based primarily on aesthetic considerations, is now paying attention to the social processes that shape what city planners call the "urban form" (Lynch I960; Wurster 1963). New towns. Nevertheless, traditional master planning and land-use planning have received new support through the revival of another nineteenthcentury concept—the "new town." Originally conceived as a way of moving urban slum dwellers into the countryside and halting the growth of cities (Howard 1898), the new town is a relatively self-sufficient and independent community located beyond the city limits; it provides local employment opportunities for many of its residents, thus reducing their journey to work, the city's traffic congestion, and the alleged defects of the suburbs as so-called "bedroom communities" (Stein 1951)The hope is that if the master plan and related solutions cannot work in established cities, they might be applied on the tabula rasa of a new town. It seems likely, however, that the same political and market forces that prevented the implementa-

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Regional and Urban Planning tion of the master plan will also frustrate portions of the new-town schemes, particularly if they do not meet the wishes of the people who will have to be attracted as home buyers (Eichler & Kaplan 1967). Social versus physical planning In the 1960s rational programming is rapidly achieving dominance at the level of planning theory and is being advocated and used by professors and researchers in the profession. However, it has not yet been accepted by most city planning commissions and departments. Instead, the city planning practitioners have typically reacted to the new theory—and the new urban problems—by adding programs of "social planning" to the traditional land-use approach, now often called "physical planning." "Social planning" is used to describe planning for people or, by implication, for lowincome people, probably because physical plans have catered so largely to building programs for more affluent city residents. The dichotomy between physical and social planning is theoretically unjustifiable, however, because physical plans affect people, rich and poor, as much as do social plans. Even so, planning agencies are now adding social planning divisions to their staffs (Perloff 1963; 1965; Dyckman 1966). The first social planning activities were intended to meet the requirements of the federal community renewal program and to correct the inequities of slum clearance for the slum dwellers, but increasingly they are being carried out to coordinate city planning and renewal with the community action activities and other programs of the "War on Poverty." Frequently, however, this so-called social planning is only a modernized version of previous attempts to impose middle-class ways on the lowincome population, with "human renewal" educational and social work schemes to "rehabilitate" the slum dwellers while—or even in lieu of—improving their living conditions, thus subverting the antipoverty efforts into yet another device for maintaining the present inequality of the lowincome population (Cans 1964). This possibility has led to proposals for bringing planners into closer contact with the low-income population. Davidoff (1965) has suggested that because most planners are employed as technicians to pursue the interests of the so-called Establishment—that is, city hall, the political party, and the business community—other planners ought to become "advocate planners," that is, technical consultants and even spokesmen for the low-income population. In several U.S. cities, planners have begun to work

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with local civil rights groups and with community organizations in poor neighborhoods; they have formed a national professional association, Planners for Equal Opportunity; and they are questioning orthodox planning beliefs about how to plan for the slum ghetto (Piven & Cloward 1966). The politicization of planning. These activities are leading to the politicization of the city planning profession. It appears that the profession is being split into progressive and conservative wings: the former calling for social planning to reduce economic and racial inequality, and the latter defending traditional physical planning and the legitimacy of middle-class values. The rational programmers are a third wing, seeking to develop an approach that makes it possible to plan for all interest groups, but they, too, are split over the issue of working with or against the Establishment. In their day-to-day practice, city planning agencies tend to favor the conservative wing and the traditional land-use approach to planning, although they are both threatened and influenced by the progressives and the rational programmers. Not only are the planning agencies in existence to conduct land-use planning, but most of the directors and senior staff members are trained in this approach, and some of the leading practitioners in the profession still come from architectural and civil engineering backgrounds. Rational programmers and progressives are more often found among the junior staff and have less influence on agency activities. Moreover, since planners are employees of municipal bureaucracies, they are expected to conform to agency policy on the job, and in some cities they are even restrained from off-hours participation in activities and groups that question or oppose agency policy. This naturally reduces the impact of progressive ideas on local planning activities. The future of planning. The future direction of city planning is at present uncertain. As architecturally trained planners become a minority in the profession, city planning will undoubtedly make more use of the concepts and methods of rational programming and will pay more attention to the social and economic problems of the city. Traditional physical planning is still needed to modernize the city, to raise its efficiency in housing and moving workers and residents, and to prevent further physical and aesthetic deterioration. The ends of physical planning may be most relevant to the suburbs and to the newer communities of the western United States, although even they do not always favor the particular kinds of order, efficiency, and attractiveness that physical planners

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seek. In the older American cities, however, poverty, unemployment, racial and class discrimination and their pathological consequences are not only the most crucial problems but also are major causes of the low quality of city living, the middleclass exodus, and the city's financial difficulties (Cans 1965; Wilson 1966). The inequalities and pathologies of the urban low-income population must, therefore, be eliminated, before the attractive, efficient, and slumless city for which physical planners are striving can be realized. When these traditional planners can be persuaded of the validity of this approach, it may be possible to achieve a synthesis of the so-called social and physical planning approaches and thus to create a city planning profession that uses rational programming to bring about real improvements, not only in the lives of city residents but also in the condition of the cities themselves. HERBERT J. CANS [See also CITY; HOUSING; NEIGHBORHOOD; REGION; TRANSPORTATION; and the biography of GEDDES.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

ABRAMS, CHARLES 1965 The City Is the Frontier. New York: Harper. ALTSHULER, ALAN 1965 The City Planning Process: A Political Analysis. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Univ. Press. ANDERSON, MARTIN 1964 The Federal Bulldozer: A Critical Analysis of Urban Renewal, 1949-1962. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. BANFIELD, EDWARD C.; and GRODZINS, MORTON 1958 Government and Housing in Metropolitan Areas. New York: McGraw-Hill. BASSETT, EDWARD M. 1938 The Master Plan. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. BLUMENFELD, HANS 1949 Theory of City Form, Past and Present. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 8:7-16. BRANCH, MELVILLE C. 1957 Planning and Operations Research. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 23:168-175. DAVIDOFF, PAUL 1965 Advocacy and Social Concern in Planning. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 31:331-337. DAVIDOFF, PAUL; and REINER, THOMAS A. 1962 A Choice Theory of Planning. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 28:103-115. DUNHAM, ALLISON 1958 City Planning: An Analysis of the Content of the Master Plan. Journal of Law and Economics 1:170-186. DYCKMAN, JOHN W. 1961 Planning and Decision Theory. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 27:335-345. DYCKMAN, JOHN W. 1966 Social Planning, Social Planners, and Planned Societies. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 32:66-76. EICHLER, EDWARD P.; and KAPLAN, MARSHALL 1967 The Community Builders. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press.

FAGIN, HENRY 1959 Organizing and Carrying Out Planning Activities Within Urban Governments. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 25:109—114. FAGIN, HENRY 1963 The Penn-Jersey Transportation Study: The Launching of a Permanent Regional Planning Process. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 29:9-18. FISHER, JACK C. (editor) 1966 City and Regional Planning in Poland. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell Univ. Press. FRIED, MARC 1963 Grieving for a Lost Home. Pages 151-171 in Leonard J. Duhl (editor), The Urban Condition. New York: Basic Books. FRIEDEN, BERNARD J. 1964 The Future of Old Neighborhoods: Rebuilding for a Changing Population. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. CANS, HERBERT J. (1962) 1964 The Urban Villagers: Group and Class in the Life of Italian-Americans. New York: Free Press. CANS, HERBERT J. 1964 Social and Physical Planning for the Elimination of Urban Poverty. Pages 629-644 in Bernard Rosenberg, Israel Gerver, and William Howton (editors). Mass Society in Crisis. New York: Macmillan. GANS, HERBERT J. 1965 The Failure of Urban Renewal: A Critique and Some Proposals. Commentary 39, no. 4:29-37. GREER, SCOTT 1965 Urban Renewal and American Cities. Indianapolis, Ind.: Bobbs-Merrill. GROSSMAN, DAVID A. 1963 The Community Renewal Program. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 29:259-269. HARTMAN, CHESTER 1964 The Housing of Relocated Families. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 30:266-286. HOWARD, EBENEZER (1898) 1951 Garden Cities of Tomorrow. Edited with a Preface by F. J. Osborn. With an introductory essay by Lewis Mumford. London: Faber. -* First published as To-morrow: A Peaceful Path to Real Reform. ISARD, WALTER et al. 1960 Methods of Regional Analysis. New York: Wiley; Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. KENT, T. J. 1964 The Urban General Plan. San Francisco: Chandler. Land Use and Traffic Models. 1959 Journal of the American Institute of Planners 25:59-103. -> A special issue. LICHFIELD, NATHANIEL 1960 Cost-Benefit Analysis in City Planning. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 26:273-279. LYNCH, KEVIN 1960 The Image of the City. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. MEIER, RICHARD L. 1962 A Communication Theory of Urban Growth. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. MEYERSON, MARTIN 1956 Building the Middle-range Bridge for Comprehensive Planning. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 22:58-64. MEYERSON, MARTIN; and BANFIELD, EDWARD C. 1955 Politics, Planning, and the Public Interest: The Case of Public Housing in Chicago. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1965. MITCHELL, ROBERT B. 1961 The New Frontier in Metropolitan Planning. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 27:169-175. MITCHELL, ROBERT B.; and RAPKIN, CHESTER 1954 Urban Traffic: A Function of Land Use. New York: Columbia Univ. Press.

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Resource Planning PERLOFF, HARVEY S. 1957 Education for Planning: City, State and Regional. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. PERLOFF, HARVEY S. 1963 Social Planning in the Metropolis. Pages 331-347 in Leonard J. Duhl (editor), The Urban Condition. New York: Basic Books. PERLOFF, HARVEY S. 1965 New Directions in Social Planning. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 31:297-303. PERLOFF, HARVEY S.; and WINGO, LOWDON JR. 1962 Planning and Development in Metropolitan Affairs. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 28: 67-90. PIVEN, FRANCES F.; and CLOWARD, RICHARD A. 1966 Desegregated Housing: Who Pays for the Reformers' Ideal. New Republic 155, no. 25:17-22. REINER, JANET S.; REINER, EVERETT; and REINER, THOMAS A. 1963 Client Analysis and the Planning of Public Programs. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 29:270-282. Rosow, IRVING 1961 The Social Effects of the Physical Environment. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 27:127-133. STEIN, CLARENCE S. (1951) 1957 Toward New Towns for America. Rev. ed. New York: Reinhold. TAYLOR, H. RALPH et al. 1966 Comments on the Demonstration Cities Program. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 32:366-376. Urban Development Models: New Tools for Planning. 1965 Journal of the American Institute of Planners 31:90-184. -» A special issue. WEBBER, MELVIN M. 1963a The Prospects for Policies Planning. Pages 319-330 in Leonard J. Duhl (editor), The Urban Condition. New York: Basic Books. WEBBER, MELVIN M. 1963b Order in Diversity: Community Without Propinquity. Pages 23-54 in Lowdon Wingo, Jr. (editor), Cities and Space: The Future Use of Urban Land. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. WEBBER, MELVIN M. 1964 The Urban Place and the Nonplace Urban Realm. Pages 79-153 in Melvin M. Webber et al., Explorations Into Urban Structure. Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press. WHEATON, WILLIAM L. C. 1963 Operations Research for Metropolitan Planning. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 29:250-258. WHEATON, WILLIAM L. C. 1964 Public and Private Agents of Change. Pages 154-195 in Melvin M. Webber et al., Explorations Into Urban Structure. Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press. WILLMOTT, PETER; and COONEY, EDMUND 1963 Community Planning and Sociological Research: A Problem of Collaboration. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 29:123-126. WILNER, DANIEL M. et al. 1962 The Housing Environment and Family Life. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. WILSON, JAMES Q. 1963 Planning and Politics: Citizen Participation in Urban Renewal. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 29:242-249. WILSON, JAMES Q. (editor) 1966 Urban Renewal: The Record and the Controversy. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. WOOD, EDWARD W. JR.; BROWER, SIDNEY N.; and LATIMER, MARGARET W. 1966 Planners' People. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 32:228-233. WOODBURY, COLEMAN (editor) 1953 The Future of Cities and Urban Redevelopment. Univ. of Chicago Press.

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WURSTER, CATHERINE B. 1963 The Form and Structure of the Future Urban Complex. Pages 73-102 in Lowdon Wingo, Jr. (editor), Cities and Space: The Future Use of Urban Land. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. Ill RESOURCE PLANNING

A plan is a course of action laid out in advance. A resource is an opportunity in the environment that has been identified and appraised by a population of potential users. Resource planning is a general term for the process of laying out better programs for the development of natural resources than are formulated from the opportunistic, short-run expediting of independent resource use projects. Resource planning is an outgrowth of the principles for preserving natural resources and utilizing them economically [see CONSERVATION]. When optimal use cannot be achieved automatically through the workings of the price system, but only through adjusting technologies on a regional, national, or international scale, then some form of centralized, long-range planning must be adopted. Long-range planning is often undertaken for other reasons than the rationalization of resource development, but resource planning almost always becomes a major component of such national and regional plans. Resource planning has not been fully centralized in any society but is distributed among departments and bureaus responsible for agriculture, forestry, fisheries, mining, education, recreation, and regional development. After national plans become explicit, they still contain an assortment of specialized programs initiated and implemented by these functional units, as well as by cooperatives and private corporations, that are only partially controlled and coordinated by the national planning effort. No typical administrative structure exists as yet, but it is evident that to be effective, planners need almost daily contact with agencies collecting relevant, reliable information. In socialist states, and in many others in addition, the hydroelectric potentials and the resources below the ground are state-owned, so that these resources must either be developed by state enterprises or licensed, mainly to large international firms. Although both approaches are amenable to planning, the incentives and controls used are very different. Thus, in Soviet planning an extraordinarily heavy emphasis was placed upon reconnaissance, prospecting, and survey of mineral deposits. A huge centralized, information-gathering operation was

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organized which was able to pinpoint the geographic sources of raw materials to be fed into the expanding industrial complex (Shimkin 1953). In Pakistan, Egypt, Brazil, and elsewhere, future progress hinges upon the development of water resources. Then the natural unit for analysis becomes the basin. Where and when most projects are undertaken depends upon the long-range program for watershed development [Krutilla & Eckstein 1958; Maass et al. 1962; see also WATER RESOURCES]. Workable plans are built up of sequences of projects undertaken by specified agencies working within the public sector, the private sector, or, increasingly, some combination of both. The projects are selected and shaped according to criteria set within the context of a national strategy for survival, welfare, and growth. Additional criteria may be important at the international, regional, or agency level. The initiation of the projects is scheduled to meet anticipated requirements. Experience has shown that resources essential to the functioning of a modern society may also be tapped through the channels of international trade. The technology of extraction, which is transferable to sites throughout the world, is in most cases sufficiently advanced to meet the rigorous specifications for commodity grades and standards established by modern industry and the markets of modern countries. Transport costs have been declining simultaneously. Consequently, the relative richness of the resources found in accessible parts of the world, rather than the political boundaries that separate supply from use, will usually determine the sequence with which the respective opportunities are exploited. Military demands for national self-sufficiency, particularly in case of mobilization for total war, have quite seriously deflected the rational, tradebased program for the use of world resources. Much resource planning in the United States between 1910 and 1950, for example, was intended to meet various projected national emergencies. The reason for this emphasis on disaster planning was the experience with rapid shifts in supply in the international market that occur in response to political crises. Raw materials and manufactured intermediates with a heavy resource component (fuels, refined metals, vegetable oils, paper, sugar, etc.) have a history of reacting to threats of conflict with sharp upward price movements and irregular supplies. It is not surprising that in many countries during World War n elaborate resource planning efforts were made part of the plans for

total mobilization of productive capacity for war. Self-sufficiency for military reasons lost its cogency in the 1950s. The introduction of megatonsize nuclear weapons into international military calculations has rendered meaningless all prior approaches to strategic resource planning, since short-term emergency needs can be met better with inventories and strategic stockpiles of quite manageable magnitudes. Installations to develop submarginal reserves can no longer be justified for reasons of national survival. A transition to the new way of thinking was marked by the U.S. President's Materials Policy Commission report, Resources for Freedom (1952). National boundaries were superseded to an important extent and were replaced by a group of political units subscribing to common procedures for trade and to conciliation of international disputes. Autarchic arguments were retained, but they were moved to a larger arena. The focus of subsequent policy proposals has shifted to the use of resources to improve the levels of living. The reports of the United Nations Scientific Conference on the Conservation and Utilization of Resources (United Nations 1953) provided the basis for such planning. Economic and social development. When resource planning leads to economic development, the significance of natural resources will be reduced. This planning will result in a decline in the share of human effort applied to natural resources which support economic growth. The primary occupations (e.g., agriculture, forestry, fisheries, mining) will shrink in over-all importance as the planning becomes effective. Even though the planning thus far conducted in the twentieth century has been uncoordinated, piecemeal, and parochial, the effort devoted to these primary activities has dropped from a share that was greater than 50 per cent of total product to a new level that is considerably less than 10 per cent of the total in the most advanced economies. In addition, economically feasible substitutes for scarce raw materials have been found. The ready availability of a variety of substitutes implies that exhaustion of the major world mineral reserves (as is still an eventual prospect for fossil fuels and phosphates) need not result in a reversal of this progress. Because a large share of the world has averted resource scarcity catastrophes since the days of Mai thus, a strong trust in automatic, almost magical, improvements in technology exists among resource economists. The law of diminishing returns has been repealed at the macro level, in the West

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Resource Planning at least, by the regularly repeated introduction of cost-reducing technical innovations (Boulding 1955). However, planners cannot make extrapolations on the basis of faith in the results of research. They must project the development of known reserves with tested technologies to fill the needs of expanding populations. When this exercise is carried out, as by Landsberg and his colleagues (see Resources for the Future 1963), the future for such resource-rich territories as North America appears secure for at least a generation. Careful matching of supply and demand suggests that no critical shortages should occur during the twentieth century. However, the same exercise addressed to the needs and the accessible reserves in the rest of the world reveals the real challenge facing resource planning. Many parts of the world can project ahead no further than a decade before foreseeable needs will begin to outrun apparent supply. The technology thus far evolved in the West will be unable to cope with the transformation of still lower-grade resources into the manyfold increase in the output of raw materials that will be required. The foreign exchange needs for the equipment, the skilled personnel required for its operation, or the organization involved in distributing the output will reach unprecedented dimensions. Long-range development planning, attempting to plot a course toward adequate levels of living, is therefore forced to resort to new technologies which do not yet exist but could be evolved from the scientific knowledge now available in journals, laboratories, and pilot plants somewhere in the world. The soil and water resources available for the production of food and fiber are a case in point. Land reclamation, fertilizer use, and improved crop varieties are being introduced quite rapidly into the less-developed regions. The foreseeable limits of the combined effects of the known technologies are a doubling, occasionally a trebling, of the output available to a population. But the demand for food often doubles within a generation as a combined result of population growth and urbanization. The anticipated crisis will occur during a bad crop year and will become disastrous if two or more poor years follow each other. The chances are all too great that in the late 1960s °r the 1970s the stresses triggered by uncontrolled famine will overwhelm the government in one or niore of the densely populated territories; Bengal, north central China, and Java are particularly vulnerable because their respective populations will s oon be too large to be supported by the world's

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surpluses. Tens of millions of unfortunates would die in the course of the crisis; the tragedy Mai thus envisaged would be enacted on its most massive scale. In the laboratories, however, a set of principles for the utilization of photosynthesis under optimum yield conditions is unfolding which promises a tenfold increase of output per unit area. These modes of plant culture have not been perfected, primarily because the societies best equipped to work out the details in the technology have been experiencing food surpluses. Nor have the incentives for rapid development, parallel to those granted to weapons technology, been authorized. Solving production problems is not sufficient either, because new foodstuffs will have to be converted into an acceptable diet. Many processing and marketing innovations are needed to accomplish such acceptance. The prospective difficulties of supply are no longer nutritional, but arise primarily from the strongly conservative character of food preferences in most cultures. Heavy investments in public education are required to bring about significant changes in diet. The inadequacy of contemporary Western energy conversion technology is more subtle. The crisis previously anticipated when fossil fuels were depleted will probably be avoided, largely because of the discovery of nuclear energy sources. However, nuclear energy cannot be safely adapted to the operation of independent vehicles, such as small ships, aircraft, trucks, buses, and automobiles, without huge increases in cost. Very likely microbiological processes for the conversion of solar energy will be able to bridge the fuel gap (Golueke & Oswald 1963). Attempts of this sort are held back by the diffuseness of solar energy; eventually much more of the earth's surface may have to be used for the production of fuels than for that of food. Long-range resource planning encounters a few other instances demanding shifts to new, sciencebased technologies (e.g., substitutes for paper and some replacements for nonferrous metals). Doubtless, the expanding investments in scientific work will provide many unexpected opportunities, although they are almost as likely to reveal unsuspected constraints in the application of what is already known and projected to be used. Once the important new findings appear, the affected plans must be adjusted to take them into account. These newest technologies for resource utilization are highly instrumented. As greater depths and more stressful environments are penetrated,

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an increasing need for sophisticated equipment is experienced. These processes are more susceptible to human error than the older technologies are and therefore must be designed in automated or cybernated versions which reduce the risks. Low wage scales do not significantly modify the technical solutions. Therefore, resource-oriented production in the future is expected to become much less labor-intensive. The operation of the instruments and controls, however, does depend heavily on the transmission of large quantities of data through a communications network and the rapid processing of such information at decision centers. Information and organization. Planning quickly becomes routinized in a large bureaucracy. When a new project for producing raw materials (or services) from a natural resource is prepared within a planning context, it undergoes a series of systematic tests of feasibility. One of the first of these hurdles is an estimation of its likelihood of becoming obsolete. The newest scientific findings and their influence on competing producers, on consumers, and on the producers of substitutes are assessed. Also, consultants who have access to bodies of unpublished knowledge are asked to submit appraisals. Similar checks are made concerning whatever factors are scarce in the economy. How much would this proposal worsen the scarcity of foreign exchange, technical skills, transport capacity, etc.? As a result, the revised project design is more closely linked to the characteristics of the market, it is automatically alerted to a wider variety of danger signals emanating from the environment, and a series of monitoring and control systems are incorporated into the design which combine information acquired from the outside with data generated from within the operation. When projects are meshed into national programs and regional plans, a coordinating agency is needed to administer them. The implementation process involves gathering information about progress, interpreting the findings, and instructing the operating units about desirable adjustments in plans. The emphasis in this description is upon the information-processing features of planning because most of the agency effort is expended in this direction. Extra information introduced into resources planning results in a reduction of physical waste and a stabilization of the cost of producing raw materials. It should be noted in passing that the planning agency also has an important political function, since it must resolve conflicts between government units, between individuals, and between the objectives of both groups. That feature of its duties

is not considered here because a high degree of consensus among the involved parties is a prerequisite for the acceptance of plans. Resource planners now encounter situations where the best resource-conserving projects do not deal directly with the scarce resources, or with their recognized substitutes, but with the expansion of "knowledge creation" capabilities and of specialized information transmission systems. For example, the best way of reducing the energy requirements of transportation may involve expanding the telephone system, so that on the average several telephone calls (which expend virtually no energy and very little other scarce natural resources) may save a trip. Similarly, an information service warning based upon knowledge about the effects of changes in weather may reduce spoilage and waste. A different natural resource is being exploited in these instances, one that as yet is rarely recognized in the resource literature. The electromagnetic spectrum is vital to high capacity telecommunications. This resource is still as free as the sea, requiring only international agreement on the allocation of channels. Recently, moves have been made to organize spectrum conservation measures (Ryan 1959), particularly in the vicinity of large industrialized metropolitan areas. Stray radiation acts as a kind of pollutant, causing noise in the channel and errors in the communication process. Fortunately, however, huge capacities remain to be exploited, and the underlying sciences have announced recent findings (e.g., lasers, wave guides) that open up further cost-reducing opportunities. Forecasts of the growth in demand (Litchman 1963) suggest that teledata flows will double every two years; they can increase at this rate until 1980 and still remain within technological capabilities. Human resources. The fact that human resources can substitute for natural resources at the margin has been recognized for at least a century [see CAPITAL, HUMAN; CONSERVATION, article on ECONOMIC ASPECTS], but the principles for developing and conserving this resource have not yet been very precisely formulated ("Needs and Resources for Social Investment" 1960). Nevertheless, resource planning is expanding most rapidly in this direction. Highest priorities are given to formal education systems and public health units. Schools, libraries, and clinics allow a society to draw upon a world-wide fund of knowledge and, with fairly predictable results, distribute parts of that knowledge to individuals (Machlup 1962; Harbison & Myers 1964). Disease prevention programs reduce the frequency of loss of informed individuals be-

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Resource Planning fore they have made their full contribution. Educated persons, working collectively, can extract a better living from a given environment than uneducated persons can. Human capital may be accumulated by expanding the number of persons acquiring education and by making sure that the subjects taught are relevant to future states of the society. The role of human capital is analogous to that of raw materials inventory. Optimal investment in human resources implies quite large-scale experiments in search of formulas for cooperation. An important share of the effort associated with the founding of an organization may therefore also be categorized as human capital formation. Thus, plans will attempt to balance the human investments in health, education, and communications; and the timing of the investments will be phased according to the magnitude of the organizing effort required to launch the specialized agencies desired. Fast-paced organizations of well-informed people will usually make more efficient decisions regarding resource use than will organizations that depend too heavily on computers. Because of these complex substitutabilities, much of the most productive effort expended in resource planning is devoted to organizing the spread of relevant knowledge. The United Nations conference on science and technology (United Nations . . . 1963) was intended to be a benchmark in the development of resources. The resource planning strategy. Thus the overall mandate for planners is outlined: The richest nonrenewable resources should be used first. Organizations are created to implement the projects and arrange for the distribution of output. As lower-grade reserves must be drawn upon, costs rise, and the organizations are forced to seek more efficient technologies. They also pay attention to the salvage of scrap and to fabrication techniques which use less of the resource. As still lower grades are resorted to, the organizations must expend even more effort on reprocessing scrap and manufacturing intermediate products from substitutes in easier supply. Eventually the salvage recycle becomes so efficient that exploitation principles cannot be distinguished from those applying to the various renewable natural resources. The mine works may be abandoned; but the organization, with its skills in the conversion of raw materials, its body of technological knowledge, and its capabilities for meeting the specifications of customers, remains. Higher sustained yields from renewable resources are also obtainable only through improved

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knowledge and organization. Communications systems development makes possible the coordination of utilization over much larger areas. Ultimately, the asset value of the extracted resources must be transformed into self-renewing human and physical capital of even larger value, if the effects of the law of diminishing returns are to be postponed indefinitely. The worth of human resources, however, is also subject to laws. If population continues to grow, the effort to educate, organize, investigate, and communicate must reach saturation at some point, and the marginal value of men will become negative. So far it has not been possible to discern any natural laws which identify these saturation limits for human organization or communication, but the requirements of a healthy human organism do impose constraints. A "minimum adequate standard of living," which provides just enough freedom from environmental stresses to allow social and cultural organization to become as effective as is presently known, can be recalculated as a per capita requirement for resource inputs. The ultimate limit appears to be the energy incident from the sun and its thermodynamic degradation in the course of storage and transport. The earth will probably be able to support indefinitely about ten to twenty times its present population (say, 30,000 million-80,000 million) when employing the stock of scientific knowledge which has yet to be translated into technology (Meier 1956). It will take only three to five generations at present rates of growth for world population to reach these saturation levels. Resource planning has hitherto accepted population as given and not subject to manipulation, but henceforth it must become closely linked with social planning that endeavors to bring births and deaths into balance (Brown 1954). RICHARD L. MEIER BIBLIOGRAPHY

AYRES, EUGENE; and SCARLOTT, CHARLES A. 1952 Energy Sources: The Wealth of the World. New York: McGraw-Hill. BOULDING, KENNETH E. 1955 The Malthusian Model as a General System. Social and Economic Studies 4: 195-205. BROWN, HARRISON S. 1954 The Challenge of Man's Future: An Inquiry Concerning the Condition of Man During the Years That Lie Ahead. New York: Viking. -> A paperback edition was published in 1956. CONFERENCE ON NATURAL RESOURCES AND ECONOMIC GROWTH, UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, I960 1961 Natural Resources and Economic Growth: Papers . . . . Edited by Joseph Spengler. Washington: Distributed by Resources for the Future.

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DANIELS, FARRINGTON; and DUFFIE, JOHN A. (editors) 1955 Solar Energy Research. Madison: Univ. of Wisconsin Press. GOLUEKE, CLARENCE G.; and OSWALD, WILLIAM J. 1963 Power From Solar Energy via Algae-produced Methane. Solar Energy 7:86-92. HARBISON, FREDERICK; and MYERS, CHARLES A. 1964 Education, Manpower, and Economic Growth: Strategies of H->'..c.an Resource Development. New York: McGraw-Hill. KRUTILLA, JOHN V.; and ECKSTEIN, OTTO 1958 Multiple Purpose River Development. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. LITCHMAN, WILLIAM S. 1963 The Future of Digital Communications. Institute of Electrical and Electronic Engineers, Communications Technology Group, I.E.E.E. Transactions on Communications Systems CS-11:149158. MAASS, ARTHUR et al. 1962 Design of Water-resource Systems: New Techniques for Relating Economic Objectives, Engineering Analysis, and Governmental Planning. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. MACHLUP, FRITZ 1962 The Production and Distribution of Knowledge in the United States. Princeton Univ. Press. MEIER, RICHARD L. 1956 Science and Economic Development: New Patterns of Living. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. Needs and Resources for Social Investment: A Discussion by a Carnegie Endowment Study Group, Geneva, 1959. 1960 International Social Science Journal 12:409-433. RESOURCES FOR THE FUTURE 1963 Resources in America's Future: Patterns of Requirements and Availabilities, 1960-2000, by Hans H. Landsberg et al. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. RYAN, A. H. 1959 Control of Microwave Interference. Institute of Radio Engineers, Transactions on Radio Frequency Interference RFI:1-10. SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN 1963 Technology and Economic Development. New York: Knopf. SHIMKIN, DEMITRI B. 1953 Minerals: A Key to Soviet Power. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. UNITED NATIONS 1953 United Nations Scientific Conference on the Conservation and Utilization of Resources: Proceedings. Vol. 8. New York: United Nations. UNITED NATIONS, SECRETARY-GENERAL 1963 Science and Technology for Development: Report on the United Nations Conference on the Application of Science and Technology for the Benefit of the Less Developed Areas. Volume 2: Natural Resources. New York: United Nations. U.S. PRESIDENT'S MATERIALS POLICY COMMISSION 1952 Resources for Freedom. 5 vols. Washington: Government Printing Office. IV

WELFARE PLANNING

An inquiry into planning for the social services is handicapped by conceptual ambiguities as to the meaning of the terms "social services" and "social welfare." With refreshing candor, Donnison recently observed that "the distinctive feature of our subject is neither its body of knowledge (for most of this could be incorporated into other disci-

plines), nor its theoretical structure (for it has very little), and we are not interested in methodology for its own sake. We are concerned with an ill-defined but recognizable territory, 'the development of collective action for the advancement of social welfare'" (1962, p. 21). But the global concept of "collective action for the advancement of social welfare" obscures the clashing conceptions of the political purposes of social services. At one extreme is the view that social services "assign claims from one set of people who are said to produce or earn the national produce to another set of people who may merit compassion and charity but not economic rewards for productive service" (Titmuss 1965, p. 14). So defined, social services are regarded as a burden to be carried by the productive institutions of society. Thus they constitute a residual function of government and philanthropy, and social service agencies should, ideally, strive toward self-liquidation. At the other extreme, Titmuss defines social services as "all collective interventions to meet certain needs of the individual and/or to serve the wider interests of society; [these] may now be broadly grouped into three major categories of welfare: social welfare, fiscal welfare, and occupational welfare" ([1958] 1959, p. 42). This discussion of the purposes of the social services has immediate import for planning, because estimates of total expenditures for social welfare clearly depend on the definition we accept. In the U.S. Social Security Administration's annual estimate of total welfare expenditures in the public and private sectors, social welfare is defined as "activities that directly concern the economic and social well-being of individuals and families" (Merriam 1965, p. 3). Consistent with this definition, Ida Merriam includes those agricultural programs that make surplus food available to needy persons (school lunch program, food stamp program, etc.). Lampman, on the other hand, employs a more encompassing definition of welfare in his assessment of the scope of money and nonmoney transfer payments. Public transfers include that portion of earned income (factor income) that is not a payment for current production having any value. Thus, in the agricultural sector he defines public payment for nonproduction as a welfare payment. Moreover, Lampman urges that the Social Security Administration's definition of public programs be expanded to include "subsidies and taxes which alter prices paid by the consumers and taxes that reduce disposable money income" (1966, pp. 3-4). According to this more inclusive definition, the estimate of U.S. expenditure for "social welfare" in

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Welfare Planning 1964 is about $97,000 million in transfer payments and transfer goods and services. By contrast, the more limited definition of the Social Security Administration leads to an estimate of $118,000 million. (No aggregate estimate is available for the conception of welfare favored by Titmuss.) This surprising finding arises because the broader view excludes health and education expenditures that are paid for directly by current users and are thus not regarded as extrafamily transfers. Lampman insists that the concept of welfare be limited to public transfer expenditures. He argues that there is no rationale for including personal expenditure for dental care while excluding personal expenditure for housing, as is done in the Social Security expenditure series. Direct payments by consumers for health services alone amounted to $17,000 million. Not only does the size of the social welfare sector vary according to the conception of welfare we employ, but the pattern of distribution of welfare services is affected even more dramatically. In Lampman's pioneer study of the American welfare system (1966, p, 8), he estimates that almost 40 per cent of the total amount allocated for transfer payments, or $38,000 million, goes to those individuals who would be classified as poor before they received any transfer payment. Assuming that the poor contribute approximately $8,000 million in taxes and private contributions, he thus concludes that they receive a net benefit of $30,000 million. In a more limited analysis of the distribution of housing benefits among various income groups, Alvin Schorr comes to almost the opposite conclusion. He observes that in 1962 the U.S. federal government spent $820 million to subsidize housing for individuals who would be classified as poor; this estimate includes direct subsidies for public housing and additional housing payments for those receiving public assistance, as well as savings from income tax deductions. By contrast, the amount the government refrained from collecting in income taxes by granting tax concessions to home owners (a predominantly middle- and upperincome group) is estimated at $2,900 million. Therefore, in regard to housing subsidies, the federal government spent more than three times as much for those who are not poor than for those who are poor. In this way, Schorr concludes, the government "gives more to those who have more" (1965
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seen both in relation to "who pays" and to "who benefits." Tax deductions in his scheme are reflected in a smaller "pay" figure, and they are of interest only to the extent that they alter the burden on the rich as compared to the poor. By contrast, Schorr assigns tax concessions to the benefit rather than the cost side of the ledger, which permits him to compare the relative benefits of tax concessions between those who are poor and those who are not poor. The answer to the question of who benefits from America's welfare state must remain inconclusive, not alone because of conceptual differences, but also because of the limitation of available data on the cost of employee fringe benefits and the size of tax concessions and how these are distributed by income groups. As indicated above, there are two main positions regarding the redistributive effect of social services. On one hand, Lampman suggests that, in the aggregate, welfare systems are redistributive and that they work for the advantage of lower-income people. On the other hand, students of British social policy, for instance, have concluded that the major beneficiaries of England's welfare state are the middle- and upper-income groups; thus Abel-Smith (1958) does not hesitate to assert that the high-cost sectors of social services, such as education, health, and housing, are instruments for the multiplication of advantage and privilege in an advanced industrial society. The rediscovery of poverty in an affluent society has riveted attention on the distributive effects of social policy: who are the beneficiaries of public largess? This question provides a useful context in which to begin planning. (There is little scholarly concern in continental Europe, South America, or the developing countries for the study of social policy; I have therefore been forced to rely heavily on the experience of the United States and the United Kingdom.) The planning process. Planning is traditionally defined as a method of rational decision making that counterposes means and ends in an attempt to assess how these can be best brought together at the least cost and with maximum effectiveness. This formulation tends to emphasize the technical problems of deciding on means; it implicitly assumes that the goals are clearly defined and capable of being measured. But this technical bias can be minimized, and the conception of planning recast, if one treats either the objectives or the implementation of the plan as problematic. The approach that focuses on implementation raises the question of feasibility and shifts the matter of planning away from the more dispassionate technical analy-

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sis of means and ends to a preoccupation with the realities of the environment as constraints on implementation. Similarly, the focus on objectives, including both the short-term and long-term aims of social policy, confronts the issue of ideology— the conception of the good society. Planning can also be seen in terms of three interrelated stages: policy development, with an emphasis on the progressive modification of ends and means to achieve feasibility; policy implementation, concerned with the administrative circumstances that create disparities between purpose and performance; and policy evaluation, which attempts, through the rigors of social science technology, to document these disparities. The results of these evaluations in turn serve as an information input for the modification of established policy. Thus planning is a continuous and circular process, rather than an occasional event initiated to solve a specific problem. The following discussion of planning will focus on the clarification of the goals of welfare and on the instruments for maximizing them; that is, it will deal primarily with substantive issues rather than with procedural questions. This approach will enable us to explore further some of the conceptual problems raised above in connection with the definition of welfare. Two interrelated tasks of planning—allocation and coordination—will be considered. The nature of allocative decisions Allocation is concerned with the problem of how to divide limited resources among competing claimants. In order to simplify this analysis, we will consider these allocative decisions in relation to specific tasks, such as the apportionment of money among items in an annual budget or among the components of a development plan. Allocative tasks can be roughly sorted into three categories that vary according to the types of claimants involved: that is, resources are allocated, first, among the social, economic, and physical sectors; second, among the various sectors of the social welfare field; and, finally, among the various types of programs within a single specialized social sector. Social, economic, and physical planning. First, we will be concerned with the social sector as a claimant for resources in competition with the economic and physical sectors. Consider the recent proposal in the United States for creating a demonstration cities program, in which 60 to 70 cities would request federal funds to develop a coherent attack on slums by combining physical and social renewal. According to the preliminary model pro-

grams for large cities, the estimated net cost of a neighborhood renewal program of 25,000 housing units is approximately $350 million, of which $100 million would be set aside to meet social costs— roughly a 3 to 1 ratio between these sectors. The expenditures set aside in the federal budget and in the demonstration cities program are examples of allocative decisions among different sectors of the economy. How physical, economic, and social planning fit together will vary according to the prevailing conception of the function of social planning. At least four different views of the functions of social planning can be identified. Welfare as a burden. One view of social planning sees welfare as a burden. According to this conception, since social welfare expenditure is heavily financed by taxation, we must pay special attention "to the specific sources of revenue used to finance it, to insure that the minimum of discouragement to enterprise and savings results from any given volume of welfare spending" (Burns 1954, p. 139). Eveline Burns suggests that we must be prepared to pay the costs of the depressive effect on enterprise and initiative arising from welfare expenditures, if these services enjoy a high community priority and are regarded as necessary. She exhorts the profession of social work to demonstrate that welfare services are indeed necessary but accepts the position that aggregate welfare costs inhibit economic growth. This view directs attention to the question of how much welfare we can afford without overburdening the economy. Likewise, in developing countries some have felt that funds expended for the social sector detract from the maximum growth of the economy. Agricultural experts have sometimes said that it is almost immoral to spend money in the social sector when the country has insufficient food for its population. According to this view, agricultural development warrants the highest priority, and the allocation of funds for the social sector is at best a distraction that may be politically necessary. Welfare as handmaiden. Recently, the conception of welfare as burden to economic growth is being replaced with a view that both economic and physical planning are best advanced by an investment in the social sector. One formulation of this view of welfare as "handmaiden" has been offered by economists concerned with investment in "human capital." Schultz suggests that inequalities in the distribution of personal income are most likely to be affected by such investments; he asserts that "the structure of wages and salaries is primarily determined by investment in schooling, health, on-

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Welfare Planning the-job training [etc.]" (1962, p. 2). [See CAPITAL, HUMAN.]

Physical planners have also become interested in a rapprochement with social planning. Although a physical plan may be immediately accepted as desirable and necessary, it cannot readily be implemented without the endorsement of citizens affected by it or without making provision for those who will be displaced by the renewal plans. Thus social planning has come to be denned in terms of the processes of relocation and citizen participation, namely, those activities that are necessary to facilitate the physical renewal plan. However, social planning for urban renewal and planning for investment in human capital are perhaps best seen as handmaidens for physical and economic development, respectively. Welfare as complementarity. A third view holds that raising the level of living and increasing the investment in the social sector can only proceed in conjunction with greater economic growth; efforts to redistribute limited resources result only in the redistribution of poverty. Interdependence arises when activities in one sector can serve either as objectives or methods for activities in another sector. Thus we sometimes may use primarily economic tools to achieve social objectives, as when we create employment opportunities and training opportunities in order to reduce youth unemployment and raise personal and family income, including those families receiving public assistance. Conversely, methods that are primarily social may be employed to promote economic objectives, as illustrated by the efforts to demonstrate that health improvement can make a major contribution to economic growth (see, for example, Mushkin 1962). Finally, complementarity is regarded as essential if more resources are to be added to the social services sector and if lowincome groups are to receive a larger share of these resources. As Donnison states: An ominous feature of the present concern for equality is the tendency for some of its most forceful exponents to lay such stress upon the redistribution of the national income that its rate of growth is liable to be forgotten. . . . Redistribution can only be achieved by building more schools, hospitals and houses, recruiting and training more teachers, doctors and social workers, and by concentrating the increase in the areas where it is most needed. A high rate of economic growth can be achieved without alleviating social injustices, but injustices cannot be remedied without a high rate of growth. (Donnison 1966, p. 7) Welfare as a means of social control. The fourth view of welfare programs claims that funds

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earmarked for such programs are intended largely to reduce social deviancy and thereby to protect the political and economic stability of the community. Hence, according to this view, the resources of the "war against poverty" in the United States are increasingly being used as a means of tranquilizing the unrest in urban slums. For example, the riots in 1965 in the Watts section of Los Angeles, California, brought forth sustained efforts to bring large amounts of federal funds into the community for social welfare programs in order to avert future violence. The jobs and training generated in the United States by the Neighborhood Youth Corps will be made available to youths in the urban ghettos, based on the theory that the provision of summer employment opportunities can serve to avert or at least minimize the occurrence of riots. Allocation among the social services. Allocative decisions must be made in regard to the distribution of resources among the various sectors that constitute the social welfare arena, such as health, education, housing, and income maintenance. Thus, a developing country may need to choose between an investment of resources in the area of pensions for old people or educational programs for the young. It can, of course, attempt to distribute its resources according to some principle of balance that fixes the relative importance of these objectives, and so cuts short the debate over priorities. The problems of choice are also confounded by the interrelationship among the social services. A study of social services in Mauritius illustrates how a policy of denying public assistance to the ablebodied unemployed created pressure on the medical care system. Unemployed persons sought to acquire sickness certificates in order to qualify for welfare payments. Thus a policy choice in the area of public assistance had the effect of creating excessive demand on the medical care system (Titmuss & Abel-Smith 1961, p. 81). Allocation within a single social sector. Allocative decisions must also be made within any one specialized, functional area, such as health, educacation, or housing. Two types of problems can be broadly identified: the distribution of resources by domain and by clientele. Questions of domain concern the distribution of resources by type of service. For example, to what extent should resources be allocated for curative as contrasted with preventive programs? The question of clientele concerns the issue of determining who should be the major beneficiaries of the program. The development of universal programs designed to reach the total popu-

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lation does not avoid the need to make choices. It is widely acknowledged that upper-income groups avail themselves more of education and other highcost social services (although the case for other sectors has not been as well documented) than do lower-income groups, "with the result that these services . . . represent in their mode of operation a redistribution of income away from the poor" (United Nations . . . 1965, p. 53). For example, as a rule of thumb, America spends less than half as much educating the children of the poor as the children of the rich (Jencks 1966, p. 18). Since universal programs result in inequalities, allocative policies aimed at redistribution may be necessary. This is becoming increasingly recognized in legislation, such as the Elementary and Secondary School Act of 1965, designed to distribute federal funds to schools with a substantial number of lowincome families. If we accept the traditional compartmentalization of programs as given, allocative decisions may typically be concerned with the distribution of resources by functional domain. However, allocations assigned in terms of traditional sectors have severe limitations; this approach often produces ineffective and inefficient solutions of social problems. Consider the following case-in-point. National levels of health, defined in terms of low infant mortality rates, are more highly correlated with measures of income, school enrollment, and calorie consumption than they are with the number of physicians in the country. This suggests that, to maximize health, it may be necessary to invest in nonhealth programs. "An extremely important requirement for improving health in a given country may be the improvement of the nutrition of children, if, as frequently happens . . . malnutrition . . . is leading to numerous diseases of adulthood, as well as to excessive morbidity and mortality among children" (United Nations . . . 1965, p. 55). Thus, if planning to maximize health takes into account only such matters as health facilities and health personnel, it may be ineffective or may achieve its aims in a very inefficient fashion. Politics of allocation The problems of allocation are the abiding issues of social policy planning. They pose the fundamental questions of the purposes and effectiveness of the social services. However, while the allocative questions are the most crucial, they are also the most intractable and the least well understood. By and large, we have developed neither the administrative machinery nor the technology for making allocative decisions. So broad a generalization may

seem arbitrary at a time when there is great investment and interest in policy-oriented research that goes beyond the traditional needs-resources approach into the more sophisticated cost-benefit analysis (Levine 1966). But most of these approaches fail to resolve at least two fundamental problems endemic to the social services. First, programs for converting social values into economic terms continue to have a disingenuous ring to them. A cost-benefit analysis for an urban renewal program that attempts to convert the loss of aesthetic pleasure of enjoying greenery into some monetary equivalent must make assumptions that are arbitrary, forced, and, in the end, unconvincing. We have no universally accepted social arithmetic for converting values into dollars. Measures of social achievement lack a common scale of measurement that would permit us to add the benefits of programs, to delete the costs of various social problems, and to assign relative values, weights, and priorities to different social programs. In short, we have no rules to guide us in choosing among educational, health, welfare, housing, and other programs. Most attempts at planning for social services are forced to bypass the issues of priority. The second problem concerns the nature of social objectives. Economic models tend to be fashioned on the assumption that economic policy is analogous to a theory of rational consumer choice; according to this theory, economic man seeks to maximize his "utility" or preferences within the constraints of his income and the prevailing prices of the goods and services that he wishes to acquire. But the concept "need" does not lend itself to this type of rational calculation: what a man chooses is by definition his preference, but social needs imply necessities, and a man may not choose what he needs or what others think he needs. He may also lack the freedom to choose, because he lacks the necessary funds, information, or access to the services he requires. Moreover, the economic model is oversimplified, based as it is on the maximization of a single goal, which is defined as "utility" and measured by preference functions and indifference curves. [See UTILITY.] Social life tends to be more complex than this. Allocative decisions involve the pursuit of multiple social goals, some of which are in partial conflict either with each other or with economic and physical objectives, but all of which, as this discussion of the goals of social policy has attempted to illustrate, are difficult to identify and select. Thus we cannot, in the end, develop a single best social plan. We are driven to the more unsatisfactory conclusion that there are only multiple plans, which will vary according to

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Welfare Planning which items we accept as constraints for the achievement of certain objectives. For example, we can ask what level of inflation we are willing to accept in order to achieve full employment, thus treating price stability as a constraint and full employment as the goal; or we can ask the reverse question. All of these problems confound the task of allocative planning. The secretary-general of the United Nations has effectively summarized these issues in a report to the U.N. Social Commission: ". . . social planning does not have the unity and coherence of economic planning. . . . Social allocation is ultimately a matter of judgment, operating among incommensurable values" (United Nations . . . 1965, pp. 37, 39). These judgments, of course, are not advanced as arguments against the systematic gathering of evidence and data, which can lead to judgments based on information. But they do suggest that, in the last analysis, allocative decisions are based on value judgments—that is, there is no planning without ideology and politics. It is possible to identify at least four ways in which such decisions are made. First, tradition plays an important role. In an analysis of the allocative process used by the United Fund organizations, Arthur Vidich observes that "the formula of tradition tends to work, as no unit is apt to feel unduly cheated if last year's proportions are carried over into this year" (1963, chapter 2, p. 6). Second, preference or pressure can play a significant role in the determination of allocative decisions. Since, as we have seen, there is no objective way to measure the relative need for housing as against education or health, knowledge of the preferences of consumers could, in principle, serve as one effective means for resolving these dilemmas of choice. Preferences can be secured either through some form of planning that is concerned with the channeling of the needs and aspirations of potential service uses (i.e., planning for citizen participation in policy decisions) or through the use of survey research methods that attempt to gather information on preferences and then treat these as inputs for planning decisions. Thus, citizen participation in social planning and/or the development of measures of consumer preference can serve as purposive techniques for making allocative judgments. One of the unique features of the American "war on poverty" is the attempt to involve in policy making those who are potential consumers of antipoverty programs. There is, however, the unfortunate tendency in most planning efforts to involve the citizens only to the extent of asking them to endorse plans already prepared

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in advance rather han to use citizen groups for the initiation of polcy ideas (Wilson 1963). There has been little attenpt to use consumer preference surveys in the deternination of policy. Admittedly, the development of such surveys poses a complex technical task, but tieir potential as an instrument of policy has not be;n exploited. To the extent tha" preferences do play a role in policy development they usually emerge when organized interest groips for the aged, veterans, and other recipients of s)cial services exert pressure on those who control dlocative decisions. In the voluntary sphere, the selection of fund-raising programs that are likey to appeal to the community is, of course, one way of implicitly taking preferences into account, although these preferences are not necessarily those of the consumer. However, allocative decisions that are based on considerations of compassion,the popularity of the program, or community pressure may have little to do with the severity or pervasiveness of the social problems for which funds ar< raised, and they fail to take into account the neels of socially unpopular groups —that is, the ones tiat, like the American Indians, are unable to exert much pressure on their own behalf. Allocative decisiois are often avoided altogether, since policy, in response to different pressures, tends to develop piecemeal—a process that is often called proliferation »y welfare planners. Proliferation, however, can iself be regarded as a strategy of allocation, particilarly at the early stages in the development of new programs. Thus if we seek to expand the amount we spend in the area of, say, manpower training, we tend to proliferate many new programs and o create new agencies, which often lack adequate coordination with previously established efforts. Each program may even be supported under a sepa-ate piece of social legislation, as in the case of current training programs for disadvantaged youtls in the United States. This form of allocation by accretion may seem a very irrational process after a sufficient number of these programs have beei developed, but some pragmatists believe that it can also be an effective means of mobilizing resources for these services. Others, however, regard the way in which federal manpower programs have developed as the result of vested departmental interests and their clienteles (see especially Levian 1966). Whether regarded as strategy or necessity, administrative dysfunctions arise when fragmented but interrelated services are not brough together into some coherent whole. This leads to pressure for coordination. But coordination increases visibility, and when new

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funds are sought in competition with other claimants there may be pressure to further fragmentize services as a technique for securing resources. However, specialization may arise from other pressures as well. Planning for coordination The United States has an enormously complex and varied system for distributing social services. First, there is a three-tier vertical system, in which some services are distributed by sponsors administratively located at the national, state, or local levels. The three hierarchical tiers are bound together by financial, administrative, legal, and professional loyalties. The ties may be loose, as in the case of federated structures, where local operations are autonomous and create a national body to service their needs; or tight, as in the case of corporate structures, in which the locals are branch offices of a national agency. Within the boundaries of any one tier, there is a horizontally organized system, which can be sorted by auspices (public, voluntary, or private), or by functional specialization (health, education, housing, etc.), or by the type of clientele serviced (classified by age, problem, income grouping, etc.) and by the skill performed (teaching, medicine, social work, etc.). Moreover, the instruments or means for carrying out these functions tend to take on varied forms. The government may directly operate services, or it may purchase them from voluntary and private agencies or professionals in the form of subsidies, grants, loans, or vendor payments. The latter procedure helps to support private and voluntary activity. The government may subsidize the facilities themselves, as in the case of low-cost housing programs; alternatively, it may provide individuals with subsidies, grants, or transfer payments so that they can purchase services in the open market, as in the case of unrestricted rent subsidies. Even so condensed a summary of the organization of social services suggests its great variety and complexity. The components of the structure are not only complex but are also interrelated; programs cannot be treated in isolation, for they affect each other in at least two ways. First, the work loads of agencies in the same community do not vary independently. Thus, a protective agency, eager to conform to the principle that a child should not be removed from its own home, may assume that it has achieved its goal by decreasing its petitions to the courts, but as its court referrals decline, other agencies may begin to refer the cases of the protective agency to the courts, with the result that the total volume of court referrals re-

mains unaffected. Second, many different activities are relevant to the solution of a single problem. Thus, as we have suggested, to promote the objective of health we may need to create indirect programs that are directed at expanding income, housing, education, nutrition, etc. The complexity and the interrelatedness of the social service system creates obvious pressures for coordination to reduce competition and promote coherence. But the term "coordination" itself remains curiously vague and abstract, and it is more often used as a slogan than as a strategy for solving a specific problem in the organization of social services. Coordination strategies are, in the main, bound by a common problem: how to bring services into better harmony without reducing the autonomy of the component agencies and professions. In the following discussion of coordination, I will develop a typology of types of problematic situations that create the need for coordination and then examine the nature of the coordinative strategy that has been created, as well as the problems that are still unattended or are created by the very efforts at coordination. In examining the problems of coordination, it may be useful to set our discussion within the market terminology of a supply system of social service agencies and a demand system of consumers or recipients of services—that is, a social service delivery system. This analogy should not be pressed too far, however, for many services do not follow a demand pattern and are imposed on individuals regardless of their preferences, as in the case of programs for delinquents or the mentally ill. Use of the term "service" minimizes the function of welfare as an instrument of community protection. Furthermore, "consumer demand" is too global a term, for it masks one of the most interesting characteristics of the delivery system : that the recipients of social services can themselves be classified, according to the agency which distributes the services, as clients, patients, customers, victims, or deviates. These labels also sort professional dispensers into a status hierarchy and thus can affect the quality and the nature of the treatment that individuals in similar circumstances will receive. Moreover, many services function not only as devices for meeting demand but also as rationing systems designed to limit either the volume or the quality and extensiveness of the service that each person receives. Services may ration scarce resources in terms of money, facilities, or professional skill. Despite these limitations, the above analogy is nevertheless useful because it permits us to classify coordinative problems as types

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Welfare Planning of disjunctives between the supply and the demand system. Within this frame of reference, six "delivery problems" will be examined. Service inundation. The same client is often known to many community services, each of which may send a worker into the home of the family and may hold out to the family a set of expectations for desired social performance and exert sanctions for nonconformity. In the United States in the late 1940s, Bradley Buell's studies of "problem families" (Buell et al. 1952) directed attention to the issue of service inundation. He suggested that 6 per cent of the families in St. Louis were receiving more than half of the services offered by the community. However, in Buell's studies the term "services" was never adequately defined, for it included long-range continuing contact with the agency, as well as brief contact only at the point of intake. This ambiguity in the definition of services and the absence of data on types of services used make it plausible to suggest that Buell's findings can be restated as follows. A small proportion of families make contact with many agencies, most of which refer the family to other agencies, instead of offering them quality services. Thus families in need bounce from agency to agency, with no one assuming responsibility and accountability for them; the experience of these "multiagency families" reflects as much the fragmentation of the social service system as the pathology of the families. This fragmentation of services became the subject of debate within the social work profession in the early 1960s, and attention shifted from the problem of how the lack of coordination leads to clients becoming "overserviced" to how the same lack created the problem of clients who were "underserviced," or rejected and unwanted. Strategies to reduce "inundation" appear to be concerned with rationalizing the function of the professional agents and with developing coordination through a more coherent personnel policy. Planning is thus directed chiefly at substituting simultaneous visiting for serial visiting and at cutting down duplication of effort by workers located in different social agencies who perform similar or related tasks (for example, when each agency secures its own family history to determine eligibility for a specific service, although one history could serve the needs of most agencies). Two broad strategies for minimizing inundation can be identified—reducing the number of workers who visit the same family, or enhancing the communication among workers. The Service of Coordination in Paris pushes the first principle to its logical extreme. It achieves coordination by three

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simple but radical principles: only one social worker is assigned to a given family; each worker is responsible for all families in a defined geographic area; and no work is done twice (Schorr 1965Z?, p. 38). Thus, if a family caseworker believes that a family is in need of a supplementary financial allowance, she can secure the additional grant without a second investigation by a welfare worker. In 1967, the feasibility of reorganizing personal social services was being discussed in England by the Seebohn Committee. The changes most frequently discussed seemed to require combining the various separate departments and services into one ministry of social welfare, with status equal to that held by the existing ministries of education and health. This new ministry, or department, was to be organized on the basis of the skill to be performed, and was to be founded on the principle of merger rather than of coordination, so that the independence of established agencies could be respected. Exactly how the boundaries of such a welfare service might be drawn and which functions were to be included had not yet been agreed upon. However, it was thought that such a department would probably service other major departments by allotting social workers to courts, schools, hospitals, clinics, welfare departments, and other such agencies. One of the major purposes of this reform was seen as the coordination of scarce manpower skills (Titmuss 1966; Great Britain . . . 1966). In the United States, numerous attempts at experimenting with similar programs can be identified. For example, under the auspices of the New York City Youth Board an attempt has been made to create an interdepartmental neighborhood service center. The organizing principle of this service, as described by its director, is the assumption by one worker of responsible concern for the total family (Lampkin 1961, p. 8). Most such efforts have succumbed under the pressure of established institutions after having survived, with little success, for only short periods. Somewhat less radical than such administrative surgery are strategies that attempt coordination through increased communication. The social service exchange is an example of an attempt to create a central repository of information. Such exchanges operate under the assumption that if workers could identify the other community agencies that have contact with their clients, they would, in fact, contact them and work out some formal or informal coordination. When many voluntary agencies were distributing money rather than services, this seemed an efficient way of preventing the same person

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from securing aid twice. Case conferences provide another example of an organized structure whereby many workers from different agencies have an opportunity to meet to discuss their contacts with the same families. Often such conferences lead to a decision that one worker should assume responsibility for maintaining tne ongoing contact with a family and so be able to keep the other agencies informed of the family's progress. (For a detailed case study of the inundation problem and the strategies used by community agencies to reduce it, see Willson 1961.) These strategies seem to emphasize cooperation of workers rather than coordination of services. A major difficulty with these strategies is that many agencies that have significant contact with the family refuse, or are unwilling, to participate in joint deliberations or in the common sharing of staff. Nevertheless, the search for a polyvalent social worker continues as one strategy for reducing the inundation that specialization seems to create. Problems of access and procurement. Whereas inundation involves multiple contacts by many agencies with the same family, the problem of access concerns the obverse problem of how to secure needed services within a highly fragmented and specialized service system, in which each agency defines its own service boundaries. When a family needs a nursing home service for an aged member, remedial services for a child having difficulty with reading, or a summer camp, it is likely to encounter the problem of access. In the situation where the consumers initiate the requests for these services, the social service delivery system comes closest to the demand situation of the market system; this is most likely to occur in cases where the recipients can be classified as customers, clients, or patients rather than victims and deviates. Access problems are exacerbated when a family has little income to purchase these services and must rely on the nonmarket system of public and voluntary social services. Three broad strategies to facilitate access can be seen. Some coordinative strategies focus on an effort to educate the client, thus assuming that lack of access is a function of lack of information. Typically, they rely on devices such as information and referral services to inform consumers as to where available services can be secured. Scattered evidence shows that "arrival" rates from these referral services tend to be quite low (Furman et al. 1965). Such findings suggest the need for supplementary approaches. A second approach is based on the assumption

that although information is necessary, it is insufficient. According to this view, the referring agent must himself play a more active role as negotiator of the service jungle on behalf of the service conice that is requested. Some experimentation with knowledge of how the system works and with some power to accomplish his special aims. The political ward leader is a prototype of this kind of expediting agent, for he is often willing and able to apply pressure on appropriate agencies and to follow through to assure that his client receives the service that is requested. Some experimentation with indigenous workers serving as expediters has attempted to follow what is at least implicitly a similar model (Brager 1965). A third strategy attempts to assure access by altering the structure in which social services are performed. In the United States, a new federal program providing neighborhood service stations, financed under the Community Action Program of the Economic Opportunity Act of 1964, has tried to create a new structure within the local community, in which many community agencies establish branch offices in the same facility. Thus a welfare department, an employment referral agency, a family guidance program, etc., will all locate their services in a single structure, providing something like a social service variety store, in which a range of services are available under a single roof. Ideally, a single intake worker is available to route the client to the appropriate service. This strategy is a form of coordination by physical propinquity; a client need only stop in one center to secure the necessary range of services he requires. These coordinative strategies typically suffer from what has been called the problem of "green tape": where the total volume of services in a community remains constant, the strategy may only alter the pattern of claims (Rein & Riessman 1966). That is, it may provide preferential treatment for its constituency at the cost of assuring that some other individuals will not be able to secure access to these services. Access for community agencies. The problem of access must be seen not only in terms of the desire for citizens to secure services but also in terms of the need of agencies to secure social services on behalf of their clientele, especially those who are victims and deviates. Community agencies that service an unwanted or unpopular population meet the problem of access when they try to secure for them the services they need. Such agencies find that in order to carry out their mission they require the cooperation of other community agencies. Thus a public welfare department must secure the co-

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Welfare Planning operation of family counseling, employment, and health services in order to implement the national policy of reducing dependency. Similarly, a redevelopment agency involved in the problem of the physical renewal of the city may need a range of community services in order to make possible the relocation of difficult-to-place tenants, such as those with very large families or with special problems. When an agency tries to secure different types of services on behalf of its clientele, these efforts may be labeled as "comprehensive planning." However, comprehensiveness is often the last stage in a series of earlier efforts to solve the problem of access. The agency may start first by referring its clientele to other community agencies; but if the referral process fails, it may find itself impelled to undertake these tasks in its own operation. Thus a settlement house may create a psychiatric clinic, a health service, or a remedial reading program. If funds are available, the agency may purchase the service from established community agencies, or alternatively, it may finance programs intramurally. Occasionally, new structures are created to provide or facilitate services for an unwanted population. Thus the comprehensive planning financed in the United States under the Juvenile Delinquency and Youth Offenses Control Act of 1961 was oriented to securing relevant services on behalf of those who are in danger of becoming delinquent— that is, disadvantaged youths living in urban ghettos. In this context, the term "comprehensiveness" is best interpreted as the effort to get community agencies to provide services on behalf of the population of disadvantaged youths. Similarly, the 1962 amendments to the U.S. Social Security Act encouraged the creation of services for the underserviced population receiving public assistance. Planning for access could involve purchasing the needed services from established agencies. However, because resources are limited, such planning often relies on the use of small-scale demonstration projects, in the hope that the agency in which the demonstrations are placed will come, in time, to adopt the reforms it has started. Alternatively, it can work outside of established institutions (parallelism), or it can operate the services directly. All approaches have been used. A major problem created by comprehensive planning is that it leads, in the short run, to competition for resources, as each community agency tries to provide the relevant services for a specialized population at risk—victims of relocation, the poor, disadvantaged youths, public assistance recipients, the mentally ill, etc. Without a major increase in the total amount of resources available, these agen-

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cies may find themselves in competition for limited personnel and facilities. Resource competition. One way of defining coordination is to say that it ensures that a varied range of services, frequently technically different or separately administered, are planned so as to operate as interrelated parts of a total treatment process in meeting family need or in remedying breakdown. It is surprising how little theorizing has been done about the kind of program scheduling that is necessary to contribute to meeting family need and to preventing social problems. Most sociological thought and research has tended to fragment the individual between the worlds of work, school, family relationships, community, and peer relationships. But much less work has been done on how the scheduling of events in these various worlds affects the capacity of an individual to function in one or another of them. Thus what is obscure in this approach to coordination is the failure to specify how varied services are or ought to be linked if they are to meet need or remedy personal and social breakdown. Without some scheme for ranking the relative importance of needs or problems, and without some procedure for determining the priorities to be allotted to various services, the task of integrative planning must proceed without benefit of theory and thus without benefit of any rules for reducing competition among claimants for scarce resources. Moreover, in the social services there is no theoretical analogy to the general medical practitioner who treats the "whole" person, exploiting the skills of specialists but retaining accountability for the total condition of the patient. While many professionals claim unique competence to manage the task of central coordination of social services, none have been assigned to fill this role. Thus to talk of "human need" or the "whole person" obscures the dilemma of choice confronted in developing strategies of coordination. Clearly, what is needed is a system of priorities for allotting resources that is based on function, age, social problem, etc. Although we lack the means for resolving the value and jurisdictional issues of resource competition, we do have planning instruments that can either formally or informally perform the function of arbitrator and coordinator of competing requests for service. The U.S. Bureau of the Budget at the federal level is, of course, one case-in-point. Acting as the planning arm of the executive branch, it frequently interferes with the operation of specialized departments, encouraging them to cooperate and to avoid duplication of effort. But in the end the final allocative

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decisions are made in Congress through what is essentially a political process. The problem of discontinuity. Social service can become disjointed or discontinuous if there is a failure to provide component services that are necessary to complete the cycle of change. This situation arises when programs assume coherence only when they are linked with other activities. An obvious case is that of job training, which includes the tasks of recruiting, screening, training, and placement. Unless these components relate to each other, the program lacks coherence. In practice, we often create separate agencies to carry out these specialized functions. Consider the case of manpower training for disadvantaged youths in the United States. The screening and recruiting tasks are, in part, the function of a community action program; a pre-skills training program (trainingfor-employability) might be carried out by the Neighborhood Youth Corps program or the Conservation Job Corps; the actual training task is often done by a program administered under either the Manpower Development and Training Act or the Urban Job Corps; and, finally, the job placement of graduates of the training program may be administered by the state employment office which, in turn, carries the dual responsibility of job placement and job development. Problems of discontinuity can arise at any point where there is an interruption in the flow of the person through the total system, starting with recruitment and ending with placement. One of the typical bottlenecks has been the transition from pretraining into training programs because of the lack of training facilities; and another has been the transition from training into job placement, often because of the failure of placement agencies to pay sufficient attention to the problems of job development. Examples of discontinuity can be found in the flow of patients through a mental hospital program. Continuity of care is defined by Schwartz as "planning of a patient's treatment so that the help given at any point is part of a total program. . . . A number of programs for in-patients, out-patients, and ex-patients have continuity of care as a goal, though phases of treatment are administered by separate agencies. It is rare for a single program to encompass all phases of a mental hospital patient's career" (Schwartz et al. 1964, p. 257). Continuity of care is indeed a crucial issue, since psychiatrists acknowledge that a patient's release from a mental hospital does not necessarily mean that he is cured. Thus post-hospitalization activities can be legitimately defined as parts of treatment. Indeed, the theory of community psychiatry

rests on such assumptions [see MENTAL DISORDERS, TREATMENT

OF,

article

On

THE

THERAPEUTIC

COMMUNITY]. Strategies to reduce discontinuity seek to maximize coherence among specialized agencies that perform part of what is, in effect, a single task. It should be noted that the goal of "coherence," which means the provision of closely related services, contrasts with "comprehensiveness," which emphasizes the provision of a range of different services. In examining strategies to reduce discontinuity it is useful to specify at least three interrelated tasks: service entry; training or treatment; and reabsorption or placement. Whatever the ideals, planning for continuity tends, in practice, to focus on either the entry or the absorption problem. Thus job training programs for disadvantaged youths emphasize recruitment, largely because training and placement opportunities have been limited. On the other hand, planning for mental health or the reduction of delinquency directs attention to the problem of absorption, largely because of the concern about high recidivist rates. The increased concern for community care, or outpatient treatment, makes the problem of absorption quite crucial for hospital and correctional institutions. Ideally, the goal is to provide the full range of services. In the United States the Community Mental Health Facilities Act of 1964 has attempted to initiate planning that focuses on the creation of structures which can process individuals from diagnosis, through treatment, to rehabilitation, and back to treatment institutions if necessary. They have encouraged the erection, where appropriate, of a single facility that offers inpatient, outpatient, and aftercare programs. Planning for continuity can, however, create problems of duplication and fragmentation. Consider the following case-in-point. The U.S. Job Corps had, by the summer of 1966, encountered a projected average annual cost per person enrolled of about $7,500, and another $600 per person enrolled when the capital costs were taken into account. In order to protect this investment, it was considered necessary to create special placement counselors who would assist the graduates of the program in securing jobs. The Bureau of the Budget questioned whether these placement counselors should be assigned to the Job Corps or to the state employment service, and it was eventually agreed that they would be placed in the Employment Service but that the counselors would give priority to the graduates of the Job Corps. Entitlement and protection. One of the more intractable problems of delivering services rendered by bureaucratic agencies to clients is that of en-

PLANNING, SOCIAL: Welfare Planning suring that clients receive the services that they are entitled to, and a related problem is that of protecting clients from unfair practices of the institutions which are designed to serve them. The entitlement question arises when individuals are denied services because of decisions that are based upon the judgment or discretion of the professionals who operate the services. For example, some potential clients are denied public assistance payments because they are judged to be "ineligible." The definition of eligibility is typically subject to a variety of interpretations. The problem of protection arises when bureaucracies either abuse their power or carry out their mission in such a fashion as to inadvertently create difficulties. For example, many school systems have developed ability groupings, or a "track system," that sort individual pupils into four tracks—honors, college preparation, regular, and basic. The socalled basic track is designed for those individuals who have subnormal intelligence and a demonstrated incapacity to perform intellectual tasks. A recent restudy of 1,273 youths assigned to the basic track in Washington, B.C., revealed that 886 youngsters were placed in the wrong track; that is, they were found to be capable of doing "regular" work (Hechinger 1965). A great deal of interest has been shown in creating instruments for assuring entitlement and consumer protection. I have defined these as coordinative strategies because they attempt to coordinate the preferences and rights of clients with the performance of institutions. For example, in the United States there has been some discussion about the feasibility of employing an ombudsman, who would act as an impartial agent to receive complaints made by clients against the service bureaucracies. Neighborhood legal services sponsored by the U.S. antipoverty program have broadened the definition of legal services for the poor so as to include not only protection in criminal cases but also protection from the operations of service agencies. For example, in New York City the Mobilization for Youth agency has developed a vigorous program that provides legal counsel for public assistance clients who have been designated as ineligible because of residence requirements; all of the cases that have been brought to court with the aid of this program were finally judged to be eligible for assistance. Planning structures. Coordinative planning requires a planning structure that can collect and organize the resources of various agencies to solve the many delivery problems. However, most planning structures have a common constraint, in that they cannot reduce the autonomy of community

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agencies, nor can they control the base budgets of agencies, although they can supplement these budgets as an incentive for cooperation. For example, the antipoverty program in the United States has created new community centers for comprehensive planning (community action agencies). These centers will function as funnels for federal funds that are now being made available directly to localities, as contrasted with the earlier pattern of grants-in-aid that were allocated through the states. However, the question of the appropriate structure for these new coordinative planning instruments remains highly controversial. Thus, important policy issues have emerged in connection with several problems, which can be briefly summarized as follows: how to create a viable structure that can overcome the jurisdictional problems which arise in forging a coalition of established but autonomous service institutions; how to promote radical democracy which respects the preferences of service consumers; and how to create rational problem solving based upon research and planning. Moreover, when these three elements are combined, they tend to conflict. Most planning structures struggle only with the effort to reconcile the clash between established power and rational knowledge, since the consumer of the service is seldom formally involved in planning at the policy level. In contrast, these new community action programs are confronted with all three problems, but especially with the conflict between the established institutions and the consumers of social services (Marris & Rein 1967). MARTIN REIN [Directly related are the entries SOCIAL WORK; WELFARE ECONOMICS; WELFARE STATE. Other relevant material may be found in AGING; BLINDNESS; COMMUNITY, article on COMMUNITY DEVELOPMENT; DELINQUENCY; HOUSING; MEDICAL CARE; MENTAL HEALTH; POVERTY; UNEMPLOYMENT INSURANCE; and in the biographies of BEVERIDGE; WEBB, SIDNEY AND BEATRICE.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ABEL-SMITH, BRIAN 1958 Whose Welfare State? Pages 55-73 in Norman I. MacKenzie (editor), Conviction. London: MacGibbon & Kee. BRAGER, GEORGE 1965 The Indigenous Worker: A New Approach to the Social Work Technician. Social Work 10, no. 2:33-40. BUELL, BRADLEY et al. 1952 Community Planning for Human Services. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. BURNS, EVELINE M. 1954 The Financing of Social Welfare. Pages 131-158 in Cora Kasius (editor), New Directions in Social Work. New York: Harper. DONNISON, DAVID V. 1962 The Development of Social Administration. London: Bell. DONNISON, DAVID V. 1966 Social Work and Social Change. British Journal of Psychiatric Social Work 8, no. 4:3-9.

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FURMAN, SYLVAN S. et al. 1965 Social Class Factors in the Flow of Children to Outpatient Psychiatric Facilities. American Journal of Public Health 55:385-392. GREAT BRITAIN, SCOTTISH EDUCATION DEPARTMENT 1966 Social Work and the Community: Proposals for Reorganising Local Authority Services in Scotland. Papers by Command, Cmnd. 3065. London: H.M. Stationery Office. HECHINGER, F. M 1965 Tracking—Useful If Not Overdone. New York Times Dec. 19, sec. IV, p. 7, col. 1. JENCKS, CHRISTOPHER 1966 Is the Public School Obsolete? Public Interest No. 2:18-27. LAMPKIN, LILLIAN C. 1961 Helping the Multi-problem Family Through Coordination of Services. Paper delivered at the Eastern Regional Conference of the Child Welfare League. Unpublished manuscript. LAMPMAN, ROBERT J. 1966 How Much Does the American System of Transfers Benefit the Poor? Pages 125157 in Leonard H. Goodman (editor), Economic Progress and Social Welfare. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. LEVINE, ABRAHAM S. 1966 Cost-Benefit Analysis and Social Welfare: An Exploration of Possible Applications. Welfare in Review 4, no. 2:1—11. LEVITAN, SAR A. 1966 Washington Notes. Poverty and Human Resources Abstracts 1, no. 4:17-20. MARRIS, PETER; and REIN, MARTIN 1967 Dilemmas of Social Reform: Poverty and Community Action in the United States. London: Routledge. MERRIAM, IDA C. 1965 Social Welfare Expenditures: 1964-1965. Social Security Bulletin 28, no. 10:3-16. MUSHKIN, SELMA J. 1962 Health as an Investment. Journal of Political Economy 70 (Supplement): 129157. REIN, MARTIN; and RIESSMAN, FRANK 1966 A Strategy for Anti Poverty Community Action Programs. Social Work 11, no. 2:3-12. SCHORR, ALVIN L. 1965a National Community and Housing Policy. Social Service Review 39:433-443. SCHORR, ALVIN L. 1965b Social Security and Social Services in France. U.S. Social Security Administration, Division of Research and Statistics, Research Report No. 7. Washington: Government Printing Office. SCHULTZ, THEODORE W. 1962 Reflections on Investment in Man. Journal of Political Economy 70 (Supplement): 1-8. SCHWARTZ, MORRIS S. et al. 1964 Social Approaches to Mental Patient Care. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. TITMUSS, RICHARD M. (1956) 1959 Essays on the Welfare State. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. -> See especially "The Social Division of Welfare: Some Reflections on the Search for Equity," pages 34-55. TITMUSS, RICHARD M. 1965 The Role of Redistribution in Social Policy. Social Security Bulletin 28, no. 6:1420. TITMUSS, RICHARD M. 1966 Social Work and Social Service: A Challenge for Local Government. Journal of the Royal Society of Health 86:19-21, 32. TITMUSS, RICHARD M.; and ABEL-SMITH, BRIAN 1961 Social Policies and the Population Growth in Mauritius: Report to the Governor of Mauritius. London: Methuen. UNITED NATIONS, ECONOMIC AND SOCIAL COUNCIL, SOCIAL COMMISSION 1965 Methods of Determining Social Allocation: Report of the Secretary General . . . E/CN.5/387. New York: United Nations. VIDICH, ARTHUR 1963 Analysis of Philanthropic Institutions and Psychology. Unpublished manuscript.

WILLSON, F. M. G. 1961 Administrators in Action: British Case Studies. Vol. 1. London: Allen & Unwin. -> See especially "The Administrative Consequences of Jim and Vera Fardell," pages 279-345. WILSON, JAMES Q. 1963 Planning and Politics: Citizen Participation in Urban Renewal. Journal of the American Institute of Planners 29:242-249.

PLANTATIONS A plantation is an economic unit producing agricultural commodities (field crops or horticultural products, but not livestock) for sale and employing a relatively large number of unskilled laborers whose activities are closely supervised. Plantations usually employ a year-round labor crew of some size, and they usually specialize in the production of only one or two marketable products. They differ from other kinds of farms in the way in which the factors of production, primarily management and labor, are combined. Typically, the plantation is large as farm organizations go, but it does not derive its essential character from size alone. Many so-called family farms are larger in area and often in value of product than some plantations, and the larger mechanized wheat and cotton farms of the American West are the equal of plantations in these measures and in capital employed as well. Plantation organization of agricultural production is not a necessary consequence of large ownership units, nor does it require large land ownership. When extensive methods of cultivation are appropriate, the large holding may be farmed as a unit by highly mechanized methods and with a small labor force. When more labor-intensive methods are economical, the landlord may lease out his property to tenants who make most or all of the management decisions. On the other hand, a plantation may lease a number of small ownership units to form an economic unit, or numerous landowners may pool their land to form a cooperative plantation. Another characteristic frequently associated with plantations is a relatively high degree of vertical integration, even of self-sufficiency. This may result when required inputs or processing facilities are not available locally and hence must be supplied by the plantation itself; or when processing plants built to supply an international market establish their own plantations in order to insure an adequate supply of raw-material inputs. Vertical integration and self-sufficiency are, of course, not limited to plantations. Privately operated plantations are most promi-

PLANTATIONS nent in the growing of tropical tree crops and other perennials, particularly if sugar can be included in this category. Of the principal export crops of the tropics, coffee, tea, bananas, sugar, and rubber come primarily from plantations; and plantations are major factors in the production of palm products. But small holders produce about one-half of the world's oil palm products and are the principal producers of cocoa, rice, and, in the tropics, of peanuts and cotton. Small holders in the tropics also produce significant supplies of bananas, coffee, sugar, rubber, and copra. Plantations, moreover, are not confined to tree crops or to tropical crops. In the tropics, for example, they have been important producers of manioc (tapioca ), and in the temperate zones, of cotton. The apparent association of plantations with perennials results, at least in part, from the difficulty of mechanizing the production of these crops; in the tropics this difficulty stems largely from the shortage of skilled labor. Degree of mechanization, quality of the labor supply, and the importance of tree crops may, of course, all be interrelated. Private plantations were the principal source of increasing supplies of tropical agricultural commodities throughout the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries. The early twentieth century brought a great expansion of tropical plantations to supply European and American demand for such exotic commodities as coffee, tea, cocoa, bananas, palm and coconut oil, and rubber. The private plantation was still a major source of tropical commodities in the 1950s, especially in Asia and Latin America. Post-World War n developments. The plantation depends on a plentiful supply of cheap labor, not in the sense that its cost is low in relation to its productivity but in the absolute sense that wages are low because skills are few. For the plantation derives whatever economic advantage it has from its ability to mobilize unskilled labor to achieve greater economic return. Other special advantages of the plantation derive not from its greater efficiency in production but from the ability to exploit market imperfections or to manipulate them to its advantage. As the range of economic opportunities for rural labor in the underdeveloped world has increased with economic progress and the relaxing of administrative restrictions that closed various occupations to specified ethnic groups, it has seemed probable that plentiful supplies of unskilled labor might no longer be available to plantations at wages they could afford to pay. However, pessimistic predictions of the

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economic future of plantations made after World War ii have not been fulfilled, and their number and importance have not been much altered by market forces; political factors, on the other hand, have been a major influence. As most of the colonial territories of the world achieved political independence in the first two decades after World War n, the economic power inherent in large foreign-owned plantations was frequently regarded as a threat to the autonomy of the new national governments. As a consequence, new restraints were imposed on private plantations, when they were not expropriated outright, and political favors that they had enjoyed in the past were withdrawn. While the new governments' concern for independence in the realm of economic decisions made profitable plantation operation increasingly difficult, another set of circumstances threatened their existence as integral units. For a variety of reasons, including the desire to assure continued popular support, nostalgia for earlier ways of rural life, and a desire to reduce the excessive movement from farm to city with its consequent high rate of urban unemployment and civil unrest, there was a strong sentiment in many of the new governments for subdivision of large plantations into small, individual farming units. Subdivision might also, of course, be a device for destroying the threat to national sovereignty that private plantations were thought to offer. At the same time that the shift in political power made the future of private plantations more precarious, the publicly owned plantation and semipublic plantation found increasing favor as devices for consolidating political power and for accelerating economic growth. Plans for establishing state farms, collectives, and cooperatives after the Soviet or Israeli model were widely advocated and frequently adopted. Those large farming units that were established to introduce laborsaving mechanical cultivation and harvesting fall outside our classification to the extent that mechanization was achieved. Often, however, the reduction of labor inputs fell far short of anticipations, and the new government farms, like private plantations, continued to employ relatively large numbers of unskilled laborers working under close supervision. In concept, government plantations of tree crops and perennials were very much like the private ones. A type of quasi-plantation, sometimes called group farming, also enjoyed a certain vogue in the years immediately after World War n. Outstanding examples are the Gezira Scheme in the

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Sudan, which had its beginnings in the 1920s, and the paysannats indigenes of the Belgian Congo, which had their greatest expansion in the 1950s. In both, actual farming operations were carried on by large numbers of individual farmers—share tenants in the Sudan, holders under customary tenure in the Congo—whose activities were so regulated as to permit the economic employment of resources beyond the means of individual farmers. Economic advantages. Under certain circumstances the plantation, either private or public, enjoys distinct economic advantages over other types of farm organization. When it is desirable to introduce a new technology requiring a radical change in cultural practices, the plantation substitutes supervision—supervisory and administrative skills—for skilled, adaptive labor, combining the supervision with labor whose principal skill is to follow orders. The new technology may center on a new crop, as for example, rubber in Malaya, or it may simply enhance new methods for producing a familiar crop, as with palm oil in the Congo. Among a literate and educated population with knowledge of a wide range of farming methods and high receptivity to innovation, new techniques can spread fairly rapidly in response to economic incentives, extension services, and the efforts of commercial suppliers of inputs and buyers of products. New techniques and new crops have also been adopted in this way when the farm population was illiterate and supporting services were few but economic incentives were strong and the new techniques not difficult to understand. It was in just this way that the cocoa industry of southern Ghana was established. This method of generating new supplies takes time—how long depends on circumstances outside the control of any individual. Under the same circumstances, the plantation employs a few highly skilled managers who command the full technology and supervisory skills as well. By combining as many unskilled farm laborers as possible with each skilled supervisormanager, the plantation can initiate the desired change at once. A somewhat analogous situation obtains when the agricultural population is only partially committed to the market economy. Then money income may be desired only in order to meet specific responsibilities, such as taxes or bridewealth, or to purchase individual items that cannot be obtained otherwise; amounts greater than are needed for a specific payment or purchase are likely to be little valued. This phenomenon, sometimes called target

demand, is most likely to occur in a society with only rudimentary development of the market system. Where it is found, it may be difficult to secure a steady flow of raw materials from farms within easy reach of processing plants or ports as one group of farmers after another satisfies its immediate need for cash. A plantation located near the demand point can employ a succession of laborers who come at their own expense in search of employment to satisfy their specific needs. Plantation laborers so engaged may be tied by contract to assure employers of their services for a minimum period of time. Given the widespread familiarity with the uses of money that has been acquired in the twentieth century and the increasing familiarity with, and demand for, manufactured goods that has marked the years since World War n, it is unlikely that target demand continues to provide the plantation with special advantages. When introduction of a new technique requires heavy investment of soil or water conservation and the expected period of amortization is long, the recapture of economic benefits requires an economic unit larger than the small farm. The plantation is one way to achieve this. Other devices are available. Projects of this sort have been carried through by community effort, with costs borne by owners of land that gains from the investment or by development districts, with power to tax. Land taxes, however, are ineffectual when land is not owned in fee simple; they are impracticable, because of the cost of collection, when landholdings are excessively small. Group farming schemes like those mentioned, under which occupation is at the pleasure of a central authority, facilitate the imposition of the burden of such large investments on those who benefit directly from them. Installations of the type discussed here can be, and have been, constructed by private companies that rely entirely, as the typical development district relies in part, on the sale of services to recover costs and to realize an economic return. But unless the legal code sanctions debt slavery, the sales contract is likely to be difficult to enforce where farmers have few assets other than their own labor and that of their families. The complementarity between agricultural processing plants and farm producing units has been one consideration in the establishment of plantations. Many of the major tropical export crops must undergo preliminary processing shortly after harvesting; for some of them—sugar, for example— processing plants large enough to achieve minimum costs require a relatively heavy capital in-

PLANTATIONS vestment and volume flow of output. Others, like black tea, demand careful handling and strict control of processing if a quality product is to be obtained. It is possible, of course, to obtain adequate supplies of raw product for such processing plants from independent farmers if they are sufficiently skilled and commercially motivated and if the price offered is sufficiently high. If not, the processor may find advantage in direct production through a plantation organization. In some instances, an attempt to recapture costs sunk in an inconvertible, fixed plant may lead the processor to engage in plantation production that would be uneconomic otherwise, particularly if income tax laws permit him to pool returns from the two enterprises. Market imperfections favoring the plantation may result either because merchants in the normal channels of trade cannot handle the necessary volume of product and maintain its quality as it moves from producer to processor or port or because, through collusion or monopoly, merchants are able to enforce their prices on a multitude of small farmers. Imperfections of the first kind are critical when the quality of the product is highly sensitive to the way in which it is handled after the harvest. This may explain the prominent part that plantations play in production of bananas for export. When imperfections of the second kind are present, plantations that control a sufficiently large supply can bargain on equal terms with collusive buyers. These, of course, are advantages of size that may be shared by large mechanized farms. They are most likely to be found, however, in the same economic environment that favors the plantation organization; imperfect development of the market mechanism and an uninformed rural population tend to be found together. Large supplies of high quality can be obtained from small producers by paying appropriate premiums for products that meet the desired standards. The most striking illustration of what can be done is the achievement of the Nigerian marketing board in upgrading supplies of palm oil coming from small producers simply by paying a sufficient premium (perhaps an uneconomic premium) for °il of the desired grade. Proper handling of the product after it leaves the farm can be encouraged by taking measures to improve the general marketlr ig system or by removing the product from normal channels of trade and entrusting it to a cooperative marketing association or government agency. Imperfections in the capital market probably bias economic opportunities in favor of plantations

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more than do imperfections in the product market. They are particularly acute in societies where small holders cannot offer their farms or groves as security for loans, either because they are forbidden to do so by law or because customary land tenure makes no provision for alienation. The plantation has access to international capital markets that cannot be drawn on by small operators and would probably not be available to farm credit banks or perhaps even to national governments seeking funds for small holders. Economies of scale in the advanced agriculture of the United States result primarily from the use of laborsaving machinery that can be most effectively employed on moderately large areas. But even mechanized farms reach a point of constant costs at moderate size; for production of most crops it is markedly smaller than the larger plantation. Where plantations are important, the limited alternative occupations open to the rural population make laborsaving devices less attractive. Indivisibility of machine-capital dictates a minimum size of efficient operation in the industrialized countries. In economies where the plantation finds an advantage in combining large amounts of unskilled labor with skilled supervisor-managers, it is the indivisibility and high cost of skilled supervision that make small operations unprofitable. Economies of size also result from other causes, essentially from the ability of the large unit to provide itself with services that are supplied by other agencies in the economically advanced countries. In the industrialized countries agricultural research is liberally financed by government; in the poorer countries of the world it may be undertaken by private corporations for the direct benefit of their own plantations, an expenditure that would not be feasible if the operation were small. Where roads and bridges are not provided by the state, the plantation may build them, just as it may find profitable the provision of rail transport, communication systems, docks and warehouses, and supplies of water, electricity, and other utilities that are available from the state or from regulated companies in the developed countries. This category may also include such services as soil analysis and application of fertilizers and pesticides, which in North America and western Europe can be obtained from vendors of the products used, from independent specialists, or from the government. It is apparent that economies of size which the plantation enjoys and the competitive advantages it is able to seize in the product and factor markets, all derive from the same circumstances that make employment of large gangs of supervised laborers

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economically attractive—the rudimentary nature of the economic order and the limited dissemination of knowledge to the population. Imperfect knowledge, restricted access to the factors of production, and restricted access to product markets create a climate in which this particular form of farm organization thrives. Political advantages. Other reasons besides efficiency in production have caused political administrators to look on plantations with favor. They have been encouraged as a means of pacifying colonial areas and territories being brought under a central authority because their capacity to sustain themselves in economically isolated areas and to create the essential elements of infrastructure have enabled them to assume some of the responsibilities of internal security, communication, and public services that would otherwise fall on government. Plantation concessions intended to serve these purposes of economic development and extension of political power have sometimes included police and juridical authority as well. Thus plantations may serve as an arm of the central government, sometimes the only arm of government in frontier areas. In some instances, the exercise of political authority has been the principal, and farming only the nominal, activity of plantations. The plantation type of organization may also be attractive to governments seeking revenues to be used for fostering economic growth, for enforcing or extending political authority, or for the personal aggrandizement of the chief of state. It is much more difficult for the plantation to resist taxation than it is for the small farmer among so many or for the shifting cultivator buried in the bush country. The taxes to be wrung from a single plantation are also much greater than those to be gotten from the small peasant cultivator who consumes the greater part of what he grows and whose small cash income may be spent as soon as it is received, or buried in the ground. Criticisms of the system. A principal criticism made of the plantation, as contrasted with a farming system dependent on small, independent farms, has been that wage laborers on plantations have less incentive to perform their tasks well than does the independent farmer, whether owner or tenant. To the extent that this is true, the obvious explanation would seem to be that reward corresponds more closely to effort when the farmer operates his own farm than when he enters into wage employment. It is also argued, however, that the small farmer exerts greater care in the cultivation of his own land because of his emotional attachment to it and that the biological character of farming and the lack of uniformity of the natural resources it

employs require that decisions be made currently in the field by farmers who have intimate knowledge of their own farms, of the microclimates in which they lie, and of the crops they grow and injuries to which they may be susceptible. Attachment to the land and to a particular parcel of land is a widespread, though not universal, characteristic of human society. But the economic advance of all the industrial countries has been marked by migration from farm to town and by a decline in the farm labor force. In the developing countries today, this movement to the cities is no less marked. Obviously, attachment to the land, however real, has not been strong enough to overcome for many the appeal of higher income, greater amenities, and sociability that city life can offer. The plantation can, and often does, offer to its employees many of the advantages sought in the town—schools, medical services, shops, entertainment, modern housing and utilities, even a certain social life—and they sometimes provide individual farmsteads on which the laborer and his family can work for their own interest when not engaged in work for wages in the field. Nevertheless, the problem of the relationship between effort and reward remains, just as it does in all wage employment. Even on the small independent farm, however, the connection between the work the farmer does and the income he receives is not as simple or as certain as the incentive argument suggests. For sons and daughters in the farm household it need not be close at all if tasks and rewards are assigned by the parents. Small wonder, then, that farm children are often attracted into wage employment where payment always bears some relationship to the laborer's contribution. For the farmer himself, effort and skill may be assumed to correlate with income over the years, but uncertainties of weather, of pests and disease, and of price often cause the year-to-year correlation to be erratic. Wage employment can be an attractive alternative if it provides a similar average level of income, if wages are related to the worker's productive contribution, and if reasonable security of employment can be assured. It is where this has not been the case that the incentive argument carries weight; and far too often plantation wages have been absolutely low and wages of individuals not much influenced by productivity. The poor performance of collective and state farms in the Soviet Union seems to be a case in point. The Soviet government, in its drive to build the industrial sector of the economy, made heavy demands on its large farms, with consequent low returns to farm workers. Wages of workers on many private plantations, too, have often been no more than enough

PLATO to support the laborer himself, with no provision for wife and family, and contract employment has tended to divorce effort from reward. There seems to be no inherent reason why plantation wages cannot be as effective an incentive as industrial wages. If the plantation is unable to pay at rates comparable to those that can be earned in other employment, there must be considerable doubt that it is an efficient way of organizing farm production. The criticism of plantations that rests on the need for the individual farmer's recognition of microvariation of soil and climate and the ability to identify the condition of growing crops is similarly unconvincing. On the plantation this is the responsibility of the skilled supervisor, and the area over which he can have this knowledge, though limited, is considerably larger than that of the small farm with which the plantation usually competes. If he can implement his production decisions, there would seem to be no reason why he cannot obtain results as good as or better than the small farmer's. Prospects for the system. From the standpoint of national welfare, the plantation can make a positive contribution to economic and technical change at that stage of economic growth at which it has in fact enjoyed its greatest prosperity—when an ill-informed peasantry in an elementary market system is faced with the need for rapid transformation of farming practices. The plantation brings forth desired increases in production more rapidly, and it can transmit the new technology to the agricultural population generally through the experience of farm laborers in its employ. The experience of the southeastern Ivory Coast, where African farmers now dominate a coffee industry originally established by private European planters, despite discriminatory legislation favoring the European, is a case in point. As a device for rapid transmission of knowledge about new production methods at low cost, the plantation will continue to play a useful role in the developing countries until the marketing and communication system is much more efficient and until the mass of independent farmers are in a position to tap directly the store of agricultural and economic knowledge. Plantations can achieve these results because they rely primarily on the wage contract to obtain compliance in societies where compliance with a sales or purchase contract is difficult to enforce. As the society is progressively modified through the spread of the market system, and restrictions on access to factors, markets, and information Weaken, the economic justification declines. But the plantation may persist beyond the time when

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it is economically more efficient than other forms of farm organization because of the political and economic power it wields. This same power, plus the pressure of sunk costs, may make the output of the plantation less responsive to new economic and technical changes than would be a comparable output from a large number of smaller independent farms. Like all large organizations, its size permits broad implementation of decisions: when these are wise decisions, the appropriate response can be more rapid than that of a number of independent firms; when unwise, they can inhibit response and delay adjustment. A farming system made up of a large number of small farmers experiences a multitude of decisions, some wise and some foolish, and relies on the market to reward those who have chosen well and punish those who have not. When the plantation prospers, it is because the capacity of its management to make and implement wise decisions is very much greater than that of independent farmers. WILLIAM O. JONES [See also ASIAN SOCIETY, article on SOUTHEAST ASIA; ECONOMY, DUAL.] BIBLIOGRAPHY BAUER, PETER T. 1948 The Rubber Industry: A Study in Competition and Monopoly. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. COURTENAY, PHILIP P. 1965 Plantation Agriculture. New York: Praeger. COENE, R. DE 1956 Agricultural Settlement Schemes in the Belgian Congo. Tropical Agriculture 33:1-12. COMMONWEALTH ECONOMIC COMMITTEE Plantation Crops. -* Published since 1932. GREAVES, IDA C. 1935 Modern Production Among Backward Peoples. London: Allen & Unwin. INTERNATIONAL LABOUR ORGANISATION, COMMITTEE ON WORK ON PLANTATIONS, STK SESSION, GENEVA, 1966 1966 [Reports.] Geneva: The Organisation. PIM, ALAN W. 1946 Colonial Agricultural Production: The Contribution Made by Native Peasants and by Foreign Enterprise. Oxford Univ. Press. WICKIZER, VERNON D. 1958 The Plantation System in the Development of Tropical Economies. Journal of Farm Economics 40:63-77. WICKIZER, VERNON D. 1960 The Smallholder in Tropical Export Crop Production. Stanford University, Food Research Institute, Food Research Institute Studies 1:49-99.

PLATO Plato, son of Ariston, a member of the Athenian nobility, was born in 427 B.C. and died at the age of eighty in 347 B.C. Perhaps the greatest thinker of all times, he was not only a philosopher but the founder of political theory (he was himself involved in practical politics) and of sociology; he

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was, moreover, a physicist and a cosmologist. His influence, direct as well as indirect, upon European (and thus American) thought is incalculable. Whether his influence was on the whole beneficial or not is a question which has recently become highly controversial. For his political philosophy is authoritesian and hostile to democratic ideas, as when he said, "The wise shall lead and rule, and the ignorant shall follow" (Laws 690B), just as his social theory is collectivistic and hostile to individualistic ideas: "You are created for the sake of the whole, and not the whole for the sake of you" (Laws 903c). He identified individualism with egoism and group egoism with altruism, overlooking the fact that people may be unselfish not only for the sake of "the whole" (the collective, the state) but also for the sake of other individuals. Plato's deep interest in the problems of politics and of society seems to have had two roots. One was a family tradition of assuming political responsibilities. (His father claimed descent from Codrus, the last king of Athens, and his mother from Dropides, a kinsman of Solon.) The other was the terrifying experience of the political and social disintegration which affected not only Athens but the whole of the Greek world during the later years of the Peloponnesian War (the "Decelean war" of 419-404 B.C.). This period coincided with Plato's formative years and culminated for him in the trial and death of his friend and teacher Socrates in 399 B.C. The Peloponnesian War (or wars; 431-404 B.C.) was not merely a war between the two most powerful city-states of Greece; it became, one might say, the first ideological war, and it involved some of the first large-scale ideological persecutions. The clash was between the ideologies of a tribalist and authoritarian (and perhaps even totalitarian) Sparta and the maritime trading empire of democratic Athens (the "Delian League"). It became the more terrible because some of the leading families of Athens and its democratic allies were traditionally antidemocratic and oligarchic, and sympathetic to Sparta. (Thus Aristotle mentioned in his Politics, 1310A, an oligarchic oath which even in his time was still in vogue, as he said; it consisted of the formula "I promise to be an enemy of the people, and to try my best to give them bad advice.") When the Spartan King Lysistratus captured Athens in 404, he instituted there an oligarchic puppet government, under Spartan protection, known as the Thirty Tyrants. The Thirty were led by two of Plato's maternal uncles, the highly gifted Critias and the much younger Charmides. During

the eight months of their reign of terror, the Thirty killed scores of Athenian citizens—almost a greater number of Athenians than the Spartan armies had killed during the last ten years of the war (Meyer [1884-1902] 1953-1958, vol. 5, p. 34). But in 403, when Plato was 24 years old, Critias and the Spartan garrison were attacked and defeated by the returning democrats. Originally only 70 men, led by Thrasybulus and Anytus, the democrats established themselves first in the Piraeus, where Plato's uncles were killed in battle. For a time, their oligarchic followers continued the reign of terror in the city of Athens itself, but their forces were in a state of confusion and dissolution. Having proved themselves incapable of ruling, they were ultimately abandoned by their Spartan protectors, who concluded a treaty with the democrats. The peace treaty re-established democracy in Athens. Thus the democratic form of government had proved its superior strength under the most severe trials, and even its enemies began after a few years to think it invincible. As soon as the restored democracy had re-established normal legal conditions, a case was brought against Socrates for "corrupting the youth"; its meaning was clear enough: he was accused of having corrupted Alcibiades, Critias, and Charmides, who were thought responsible for the defeat of Athens and for the bloody regime of the Thirty. In his defense Socrates insisted that he had no sympathy with the policy of the Thirty and that he had risked his life defying their attempt to implicate him in one of their crimes. He also made it clear that he preferred death to being prevented from speaking his mind freely to the young. Found guilty, he became the first martyr for the right of free speech. Such were the tumultuous times of Plato's most important formative years. They led him in his time of maturity to pose his fundamental problem: Society, and the body politic, are sick. How can they be cured? Beginning of literary activity. That the historical events described influenced Plato in the sense indicated is, of course, conjectural. Indeed, it should be stressed that almost everything about the evolution of Plato's thought, the sequence of his works, and the events of his life is conjectural. Our sources, so far as they are consistent, seem to be largely interdependent. Thus, we cannot be certain that this story of Plato's life is not a legend. What is probably the oldest source, the Book of Plato's Letters, may well be an ancient forgery. Even the most informative "Seventh Letter," which many scholars accept as genuine, is suspect. (Cer-

PLATO tain other works transmitted under Plato's name are almost certainly forgeries.) Yet even though the "Seventh Letter" is probably a forgery, it appears to be very old, and the writer must surely have been well informed about the facts of Plato's life to get his forgery accepted. For the temporal order of Plato's works, we have now what appears to be very good evidence from the statistics of minor stylistic peculiarities ("stylometry"). This method (which in the main leads to groupings rather than to a definite sequence) may fail, however, in cases in which Plato revised or rewrote his books. (We seem to have some independent evidence for the revision, by Plato, of at least one of his works, the Theaetetus; see Popper [1945] 1963, vol. 1, addendum n.) These uncertainties should be kept in mind throughout this account. Most of Plato's literary work consists of "Socratic dialogues"—dialogues, that is, in which Socrates is the main speaker and the superior intellect. Socratic dialogues were composed by several other writers, notably Xenophon; yet most of Plato's dialogues bear the stamp of supreme originality, and we may therefore conjecture that it was Plato who invented this literary form. If so, then the view expressed by some scholars that it was the tragic death of Socrates which turned Plato into an author —into a writer of Socratic dialogues, to commemorate (and defend) his friend and teacher—is not only attractive but also likely to be true. This view would also suggest that the Apology of Socrates— Plato's report of Socrates' defense and of his condemnation—was Plato's first work. Admittedly, there is important evidence against this: the Apology is a masterwork, and quite a number of the early dialogues are, in comparison, immature. On the other hand, it is not so very unusual that an author's first work shows him at a peak which he is not soon to reach again; and in this particular case, the unique personality of Socrates and the immediate impression made by his defense in court (Plato made it quite clear that he was present) may be more than sufficient to explain how one of the greatest and most moving works of all literature could be the first fruits of a literary novice. At at any rate, until we have good evidence to the contrary, it seems reasonable to accept the Apology as a true portrait of the historical Socrates and as a faithful report of the proceedings (hundreds of eyewitnesses of these proceedings must have been alive when the Apology was first published). It is a marvelous portrait, and the first (or almost the first, in view of Xenophanes and Pericles a nd Euripides) and the greatest manifesto of what

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may be called "critical rationalism"—the characteristically Socratic view that we ought to be aware of how little we know, and that we can learn by means of those critical discussions to which all theories and beliefs ought to be made subject. Though this is hardly a view which could ever become a generally accepted one, its influence upon Western thought (and Western science) has been of decisive importance. Socrates' critical rationalism is not skeptical, nor does it take pride in reason or cleverness: he believes in truth and in human beings, of whose intrinsic fallibility and intrinsic goodness he is equally convinced. Moreover, he is loyal to the democratic laws of Athens, and he loathes the crimes of the Thirty: he is a democrat, though one who is not greatly impressed by the democratic party leaders; he is a man passionately interested in other men; he is ready to die for the right of free discussion but despises the art of flattering the people. Three periods of Platonic works. It is here proposed to divide Plato's work into three periods. The first, or Socratic, period develops Plato's portrait of Socrates as a man, teacher, and lover of truth. Its dialogues (I mention only the Crito, the Protagoras, and the Meno) are opposed neither to democracy nor to the value of the individual. In the second period, Plato's attitude, imputed to the Socrates of his dialogues, is different: Plato now blames democratic Athens—nay, democracy itself, the rule of the many, of the mob—for having murdered Socrates. This mob rule threatens every just man, who is like "a man who has fallen among wild beasts, unwilling to share their misdeeds and unable to hold out singly against the savagery of all" (Republic 496c). This shows that the social body is sick. Plato has found his problem: how to heal the sick body of society. The problem itself involves a theory—the organic theory of the state and of society. (The origin of this most dubious and ever-influential theory is Oriental.) Plato's new and very personal version of the organic theory of society is his analogy between the city-state and the soul of man: the city-state is the soul writ large, and the soul is a state in miniature. He thus originated the psychological theory of the state and also the political theory of the soul. The state is class-divided. Its structure is characterized by an unstable equilibrium between the ruling classes, consisting of the rulers and their helpers (or auxiliaries), and the ruled classes, the money-earning classes and the slaves. Similarly,

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the structure of the soul is characterized by an unstable equilibrium—indeed a schism—between its upper functions, reason and will, and its lower functions, the instincts or appetites. (It is interesting to note that Marx and Freud were unconscious Platonists. They also were anti-Platonists in accepting Plato's ccheme and inverting it, Marx by demanding the emancipation of the workers, Freud by demanding the emancipation of the instincts or appetites.) The challenge of his problem led Plato to an almost superhuman intellectual effort. He developed not only a diagnosis and a therapy but (especially in his third period) a whole cosmology on which he based his diagnosis, and a theory of knowledge on which he based his therapy. His social diagnosis goes deep. He is not satisfied with blaming democracy, which for him is a symptom rather than the malady itself. For the malady is social revolution—the revolutionary change which has overcome society and which has led to the dissolution of the old patriarchal society in which everybody knew his place and was happy. Society is in a process of degeneration: change is evil; stability is divine. The stages of political degeneration are seen by Plato in the history of the Greek city-states. They begin with a golden age of hereditary kingship— the rule of the one, the best, the wisest—and an organic division of labor: the wisest rule, the courageous help them to keep order and defend the state, and the people work (in a variety of occupations). From here we move through aristocracy (or timarchy), the rule of the few who are the best, to the rule of the many, democracy. In the Republic, democracy is shown to lead only too easily to a final state of decay: to the rule of the ruthless demagogue who makes himself the tyrant of the city. What are the causes of political degeneration? According to the Republic, the main work of Plato's second period, it is the racial degeneration of the ruling class which undermines its fitness and its determination to rule. According to the Laws, the main work of his third period, the main cause of social change is culture clash, which is an unavoidable concomitant of the development of industry (such as the Athenian silver mines), of trade, of possessing a harbor and a fleet, and of founding colonies. All this shows astonishing insight, as does the remark that population pressure is one of the main causes of an unsettled society. (It seems not unlikely that Plato connected population increase, or increase in quantity, with racial degeneration, or decrease in quality: his view of the few who are good and the many who are bad may have

suggested this to him (Laws 710o, 740r>-74lA, 838E). So much for Plato's sociological diagnosis. The therapy which Plato advocated—his political program—fits the diagnosis: Arrest all social change! Return (so far as this is possible) to the patriarchic state! Strengthen the stability and the power of the ruling class, its unity, and its will to rule! For Plato formulated the following diagnostic-sociological law of revolution: "Change in the constitution originates, without exception, in the ruling class itself, and only when this class becomes the seat of dissension," or when its will to rule is sapped, or when it is defeated in war (Republic 545D, 465s). Thus, the proper education of the ruling class becomes a major instrument of politics; the degeneration of the ruling class must be prevented by eugenics; the unity of the ruling class must be strengthened by a radical communism (confined to the ruling class) that involves the common ownership of women and children: nobody may know who his actual parents are, and everybody must look upon all the members of the older generation of their class as their parents. (This startling communism is the only major point of Plato's program given up in the Laws as demanding too much, even though it is still declared to be ideally the best form of society.) Culture clash must be prevented, and it is said in the Laws that the city must therefore possess no harbor and no fleet, and that no citizen may possess means for traveling: the currency must be a token currency without intrinsic value (Laws 742A-C), though the government will possess a treasure of "general Hellenic currency." Religion and rites are to be developed as important instruments for preventing change, and no variation in them may be tolerated. (This view, which anticipates the idea that religion is opium for the people, is the more remarkable for the absence of any churchlike organization in Greece.) In his third period (especially in the Laws) Plato no longer used Socrates as his main speaker: it seems that he had become conscious that he had moved far away from Socrates' teaching. Plato developed the political ideas of his middle period further and gave them (especially in the Statesman and the Timaeus) a cosmological background: the deepest cause of racial degeneration and political decay is that we are living in a world period in which the world is moving away from its divine origin; every change makes it less like its original model—the divine Form, or Idea, in whose image it was created. In this third period, Plato developed further his theory of knowledge. In his first period, it was an

PLATO optimistic theory which made it possible for every man to learn (Meno S!B-D). In his second and third periods, only the highly trained philosopher can attain true knowledge—knowledge of the divine Forms or Ideas. Later life. It is difficult to relate the works of Plato's second and third periods to his later life, whose most important events, according to tradition, were his journeys (one to Egypt and three to Syracuse), the foundation of the Academy, and the Academy's (and Plato's) participation in Syracusan high politics: his friend Dio invaded Syracuse, supported by other members of the Academy, and overthrew the Dionysian dynasty. Dio was murdered by Callipus, another member of the Academy, who in turn was murdered by the Pythagorean philosopher Leptines. (At least nine pupils of Plato's Academy made themselves tyrants of some city or other.) Traces of these journeys, such as allusions to Egyptian institutions, and of some others of these events, may be discerned in Plato's work, but most of these interpretations, though interesting, are highly controversial. The influence (for good or ill) of Plato's work is immeasurable. Western thought, one might say, has been either Platonic or anti-Platonic, but hardly ever non-Platonic. KARL R. POPPER [See also CONSTITUTIONS AND CONSTITUTIONALISM; ELITES; JUSTICE; NATURAL LAW; POLITICAL THEORY; SOCIAL CONTRACT; STATE; UTOPiANisM, article on UTOPIAS AND UTOPIANISM; and the biography of ARISTOTLE.] WORKS BY PLATO PZato. With an English translation. 10 vols. The Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; New York: Putnam, 1917-1929. -» Volume 1: Euthyphro; Apology; Crito; Phaedo; Phaedrus, 1917. Volume 2: Theaetetus; Sophist, 1921. Volume 3: The Statesman; Philebus; Ion, 1925. Volume 4: Laches; Protagoras; Meno; Euthydemus, 1924. Volume 5: Lysis; Symposium; Gorgias, 1925. Volume 6: Cratylus; Parmenides; Greater Hippias; Lesser Hippias, 1926. Volume 7: Timaeus; Critias; Cleitophon; Menexenus; Epistles, 1929. Volume 8: Charmides; Alcibiades I and II; Hipparchus; The Lovers; The Ages; Minos; Epinomis, 1927. Volumes 9-10: The Laws, 1926. The Republic. With an English translation by Paul Shorey. 2 vols. The Loeb Classical Library. London: Heinemann; New York: Putnam, 1930-1935. SUPPLEMENTARY BIBLIOGRAPHY

ARISTOTLE Politics. With an English translation. London: Heinemann; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1959. &LUCK, RICHARD S. H. (1949) 1951 Plato's Life and Thought. Boston: Beacon.

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BURNET, JOHN 1928 Platonism. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press. CHERNISS, HAROLD F. (1945) 1962 The Riddle of the Early Academy. New York: Russell. CHERNISS, HAROLD F. 1959-1960 Plato (1950-1957). 2 parts. Lustrum, Nos. 4-5. Gottingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. CHROUST, ANTON-HERMAN 1962 Plato's Detractors in Antiquity. Review of Metaphysics 16:98-118. GROSSMAN, R. H. S. (1937) 1959 Plato Today. 2d ed. London: Allen & Unwin; New York: Oxford Univ. Press. DEMOS, RAPHAEL 1939 The Philosophy of Plato. New York and London: Scribner. DODDS, ERIC R. 1951 The Greeks and the Irrational. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1963. FIELD, GUY C. 1930 Plato and His Contemporaries: A Study in Fourth-century Life and Thought. London: Methuen. FITE, WARNER 1934 The Platonic Legend. New York and London: Scribner. FRIEDLANDER, PAUL (1928-1930) 1958-1964 Plato. 2 vols. New York: Pantheon. GOMPERZ, THEODOR (1896-1909)1955 Greek Thinkers: A History of Ancient Philosophy. 4 vols. New York: Humanities Press. -» First published in German. See especially volumes 2 and 3. GROTE, GEORGE (1865)1888 Plato, and the Other Companions of Sokrates. 2d ed. 4 vols. London: Murray. KELSEN, HANS 1942 Platonic Love. American Imago 3:3-110. KELSEN, HANS 1957 What Is Justice? Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ. of California Press. -> See especially pages 82-109, "Platonic Justice." KOYRE, ALEXANDRE 1945 Discovering Plato. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1960. LEVINSON, RONALD B. 1953 In Defense of Plato. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. LODGE, RUPERT C. 1956 The Philosophy of Plato. London: Routledge. MEYER, EDUARD (1884-1902) 1953-1958 Geschichte des Altertums. 4th ed. 5 vols. Stuttgart (Germany): Cotta. MORROW, GLENN R. 1939a Plato and Greek Slavery. Mind New Series 48:186-201. MORROW, GLENN R. 1939& Plato's Law of Slavery in Its Relation to Greek Law. Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press. MORROW, GLENN R. 1960 Plato's Cretan City: A Historical Interpretation of The Laws. Princeton Univ. Press. POPPER, KARL R. (1945) 1963 The Open Society and Its Enemies. 4th rev. & enl. ed. 2 vols. Princeton Univ. Press. -» Volume 1: The Spell of Plato. Volume 2: The High Tide of Prophecy: Hegel, Marx and the Aftermath. POPPER, KARL R. (1960)1963 On the Sources of Knowledge and of Ignorance. Pages 3-30 in Karl R. Popper, Conjectures and Refutations: The Growth of Scientific Knowledge. New York: Basic Books; London: Routledge. Ross, W. DAVID (1951) 1961 Plato's Theory of Ideas. Oxford: Cl arendon. RYLE, GILBERT 1966 Plato's Progress. Cambridge Univ. Press. SABINE, GEORGE H. (1937) 1962 A History of Political Theory. 3d ed. New York: Holt.

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SHOREY, PAUL 1903 The Unity of Plato's Thought. Univ. of Chicago Press. SHOREY, PAUL 1933 What Plato Said. Univ. of Chicago Press. TAYLOR, ALFRED E, (1926) 1960 Plato: The Man and His Work. 7th ed. London: Methuen. VON FRITZ, KURT 1954 The Theory of the Mixed Constitution in Antiquity: A Critical Analysis of Polyhius' Political ideas. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. WILD, JOHN D. (1953) 1959 Plato's Modern Enemies and the Theory of Natural Laiv. Univ. of Chicago Press. WINSPEAR, ALBAN D. (1940) 1956 The Genesis of Plato's Thought. 2d ed. New York: Russell.

PLAY See LEISURE. PLEBISCITARY DEMOCRACY See DEMOCRACY; ELECTIONS. PLURALISM In the context of public affairs and political thought, pluralism refers to specific institutional arrangements for distributing and sharing governmental power, to the doctrinal defense of these arrangements, and to an approach for gaining understanding of political behavior. Political pluralism is therefore a historical phenomenon, a normative doctrine, and a mode of analysis. As the exclusively proper way of ordering and explaining public life, it remains the heart of the liberal ideology of the Western world. Six general propositions are integral to the political theory of pluralism: (1) individual fulfillment is assured by small governmental units, for they alone are representative; (2) the unrepresentative exercise of governmental power is frustrated when public agencies are geographically dispersed; (3) society is composed of a variety of reasonably independent religious, cultural, educational, professional, and economic associations; (4) these private associations are voluntary insofar as no individual is ever wholly affiliated with any one of them; (5) public policy accepted as binding on all associations is the result of their own free interaction; and (6) public government is obliged to discern and act only upon the common denominator of group concurrence. These propositions may be employed as empirical generalizations, as components of a model for analysis, or as an outline for reform. They also define the exemplary state as one within which public authority will properly devolve on a plurality of groups. The public realm will become one in which coexisting groups naturally complement

one another, and little government is necessary. The role of government will be limited to preserving an equilibrium that generally emerges spontaneously. This natural equilibrium, its parts in amiable competition with one another, will be granted independence from external controls and will not have to be made accountable to either the sovereign individual or the sovereign state. Development of the doctrine The theory of political pluralism has not been advanced in these idealized terms. In the hands of European thinkers at the turn of the century, political pluralism received a sophisticated formulation that at once clarified its liberal aspirations, its ideological sources, and its ultimate limitations. In the period preceding World War i, Europe witnessed a burgeoning of intellectual interest in reconstructing institutions for the protection of individuals—individuals who seemed increasingly lost in the mass, debased by the industrial division of labor, and exposed to manipulation by an unrepresentative state. It was widely felt by different syndicalists and socialists (and by some sociologists, psychologists, and criminologists) that the emergence of the sovereign nation-state under conditions of industrialism posed a threat to the individual by destroying his natural social habitat. The state was seen to reinforce conditions under which men, while technologically interdependent, became emotionally and intellectually estranged from one another. Society had become a mere aggregation of individuals; men were no longer members of a true community. If they were bound together, it was not by their natural ties but by artificial devices: an ascending industrialism, a centrally controlled economy, and a legal order that made all coercion appear legitimate. Since these conditions were felt to be deplorable on the ground that they were not natural to man, the question was how to recover man's natural place. The first task, it seemed, was to reintegrate and resocialize the masses. Given the view that an unmitigated individualism was as reprehensible as statism and that the former would indeed lead to the latter, it became reasonable to argue for recognizing the rights of a plurality of associations. Poised between the individual and the state, a newly vindicated cluster of groups might enable man to develop his true potentialities, to find himself, and to be himself. Intermediary associations would provide a sense of community while shielding their members against undue state power. This line of reasoning led to a renewed appreciation of the preindustrial landscape dotted with

PLURALISM innumerable groups. The desire for a new social pluralism made it irresistible to plead for reorganizing productive units in the image of the medieval guild, for redesigning communities in the image of the village, or for reforming the social system generally in the image of an obviously "functional" regime. The modern world being so obviously "disfunction al," the lost feudal world of guilds, corporations, churches, monasteries, universities, municipalities, and estates could take on the attributes of a Utopian society. By integrating individuals in such a society, wholeness might be restored. Thus it was thought possible to re-establish what Aristotle had considered the authentic human community—a compact, purposive group of men who would "know each other's characters," sharing a cultural background and a common political outlook. More important, it would also be possible to move beyond the territorial limits Aristotle had envisaged for the ideal state, for a whole variety of such groups could now be confederated within a single governmental complex. By providing for a comprehensive organizational frame and by extending the territory of a republic, a diversity of homogeneous groups could be accommodated within the heterogeneous state. Questions of general policy comprehensively affecting the public order, questions that Greek political theory could not confront because it did not consider the technique of federalism, could thus be explicitly met. Individual rights could be safeguarded despite modern social and industrial changes. To guarantee the rights of individuals, it seemed primarily essential to fortify the rights of private associations. Small, close-knit, face-to-face groups, so it was held, constituted man's true communities. Since the modern state had grown large and imperious, it now became appropriate to dismantle it, or at least to have it do no more than (1) foster, within its own boundaries, those small groups that alone preserve the habits of self-government and (2) administer the remaining public order so as to keep the peace between these coexisting groups. These views found particularly cogent expression in English political thought. A number of English thinkers, prompted by their respect for individual freedom, were aesthetically and morally dismayed by what they saw in their social and industrial environment. They grew indignant over the ugly and degrading effects of industrialization, especially its inhuman discipline. They witnessed and proceeded to document the gradual concentration of economic power and the concurrent loss of individual autonomy. A seemingly laissez-faire economy that was postulated on individualism ac-

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tually encouraged the exercise of power by a social class that performed no socially useful function. While all this seemed clear to the critics of the ascending state, they did not feel that the state itself might be employed to assert individual rights against an increasingly concentrated economic order. They were dissuaded from relying on positive state action both by their liberal past and by the alarming developments taking place in imperial Germany. There, a nationalistic and militaristic state socialism circumscribed individual freedom just as effectively as an economic elite had done elsewhere. The impulse of English pluralist thinkers remained consistently to protect the individual against the corrupting influence of monolithic power—against whatever force threatened to entangle and destroy him, whether political or economic. Because power was ever subject to abuse, they felt that the very possibility of its unified exercise must be frustrated. Because the existing state was increasingly the instrument of the dominant class ruling in its own interest, the neutralization of the state became imperative. And because the state was increasingly unrepresentative and irresponsible, it had to be fragmented—that is, pluralized. In behalf of the dignity of the individual person, then, but aware of his fate when an unrestrained minority had the power to mechanize work and to organize the market, two generations of English pluralists attacked whatever political theory presumed to justify an exploitative capitalism. Frederic Maitland (1900), John Neville Figgis (1913), Arthur J. Penty (1906), and S. G. Hobson (1920) were followed by Harold J. Laski (1919), R. H. Tawney (1920), and G. D. H. Cole (1920a). All were prepared to challenge the theories that bound individuals and groups to the state, whether the state was defined as the embodiment of the general will, as legally omnipotent, or as the highest manifestation of disembodied reason. Rousseau, Austin, and Hegel—none of them escaped the onslaught of the pluralists. [See COLE, G. D. H.; FIGGIS; LASKI; MAITLAND; TAWNEY.] On the one hand, the pluralists reacted against nineteenth-century liberalism and utilitarianism, which had placed the individual in a social vacuum, abstracting him from his associations and making him the sovereign calculator of his interests. Here the pluralists realized that such a detached individual was all too quickly coerced and reintegrated by Bentham's sovereign legislator and by Austin's positive law [see AUSTIN; BENTHAM]. And on the other hand, they reacted against Continental ideal-

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ism, in particular the Hegelian doctrine that the power then being exercised by the real state ominously intimated the all-powerful ideal [see HEGEL]. Exposing the pretensions of German idealism, of the Austinian theory of sovereignty, and of Spencer's defense of a laissez-faire state, the English pluralists sought to direct attention to the social reality and the political facts that philosophy and jurisprudence had generally begun to blur [see SPENCER]. They found philosophy out of touch with historical experience; it appeared increasingly artificial, contrived, and "unrealistic." Determined to be empirical, they revolted against the prevailing fictions, in particular against the fiction of state sovereignty. The pluralists aspired toward a theory that took its bearing by the observed facts of political life, the most fundamental of which was the group nature of all politics. Thus, beneath the fictions of philosophy, they rediscovered man's associations. What really aroused and commanded the individual's interest and loyalty was a plurality of groups, and the modern state was not to be found among them. Neither the positive state of idealism nor the negative state of classical liberalism could satisfy genuine human needs. Men were far more inclined to feel obligated to their club, their church, or their union than to the sovereign state. History could be enlisted to show that conflicts between the cluster of these groups and the state were not necessarily resolved in favor of the state. Groups effectively preserved their prerogatives; they fought the state, modified it, parceled it out. The theories of Rousseau, Austin, and Hegel seemed to be placed in jeopardy by the rediscovered facts. These facts buttressed the value assumptions of pluralist thinkers and supported their belief in the wholesome nature of group life. Their case could, therefore, be historical as well as moral, empirical as well as normative. Since the facade of British public life concealed a reality already approximating the pluralistic ideal, political theory needed merely to stress and nurture what was still hidden. The pluralists called attention to the associations that, they claimed, the liberal state had unjustly relegated to the periphery because, like the church, they represented a vanquished enemy, or because, like the trade union, they represented new economic interests. Theory could advance disguised as history. This general appreciation of the significance of groups was given unintentional support by Otto von Gierke [see GIERKE]. Ironically, his work had been intended as a contribution to German nationalism: it attempted to revive institutions native to

Germany and to repudiate the alien doctrines of Roman law. Roman law had regarded the corporation as but a legal personality that owed its existence exclusively to state action. Against this, Gierke showed that the source of law was actually not the omnipotent state, but men acting through groups. The corporation, having flowered on German soil without state aid, was, he argued, an irreducible entity—not a creature of the law, not a fictitious personality made or unmade at the pleasure of the state. It was a living organization with its own will and consciousness (Gierke 1913). Although there certainly was no need in England to react against Roman law, Maitland found application for Gierke's ideas. Supported by Gierke's research, he saw the state as but one of a number of associations, with no right to pre-eminence. Thus Gierke's work, while not presuming to attack the doctrine of state sovereignty directly, helped the pluralists to perceive the natural autonomy— and therefore the natural rights—of a plurality of disparaged or unrecognized private associations. Figgis used Gierke's ideas to vindicate the rights of the church; Laski and Cole, to defend various economic groupings. Should group and state ever come into conflict, the question of whom to obey could therefore be an open one; it could become legitimate to side with the group that represented the individual against the state. The belief in the representative nature of the groups, as opposed to the state, was based on two premises. First, a voluntary association would quite naturally enlist the interests of those who established and maintained it. Second, the group's managers would be professionalized and hence socially responsible. By giving men freedom where it mattered, namely within associations that encompassed their day-to-day economic and productive relations, men could be counted on to participate in politics. They would cease being estranged from one another and from the public order. Whatever label might be attached to it—industrial democracy, economic federalism, occupational representation, functional corporatism, or guild socialism—the new confederation of self-regulating, harmoniously coexisting groups could, it was hoped, grow out of the old state. The state would become a passive coordinating authority, acting merely in response to group desires. Sound public policy would emerge without independent, positive state action. At most, the state would be a public-service corporation. A full theoretical treatment of the state as a mere public-service corporation was given in France by Leon Duguit (1913) [see DUGUIT]. Chiefly in-

PLURALISM terested in defining the basis of law, Duguit took note of his country's assumption of responsibility toward the community through its system of decentralized administrative courts. He saw the state not as the autonomous source of law but as the neutral servant of the community. Its commands, he observed, appeared imperative only by virtue of a legal fiction. Realistically seen, public enactments grew out of prevailing social groupings. Those who exercised governmental public-service functions, Duguit said, did so under laws actually expressive of that same underlying social solidarity by which governments first arose. Although an idealist residue remained in Duguit's formulations—just as it was to remain in Laski's—the notion of state sovereignty was foreign to his thought. Both he and the English pluralists deprived the state of that primacy that idealist theory had postulated. After all, they had seen that men respond more strongly to various subnational associations, regions, and productive units than to the state. They found sovereignty divisible and allegiance to the state contingent and qualified. They argued what American statesmanship—insisting on bills of rights, on a separation of powers, and on the institution of federalism—had concluded more than a century before. They affirmed that the state could have no inherent natural right either to impose its will upon governmental competitors or to oblige men to obey the law of the state merely because the state so desired. In adhering to this position, English pluralism gave a rational cast to political movements that professed to sponsor mass participation in politics, and that sought to draw interest groups into the policy-making process by providing for representation through trade associations, labor unions, chambers of commerce, and consumers. Insisting on the diffusion of the power to make public policy, pluralism encouraged movements for "economic democracy," "functional representation," and "codetermination in industry." By helping to rationalize the doctrines of State rights, home rule, and decentralized administration, it established a link with theories of government by Soviets, by syndicates and cartels, or by fascist corporations. Critique Although the advocates of pluralism had taken a fresh look at society in the name of realism, they ultimately succumbed to new fictions. For one thing, they ignored the complex reality of group life and thus failed to deal with the possibility of group tyranny over individuals. To them, it appeared that groups necessarily represent human

767

purposes and functions, realize individual values, and thereby make freedom meaningful. They depended on an individual rationality and interest in politics that they did not subject to empirical inquiry. Nor did they consider the possibility of manipulating individuals through groups that were themselves subservient to state power, a possibility realized by the corporatism Mussolini instituted in 1926. Furthermore, they were so concerned about the abuse of governmental power that they preferred to risk political stalemate, inviting what Laski frankly called contingent anarchy. Having devitalized the state, they saw it as a neutral umpire who would never act unless there were a common denominator of group interests. They saw it as carefully protecting the lawmaking prerogative of groups, and not presuming to take the initiative in the field of public policy. Government was considered an agency facilitating agreement, but not an independent source and initiator of policy. Pluralists realized that this might well make for deadlock, but inaction seemed better than action when action might be directed toward some group-transcending purpose discerned by the leadership. Still, by the 1930s it appeared necessary to some of the pluralists themselves to reintroduce what they had previously banished: a unified purpose above and beyond the will of a plurality of groups. They had rejected such ideas as common good, community interests, and general will. Yet they found it scarcely possible to conceive of the political process without the purposeful, helping hand of the state, especially as domestic group competition and foreign threats endangered the viability of a pluralistic political order. Thus both Laski and Cole were finally driven to recognize needs more fundamental than a vibrant group life. They were to argue for both leadership to give expression to these needs and a state equipped to satisfy them. Thus, under the pressures of modern group life and revolutionary technological and economical developments, pluralists' theory began to grow irrelevant. During the first half of the twentieth century, various administrative reforms that appeared to be modeled on the theory of pluralism made the predicament of its proponents increasingly explicit. The national economic councils of Europe in the 1920s, Fascist corporatism, the Industrial Recovery Administration during the New Deal period, the use of advisory committees for departments of government, reliance on worker control of industry in Germany, Poland, and Yugoslavia after World War ii—all these indicated that to implement gov-

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ernmental policy along geographically decentralized, federalistic, and pluralistic lines means to transfer the power to govern to the commanding elements within the most prosperous, entrenched, and unscrupulous groups. Rather than liberating individuals, it reinforces the power already centralized and consolidated under private auspices. Inasmuch as the proponents of pluralism were dedicated to the integrity of the individual person and to the extension of his freedom, they inevitably became embarrassed by the ostensibly voluntary and representative business corporation, agricultural organization, trade association, labor union, and professional group. Maturing under modern, industrial conditions, associations assumed a scale and an organizational structure making them oligarchical in their actual operations, and likely to smother the individual as effectively as the state. Furthermore, associations could preclude state action in areas in which liberty might yet be extended. American analytical pluralism Although empirical evidence jeopardized the case for pluralist institutions, it was slow to touch academic research, especially in the United States. In the United States, no systematic theoretical defense of political pluralism has ever been formulated. So secure and "natural" was the pluralistic foundation of government that it could be accepted as the axiomatic point of departure for political practice and public discourse. Alexis de Tocqueville's reflections on self-governing "intermediate bodies" capable of countervailing both an atomistic and a totalitarian state could become the exclusive basis for public philosophy: it seemed to be at once descriptively accurate, normatively desirable, and analytically fruitful. Thus, even though the structures of industry and of the economy have undergone radical changes during the past century, transforming the very organization of society, a considerable part of American academic research continues to follow the lines first suggested by Arthur F. Bentley's Process of Government (1908) [see BENTLEY]. Sustained by an analytical model suitable for understanding the behavior of small groups, it treats large groups as if they were homogeneous, voluntary, single-interest associations. It variously seeks to give descriptive accounts of group life and to construct abstract frameworks charting the flow and counterflow of group pressures. It postulates (1) that the dynamics of social change are determined by interacting groups, (2) that government is but a responsive instrument for keeping stable the natural equilibrium of competing interests, and (3) that public policy is most usefully understood as the product

of the free play of group pressures. Thus some American academic research identifies political decisions with the group process, and the group process with the significant reality of public life [see FOLLETT; POLITICAL GROUP ANALYSIS].

So thoroughly has the group basis of politics been accepted that scholars could characterize the goals of Populism, Progressivism, and the early New Deal as irrational whenever these goals were too inclusive to be reducible to the special interests of the groups that advanced them. Whenever groups upheld their policies as being in the public interest generally, these policies could be pointed to as either screens for self-interest or as manifestations of irrationality—rationality being identified with self-interest expressing itself through a pluralistic political system. This approach has presented individual as well as public purposes as mere functions of interacting groups and ignores those aspects of individual goals, technological tendencies, and social forces that defy the techniques of group analysis. To the extent that public policy, academic research, and such institutional arrangements as federalism adhere to the pluralist position and foreclose alternatives, they may be viewed as a conservative reaction against the presumed effects of a mass society. This reaction is unified by the unstated assumptions that (a) the social disintegrations, maladjustments, and alienations fostered by large-scale technology and a mass society are indubitable evils; and ( b ) mass society, being unjustifiably coercive, has intolerable implications for individual development, while small-scale technology and a pluralist society have not. These undebated premises remain operative in many policies that cripple responsible public government, and they also remain lodged in a well-endowed segment of research in the social sciences. However, political pluralism as an ideology has lost most of its explicit apologists and only lingers quietly as a submerged, inarticulate ingredient of Western liberalism. HENRY S. KARIEL [See also INTEREST GROUPS; POLITICAL GROUP ANALYSIS; VOLUNTARY ASSOCIATIONS. Other relevant material may be found under ORGANIZATIONS; POLITICAL PARTICIPATION; SOCIAL MOVEMENTS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

BAUDIN, Louis (1941) 1942 Le corporatisme: Italte, Portugal, Allemagne, Espagne, France. New ed., rev. & enl. Paris: Librarie Generate de Droit et de Jurisprudence. BENTLEY, ARTHUR F. 1908 The Process of Government: A Study of Social Pressures. Univ. of Chicago Press. -» Reprinted in 1949 by Principia Press.

POISSON, SIMEON DENIS BOWEN, RALPH H. 1947 German Theories of the Corporate State. New York: McGraw-Hill. COKER, FRANCIS W. 1934 Recent Political Thought. New York: Appleton. COLE, G. D. H. 1920a Guild Socialism Re-stated. London: Parsons. COLE, G. D. H. 1920fc SocialTheory. London: Methuen; New York: Stokes. DEANE, HERBERT A. 1955 The Political Ideas of Harold J. Laski. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. DOWLTNG, R. E. 1960 Pressure Group Theory: Its Methodological Range. American Political Science Review 54:944-954. DUGUIT, LEON (1913) 1919 Law in the Modern State. Translated by Frida and Harold J. Laski. New York: Huebsch. -> First published in French. DURKHEIM, EMILE (1950)1958 Professional Ethics and Civic Morals. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -> First published posthumously as Lecons de sociologie: Physique des moeurs et du droit. ELBOW, MATTHEW H. 1953 French Corporative Theory, 1789-1948: A Chapter in the History of Ideas. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. ELLIOTT, WILLIAM Y. 1928 The Pragmatic Revolt in Politics: Syndicalism, Fascism, and the Constitutional State. New York: Macmillan. FIGGIS, JOHN NEVILLE (1913) 1914 Churches in the Modern State. 2d ed. London and New York: Longmans. FOLLETT, MARY P. (1918) 1934 The New State: Group Organization, the Solution of Popular Government. New York: Longmans. GIERKE, OTTO VON (1913) 1934 Natural Law and the Theory of Society, 1500 to 1800. 2 vols. Cambridge Univ. Press. -> A translation of five subsections of Volume 4 of Das deutsche Genossenschaftsrecht, first published 1913. A paperback edition was published in 1957 by Beacon. HAURIOU, MAURICE (1910) 1916 Principes de droit public a I'usage des etudiantes en licence (3e annee) et en doctorat-es-sciences politiques. 2d ed. Paris: Tenin. HOBSON, S. G. 1920 National Guilds and the State. New York: Macmillan. KAISER, JOSEPH H. 1956 Die Reprasentation organisierter Interessen. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. KRABBE, HUGO (1915) 1927 The Modern Idea of the State. New York and London: Appleton. -» First published in Dutch. LASKI, HAROLD J. 1917 Studies in the Problem of Sovereignty. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. LASKI, HAROLD J. 1919 Authority in the Modern State. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. LATHAM, EARL 1952 The Group Basis of Politics: Notes for a Theory. American Political Science Review 46: 376-397. LEISERSON, AVERY 1942 Administrative Regulation: A Study in the Representation of Interests. Univ. of Chicago Press. MAASS, ARTHUR (editor) 1959 Area and Power: A Theory of Local Government. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. MACMAHON, ARTHUR W. (editor) (1955) 1962 Federalism: Mature and Emergent. New York: Russell. MAGID, HENRY M. 1941 English Political Pluralism. Columbia University Studies in Philosophy, No. 2. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. MAITLAND, FREDERIC W. 1900 Introduction. In Otto von Gierke, Political Theories of the Middle Age. Cambridge Univ. Press. -» Introduction to the English translation of Volume 3 of the four-volume classic

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Das deutsche Genossenschaftsrecht, published 18681913. PAUL-BANCOUR, JOSEPH 1900 Le federalisme economique: Etude sur les rapports de I'individu et des groupements professionals. Paris: Alcan. PENTY, ARTHUR J. 1906 The Restoration of the Gild System. London: Sonnenschein. TAWNEY, R. H. 1920 The Acquisitive Society. New York: Harcourt. -> A paperback edition was published in 1948. ULAM, ADAM B. 1951 Philosophical Foundations of English Socialism. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. WEBB, LEICESTER C. (editor) 1958 Legal Personality and Political Pluralism. Australian National University Social Science Monograph, No. 12. Melbourne Univ. Press.; Cambridge Univ. Press.

POISSON, SIMEON DENIS Simeon Denis Poisson (1781-1840) was born at Pithiviers. He entered the Ecole Poly technique in 1798 and did so well there that the school exempted him from his final examinations and immediately appointed him assistant in mathematical analysis in 1800. He became successively an associate professor and a full professor (this in 1806) there, and then was called to the Bureau des Longitudes and to the Institut de France in 1812. After the Bourbon restoration, he was appointed, in 1816, professor of mechanics in the Faculte des Sciences at Paris and was then appointed to the Royal Council of the University, where he took charge of the mathematics curriculum for all the secondary schools of France. In 1837 Poisson was ennobled, and in 1840 he succeeded Thenard as dean of the Faculte des Sciences. Poisson's principal interests were mechanics, mathematical analysis, physics, and the theory of probability. Although we are primarily concerned here with his work on probability and statistics, it is important to mention the fundamental nature of his contributions on such subjects as the invariability of the major axes of planets (1811), the distribution of electricity on the surfaces of bodies, capillary phenomena (1831), and the mathematical theory of heat (1835a). It was toward the end of his life that Poisson's interests focused on probability and statistics. His most important work in this field is Recherches sur la probabilite des jugements en matiere criminelle et en matiere civile, precedees des regies genemies du calcul des probabilites (1837), but slightly earlier he had published several brief papers that were very important for their time, since they contained the bases of a precise statistical method for the social sciences. Poisson, like Laplace before him, sought to establish the probability that a juror may err in arriving

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at a verdict of guilt. Laplace had tried to formulate a hypothesis that does not do violence to common sense; he assumed that the probability that the juror will not be mistaken is governed by a law of equal distribution between -|- and 1. From this law he deduced the probability that the verdict is correct as a function of the majority obtained. Poisson sharply criticized this procedure (1835£>) and laid down the principle that any chain of reasoning in this type of problem should be based on the observation of such facts as demonstrate the existence of a law of large numbers. He attacked the problem by going back to the sources and examining the texts of laws as well as legal statistical documents. Thus, he analyzed the records of the Cours d'Assises. The juries of the Cours d'Assises had 12 members, and although before 1831 the majority required for conviction was 7 to 5, from that date it was 8 to 4. Poisson noted that before 1831 the annual proportion of acquittals was 0.39 in the mean, always remaining between 0.38 and 0.40, and the proportion of convictions by a vote of 7 to 5 was 0.07. He then claimed that even before the required majority was changed in 1831, the effect of the new rules could have been predicted: "The proportion of convictions . . . had to be 0.61 - 0.07 = 0.54. If a vote of 8 to 4 was required, the ratio of acquittals to trials would thus be 0.46. This is in fact what happened during the year 1831" (1836a). This sort of reasoning seems simple and obvious to us today, but at the time it was received with skepticism. Thus, immediately after Poisson read his paper before the Academy of Sciences, Poinsot objected violently to "the idea that a calculus could be applied to the moral sciences . . ." (Poinsot 1836). In Poisson's view, the ordinary law of large numbers (which he evidently knew in the case of Bernoulli's urn) was primarily an experimental fact that should be taken as the foundation of statistics. It is important to remember that at that time the axioms used to construct the calculus of probabilities were different from the axioms used today, probability being defined, after Laplace, as the ratio of favorable cases to the total number of cases, assuming all these cases to be equally probable. Such a definition certainly does not preclude successful work, and Poisson used this definition in discovering his eponymous distribution. But the definition cannot deal with statistical problems, so that it was necessary for Poisson to enunciate what might be called a physical law. The Poisson distribution (or law). The probability of having r successes in the course of n

independent trials for an event whose probability is p is given by the binomial term Pr(r) = (")P r (l ~ pY~r- If> m tms formula, p approaches 0 and n approaches infinity, with np -» X finite and not 0, we find, by using Stirling's formula, that n]

(1)

r-l\ —r rl

We are thus led to consider the discrete distribution

Pr(0) = e-x Pr( 1) = X
which is called the Poisson distribution (better, Poisson's law} or rare events distribution. This last term has the advantage of indicating that a Poisson distribution may be applicable when a large group is considered, each member of which has only a small probability of incurring an accident (as, for example, the number of men killed every year by the kick of a horse in a regiment of the Prussian army). The term "rare" is, however, ambiguous, and one should avoid the error of supposing that the absolute number of events is necessarily small. The limit proof sketched in ( 1 ) above is incomplete, and we are indebted to Cauchy, a colleague of Poisson's, for the notion of characteristic function, which makes it possible to establish rigorously the tendency of the binomial distribution to approach that of Poisson. The characteristic function of the binomial law is

r

x

"i* •

[1 - p + pe^ = 1 + — (£>** - 1 )

This tends toward $(t) = exp [X(e u — 1 )] as n -* °°, and the latter is the characteristic function of the Poisson distribution. The cumulant generating function for the Poisson distribution is clearly i//(t) = X(e i f — 1), which shows that all the cumulants are equal to X. The quantity X is called the parameter of Poisson's law; in particular, both mean and variance are X.

POISSON, SIMEON DENIS Poisson distribution tables. Various tables and charts of the frequencies of the Poisson distribution have been prepared. The cumulative distribution function for the Poisson distribution may readily be expressed in terms of the incomplete gamma function F given in separate tables (for example, Pearson & Hartley's Biometrika Tables for Statisticians 1954), for if X is the number of successes, then Pr(X > r) = F[X(r)]/F(r). Generalized Poisson distribution. Let xn, x-i, • • •, xr, • • • be quantities in arithmetical progression having the form xr = a + /xr, where /z is any positive number, and let X be a stochastic variable such that k)

~ ~k!

'

we then say that X obeys a generalized Poisson distribution (or law}. Other, and deeper, directions of generalization are discussed in the next section [see also DISTRIBUTIONS, STATISTICAL, article on MIXTURES OF DISTRIBUTIONS]. Poisson process. Suppose that the number, X (t), of events taking place between instant 0 and instant t obeys a Poisson law (thus, the number of calls received by a telephone exchange between 0 and t might obey a Poisson law). Clearly, X(i) can be considered as a random variable with integral values which, as t varies, engenders a nondecreasing random function with nonnegative integral values, called a Poisson process. Stationary Poisson process. Without knowing anything a priori about the distribution of events between instants 0 and t (for example, again, the number of calls received by a telephone exchange between specified times), we can grant that the number AX = X(t + At) — X(t) of events between t and t + At is independent of X(r) for T < t. This hypothesis, whatever its legitimacy, means that the occurrence of an event between t and t + At is independent of the previous occurrence of a similar event; under these conditions X(t) is a stochastic function with independent increments. Let us grant, further, that the events under consideration constitute a stationary phenomenon. Then, by dividing the interval (0,t) into n partial intervals, X(t) can be regarded as the sum of n independent random variables, all obeying the same law. Finally, if it is assumed, as it is natural to do, that whatever the (0,t) interval, there is a zero probability that the number of events is infinite and a zero probability that several events will occur at the same instant, it can be shown that, whatever t may be, the random variable X(t) obeys a Poisson law having the parameter A = at, where a is a positive constant.

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The foregoing process is called the stationary Poisson process and is characterized by the constant a, known as the density of the process. It can be shown to have the following properties: (1) over a given time interval (r,r + X) the events are distributed at random and independently of each other; (2) if t is a given instant and t + v the instant at which the first event subsequent to t occurs, the probability density of the stochastic variable v is f ( v ) = ae~av. R. FERON [Directly related are the entries PROBABILITY; QUEUES. Other relevant material may be found in DISTRIBUTIONS, STATISTICAL; and in the biographies of BORTKIEWICZ and LAPLACE.] WORKS BY POISSON

(1811) 1842 A Treatise of Mechanics. London: Longmans. -> First published as Traite de mecanique. (1815) 1816 Memoire sur la theorie des ondes. Academie des Sciences, Paris, Memoires 2d Series 1:71—186. 1831 Nouvelle theorie de I'action capillaire. Paris: Bachelier. 1835a Theorie mathematique de la chaleur. Paris: Bachelier. -» A supplement consisting of notes and a memoir was published in 1837. 1835b Recherches sur la probabilite des jugements, principalement en matiere criminelle. Academie des Sciences, Paris, Comptes rendus hebdomadaires 1:473494. 1835 POISSON, SIMEON DENIS et al. Recherches de statistique sur raffection calculeuse: Rapport sur ces recherches. Academie des Sciences, Paris, Comptes rendus hebdomadaires 1:167-177. 1836a Note sur le calcul des probabilites. Academie des Sciences, Paris, Comptes rendus hebdomadaires 2: 395-398. 1836b Formules relatives aux probabilites qui dependent de tres grands nombres. Academie des Sciences, Paris, Comptes rendus hebdomadaires 2:603-613. 1836c Note sur la loi des grands nombres. Academie des Sciences, Paris, Comptes rendus hebdomadaires 2: 377-382. -> Includes three pages of comment. 1837 Recherches sur la probabilite des jugements en matiere criminelle et en matiere civile, precedees des regies generates du calcul des probabilites. Paris: Bachelier. SUPPLEMENTARY BIBLIOGRAPHY

ARAGO, DOMINIQUE FRANCOIS JEAN 1854 Poisson. Pages 593-671 in Dominique Frangois Jean Arago, Oeuvres completes de Francois Arago. Volume 2: Notices biographiques. Paris: Gide & Baudry. -> See pages 672689 for a bibliography edited by Poisson and pages 690-698 for "Discours prononce aux funerailles de Poisson, le jeudi 30 avril 1840." BIENAYME, JULES 1855 Communication sur un principe que M. Poisson avait cru decouvrir et qu'il avait appele loi des grands nombres. Academie des Sciences Morales et Politiques, Seances et travaux 31:379-389. FAURE, FERNAND 1909 Les precurseurs de la Societe de Statistique de Paris. Nancy (France): Berger-Levrault.

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GINI, CORRADO 1941 Alle basi del metodo statistico: II principio della compensazione degli error! accidental! e la legge dei grand! numeri. Metron 14:173-240. GOURAUD, CHARLES M. C. 1848 Histoire du calcul des probabilites depuis ses origines jusqu'd nos jours. Paris: Durand. HAIGHT, FRANK A. 1967 Handbook of the Poisson Distribution. New York: Wiley. KEYNES, JOHN MAYNARD (1921) 1952 The Law of Great Numbers. Pages 332-366 in John Maynard Keynes. Treatise on Probability. London: Macmillan. LAPLACE, PIERRE SIMON DE (1820) 1951 A Philosophical Study on Probabilities. New York: Dover. -» First published as Essai philosophique sur les probabilites. LOTTIN, JOSEPH 1909 La theorie des moyennes et son emploi dans les sciences d'observation. Revue neoscolastique de philosophic 16:537-569. -> Now called Revue philosophique de Louvain. LOTTIN, JOSEPH 1910 Le calcul des probabilites et les regularites statistiques. Revue neo-scolastique de philosophic 17:23-52. MOIVRE, ABRAHAM DE (1718) 1756 The Doctrine of Chances: Or, a Method of Calculating the Probabilities of Events in Play. 3d ed. London: Millar. PEARSON, EGON S.; and HARTLEY, H. O. (editors) (1954) 1966 Biometrika Tables for Statisticians. 3d ed. Vol. 1. Cambridge Univ. Press. POINSOT, Louis 1836 [Remarques sur la communication de Poisson.] Academic des Sciences, Paris, Comptes rendus hebdomadaires 2:398-399. -> See pages 399400 for Poisson's reply. WESTERGAARD, HARALD L. 1932 Contributions to the History of Statistics. London: King. -> See pages 149150 for a discussion of Poisson's concern with medical statistics.

POISSON DISTRIBUTION See DISTRIBUTIONS, STATISTICAL, article on SPECIAL DISCRETE DISTRIBUTIONS.

POLANYI, KARL Karl Polanyi (1886-1964), whose concept of substantive economics did much toward integrating the study of economics with that of society more generally, was born in Vienna and grew up in Budapest. He studied law and philosophy in Budapest and later, for a short while, practiced at the bar. In 1908 he helped found the Galilei circle, a center of the intellectual ferment that provided Hungary with its liberal and socialist leadership during and after World War i and that was to remain effective as a spiritual influence for a long time. After military service, Polanyi moved to Vienna, where in 1920 he met his wife, Ilona Duczyhska, who had played a distinguished role in the Hungarian revolution of 1918. He became foreign editor of the Osterreichische Volkswirt, then Austria's leading economic publication, comparable in scope to the London Economist. Although he never belonged to any political party, he considered the socialist ex-

periment that took place in Vienna between the two world wars to be "one of the high points of western civilization." With the rise of fascism he lost his post and, foreseeing the European cataclysm, moved to England. There he earned his living lecturing for the Workers' Educational Association as an extramural tutor for Oxford University; he traveled and held classes in the small towns of Sussex and Kent. In 1940 he was invited by the International Institute of Education to give lectures on the international situation in colleges throughout the United States. Between 1940 and 1943 he held the post of resident scholar at Bennington College in Vermont, and there he wrote the first of his two principal books, The Great Transformation (1944). He went back to England but returned to the United States in 1947 to become visiting professor of economics at Columbia University, a post he held until his retirement in 1953. In the years that followed, he lived part of the time in New York and part of the time at his little house in Pickering, Ontario. He continued his research in collaboration with a group of younger scholars working in the fields of economics, anthropology, history, and sociology. Together they wrote a symposium volume, Trade and Market in the Early Empires (Polanyi et al. 1957). Polanyi's last years, when he was in his seventies, were extraordinarily productive. His work culminated in a study of the economic anthropology of the west African kingdom of Dahomey during the eighteenth century, posthumously published as Dahomey and the Slave Trade (1966). He also helped his wife and a number of Canadian poets with the preparation of an anthology of Hungarian writing covering the period 1930 to 1956 (see Duczynska & Polanyi 1963). His major concern during his last years was the preservation of world peace. All his efforts were bent on founding an international journal for the comparative study of economics and politics that was to serve the cause of peace. Under the distinguished international sponsorship of Ragnar Frisch, P. C. Mahalanobis, Gunnar Myrdal, Joan Robinson, Hans Thirring, and others, Co-existence was founded. Polanyi lived to see the first issue through the press; he was buried on the day the first copies appeared. Substantive and formal economies. The core of Polanyi's scholarly work was the study of the place of the economy in society—the relationship between the arrangements for the production and acquisition of goods, on the one hand, and kinship, religion, and other forms of organization and cul-

POLANYI, KARL ture, on the other. Since the study of these relationships transcends modern economic theory, Polanyi suggested that it be designated substantive economics to distinguish it from formal economics. His point was that the word "economic" is used in two very different senses, which must be borne in mind to avoid perceiving all economies—primitive and archaic especially—simply as crude variants of modern industrial ones. "Economic" in the substantive sense is used by Polanyi as a synonym for "material." For example, when anthropologists talk about the economic aspects of primitive society, they simply mean the arrangements for acquiring, producing, or using material items or services for individual or community purposes. According to this meaning of the term, all societies, whatever their size, technology, or political structure, have an "economic" system—that is, structured arrangements for the provision of livelihood. In the formal sense, "economic" means to "economize" or to be "economical" —to choose among alternatives for the purpose of maximizing output, profit, or gain in exchange; or to minimize the cost of producing something, within the context of material "scarcity," relative to what the economist calls the demand. In the capitalist, market-integrated economy and in conventional economic theory, the two meanings of "economic" are fused, since in capitalism the market institutions serve both to provide the material means of existence and to enforce economizing activities on the participants: to earn their livelihood people must abide by the rules of the market. Economic theory reflects this separation of the economy from other social institutions by making market transactions almost its sole concern; it has thus become essentially a theory of valuations—of prices and their mutual interdependence. The market economy, however, is a very special case, historically and anthropologically. Preindustrial societies frequently have economies in which the structured mode of providing the means of existence does not consist of economizing institutions. Polanyi's reason for differentiating the two meanings of "economic" was to avoid what he called the "economic prejudice"— that is, the perception of all economies (including the primitive and the archaic) as variants of modern industrial ones, and the translation of all economic institutions into market-economizing terms. He sought conceptual categories which would permit both the analysis of the relation of economic to social organization and the direct comparison of economies. By confining itself to market phenomena, he

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felt, economic theory has become inadequate in two ways: it has removed from its ambit the social organization which links the economy to the cultural, psychological, and political structure of society; and by its exclusive concern with industrial capitalism, it has forced the analysis of other societies into a conceptual framework—in modern terminology one would say "model"—that does not fit them. Modes of organizing economies. Polanyi's analysis of the uses of money, the forms of external trade, and the role of markets in different economies illustrates how devices that are superficially similar, such as money and foreign trade, have different functions in market and nonmarket economies : the fact that both the Soviet and American economies make use of money, foreign trade, markets, and trade unions does not mean that either these institutions or their underlying organization are the same. This is also true of the structure and function of money, markets, and foreign trade in primitive and archaic economies. The problem of the place of the economy in society is the main topic of Polanyi's two principal books: The Great Transformation (1944), which deals primarily with contemporary society, and Trade and Market in the Early Empires (Polanyi et al. 1957), which deals chiefly with primitive and archaic societies and their remnants. In the latter book Polanyi created a conceptual framework for analyzing preindustrial societies in which markets had little significance. In his view the market economy is only one of the three historical modes of organizing economies; the others are reciprocity and redistribution. Polanyi did not consider his types as evolutionary stages, although some did develop earlier than others. Nor are the types mutually exclusive: in any economy two, and sometimes three, of the types of transactions are usually present, although one type tends to be dominant. In politically centralized primitive societies, such as the Bantu, and in archaic societies—such as the Inca, the Nupe of Nigeria, eighteenth-century Dahomey, the indigenous kingdoms of east and south Africa, and the pre-Christian Middle East—redistribution was the dominant pattern of integration (or transactional mode), but gift giving and market transactions were frequently present. In some economies such as those of the Tiv and the Trobriand Islanders, where reciprocity was the dominant mode of transaction, petty markets were present as well. Planning and freedom. Polanyi first encountered the problem of the relationship of the economy to society when studying the British indus-

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trial revolution; this revolution appeared to him not only to multiply man's wealth but also to threaten the very fabric of society. Polanyi argued in The Great Transformation that a laissez-faire capitalistic market economy is not socially viable. The attempt to make the fear of hunger and the quest for profit the governing motives of the economy is socially divisive and humanly destructive. The European and American upheavals of the 1920s and 1930s—communism, fascism, and the New Deal—were emergency transformations of market societies which had become economically and socially intolerable. Polanyi's theoretical work never failed to be informed by his desire to solve what he considered the crucial problem of modern society: How can society regain control over the forces of the economy that were relegated to the autonomous market during the industrial revolution without abandoning freedom? Modern society, in his view, is to some extent compelled to compel, and he wished to distinguish the economic realms that require planning and control from the cultural spheres that require freedom. Polanyi thus held a modified socialist position, in antithesis to the economic determinism of both the orthodox left and the MisesHayek school, both of which are based on the same premise, although they prognosticate diametrically opposed outcomes. Even the wide range of Polanyi's writings hardly reflects the enormous breadth of his interests in the humanities, in arts and letters, and in the history of the day. It was his custom at the end of a day's work to discuss political events with friends and collaborators, and it was in these informal conversations that the astounding analytical and, at times, prophetic power of his unorthodoxy revealed itself most fully. HANS ZEISEL [See also ECONOMY AND SOCIETY; TRADE AND MARKETS.] WORKS BY POLANYI Sozialistische Rechnungslegung. Archiv fur Sozialwissenschaft und Sozialpolitik 49:377-420. (1935) 1936 The Essence of Fascism. Pages 359-394 in John Lewis, Karl Polanyi, and Donald K. Kitchin (editors), Christianity and the Social Revolution. New York: Scribner. 1937 Europe To-day. With an introduction by G. D. H. Cole. London: Workers' Educational Trade Union Committee. 1944 The Great Transformation. New York: Farrar. -> A paperback edition was published in 1957 by Beacon. Also published in 1945 by Gollancz as Origins of Our Time. 1922

1947a The Citizen and Foreign Policy. London: Workers' Educational Association. 1947fo Our Obsolete Market Mentality. Commentary 3, February: 109-117. 1957a Marketless Trading in Hammurabi's Time, Pages 12-26 in Karl Polanyi, Conrad M. Arensberg, and Harry W. Pearson (editors), Trade and Market in the Early Empires: Economies in History and Theory. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. 1957fo Aristotle Discovers the Economy. Pages 64-94 in Karl Polanyi, Conrad M. Arensberg, and Harry W. Pearson (editors), Trade and Market in the Early Empires: Economies in History and Theory. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. 1957c The Economy as Instituted Process. Pages 243270 in Karl Polanyi, Conrad M. Arensberg, and Harry W. Pearson (editors), Trade and Market in the Early Empires: Economies in History and Theory. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. 1957 POLANYI, KARL; ARENSBERG, CONRAD M.; and PEARSON, HARRY W. (editors) Trade and Market in the Early Empires: Economies in History and Theory. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. 1960 On the Comparative Treatment of Economic Institutions in Antiquity, With Illustrations From Athens, Mycenae and Alalakh. Pages 329-350 in Symposium on Urbanization and Cultural Development in the Ancient Near East, University of Chicago, 1958, City Invincible. Univ. of Chicago Press. 1963 Ports of Trade in Early Societies. Journal of Economic History 23:30-45. 1963 DUCZYNSKA, ILONA; and POLANYI, KARL (editors) The Plough and the Pen: Writings From Hungary, 1930-1956. London: Owen; Toronto: McClelland & Stewart. 1964 Sortings and "Ounce Trade" in the West African Slave Trade. Journal of African History 5:381-393. 1966 Dahomey and the Slave Trade. Seattle: Univ. of Washington Press. -» Published posthumously. SUPPLEMENTARY BIBLIOGRAPHY

BOHANNAN, PAUL; and DALTON, GEORGE 1965 Karl Polanyi. American Anthropologist New Series 67:1508— 1511. LEVITT, KARI 1964 Karl Polanyi. Co-existence 1, no. 2:113-121.

POLICE Until World War n, the larger continental European countries had centrally controlled police organizations, usually divided into a division for policing the capital and other large cities and a national service for policing smaller towns and rural areas. These were often supplemented by more heavily armed security police units that were essentially military in nature. The combination of central control, rigid selection of recruits (often through the army), special recruitment and training of command personnel, and rotation of command personnel produced highly efficient police systems whose personnel were generally free of the influence of the local politics and corruption

POLICE that have plagued many departments in the United States. However, such police systems have also been associated with successful suppression of political dissidence and have traditionally developed in societies where the state has been confronted with serious problems of organized, armed political unrest. The constitutional preference in the United States has been for a police under local control that would be available neither to the duly constituted central government nor to any organized group that might seize control of the federal apparatus. This constitutional situation has been accompanied in the United States by special problems of securing efficiency and honesty in police operation. However, recent very rapid improvements in the quality of police practice, especially in the larger cities, indicates that local control per se need not be incompatible with high-quality police. In addition to municipal police, there are county sheriffs' departments which in large parts of the United States constitute full-fledged police units. State police units exist in all but a few of the states. These concentrate on highway patrol but may perform general police functions in rural areas and are also important forces available for suppressing disorder. At the federal level in the United States, the tendency has been to create specialized police units to deal with specific problems, such as counterfeiting, narcotics, customs, and immigration. The specialized units are in addition to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, which has much more general functions in enforcing federal law. The English police system stands in many ways intermediate between that of the United States and the more centralized pattern of some Continental countries. The London Metropolitan Police are responsible directly to the central government, while other departments are under a loose inspectorial control which is coupled with a system of monetary grants-in-aid from the central treasury (Cramer 1964). When the Allies occupied Germany and Japan at the end of World War n, they introduced police systems patterned after the Anglo-American constitutional structure. In Japan the change from a completely decentralized police introduced by Occupation authorities in 1947 to a much more centralized one in 1954 illustrates the difficulties involved in adapting the police systems of one country to the conditions of another. Decentralization resulted in underfinancing of local units; police reliance on large private donations, including some from organized gangster groups; and near helpless-

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ness of local units in the face of organized gang violence and later in the face of a systematic and disciplined campaign of political rioting directed against the central government (Nakahara 1955). In contrast, the disorders and riots that confront the police in the United States are rarely led by disciplined cadres, nor have they been directed at overthrow of the constituted government. Police organization and social control. The establishment of uniformed, armed, and organized police as a response to the problems of social control in modern societies creates a number of problems, such as the political neutralization of the police, organizational creation and maintenance of discipline and commitment to legality in behavior toward the citizen, and development of efficient and impartial enforcement of the law. The means evolved to solve some of these problems may have negative results on others. Moreover, the control, organization, and behavior of the police will reflect the differences in civic culture between countries: for example, differences in the degree of consensus about the values represented in law and in the institutional supports for police authority, on the one hand, and traditions of police restraint on the other. The civic culture will, in turn, reflect differences in the nature and degree of heterogeneity of different societies, the degree to which laws representing minority viewpoints are passed, and the way in which law enforcement through the police relates to other forms of authoritative control in the particular society. Location of governmental centers. Of obvious though often overlooked importance is the relationship between patterns of urbanization and the location and nature of governmental centers. In many countries—for example, England, France, Germany, and Argentina—the capital city is also the metropolis or at least one of the largest cities. The location of national government physically in a large city means that problems of civil disorder can become very serious from the point of view of the governing regime. When such disorder is politicized, the government is accessible physically, and even relatively minor disorders can seem to pose fundamental threats to the regime. Where the regime is represented in the person of a king domiciled in the metropolis, sensitivity to disorder will be even greater (Chapman 1953). One of the major differences between the United States and many other industrialized, urbanized countries lies in the simple fact that the national capital is not a major metropolis and until recently was not even a large city. Furthermore, the capitals of the states, which under the federal constitutional

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system share sovereignty, are often not the largest cities in each state. Since it is the large cities that have been the major sources of politically relevant disorder, the United States has thus had less need of the highly disciplined riot police of other countries. This geographical isolation of governmental elites from t^c mass of the population has helped maintain the stability of democratic institutions, despite the volatile history and extreme heterogeneity of the United States; while there have been many riots, the mob has not been a prominent actor on the political stage. Thus simple geography has partially performed the function of insulating elites from the mass—a precondition of modern democracy, according to theorists of mass society (Kornhauser 1959). From this point of view, distance can be a partial substitute for force. Police bureaucratization Bureaucratization—an organizational technique whereby major centers of civic power become neutralized from the point of view of the governing regime—has been of great significance in the development of modern police. Bureaucratization is a device whereby commitment to the occupational organization or occupational community and to its norms of subordination and service takes precedence over extraoccupational social commitments. Thus, in modern societies the political neutrality and legal reliability of the police is less a matter of the social sources of recruitment than of internal organization, training, and control. This, of course, is no less true of the organization of, for example, tax-collecting services or public education. In this sense, then, the police do not differ from the other large-scale civil services. Nevertheless, the situation is particularly crucial with respect to the police, because they are commonly called upon to enforce unpopular laws and, of course, because they are armed and organized. Perhaps this fundamental significance of police bureaucratization can be seen by attending to the fact that given well-organized, well-disciplined, and internally well-regulated police, it is necessary for civil authorities to assure themselves only of the political loyalty and dedication to legal process of the controlling police elites. Such problems are not confined simply to the unstable governments of some developing societies or to the often conflict-ridden regimes of continental Europe. A major device whereby American Negroes have been able to secure better police protection as well as relief from police suppression has been the political capturing of city governments, or at least the development of sufficient political influence to be able to persuade city offi-

cials to appoint top police officials, chiefs, commissioners, etc., who are more sympathetic to the civic aspirations of the Negro population. Of course, the successful translation of elite perspectives toward minority groups throughout police rank and file is not to be taken for granted; nevertheless, it is true that wherever a determined top police administration backed by a city government which has been under pressure from powerful Negro groups has seriously attempted change of racial law enforcement, the efforts have generally been successful. To a very considerable extent, American minority groups have been able to secure civic respect from the police to the degree that they have been able to generate political influence. Negroes represent the last American minority group still undergoing this process. The development is particularly slow in parts of the southern United States, where law enforcement and maintenance of caste relations have traditionally been partly synonymous. Although police professionalization and bureaucratization are often strongly resisted by the white political structure, they have begun to appear as one of the major gains of the so-called Negro revolution (McMillan 1960). Perhaps in the long run, however, the most significant feature of police bureaucratization is that it tends to prevent the police from substituting their private attitudes or private occupational cultures for legal norms in law enforcement. One has only to cite examples of county sheriffs and sheriffs' deputies in parts of the rural South, where not only personal animosities but also racial attitudes have played a part in law enforcement, to show that recruitment of amateurs from among the local populace involves serious dangers. Very broadly speaking, it may be pointed out that the process of internal bureaucratization of the police tends to make recruitment a less significant factor in the reliability and neutrality of the police. However, when a particular governmental regime is highly unpopular with some particular segment of the population, and when the political reliability of the police has not been achieved by bureaucratization, it may be particularly important to recruit from specialized segments of the population whose loyalty arises from extraorganizational, social commitments as well as from adherence to the police occupation. Thus, during the early stages of political development in some modern multitribal states, the police may be recruited almost entirely from one particular tribe. In this way, the regime counts on intertribal tensions and frictions of the community as a device for assuring that the police will enforce the law against members of other tribes.

POLICE Many of the most significant problems of modern police, however, lie precisely in the balance between bureaucratic isolation, on the one hand, and integration into the local community, on the other. Among the most significant consequences of this dilemma that have been pointed out by American researchers is the fact that isolation from the community without careful bureaucratic organization can result in police occupational cultures which can become private subcommunities heavily involved in illegally determining the distribution of law enforcement and the use of violence (Westley 1953). Isolation to a degree is obviously necessary. However, isolation may be accompanied by public contempt, which has been so frequent in the United States, with its generally low regard for public service. Thus, when isolation is not accompanied by organizational control, training, and indoctrination, it can, on occasion, result in a situation where the police are, to be sure, apolitical but where their conceptions of appropriate conduct and appropriate relations between police and populace can become an autonomous and disturbing element, even in a predominantly civil and legal social structure (Banton 1964). Problems of modern police organization The organization of the police into disciplined bureaucracies is dependent upon certain social conditions. However, if such organization is successful, it can, in turn, create problems related to the linkages between police and community, the nature of policing in modern urban societies, and the problems of decentralized decision making peculiar to police work (Wilson 1963). Most detailed research on these matters has been done in the United States and England, especially the United States. Developments in the United States are especially useful for illustrating the general conditions which make for both successful police organization and newer problems in policing. Professionalization of the police. Bureaucratization of the police, is, of course, importantly facilitated where public employment is highly regarded and well paid, and where police service can provide prestigeful lifetime careers. It is under these circumstances that the necessary personal commitment to the service and the necessary occupational morale are most likely to develop. The United States has had particular difficulty in this regard. The state as an abstract entity has not been regarded with the special mystique of some countries, nor has it been invested with the special symbolic aura of the English crown. In addition, the public service occupations in general have not been

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of the highest prestige; this is generally the case in market-oriented societies which are traditionally devoted to the pursuit of private fortune. Judging from recent research, however, there has been considerable improvement in this respect since the early 1900s, and this trend can be expected to continue (Janowitz et al. 1958). In addition, the increasing concentration of population in large cities has allowed the development of larger departments with the possibility of more rigorous selection of personnel, better training, and the development of a more self-consciously professional administrative corps among police commanders. Until recently it has been difficult for police commanders in the United States to secure sufficient independence from local politics to develop systems of recruitment, promotion, and assignment based upon merit rather than political preferment. These difficulties in securing professional autonomy have been especially pronounced in the older and more heterogeneous cities of the North and East, where the combination of unpopular laws and ethnic minority involvement in both machine politics and municipal services has often led to complex linkages between organized crime, the police, and ethnically based political machines. The major cities in the South, Southwest, and West have had fewer of these problems. During a period of rapid social change, underdeveloped public services in general, great heterogeneity of population, and legislatures dominated by rural interests who often wrote their own sectional and class norms into formal law, such connections between police, politics, and community were inevitable. Indeed, they served to ease social change and the urbanization and civic assimilation of the large immigrant populations, who were able to acquire relatively quick access not only to local politics but also to the police arm of government. Patterns of police authority. Under conditions of increased professionalization of municipal police, the problems of internal discipline, efficiency, honesty, and respect for formal legality are increasingly being solved. Their solution, however, raises other difficulties related to police-community relations, on the one hand, and new determinants of discretionary decision making, on the other. Where the police, as in England, have been able to rely on long-standing patterns of deference to the symbols of legitimate authority, coupled with a longestablished cultural homogeneity and crowned symbolically by the monarchy, relations between police and populace reflect the gradual development of customary forms of behavior as well as formal legal restrictions on police and populace

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alike. Under such circumstances, police authority is supported by the institutional environment, such as the law courts, as well as by popular attitude and social custom. On the other hand, where patterns of deference are not well developed, as in the United States, and the police are seen as simply doing a job rather than as representing an institutional order, the legal system in general receives less support from custom and other institutions of society; in turn, the legal system is likely to represent the deep ambivalence toward authority which characterizes the larger culture. Thus, in the United States police powers are severely limited as compared with those of the Continent, and police authority is not buttressed by developed custom within the bounds of formal law, as has been the case in England (International Conference . . . 1962; Banton 1964). This combination of lack of supportive deferential custom, the relatively unprivileged position of the state, severe legal restrictions on police powers, and high crime rates—especially high rates of violent crime, on the one hand, and organized crime, on the other—has posed especially difficult problems for the police in large American cities. As a consequence, certain informal practices that are illegal or of doubtful legality, which are probably found to one degree or another among police everywhere, have received special attention from American social researchers. Among these are the widespread use of discretionary powers that are poorly based in formal law and the noticeably declining problems of corruption (LaFave 1965; Skolnick 1966). Increased concern with these practices, together with the rapidly growing political and civic awareness and influence of Negroes, the increasing bureaucratization and professionalization of the police, and the increasing necessity to regulate an affluent and mobile citizenry (especially in traffic control, which cannot always be identified with traditional categories of criminal conduct) have led to an awareness that older patterns of police practice and older patterns of contact between police and community must give way to rationally calculated and organizationally inculcated forms of conduct. Rather than seeking to share communal sentiments and reflect them in their behavior, the police must try to develop ways of managing interpersonal contact so as to minimize challenge to police authority as well as degradation of the citizen. Symptomatic of this change is the increasing amount of social research, including public opinion surveys, with implications not only for general

understanding of police but also for police practice (Great Britain . . . 1962a; 1962fc; Clark 1965; Preiss & Ehrlich 1966; Bordua 1967). This replacement of custom by rule and management has often been described by sociologists as characteristic of modern mass societies. It seems likely that as deference patterns decline in other societies, many features of recent American experience will develop there. Discretionary decision making. In democratic societies the problem of assuring that the police are organized so as to be a reliable instrument for the maintenance of order and the suppression and prevention of crime, while at the same time assuring that they exhibit restraint and sensitivity to citizen rights, means that organization of the police cannot be like that of an assault battalion which on command can be relied upon to do its duty regardless of cost to itself, its enemies, or the surrounding social fabric. Nor can it be organized to respond purely to external stimulation in an automatic and "programmed" fashion. Police organization involves elements of military command from the center, as well as elements of automatic response to stimuli at the periphery; however, the peculiar conditions of modern policing require above all that discretionary judgment within a framework of rules be widespread. Because rules cannot specify all eventualities, the decision making of police in a democracy is determined by morale, on the one hand, and by the relationship to the local community culture, on the other. The problem of morale is essentially one of assuring a commitment to central organizational and legal purpose as a basis for discretionary decision. The problem of relation to the local community is essentially one of maintaining a sensitivity to the culture of the community as it involves questions such as modes of exercising authority and kinds of offenses which can be proceeded against only at great social cost; it also involves a sharing by the police of the general society's sense of the significance of individual dignity. Involvement in the community. The balances between discretion and command and between isolation from and involvement in the general culture are, in some ways, the same problem, since it is participation in the general life of the community that helps the police fill in the ambiguities of formal law and departmental regulation. Integration into the community also prevents the police from substituting their own occupational and organizational culture for the law or for the moral sentiments of the local populace. Such com-

POLICE munity integration is facilitated by cultural homogeneity and by the absence of wide disparity between the formal law and social custom. The involvement of police in the community can, however, be overdone, as evidenced by many of the difficulties of developing restrained law enforcement in racially mixed communities in the United States. Where dominant community sentiment in the segments of the population holding power dictates denial of legal rights and protections to Negroes, integration of the police into local culture may defeat the specific aims of legal policy as well as the general aim of equal dignity for all citizens. In general, the use of law as an instrument of social change requires sufficient isolation of the police from local involvements that they can act in accordance with new legal directives that are likely to meet resistance. In stable and homogeneous societies, there is likely to grow up a body of customary practice linking police and citizenry which serves to supplement and refine the formal law and the use of police authority. Where such custom has been of long standing, thus making both citizen and police behavior predictable and mutually tolerable, the basic trust of the citizenry in the police is likely to make demand for more elaborate formal control of the police unlikely. However, where social change is rapid and the conditions for such customary adaptation are not present, demands for more control are likely to be prominent. The recent movement for civilian police review boards in the United States is an example of one such demand deriving from such a lack of stabilized trust. Deployment of police resources Police operations vary greatly, depending on a number of factors in addition to those already mentioned. Among these factors are the kind and amount of illegal behavior, as well as its social organization; the degree to which uniformed police are expected to carry out the general functions of public protection and regulation in areas other than dealing with crime and disorder; the nature and distribution of communication facilities in the population; and the relative use of mechanical and electronic aids in crime detection and law enforcement. In some societies the police have many duties and become a general administrative arm of government. This may be true either because of a general conception of the role of central government or because of the relative scarcity of other trained administrative services. In the United

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States, where crime rates are high and where traffic regulation consumes an important share of police resources, police commanders have attempted to limit police operations to the central ones of protection of life and property through the suppression of crime and disorder. In addition, in their attempts to develop a more prestigeful and professional service, leading police spokesmen in the United States have tended to look to the traditional professions, such as law and medicine, where specialization and the ability to limit functions have been accompanied by high prestige. This effort is especially significant in the United States, where autonomously developed performance standards and specialized technical competence have been sources of occupational prestige, whereas performance of generalized service to the state has not. Performance of functions outside the areas of crime control and the maintenance of public order is not necessarily incompatible with a high standard of police service, however. Indeed, the public image of the police may be more favorable where police service includes considerable supportive activity in addition to more repressive services. Problems of organization and deployment of police are closely related to the nature of illegal behavior, its social organization, and the social channels whereby information on illegal activity is made available to the police. In modern, urbanized societies much routine information concerning crime comes from the citizen complainant, who is usually the victim of the crime. The spread of telephones in the population, coupled with the use of two-way-radio-equipped patrol cars in the larger cities of the United States, Canada, and Scandinavia, has made possible very rapid reaction to citizen calls. This reaction is usually mediated through a central radio dispatch center, which also enables considerable control over the activities of policemen by superiors. In the United States the high incidence of crime —especially crimes against the person—plus the lack of tribal or other means for dealing with crime results in a very large volume of work for urban police departments. This large volume is partially due to the lack of private security arrangements of a nonpolice nature; homesteads are not walled, and there is nothing like the famous concierge arrangement of France. Thus there is a need for the police to react very rapidly in a very decentralized fashion, as well as a need for centralization of police communication. For this kind of police work, deployment and allocation of police

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resources are determined largely by the willingness of the citizenry to request police protection. Other police operations, such as vice control, are less reactive in nature and, indeed, may have no victim or complainant in the ordinary sense. Under these conditions, police work involves a more initiatory strategy, and decisions as to deployment and resource allocation are much more under the control of police authorities themselves. Such "service" crimes as gambling, prostitution, and liquor or narcotics sales involve considerable organization on the part of criminals; moreover, they have no victims willing to complain and act as prosecuting witnesses, and they can take place in premises protected by legal guarantees of privacy (Stinchcombe 1963). It is also characteristic of these offenses that they are likely to involve violation of laws which do not necessarily represent a high degree of social consensus. This combination of circumstances, coupled with the large amounts of money which result, makes corruption of the police more likely than in the case of other types of crime, and corruption can function much like a private tax. It also means that removal of police from politics is more difficult, since the social differences which underlie the law will make themselves felt in political demands for more strict or more lenient enforcement. Among new techniques being used by the more highly mechanized police systems of large United States cities, and to a lesser degree in Canada and Scandinavia, are elaborate electronic computer installations used to search records, sort through modus operandi files, and provide very rapid responses to inquiries from field officers concerning suspicious automobiles. These new techniques of communication, information retrieval, and dispatching are significant not only with respect to the speed and effectiveness with which police respond but also with respect to the effectiveness of command and control within departments (Bordua & Reiss 1966). Organizational discipline Over and above control through the usual techniques of rule making and supervision, many departments in the United States have been led to maintain undercover units designed to monitor the efficiency and honesty of the police themselves. Such internal investigation units have been effective when combined with firm control in reducing corruption and greatly increasing citizen respect for the police. Internal investigation units and central communications audits allow organiza-

tional control of dispersed field officers, but they may also create problems of morale, since they bypass subordinate command levels and imply mistrust. Such extreme measures for internal control are likely to become less necessary as conditions change in the United States, especially as police recruitment, training practices, and overt supervision practices improve. These organizational improvements, coupled with improving public respect for police, should help increase the sense of occupational honor among the police, which is crucial in the long-run assurance of competence and honesty (McMullan 1961). The internal control problems of large city departments have been greatly complicated in the United States by the long history of local political interference in internal police affairs. As a response to this problem, civil service tenure for police has become very widespread in an attempt to protect individual policemen from threats to their livelihood by political influence. In the process, however, it has become quite common for the ultimate power that imposes severe disciplinary measures, such as demotion or dismissal, to be lodged outside the police department. Dismissal for cause may require highly formal hearings, and appeal may lie to the regular courts. While this system helps eliminate unfair, arbitrary, or politically motivated decisions by police command personnel, it simultaneously weakens internal control exercised along more acceptable lines. This security of tenure for the rank and file and the necessity for quasi-judicially presented evidence is one reason why reforming departments stress the need for undercover internal investigation. Through such investigations it is possible to secure appropriate evidence of wrongdoing and, in most cases, induce resignation rather than initiate formal proceedings. Given the widespread willingness of the populace to corrupt the police—usually in petty ways —and the widespread ambivalence toward authority exercised in the name of the state, it is necessary in the United States to place the police under a far more severe discipline than would be acceptable to the general population. Police everywhere are, of course, subject to close discipline, yet in many societies this is accompanied by either a complementary restraint and respect on the part of the citizenry or by a definition of the police as having a special elite position which helps in maintaining their morale. In the United States, in a well-run police unit, the rank-and-file officer is likely to experience a subordination less stringent

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than that experienced by his counterparts in other countries; however, the discipline that he experiences is far more severe, relative to the patterns of authority in the surrounding civil society. The organizational discipline—more apparent in large or rapidly improving departments than in small or static ones—not only sets police apart from the general populace but, perhaps more importantly, makes for a great contrast between the values of the police occupation and those of other segments of the system for the administration of criminal justice. The increasing emphasis on rehabilitation, reform, and resocialization of offenders has been accompanied by a decline in the use of legal coercion and a de-emphasis, at least in ideology, of ideas of punishment and rigid restriction. It thus sometimes seems to the police that modern ideas of treatment of criminals require relaxation of restraint on offenders and an increase in restraint on officers. Despite the increasing similarity of education and the decreasing intellectual isolation of police administrators in the United States, the differing conditions of organizational control will probably make for continuing conflict between police and other aspects of the criminal justice system. Moreover, it may be anticipated that some of the difficulties faced by police in the United States will appear or increase in other countries. As wealth and education are more widely distributed, traditional patterns of citizen deference break down and the traditional supports for police authority weaken. These changes produce difficulties not only in relating police to populace but also in the internal control of police themselves. DAVID J. BORDUA

CRAMER, JAMES 1964 The World's Police. London: Cassell. GREAT BRITAIN, ROYAL COMMISSION ON THE POLICE 1962a Final Report. Papers by Command, Cmnd. 1728. London: H.M. Stationery Office. GREAT BRITAIN, ROYAL COMMISSION ON THE POLICE 1962& The Relations Between the Police and the Public. Appendix IV to the Minutes of Evidence. London: H.M. Stationery Office. INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE ON CRIMINAL LAW ADMINISTRATION, CHICAGO, 1960 1962 Police Power and Individual Freedom: The Quest for Balance. Edited by Claude R. Sowle. Chicago: Aldine. JANOWITZ, MORRIS; WRIGHT, DEIL; and DELANY, W.TLLIAM 1958 Public Administration and the Public: Perspectives Toward Government in a Metropolitan Community. Ann Arbor: Univ. of Michigan, Institute of Public Administration. KORNHAUSER, WILLIAM 1959 The Politics of Mass Society. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. LAFAVE, WAYNE R. 1965 Arrest: The Decision to Take a Suspect Into Custody. Boston: Little. MCMILLAN, GEORGE 1960 Racial Violence and Law Enforcement. Atlanta, Ga.: Southern Regional Council. McMuLLAN, M. 1961 A Theory of Corruption. Sociological Review New Series 9:181-201. NAKAHARA, HIDENORI 1955 The Japanese Police. Journal of Criminal Law, Criminology, and Police Science 46:583-594. PREISS, JACK J.; and EHRLICH, HOWARD J. 1966 An Examination of Role Theory: The Case of the State Police. Lincoln: Univ. of Nebraska Press. SKOLNICK, JEROME 1966 Justice Without Trial: Law Enforcement in Democratic Society. New York: Wiley. STINCHCOMBE, ARTHUR L. 1963 Institutions of Privacy in the Determination of Police Administrative Practice. American Journal of Sociology 69:150-160. ULMANN, ANDRE 1935 Le quatrieme pouvoir: Police. Paris: Aubier. WESTLEY, WILLIAM A. 1953 Violence and the Police. American Journal of Sociology 59:34-41. WILSON, JAMES Q. 1963 The Police and Their Problems: A Theory. Public Policy 12:189-216. WILSON, ORLANDO W. (1950) 1963 Police Administration. 2d ed. New York: McGraw-Hill.

[See also CRIMINAL LAW; GAMBLING; PENOLOGY; PUNISHMENT; SOCIAL CONTROL.]

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BIBLIOGRAPHY BANTON, MICHAEL P. 1964 The Policeman in the Community. London: Tavistock. BORDUA, DAVID J. (editor) 1967 The Police: Six Sociological Essays. New York: Wiley. BORDUA, DAVID J.; and REISS, ALBERT J. JR. 1966 Command, Control and Charisma: Reflections on Police Bureaucracy. American Journal of Sociology 72:68-76. BUISSON, HENRY 1958 La police: Son histoire. Paris: Nouvelles Editions Latines. CHAPMAN, BRIAN 1953 The Prefecture of Police. Journal of Criminal Law, Criminology, and Police Science 44:505-521. CLARK, JOHN P. 1965 The Isolation of the Police: A Comparison of the British and American Situations. Journal of Criminal Law, Criminology, and Police Science 56:307-319.

The policy sciences study the process of deciding or choosing and evaluate the relevance of available knowledge for the solution of particular problems. When policy scientists are concerned with government, law, and political mobilization, they focus on particular decisions. Policy scientists also study the choosing process of nongovernmental organizations and individuals and consider the significance of the current stock of knowledge for specific issues. Since an official decision or a private choice is a problem-solving activity, five intellectual tasks are performed at varying levels of insight and understanding: clarification of goals; description of trends; analysis of conditions; projection of future

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developments; and invention, evaluation, and selection of alternatives. The policy sciences integrate philosophy, history, science, prophecy, and commitment. A Although policy scientists appear in every civilization, the term dates from the years immediately after World V/ar n (Lerner & Lasswell 1951). The present discussion is concerned with the professional problems of the policy scientists, who in our civilization are recruited from legal, historical, social, biological, and physical sciences. Goals. The value goals of policy scientists differ widely from one another. For many scholars, especially historians and social scientists, the primary lure is knowledge. They seek understanding of the spectacle of kings and presidents, ministers and generals, popes and prophets. Closely related to the pursuit of enlightenment is the desire to acquire, exercise, and achieve excellence in legal or other skills that are directly implicated in some phase of decision. When the value of greatest salience is power, scholars identify themselves with the ambitions of individuals, political parties, nation-states, or other participants in the internal or external arenas of politics. In many cases religious and ethical goals predominate, or perhaps specialists aspire to nothing more grandiose than a steady income, a respectable job, and a happy home life. When a policy scientist deals systematically with value goals he meets two challenges: to justify (ground) his choices, and to specify abstract conceptions in operational terms. It is sometimes suggested that lacking value orientation, the individual must search for values. However, by the time anyone is mature enough to struggle with fundamental questions his predispositions have been shaped by years of exposure to the social environments of childhood, youth, and early adulthood. Since the problem is to clarify rather than to acquire value demands, the starting point is self-observation of conscious and unconscious value perspectives. In what sequence were they acquired? What factors of opportunity and capability help to explain why they were adopted? Can they be attributed to the influence of culture, class, interest, or personality? Several methods of self-observation are available. There is, for example, the psychoanalytic technique of free association, and there are tests devised by social, clinical, and individual psychologists. Life history information can be obtained by interviewing kinfolk, friends, and acquaintances. The emerging self-image can be projected to the future as a means of judging the consequences of adhering to current preferences and volitions. A value problem culminates in the comparison

of alternative commitments in the social context. What "ought" one to want? The fundamental choice refers to the degree of value shaping and sharing. A policy scientist may commit himself to democracy, fraternity, and security, or he may support a social order in which power, wealth, and all other valued outcomes are in the hands of a selfperpetuating caste. Value positions may be grounded empirically or transempirically. In the latter case the method may be theological or metaphysical. The fundamental propositions of the theological method assert: "God prefers value Y; I ought to prefer God's will; I can know (or have faith in) God's will in this matter; hence I prefer Y." The metaphysical method is parallel: "Nature (or history) prefers value Y; I ought to prefer what nature (or history) prefers; I can know (or feel convinced of) the preferences of nature (or history) in this matter; hence I prefer Y." When value positions are grounded empirically, no attempt is made to justify the subjective event of commitment by a further subjective event of reference to theology or metaphysics. The pattern may be "I prefer Y" or "I prefer what he prefers, which is Y." In the former case the ego assumes full responsibility; in the latter responsibility is masked. Since evaluations cannot be eliminated, it is possible to modulate them only by methods that reduce arbitrariness and produce a relatively disciplined result. The policy scientist who applies a contextual approach forestalls arbitrary judgment. Arbitrariness is precluded by the use of principles that provide criteria for the content to be considered and propose an agenda for guiding attention to the discovery and assessment of appropriate content. Principles of content and procedure formulate strategies that render any initial value commitment subject to the discipline of suspended and tested judgment. Policy scientists who are committed to the free man's commonwealth find it difficult to believe that anyone who applies a fully contextual approach can stop short of making a similar commitment. It is particularly persuasive to emphasize that all members of the community are better off when everyone has an opportunity to develop latent talent, subject only to the limitations necessary to obviate destructive mutual interference. It must be conceded, however, that human judgments are infinitely diverse and only partially predictable. A contemporary policy scientist who seeks to specify his preference for an abstraction such as human dignity finds that the task is somewhat

POLICY SCIENCES lightened by the provisions of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The declaration is in harmony with the following definitions of value sharing: (1) shared power is authoritative and controlling participation in the making of important decisions; (2) shared enlightenment is access to the intelligence required for the discovery of common interest; (3) shared skill is opportunity to acquire, exercise, and achieve excellence in the arts, crafts, and professions; (4) shared wealth is access to the benefits of production; (5) shared well-being is enjoyment of safety, health, and comfort; (6) shared affection is enjoyment of congenial and intimate human relations and love of inclusive groups; (7) shared rectitude is a common demand to act responsibly on behalf of human dignity (McDougal et al. 1963). Trends. An inclusive view of the role of policy scientists calls for an examination of the part they have played in history and in contemporary affairs. In some measure the importance of basing policy on knowledge has been recognized in every civilization. Confucius, the most influential thinker in Chinese history, spent a lifetime preparing himself and his students to answer a call that never came to him. The idea of a secular scholar-adviser was competitive with other advisers, especially with untrained kinsmen and friends, soldiers, magicians, and priests. The sayings attributed to Confucius gave prominence to three of the five intellectual tasks we have identified, since he dealt with the clarification of values, the examination of historical succession, and the analysis of conditioning factors. Confucius took note of local traditions and consulted historical records. In modern terms we can say that he engaged in field work and historical criticism. Ancient Indian civilization gave prominence to teachers and advisers of the prince w7ho were more concerned with the invention and weighing of strategic alternatives than with religion or magic. The writings of Kautilya, for example, are impressive demonstrations of objectivity in the critical evaluation of principles of efficient statecraft. They were designed to instruct the prince, and his advisers, in the management of all aspects of foreign and domestic affairs. The world of Greece and Rome led to the exfoliation of intellectual tasks adapted to the city-state, to the confederation and the empire, and to citizen assemblies, senates, tyrannies, and autocracies. In the Roman and Byzantine empires the most distinctive intellectual figures were jurists. The roles of jurist and theologian were merged in Muslim countries.

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The revival of learning in western Europe brought with it the renewal of scholarly proficiency in law, philosophy, medicine, and science; universities came into existence. Science depended upon academies, which eventually made peace with universities. Many scientists became official advisers and expert witnesses on the significance of the new knowledge for policy. With the recent rise of the social and behavioral sciences to supplement law and philosophy, new specializations are being developed in order to mediate between research workers and teachers, officials, or revolutionaries. Conditions. What factors favor the rise of the policy sciences? The coming of urban civilization played a crucial part in the history of intellectuals. The urban division of labor introduced literacy and record keeping and favored new arts and sciences. As civilizations expanded in the sea of folk societies, institutions were adapted to the purposes of authority and control. Power passed from kinship to territorial units, a change that favored the impersonality of legislation, bureaucratization, and policy-oriented knowledge. Although urban civilization arose before policy scientists existed in considerable numbers, many basic intellectual specializations—partly explicit in folk societies—were carried into the new environment. Since value goals were taken for granted in simpler communities, no provision was necessary for clarifying values. The older generation collectively performed the historical function. The earliest tendency to specialize had probably been linked with the interpretation of omens or with attempts to employ magical or religious rites as means of coercing the future to yield value indulgences. The early cave paintings of southern Europe and Africa, for instance, were evidently expected to influence the future in favor of good hunting. Side by side with coercive spells and related strategies were propitiatory rites that were probably assumed to establish necessary, if not sufficient, claims on transempirical forces or spirits to grant value indulgences, either by preventing losses or by bringing abundant food, health, successful childbirth, or security from enemies. The approaches we have described were largely manipulative, rather than contemplative, since they were expected to compel or induce the future to gratify the value demands of groups or individuals. The origin of the contemplative frame of mind and the pursuit of enlightenment as an end in itself, a scope value, cannot be traced. It is probable that soothsayers and astrologers would foresee many occurrences that were expected to remain outside the realm of manipulation. We can also imagine that

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speculative minds devised images of man and nature that seemed credible, even when known techniques were unable to modify their traits. Magicians or priests were ritualists whose principal reliance was exact repetition. Hence repetitive skill was a base for influencing all preferred events. The distinction between skill and enlightenment was latent in the difference between specific information closely related to circumscribed ends and comprehensive pictures of social and natural order. In the context of urban life empirical observation gained importance. When any attempt at manipulation fell short of success some shadow of doubt was cast on fundamental assumptions, and the quest for better empirical information was enlivened. In many cultures the technique of discovery was highly internalized, since it was believed to depend on cultivating moments of illuminating contact with the transempirical. However, many empirical and relatively externalized methods were also used. Towers were built to observe the sky; the natural habitat was scoured to find unusual plants, animals, or inorganic objects; laboratories were constructed to assist in disclosing the inner working of substances. Without pretending to isolate unvarying sequences, it is possible to identify several long-range trends that have been conditioned by the cumulative growth of civilizations. We can follow the rise of astronomy from astrology, of chemistry and physics from alchemy, of physicians from medicine men, and of the social, behavioral, and policy scientists from early practitioners of witchcraft, divination, and sorcery. Empirical methods improve; transempirical perspectives grow dim. The movement has been from the fear and propitiation of nature, or of individual and collective personifications, to universal religions and secular ideologies. Some secular myths appeal to faith in history or science or sources of absolute knowledge of coming events. The empirical techniques and the tentative perspectives of science are of relatively recent prominence or weight; they are incompatible with claims for absolute knowledge of the future, even in the name of science, since they put the accent on probability, not inevitability. As the globe shrinks into interdependence, relying more fully on science and technology, the policy sciences gain significance. The scientific pattern, diffusing slowly through the world, is at last receiving detailed application to the policy process itself. Interdependence implies that every participant and every item in the social process is affected by the context in which it occurs and that the future structure of the context is in turn influenced by the

changing pattern of detail. The growth of factual interdependence is followed, even when unanticipated, by subjective awareness of interdependence and by demands to obtain a more comprehensive and realistic map of the whole, a map capable of providing rational guidance for attempts to maximize values. The policy sciences play a part in the social process equivalent to the role of specialized channels of information in individual organisms. Besides ministering to the requirements of each cell, specialized channels integrate the total organism in the context of its environment. Policy sciences spread as a function of perceived conflict, as when nations, classes, interests, and personalities are aware of crises where seemingly incompatible demands are put forward. During less critical phases there may be less attention to specialized advice. Degrees of effective centralization and of autocracy or oligarchy influence the function of policy sciences. The decision makers of an autocratic or oligarchic body politic strive to maintain their position, especially if new, by editing the public map of reality and excluding competitive elements from access to information. Access is deliberately segmented so that comprehensive summaries and credible reports are restricted to the pinnacle elite. The media of public communication become ritualized and trivialized. Ritualization leads to the managing of news to provide parables of confirmation for the established ideology; trivialization is accomplished by omitting realistic images of the whole and by playing up news and comment whose relevance to serious decision is marginal. In such a body politic those who are skilled in inquiry are pushed to one side by dogmatists. The technique of the dogmatist is to reaffirm the full truth of selected doctrinal propositions. Hence if public policy culminates in military defeat, the responsibility may be alleged to lie not with the doctrine but with false interpreters. Inquiring minds are discouraged, since able people must devote time and ingenuity to demonstrating that empirical facts, estimates, and analyses confirm the basic dogma. The avenues to power in a centralized autocracy or oligarchy put premiums on the arts and crafts of the political police, who monopolize or fabricate the information on which estimates of loyalty and capability are based. Indoctrination is carried on in an intimidating context. However, the elite of a body politic of this type suspects that subversive thoughts and impulses lurk behind any facade of seeming acceptance. Hence the use of physical means of ensuring conformity is both attractive

POLICY SCIENCES and widespread. Among the oldest physical strategies is insistence that activity be incessant and observable; hence there is the compulsion to apply programs of supervised work and play. A related strategy favors extremes of physical mobility or immobility, the former being exemplified in the mixing of strangers in mass undertakings, the latter in the prohibition of unapproved and unsupervised travel or change of residence. As modern science and technology expand, they are likely to put ever more sophisticated physical instruments of compliance in the hands of political elites—such devices for the invasion of privacy as secret electronic equipment or narcosynthesis. In large bodies politic where power is rather widely shared, the policy sciences are as diverse as are the public orders themselves. Every decisionmaking organ usually finds it expedient to obtain expert advice. Hence all structures of government from the world community to a locality tend to draw on trained policy specialists. Political parties, pressure groups, and other voluntary associations develop administrative services and a brain trust. An autocratic or oligarchic elite that depends on science and technology finds that it must engage in a continuing struggle against the liberating consequences of freedom to theorize and observe, which are built-in threats to an established myth. Projection. It is possible to estimate our position in the past, present, and future of world politics with the aid of "developmental constructs" (Lasswell 1935). The first step is to characterize in provisional fashion the most important political patterns at a recent cross section and to imagine a similar slice through the immediate or more remote future. The best publicized approximation to a developmental construct is the Marx-Engels image of our epoch as in transition between capitalism and socialism. The sequence is alleged to move from the primacy of the bourgeois class to the classless society (via the proletarian society). The Marxist model is not, however, a true developmental construct, since it is put forward in the name of the inevitability that is alleged to be justified by scientific knowledge. A true construct makes no claim to the status of a scientific proposition, since it puts forward no generalized hypothesis about invariant relations among basic factors. Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to assert that developmental constructs are undisciplined by historical and scientific knowledge. For instance, they are influenced by the extrapolation of trend curves into the future. Such extrapolations often show when and where conflicting lines of development are likely to collide. In attempts to estimate the

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probable result of collision, the existing stock of quantified scientific knowledge is brought to bear on the variables involved. When quantified knowledge is exhausted it is acceptable to use with appropriate reserve less-organized information from expert sources. Developmental constructs can be employed as a means of directing critical attention to any significant feature of the social process. We referred above to a class construct, and suggestive models have dealt with cultures, interests, forms of personality, and ideological or organizational components of institutions. Because our present concern is with policy scientists, we briefly present a model that sets forth the role of intellectuals in the world context. The construct proposes that a distinctive political change in our epoch is the rise of the intellectual class to power—more specifically, the permanent revolution of modernizing intellectuals (Lasswell 1965). Relying upon knowledge as their base value, intellectuals express and manipulate the aspirations and dissatisfactions of other elements of society. In the last century one section of the intellectual class began to specialize in organizing the dissatisfactions of peasants and factory workers in the name of proletarian socialism. A subsection of this group seized power in Moscow in 1917 and liquidated both the caste system based on land and the rising business class. Another subsection seized power in Germany (in 1933) in the name of national racist socialism and installed a bureaucratic garrison-police state. In Japan the officers' corps and small groups of conspirative agitators reacted against the parliamentary institutions borrowed from western Europe and took power (in 1931 and after). In advanced industrial and democratic countries the intellectual classes have been less seriously provoked to revolutionary violence by lack of upward mobility in the social system since they have been able to advance through the institutions of a nonhierarchized society, specializing in propaganda, diplomacy, administration, engineering, and related skills. In countries of former colonial and nonindustrial culture the political initiative most obviously lies in the hands of party agitators, mass party organizers, officials, military, police, and engineers. The persons who seize or exercise power are not necessarily recruited from among policy scientists. But they must rely on policy scientists to cope with the complexities of large-scale modern civilization. The study of decision making has been facilitated by modern social and behavioral sciences and by several branches of mathematics, physics, and en-

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gineering, particularly the specialties connected with communication. The use of the propaganda instrument has been affected by the research and advice of political scientists and social psychologists, as well as by students of journalism, advertising, and marketing. Decision analysis owes much to the mathematics and statistics of probability, to industrial management, and to the political and administrative sciences. The fundamental analysis of culture and personality—pioneered by anthropologists, psychiatrists, and specialists on child development—has deepened and widened the relevant map of knowledge. As the physical and biological sciences become more diversified and important, self-appointed specialists act as mediators between colleagues of the field, the library, or the laboratory, on the one hand, and the final decision makers of government, business, and other institutions, on the other. If the conditions suitable to democracy are not realized, power will eventually be concentrated in an elite class (eventually a caste) of intellectuals who constitute a ruling oligarchy. In addition to using communicative skills for purposes of indoctrination, they can be expected to adapt medical skills to check on loyalty and inculcate obedience. Not the whole intellectual class but an oligarchical segment can be expected to rise to a dominant position under these circumstances. Alternatives. What strategies are open to policy scientists to improve their effective role in decision? As a means of limiting the scope of the present discussion, we emphasize the problems of policy scientists who identify themselves with realizing the goals of human dignity on the widest possible scale. Gathering intelligence. A major requirement is an open network of intelligence that supplies the data from which a realistic and comprehensive map of the whole can be kept current (Lasswell 1963). Existing institutions survey selected features of the social process on a global or more limited scale; the coverage and technique of these institutions can be improved. Inclusive surveys of voting or fighting, for example, need to be put in a deeper context of conditioning factors by mobilizing more intensive techniques of investigation. Prolonged interviews with representative samples of culture, class, interest, and personality groupings, for instance, disclose the changing directions and intensities of internal conflict, often unconscious, which are invaluable in estimating future political developments. The microstructure of variables can be examined

by experimental methods in laboratory situations. New variables may be brought into view, new theoretical models verified, and new procedures of measurement and manipulation invented and tested. When new measurement methods are simplified for application in inclusive surveys, the yield from intelligence institutions is improved. The strategy of prototyping introduces innovations in social institutions. The practices are not broken up into the many variables appropriate to a laboratory experiment, since the main object is to weigh the role of the practice as a whole in relation to other practices in the social process. Prototyping requires the choice of situations that are sheltered from the stress and strain of major political arenas. Opportunity is needed to develop a group whose members are intellectually committed to the innovation and whose character systems enable them to live up to their professed perspectives. Prototypes of power sharing, for example, can be explored in remote provinces or in pluralistic associations. When prototypes have operated effectively in test situations, it is appropriate for the results to be made known and for changes to be introduced by public authority. This is the strategy of intervention which, unlike prototyping, is not typically controlled by scientists who are free to devote themselves mainly to the advancement of knowledge. Taken together, the strategies of surveying, experimentation, prototyping, and intervention strengthen one another and improve the intelligence or appraisal operation of which they are part. The correlations among the data obtained by survey methods often point to factors whose impact can be studied more intensively under experimental conditions. Prototyping brings into the open the characteristic cluster of predisposing factors current in a particular situation and draws attention to the problem of improved analysis and control. The intelligence network appropriate to the policy scientist needs to identify and describe predispositions on a global scale. With such knowledge at his disposal a policy scientist is able to estimate the probable impact of any combination of environing factors upon each cluster of predisposition. Presenting information. Special methods are essential to permit the policy scientist to cope with the enormous load of information relevant to his contextual task. Modern technology is making available procedures of micromodeling that can be used to prepare concise, representative, and realistic summaries of the social process of the world community or of any component context. Audio-visual

POLICY SCIENCES devices supplement print; they can be mobilized in chart, map, and model rooms for purposes of research, instruction, and consultation. Haphazard use of audio-visual aids is not an efficient application of these instruments. A "decision seminar" is necessary to provide continuity and organization. When first introduced, each item needs to be evaluated by seminar members with respect to reliability and relevance. Material that gains acceptance is assigned to the wall space allocated to the feature of the social process it best represents. The exhibits provide an auxiliary brain, supplementing and guiding individual storage and recall. Surrounded by selective representations of the entire relevant social context, seminar members are able to give methodical consideration to the relationship between each detail and selected goals, trends, conditions, projections, and alternatives. If details are to be systematically compared with one another, it is necessary to describe them in categories that refer to a theoretical model of the whole social context (Lasswell & Kaplan 1950). Exhibit space is allocated to the social process under study, which may be world inclusive or a territorial or pluralistic component. Space is allocated to depicting the "participants" in the interaction, to the "outcomes" (values) that the participants seek to maximize, to "institutional practices" that are relatively specialized to each value, and to the "resource" setting involved. Value outcomes are culminating events in the unending flow of interaction. They can be described for convenience in a list of categories that is manageably short and that refers to the value-institution processes studied by political scientists, economists, and other specialists. Illustrations are provided of the events which are classifiable as value outcomes and which are referred to in appropriate chart, map, or model rooms. Votes and victories or defeats in combat are decisions (power outcomes) which are depicted during selected periods by charts which show the frequency of contested elections, for example, and maps which display the location and frequency of collective violence. Typical wealth outcomes are exchanges of claims to goods and services. In enlightenment outcomes, information is exchanged. The giving or receiving of physical or mental care comes within the scope of well-being. The interchange of intimacy and friendship is affection; of acts of recognition, respect. Evaluations of excellence are given at skill outcome phases. If evaluations are in terms of theology or ethics, rectitude is the value involved. Outcome events are located in pre-outcome and

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post-outcome sequences. In portraying the power process, for example, we note the "participants," such as nation-states who act upon one another. It is relevant to describe the "perspectives" of all participants, which are the subjective events of identification, demand, and expectation. Perspectives are integrated in myths, each of which is composed of doctrine, formula, and miranda. A world map of communism, for instance, may show the first appearance and the subsequent diffusion and restriction of Marxist doctrine. Maps of the legal systems of the globe show, among other patterns, the narrowing or enlarging shadow of Roman law. A map of the distribution of world heroes is evidence of unity (or disunity) of world miranda. When the level of interactions that involve power reaches a discernible minimum, an "arena" is created. In the case of a nation-state the arena is highly organized; not so the present arena of world politics. Participants in arenas use the assets (or "base values") at their disposal by employing "strategies" to influence outcomes and effects. A comprehensive image of the social process depicts all values, not simply power, in terms of participants, perspectives, situations, base values, strategies, outcomes, and effects. For the purpose of aggregate comparison, value shaping and sharing can be summed up in terms of "accumulation" and "enjoyment." To some extent everyone participates in shaping power outcomes even though the most controlling and authoritative decisions may be dominantly shaped and shared by a small elite. We are accustomed to distinguishing between the production (shaping) of wealth and its distribution (sharing). Those who share any value may employ it for further shaping (accumulation) of the same value, or they may enjoy its use in obtaining other values. During any time period it is desirable to describe the "gross" outcome of any value that results from shaping activities and the "net" outcome, which deducts the quantity of the value depleted in the shaping process. Thus a chart of gross skill outcome during a period will show changes in the level of excellence; the net outcome deducts the outlay of skill in teaching. Similarly, gross enlightenment outcome is the flow of research and news reports; the net outcome deducts the losses of stored information. Besides the outcome figures it is important to summarize the aggregate accumulation of each value. National wealth, for example, is commonly depicted in terms of production factors, which are a nation's predispositions and capabilities to produce. A rough depiction of the rectitude assets of a

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community shows the strength of predispositions to conform to standards of responsible conduct (conformities minus frequency of nonconformity). The measurement problems that arise in describing some values, such as power, wealth, and well-being, have been extensively considered in our civilization. The contextual approach of the policy scientist is bringing into the open neglected dimensions of affection, respect, rectitude, skill, and enlightenment. For comparative purposes the outcome events relatively specialized to any value require separate consideration. Under penalty of severe deprivation, for example, some decisions limit access to particular intelligence reports. Other decisions involve the promotional activities of governments, political parties, or pressure associations. Some decisions lay down fundamental (constitutive) prescriptions in regard to power sharing. Decisions may provisionally invoke prescriptions in the act of characterizing concrete cases or make final application of prescriptions to particular circumstances. Decisions also provide appraisals of the degree to which policy objectives have been accomplished and perhaps terminate official prescriptions. Among the charts that summarize appraisal are reports of the case load handled by welfare agencies or the proportion of recidivists among convicted offenders. Any comprehensive presentation of a social context shows that each value outcome has its own relatively specialized intelligence, promoting, prescribing, invoking, applying, appraising, and terminating outcomes. The distinction between conventional and functional usages is important in gathering and presenting all social data for policy analysis. The terms employed in any community are part of its conventions. Functional definitions, on the other hand, serve the purposes of scientific description and comparison. As a matter of technique in the conduct of field investigation, the observer begins by classifying situations according to the conventional usages that most closely approximate his functional categories. Thus, local usage may refer to various councils and assemblies as part of "government." Scientific study of the values and institutions in a community may culminate in a reclassification of these councils and assemblies and in the identification of quite different structures as power institutions. A secret society, for instance, may make the controlling decisions, and research may reveal that this is generally expected to be the case and is accepted as authoritative. Hence public assemblies may be more significant for general information (enlightenment) than for power.

Recruiting policy scientists. Since the policy sciences specialize in the decision process and in assessing the significance of all knowledge for policy purposes, the range of potential recruitment is as wide as the intellectual class. At any stage in his career a specialist may choose to perform a mediating role between his particular group and the decision process of the larger community. In some cases a scientist or scholar may become aware of the fact that his work is largely administrative, perhaps as head of a department or laboratory. He may discover latent talent as a clarifier of technical information to nonspecialists or as a representative to the general public of scholars and scientists. The discovery of these roles may be gradual, perhaps beginning with a consultative contact with the officials of governments, parties, or pressure associations. If the original specialty is regarded as highly important for security purposes, the initial step may involve covert or overt intelligence agencies. Conflicting policy views may bring him into the arena of promotional activity, where he attempts to influence public demand. Legislative committees may invite consultation, and in exceptional instances the individual may take an official role in prescribing, invoking, applying, appraising, and terminating organs. An important part of the problem of the policy sciences is to provide supplementary orientation for a specialist who is beginning to concern himself with public affairs. The chief obligation of the policy sciences relates to the decision process itself. At present the academic disciplines most immediately involved include political science, law, public administration, business management, political sociology, and contemporary political history. Graduate schools are only partly successful in providing fully contextual programs of preparation and in encouraging the use of available theoretical and procedural techniques of the social and behavioral sciences. Academic experience is being supplemented by internship programs that bring students into intimate contact with the decision process. The training of policy scientists does not as yet include much systematic exposure to suitable opportunities for study of the self, nor are the contextual potentialities of the decision seminar fully used. During the years of active professional life there are insufficient opportunities to participate occasionally in advanced centers for inventing and evaluating policy in the light of new knowledge in every major field. The importance of long-range and middle-range policy thinking is in harmony with present expecta-

POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY: The Field tions that change will accelerate. One need consider only a few long-range possibilities to substantiate this point. Weapons of a novel kind lie close at hand, including bombs that paralyze temporarily without inflicting permanent damage. Teaching and research are already in active reconstruction as a result of new instruments of storage, retrieval, and instruction. Competent biologists foresee that the genetic inheritance of man can be deliberately modified. We are told that death itself may be abolished by the substitution of molecules as they wear out. Engineers expect to devise machines that simulate or improve on existing forms of life, including man. We are on the threshold of the astropolitical age, where we are learning to penetrate a new habitat that may eventually bring us in touch with other advanced forms of life. The possibility is not to be ruled out that new forms of energy, possibly parapsychic, will be uncovered. Can policy scientists achieve and sustain a level of creativity commensurate with the threats and opportunities that face mankind? To a phenomenal extent the future of man is contingent on perfecting the permanent revolution of modernizing intellectuals—-a. revolution that is presently in the process of finding its distinctive aims and appropriate strategic instruments. HAROLD D. LAS SWELL [See also BEHAVIORAL SCIENCES; DECISION MAKING; POLITICAL SCIENCE; POLITICAL THEORY.] BIBLIOGRAPHY LAS SWELL, HAROLD D. 1935 World Politics and Personal Insecurity. New York and London: McGrawHill. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. 1963 The Future of Political Science. New York: Atherton. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. 1965 The World Revolution of Our Time: A Framework for Basic Policy Research. Pages 29-96 in Harold D. Lasswell and Daniel Lerner (editors), World Revolutionary Elites: Studies in Coercive Ideological Movements. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. -» In six parts; parts 1—3 were first published in 1951. LASSWELL, HAROLD D.; and KAPLAN, ABRAHAM 1950 Power and Society: A Framework for Political Inquiry. Yale Law School Studies, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1963. LERNER, DANIEL; and LASSWELL, HAROLD D. (editors) 1951 The Policy Sciences: Recent Developments in Scope and Method. Stanford (Calif.) Univ. Press. MCDOUGAL, MYRES S.; LASSWELL, HAROLD D.; and VLASIC, IVAN A. 1963 Law and Public Order in Space. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press.

POLITICAL ACCESS See ACCESS TO POLITICS.

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POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY The articles under this heading outline the subject matter of political anthropology and its intellectual history. Specific topics in the field are discussed in CONFLICT; FEUD; JUDICIAL PROCESS, article on COMPARATIVE ASPECTS; LAW, article on LAW AND LEGAL INSTITUTIONS; SANCTIONS; STATE;

STATELESS SOCIETIES; WAR, article on PRIMITIVE WARFARE; and in the biographies of FREUD and MAINE. Related subjects are covered in MODERNIZATION; POLITICAL CULTURE; POLITICAL SOCIOLOGY; POLITICS, COMPARATIVE; and SOCIETAL ANALYSIS. i. THE FIELD ii. POLITICAL ORGANIZATION

Elizabeth Colson M. G. Smith

THE FIELD

Political anthropology as a distinctive branch of social and cultural anthropology is a late growth stimulated by the publication of African Political Systems (Fortes & Evans-Pritchard 1940). As late as 1959, Easton's provocative essay could deny the existence of political anthropology as a discipline: "To put the matter formally, political institutions and practices tend to be viewed in anthropological research as independent variables, of interest primarily for their effect on other institutions and practices of the society of which they are part" (1959, p. 212). This, he argued, had the effect of obscuring "the analytic distinction between political and other forms of social behavior" (ibid., p. 213). Here he pinpointed a major difference between the political scientist who concentrates on a limited range of institutions which he has defined as political and the anthropologist who attempts to make comparisons using data derived from multipurpose institutions and who expects to include in his formulation all elements relevant to the attainment of the various ends which he has defined as political. Where political scientists have analyzed political institutions, anthropologists have sought to distinguish political groupings or polities and have analyzed the means whereby these groupings attained their public purposes. Easton's article sums up the development of much of political anthropology through its first hundred years, when it was primarily concerned with matters of definition and the creation of typologies. During this period, anthropologists developed a terminology appropriate to the wide variety of political systems with which they dealt. They clarified the characteristics that distinguished different systems and used these as the bases of

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typologies useful in comparative work. Inevitably they dealt with descriptions of political groups and political roles as these ideally functioned. This directed attention to "constitutions" and mechanisms for social control rather than to the competitive aspects of politics. If the per^d from 1940 to 1960 was dominated by the synchronic study of political structures in a state of assumed equilibrium and by the creation of typologies, the period after 1960 showed an increasing interest in the development of a theory that could deal with change, faction, party, and political maneuver. This shift was signaled in 1954 by the appearance of Edmund R. Leach's Political Systems of Highland Burma, which emphasized the existence of political alternatives and the search for power as the effective basis for individual choice between alternatives. It became still more explicit in 1959 when Fredrik Earth attempted to apply game theory to the analysis of political organization among the Pathans and again emphasized the search for personal advantage (1959cz; 1959b). M. G. Smith followed the same general trend in his Government in Zazzau (1960), which concentrated upon political maneuvering by various contestants for power within a Hausa state. Smith is perhaps the first anthropologist to introduce an analytical distinction between government and politics which is operationally useful. As long as anthropologists dealt primarily with models of ideal political structures, this distinction could be ignored, and the terms were used interchangeably. With the move to the study of competition for political power, it became vitally important to distinguish the implementation of political decisions and the carrying out of administrative routine from the struggle for control of decision-making positions. Anthropological interest in political typologies and the attempt to correlate these with other features of social life began with the 1861 publication of Maine's Ancient Law. In harmony with the intellectual climate of his period, Maine attempted to deduce evolutionary stages through which developed political systems had passed. His primary distinction, between societies organized in kinship terms and those organized on a territorial basis, still has some influence. He argued that in ancient societies only kinship existed as a reason for . . . holding together in political union. The history of political ideas begins, in fact, with the assumption that kinship in blood is the sole possible ground of community in political functions nor is there any of those subversions of feeling, which we term emphatically revolutions, so startling and so complete as the

change which is accomplished when some other principle—such as that for instance, of local contiguity —establishes itself for the first time as the basis of common political action. . . . The idea that a number of persons should exercise political rights in common simply because they happened to live within the same topographical limits was utterly strange and monstrous to primitive antiquity. (Maine 1861, pp. 124, 126 in 1963 edition) Maine's attribution of a kinship basis to societies of "primitive antiquity" was quickly modified by Lewis Henry Morgan and his followers to include so-called primitive societies of the contemporary world, which have been the particular province of the anthropologist during the last hundred years. This classification still has some currency among political philosophers of other disciplines and among some anthropologists, despite the repeated demonstrations that even very simple societies have a territorial base and that kinship is only one of a number of conventions that may be used for describing territorial relationships. Some indeed have gone beyond Maine and accepted the kinship convention as evidence that territorial groupings are actual kinship groups. Lowie (1922), however, had early shown the importance of associations both as institutions of political integration and as organs of government in various tribal societies. Later, Radcliffe-Brown (1940, p. xiv) was to sum up the accumulating ethnographic evidence in the sentence "Every human society has some sort of territorial structure." The interest in segmentary lineage systems—a. marked feature of the 1940s and 1950s—produced new confusion on this particular issue (Fortes 1953, p. 30; Mair 1962, pp. 11-14). Schapera returned to the attack in 1956 in his study of South African political systems, Government and Politics in Tribal Societies. The importance of territorial organization runs like a theme throughout his book. The truth appears to be that people who have much the same degree of technical and economic development may vary in the way in which they conceptualize their political relationships, which are always territorial in nature. Some express them in kinship idiom; others use some other model. The differences, whatever they are, that distinguish highly developed political systems from simpler systems do not rest upon so easily formulated a dichotomy as kinship versus territoriality. That Maine's formula could survive so long reflects the fortuitous nature of the development of comparative political studies. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, ethnographic accounts of American Indians provided much of the

POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY: The Field data for the formulation and testing of anthropological hypotheses, but ethnographers had little to say about American Indian political systems, which could only be reconstructed from the memories of a demoralized conquered people confined on reservations under alien rule. Lowie was perhaps the only American anthropologist of the period who made any notable contribution to political anthropology on the basis of research among American Indians. His book The Origin of the State (1922) was most influential in stimulating research in regions other than America. The general lack of concern for political formulations based on American ethnography is reflected in the contents of a notable collection of essays published as Social Anthropology of North American Tribes (1937). Only one essay, by John Provinse (1937), was primarily concerned with problems of a political nature. The development of Australian and Melanesian ethnography in the early twentieth century strongly influenced studies of kinship, religion, and social structure in general but did not stimulate research on political problems. American Indian, Australian, and Melanesian societies tended to be small in scale and without sharply differentiated political institutions; political and social organizations were seen as one and the same. It was Malinowski's experience in Melanesia which led him to create the functional school of anthropology and to insist that the anthropologist's primary obligation was the study of systems of behavior in ongoing societies. This cleared the way for a study of political action as well as political structures, but Malinowski himself contributed little directly to the development of political studies. The definitive evaluation of his influence on social science (Firth 1957) includes no chapter on political studies. He had an abundance of field data on the subject, recently analyzed by Uberoi in his Politics of the Kula Ring (1962), but no relevant theoretical framework which would have allowed him to bring his observations together in a systematic fashion. Political anthropology received its real impetus when students trained by Malinowski and Radcliffe-Brown encountered still functioning large-scale political units when they began to work in Africa in the 1930s. As Fortes has pointed out, they were forced to study government, whereas their predecessors, who had dealt with small-scale societies, had studied social control (1953, p. 18). In Africa they encountered polities organized in centralized states having differentiated political institutions of a type which linked them with the kingdoms, principalities, and republics of Europe

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rather than with the undifferentiated, loosely organized groupings previously studied by anthropologists. Well-defined political offices, a hierarchy of authority and communication, and the explicit control of organized force were familiar features and could be handled in terms of the political theories of the day. The problem of political definition—the need to develop a minimal formula to isolate political from other forms of action—became apparent only when they sought to compare their data with that being produced by anthropologists working in a very different type of society. Populations comparable in size to those found in centralized states and with much the same level of technical and economic development existed in loose associations without any observable form of centralized authority or indeed without specialized political offices. Large populations could unite in common action and on occasion could identify themselves as a common polity, though on other occasions they stressed their independence and mutual antagonism. Their organization as it appeared in action was situational rather than maintained by the continuous existence of an administrative structure. Standard definitions of government or political organization provided no place for such systems, yet the anthropologists knew they were faced with an order, which they identified with political order comparable to that maintained within the more organized polities. It became necessary to develop a definition which would include both types of polities, and this involved isolating the essentials of political organization. Radcliffe-Brown (1940, p. xiv) proposed a minimum working definition: "In studying political organization, we have to deal with the maintenance or establishment of social order, within a territorial framework, by the organized exercise of coercive authority through the use, or the possibility of use, of physical force." His emphasis upon physical force and social order has been strongly criticized, but the formula proved useful to those attempting to discover and analyze the mechanisms which underlay cohesion and control of violence in the seemingly amorphous stateless societies. Political science had no convenient framework for dealing with such systems, and it was the challenge they posed to the workers from the 1930s to the early 1950s which provided the major stimulus toward the development of a field of political anthropology. Fortes and Evans-Pritchard (1940) proposed a preliminary classification of political systems into three types: state, stateless, and band. It was soon pointed out that they had treated stateless systems

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as synonymous with segmentary lineage systems, which represented only one of several methods for organizing noncentralized systems. Segmentary lineage systems remained a focal point of research until the early 1950s, when Fallers and others who had been influenced by the political sociology of Max Wouer began to examine the nature of authority within traditional African states which were then part of the colonial system. Fallers in Bantu Bureaucracy (1956) drew attention to the clash of values produced by the introduction of bureaucratic institutions under colonial regimes and stimulated an increasing interest in the current political development of the new African nations. Prior to this time the dominant theoretical influence had stemmed from the school of Durkheim, which treated societies as moral systems and emphasized common values, integration, equilibrium, and continuity. The major purpose of any society was taken to be the maintenance of existing order, and political action was assumed to represent action governed by this purpose. Even those like Gluckman, who sought to deal with conflict, tended to treat it as an integrative device serving to maintain existing systems of political relationships. Rebellions served to maintain the system, since they only involved competition among rivals for positions which remained unquestioned. Politics, Law and Ritual in Tribal Society (Gluckman 1965) is a masterly summary of this approach which attempts to combine the insights of Durkheim with those of Simmel, whose sociology of conflict is becoming increasingly relevant to anthropological work. Conflict, no longer contained within and maintaining the system, is becoming a central interest of those concerned with political questions. The shift in interest within anthropology reflects a change in the type of data now available for observation. Colonial authorities used and maintained indigenous political institutions where these were adaptable, but as administrative institutions rather than as a means whereby competing interests and dissent could be expressed. Political dissent was not recognized as legitimate within the subordinate political units which most anthropologists studied. The decline of colonialism, the rapid growth of political parties, and the emergence of new political regimes in the period after World War ii radically altered the anthropologist's conception of his field of study. Anthropological studies dealing with national political parties and their impact upon local political events began to appear in the late 1950s. In a period of contending interests, most studies deal with competition, with conflict, and with rapid change. The essays in

Political Systems and the Distribution of Power (Conference on New Approaches in Social Anthropology . . . 1965) represent this interest in the study of political maneuver in systems whose stability is no longer a given. ELIZABETH COLSON BIBLIOGRAPHY

EARTH, FREDRIK (1959a) 1965 Political Leadership Among Swat Pathans. London School of Economics Monographs on Social Anthropology, No. 19. New York: Humanities Press. EARTH, FREDRIK 1959b Segmentary Opposition and the Theory of Games: A Study of Pathan Organization. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 89:5-21. CONFERENCE ON NEW APPROACHES IN SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY, JESUS COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 1963 1965 Political Systems and the Distribution of Power. A.S.A. Monograph No. 2. London: Tavistock; New York: Praeger. EASTON, DAVID 1959 Political Anthropology. Biennial Review of Anthropology [1959]: 210-262. FALLERS, LLOYD A. (1956) 1965 Bantu Bureaucracy: A Century of Political Evolution. Univ. of Chicago Press. -» First published as Bantu Bureaucracy: A Study of Integration and Conflict in the Political Institutions of an East African People. FIRTH, RAYMOND W. (editor) (1957) 1964 Man and Culture: An Evaluation of the Work of Bronislaw Malinowski. New York: Harper. FORTES, MEYER 1953 The Structure of Unilineal Descent Groups. American Anthropologist New Series 55:17-41. FORTES, MEYER; and EVANS-PRITCHARD, E. E. (editors) (1940) 1961 African Political Systems. Oxford Univ. Press. GLUCKMAN, MAX 1965 Politics, Law and Ritual in Tribal Society. Oxford: Blackwell. LEACH, EDMUND R. 1954 Political Systems of Highland Burma: A Study of Kachin Social Structure. London School of Economics and Political Science. LOWIE, ROBERT (1922) 1962 The Origin of the State. New York: Russell. -> An enlarged and revised version of articles first published in the Freeman in 1922. MAINE, HENRY J. S. (1861) 1960 Ancient Law: Its Connection With the Early History of Society, and Its Relations to Modern Ideas. Rev. ed. New York: Dutton; London and Toronto: Dent. -»• A paperback edition was published in 1963 by Beacon. MAIR, LUCY P. (1962) 1964 Primitive Government. Baltimore: Penguin. PROVINSE, JOHN (1937)1955 The Underlying Sanctions of Plains Indian Culture. Pages 341-374 in Social Anthropology of North American Tribes. Edited by Fred Eggan. 2d ed. Univ. of Chicago Press. RADCLIFFE-BROWN, A. R. (1940) 1961 Preface. In Meyer Fortes and E. E. Evans-Pritchard (editors), African Political Systems. Oxford Univ. Press. SCHAPERA, ISAAC 1956 Government and Politics in Tribal Societies. London: Watts. SMITH, MICHAEL G. 1960 Government in Zazzau: 18001950. Published for the International African Institute. Oxford Univ. Press. Social Anthropology of North American Tribes. Edited by Fred Eggan. 2d ed. (1937) 1955 Univ. of Chicago Press.

POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY: Political Organization SWARTZ, MARC J.; TURNER, VICTOR W.; and TUDEN, ARTHUR (editors) 1966 Political Anthropology. Chicago: Aldine. UBEROI, J. P. SINGH 1962 Politics of the Kula Ring: An Analysis of the Findings of Bronislaw Malinowski. Manchester Univ. Press. II POLITICAL ORGANIZATION

Comparative politics is the study of the forms of political organization, their properties, correlates, variations, and modes of change. The object of these inquiries is to formulate general statements and hypotheses about the nature and conditions of political processes and their relations to other social phenomena. Political organization has been denned structurally by reference to institutions that regulate the use of force (Radcliffe-Brown 1940; Weber 1922; Almond 1960) and functionally with reference to social cooperation and leadership (Schapera 1956; Mair 1962). Political organization can be described in terms of the processes of decision making found in a given population (Easton 1953; 1957; Macridis 1955). All these schemes identify political organization with discrete social units, "societies" or "political communities," within which force is controlled or excluded and valid decision making or directed cooperation obtain. Thus political organization is restricted to social units having these characteristics. However, in some societies, the political community is indeterminate. As Mair observes: . . . some populations regard themselves, and are regarded by others, as distinct entities, but yet do not recognize any person or body of persons as having general authority to take decisions in matters affecting them all. In different contexts, different subdivisions of the whole take collective action for the purposes for which they are autonomous; so that if such action is the criterion of a political community, there are series of overlapping political communities. (1962, p. 106) If political organization is identified with discrete communities, populations that lack such units must be said to lack political organization. However, since these aggregates persist, they presumably have some adequate methods for regulating their internal and external affairs. They must be able to restrict disruptive violence and take some kind of action in common. Definitions of political organization that cannot accommodate such phenomena are likely to be inadequate in other respects as well. We must therefore seek a more appropriate analytic framework. Power and authority. Max Weber has remarked that the common element in our everyday use of

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such terms as "political events," "actions," "institutions," and "processes" consists in their reference to "striving to share power, or striving to influence the distribution of power, either among states or among groups within a state" ([1919] 1946, p. 78). Again, in considering the same question, Weber noted that these terms "have to do with relations of authority within what is, in the present terminology, a political organization" ([1922] 1957, p. 142). Except for an obscure distinction between political and politically oriented action, Weber seemed content not to pursue the question further; however, power and authority differ sharply in their nature, although they often overlap in their distribution; and if they are the elements of political organization, it is necessary to distinguish them and to study their interrelations with special care. Power is the capacity to take autonomous action in the face of resistance from persons, groups, rules, or material conditions. It is the ability to pursue one's will effectively, if necessary by imposing it on others. As such it is manifested directly as pressure against resistance, that is, by contraposition and confrontation. Although power may be latent and indirectly applied, it may gradually assume the character of authority if it is regularly effective. There are many historical cases of regimes based on conquest or usurpation that have later acquired authority through general acceptance. Power without authority remains uninstitutionalized, labile, and relative. Because it is instrumental and conditional, its effectiveness is uncertain. Authority, being institutionalized, is fixed in its scope, character, and distribution. It enjoins observance on obligatory and normative grounds rather than instrumental ones. Authority is the right to take certain kinds of action, including decisions to issue commands appropriate to the circumstances. Authority thus represents the set of rules, procedures, traditions, and norms that are regarded as binding when they are applied within a given social unit. The rules that establish and allocate authority also serve to limit the authority that they institutionalize. Among the members of a group, the distribution of authority may be marked by special observances of etiquette or dress or by the use of such symbols as the miter, crown, seal, or staff. A person in authority holds a special position that entitles him to take certain types of action not open to everyone. The right to act in this way may in fact be obligatory or it may be discretionary; but if authoritative, the act imposes an obligation of conformity or obedience directly or indirectly on others in the

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social group. Thus the person holding authority enjoys an immunity that extends at least as far as the right to take these actions. He may also exercise sanctions to secure observance and have a limited discretion in their use. A "structure of authority" is simply a distribution of authority among a number of interconnected social positions. With regard to authority of the same kind within a single social unit, this structure is often, but by no means always, hierarchic in form. Such a hierarchic authority structure operates administratively, that is, its members administer the affairs under their control in an orderly, coordinated fashion by procedures and rules that they and their colleagues regard as correct and binding. The principal characteristic of a hierarchic authority structure is that the members of inferior levels of the hierarchy are responsible directly to those above them, including their ultimate superior. Members of superior levels are authorized to issue commands, to make decisions about the unit's operating procedures, and to supervise the conduct of their subordinates. Being in some respects discretionary, although bound by precedents and rules, authority may often be applied incorrectly or inappropriately. Incorrectly applied, it is not truly authoritative. If it is effective, its effectiveness is a function of power. The same conditions that create authority ensure continuous interest in its application. Ensuing efforts to change the rules, conditions, and distribution of authority require the mobilization of opposing interests and alignments of power. Political organization consists in the combination and interplay of relations of authority and power in the regulation of public affairs. Briefly, the political organization is the set of arrangements by which a public regulates its common affairs. Such regulation always integrates two modes of public action, the administrative, which consists in the authoritative conduct of public affairs, and the political, which consists in the exercise and competitions of power to influence or control the course of these affairs. Political organization thus combines authority and power; it is not independently coterminous with either. Without power, authority is ineffective; without authority, power may dominate but remains uninstitutionalized. Authority, power, and regulation appear in many social contexts that are not strictly political in the sense that they do not relate to the regulation of the affairs of a polity or its main components. For example, economic power is the capacity to pursue economic goals despite resistance and competition. Ritual authority is the right to make ritual

pronouncements and to carry out certain ritual acts. The regulation of a family or a work team is a domestic or private affair, of concern only to those immediately involved and their circle of close kin and friends. Although regulation, authority, and power are closely associated empirically, they are analytically distinct principles and modes of social relation and action. Regulation, which integrates authority and power, is correspondingly more complex. In much the same way, government, as a form of political organization, integrates specifically political and specifically administrative forms of action. It is thus more complex than either. The corporate group. To maintain cohesion and continuity, all social groups that succeed in persisting must have adequate arrangements for the regulation of their common affairs. However much these affairs may vary from one group to another, they always include control over the conditions of membership and admission and over those relations which the members have with one another or with outsiders which are directly relevant to the aggregate as a whole. Beyond this, the subject matter of public regulation varies as widely as the form, scale, character, and function of the groups and their differing social contexts. All persistent social units that have distinct identities, membership, closure, presumptions of indefinite continuity, exclusive common affairs, and the autonomy, procedures, and organization necessary to regulate them are corporate in nature and form. The public, which is the persistent social group that forms a unit regulating its common affairs, is a corporate group. The comparative study of political organization is in large measure a study of the correspondences between differing or similar modes of corporate organization and differing or similar systems of power and authority. As regulatory units, corporations provide the basic framework for alignments of authority and power in the regulation of public affairs. However, being themselves very varied in their character and form, these units constitute differing frameworks for power and authority and distribute them in different ways and on different principles. Accordingly, different types and combinations of corporations establish differing modes and relations of power and authority. For example, in a polity based on only one or two types of corporate unit, the political organization consists of relations of power and authority within, between, and among these corporations and, collectively or separately, between them and external bodies. As their corporate composition differs, even those polities which have

POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY: Political Organization an identical number of corporate forms will differ in their regulatory processes and organization. Although all persistent social groups with the properties of corporations are units of public regulation for their own internal affairs, many, such as universities, firms, clubs, or occupational associations, may have no collective role in the processes by which the affairs of the wider unit to which they belong are regulated. In this case, the regulatory arrangements that constitute the internal selfgovernments of these units are not directly relevant to the analysis of the polities to which their members belong. On the other hand, if, as is often the case, the members of religious communities, universities, and occupational or other groups do take collective action through these units to influence or control the conduct of affairs in their immediate public or some larger aggregate, then these corporations enter directly into the political organization of the populations concerned. Publics, or corporate groups, vary widely in their character, form, complexity, size, functions, and modes of procedure. They may include village communities, cities, nations, certain types of descent groups, age sets, secret and other closed continuing associations, cult groups, monasteries and ritual orders, primitive bands, regiments, guilds, trade unions, political parties, and so on. Despite their many differences, all corporate groups have a distinct identity, a determinate membership, closure, the presumption of indefinite continuity, common exclusive affairs, and the autonomy, procedures, and organization necessary to regulate them. However, they differ notably in the bases on which they recruit and organize their members. Some corporate groups recruit their members by locality, others by descent or cult, by occupation, age, sex, joint property interests, ethnicity, or by exclusive association for specific or diffuse purposes. Most corporate groups recruit their members on two or more of these principles simultaneously. They differ correspondingly in their organization, procedures, interests, and affairs. Similar properties found in different types of corporate groups reflect the common conditions of continuing group organization. Since it is identified with an exclusive set of common affairs, the universitatis juris (Maine 1861), which includes control of the admission and organization of its members, the corporate group requires some set of institutional procedures to regulate itself. These procedures involve a set °f rules and practices by which the actions of the members or representatives of the unit may be distinguished as correct or incorrect and disagree-

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ments within the collectivity can be contained or settled. If the rules and procedures of the corporate group are not adequate for these purposes, under favorable conditions dissatisfied members may withdraw to establish a separate unit of their own. An accepted framework of rules and procedures is thus indispensable if the members of a group are to regulate their mutual relations with sufficient harmony to permit joint action in managing their essential common affairs. And for this reason, the rules of a corporate group will only specify those forms of conduct which are relevant to the welfare of the collectivity as a whole. The institutional prescriptions and proscriptions by which a corporate group organizes its members and regulates its common, exclusive affairs create a field for internal disagreements, dissension, and initiative. The organization and processes of corporate action provide opportunities for the members, individually or in small groups, to try to influence the unit's decisions, to modify or maintain its rules, procedures, and organization or the conditions, range, and implications of membership, to extend or reduce the scope of its common affairs, and to maintain or change its relations with external bodies. While the unit's institutional organization and rules establish its structure and distribution of authority, these rules and precedents are made, retained, changed, or broken by autonomous acts which may also decide the distribution and tenure of regulatory positions and the character of relations within the group and between it and other bodies of similar or differing constitution. And since no persisting social unit can ever have a framework of organization and procedures that is fully comprehensive and appropriate for all the eventualities that arise in its history, all social units must retain sufficient autonomy to enable them to modify, supplement, reinterpret, repeal, or develop their rules, procedures, and organization as a necessity of successful adaptation to their changing external environment and internal distributions of power and need. Moreover, as units of public regulation, all corporate groups also require an internal authority structure by which their affairs can be representatively handled; and this structure provides a major focus of internal political competition as individual members and segments try to influence, limit, evade, or control the uses, conditions, objects, and distribution of authority. Types of corporations. Corporate groups represent one type of corporation; others are categories, offices, colleges, and commissions. Of these five, corporate groups, offices, and colleges possess all

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those conditions which are necessary to maintain their continuity as self-regulatory units. Commissions and corporate categories lack some of these essentials. Some commissions, such as military, magisterial, and certain ritual commissions, lack uniqueness and determinate spheres of competence; others, such as charismatic leadership or ad hoc parliamentary commissions, although unique, lack the appropriate bases for continuity. Such corporate categories as moieties, uncoordinated clans, castes, or age sets among the Turkana and Karimojong (Gulliver 1958; Dyson-Hudson 1963) lack the necessary bases for organization as groups. They cannot therefore serve as inclusive units of positive regulation. The office. The corporation sole (Maine 1861), or office, has all the properties of the corporate group except that at any time only one member, the incumbent, fully represents it. Normally the office is also represented indirectly and incompletely through an official staff controlled by its holder. In Weber's terminology, this structure constitutes an "administrative organ" ([1922] 1957, pp. 302-303). Offices vary in the complexity and size of the staff through which they regulate their affairs. As a centrally directed organization of roles and responsibilities, the office and its staff form a continuing aggregate which is in many ways quite similar to a corporate group. However, the structure is always a specialized segment of a wider public or corporate group, some or all of whose common affairs it serves to regulate. Those processes of political competition and rivalry which characterize the corporate group operate also within the administrative staff attached to an office. Members of this staff compete with one another for influence, promotion, autonomy in their respective spheres, and for such other rewards and advantages as the structure provides. Such political conditions will modify the formal hierarchy of authority within the office if they are not controlled; and if this formal authority structure is not maintained, relations between the staff and the wider public will also change as a function of those redistributions of autonomy within the office. As a unique perpetual unit with public regulatory roles, office is always distinguished from the personality of the individual who holds it. Even in those societies, such as the Bemba, Wambugwe, Luapula, and Yao, which institutionalize office as hierarchic units linked to one another by ties of "perpetual kinship" individuals are totally identified with the perpetual statuses to which they are recruited (Richards 1940, p. 91 ff. ; 1950, p. 224;

Gray 1953; Cunnison 1956; Mitchell 1956). In its more familiar forms, such as presidencies, university chancellor ships, managing directorships, kingships, or the papacy, office is clearly an extremely important organ for the regulation of the affairs of the corporate group in which it exists. However, offices differ widely in their forms, character, and capacities. For some the method of recruitment is hereditary; for others elective; and others have mixed forms of succession. The authority of office may be narrow or wide in its scope, that is, the affairs to which it relates, or in its range, the size of the aggregate it regulates. Some offices, such as the Shilluk and Ngonde chieftaincies are primarily symbolic and integrative, executive authority being dispersed among other units (Wilson 1939; Evans-Pritchard 1948). Other offices, although executive in character, may be accountable for their conduct to some other body— a college, a corporate group, or a superior office. The mere existence of an office or hierarchy of offices, however exalted, has very indefinite connotations for the working of the political organization. What really matters is the basis of recruitment to the office, the scope and range of the office, the character of the authority vested in it, the limits of its autonomous discretion, the sanctions that it controls, the actual distributions of power and authority among the office staff, and the relationships between the office, its staff, and the public to which it relates. The college. The college is an extremely adaptable type of corporation, possessing certain properties common to corporate groups and offices alike. The college has two distinguishing characteristics: first, it contains a plurality of members who thus have equal status; second, the members of a college are always a minority of the public with which the college is identified. Like offices and corporate groups, colleges are presumed to be indefinitely continuous, have distinct identities, control the admission of members, and have a determinate membership, organization, procedures, common affairs, and autonomy to regulate them. In such cases as the College of Cardinals, the U.S. Supreme Court, the council of the Iroquois League, and modern cabinets, the membership of the college is entirely confined to the holders of particular offices; in others, the members are persons who hold representative commissions and meet certain qualifications. The latter would include, for example, the Athenian ecclesia and council, the British House of Commons, the Yampai grade of the Egbo society among the Efik (Jones 1956, p. 138 ff.), village panchayats in India (Dube 1955; Mayer 1960;

POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY: Political Organization Marriott 1955), or community councils among the Kikuyu, Ibo, and Bini (Meek 1937, p. 148 ff.; Middleton 1953; Lambert 1956; Bradbury 1957). Some colleges have symbolic or executive heads; some do not. Colleges may meet more or less regularly, frequently, and publicly. The representation that they provide the public may be more or less exclusive. Admission may be restricted on grounds of descent, as with the ruling councils of southern Bantu chiefdoms (Schapera 1937), of age, as among the Galla (Huntingford 1955), of wealth, or of ritual status. Greek thinkers, having distinguished collegial from monarchic forms of government, classified collegial systems as aristocratic, oligarchic, or other on grounds of their representativeness and composition. They may also be classified according to the functions they perform: judicial, legislative, executive, ritual, or electoral. While some colleges are functionally specific, others regulate a variety of functions. If the college consists only of officeholders, they can execute its decisions. Alternatively, members of the college may enforce its decisions personally, as in Athens, or through dependents and subordinates, as in such graded secret societies as the Ogboni, Poro, or Egbo (Morton-Williams I960; Little 1949; Jones 1956). Alternatively, the college may delegate executive roles to hereditary or elected officials, as in Sparta and Rome; or it may distribute various tasks among corporate units of different kinds, as among the Cheyenne or Yako (Hoebel I960; Forde 1961; 1964). Where a number of regulatory colleges coexist, they may be differentiated functionally, by the types of affairs that each regulates; or hierarchically, by reference to their jurisdictions and the type of unit that each controls—age set, lineage, ward, village, and so on. Executive responsibilities may rotate among the different colleges. Colleges and offices are often found together. As the preceding remarks indicate, the main strength of a collegial system lies in its representative character, which, even when sectional, provides opportunities for politically active segments of a public to deliberate together on matters of common concern. Although an office is a collective representation, it does not provide for adequate participation by the public in the formation of official policies. Thus, while collegial organization is ill suited to continuous administrative action, the office is excellently adapted to that end. Offices and colleges may be combined within a common regulatory system in various ways. Where the college retains decisive control of appointments policy formation, the office may be either sym-

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bolic, as among the Yoruba (Lloyd I960; 1962), or, if executive, lacking in any significant discretionary power. In the opposite situation, where the senior office enjoys dominance, the college may be merely a device for mobilizing periodic support and an instrument for administrative communication. Combinations of office and college always lead to competition between these units to preserve or extend their relative autonomies and spheres of competence. Since both the college and the official organization will be divided internally by political alignments and cleavages, a wide variety of interlocking alliances and oppositions are possible between their members. The stability of the political organization will then depend on the cohesiveness of those underlying structural conditions which regulate the distributions of power and authority. The corporate groupings in which the members of the wider public are organized have certain structurally requisite conditions and relations, and these very conditions and relations serve to limit changes in the distribution of power and authority and thus to maintain continuity. On the other hand, change or lack of change in the power-authority structure may limit the capacity of the corporate system to persist. An excellent example of such structural limits to political change is found among the Kachin of highland Burma (Leach 1954). The polity. The most inclusive aggregate having a common corporate organization and functional cohesion is a polity. The polity coincides in its form and limits with the maximum spread of the institutional framework within which power and authority are distributed and public regulation proceeds. The term "polity" accordingly is used to identify an aggregate with a common set of corporate forms. As the basic analytic unit for comparative studies, the nature of the polity deserves special attention. In one sense, the term denotes a distinctive form of political organization; in another it refers to the society of which this is the political form. It also denotes the largest social aggregates organized separately in this form. However, the limits of the aggregate organized as a distinct unit do not always coincide with the limits of the society of which it is part or with the territorial spread of the polity which it represents. As the form of political organization, a polity represents the political aspect of a society, and often the two are confused. As Nadel says, "mostly, when we look for a society, we find a political unit, and when speaking of the former we mean in effect the latter" (1951, p. 187). Analytically, a society is a self-sustaining system of social relations and

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institutions (Levy 1952, p. Ill ff.). Concretely, it is the aggregate that shares these institutional forms. Comparatively, societies vary in the inclusiveness as well as the forms of their political institutions. Some societies, such as France, the United States, Tikopia, and the Cheyenne, include all their members in A. single polity. In these cases the polity coincides with the limits of the societal aggregate. Other polities, such as the Hausa, Tswana, and western Malays (Hogben 1930; Schapera 1938; 1953; Gullick 1958), do not include their societies in a single unit. Although their polities are centralized, the Hausa, Tswana, and western Malays lack a single inclusive political organization. Therefore, as societies they are "acephalous." On the other hand, the societies of Tikopia, the Cheyenne, and the Shilluk, which constitute single polities, are clearly uncentralized. Societies may be subdivided into a number of autonomous, acephalous units of similar form and kind, for example the Nuer and the Gusii (EvansPritchard 1940; Mayer 1949). Acephalous political organization may take two alternative forms, which we can illustrate by contrasting the Nuer and the Tallensi (Fortes 1940; 1945). The Nuer polity consists of aggregates whose members act together to regulate common affairs. These are a number of socially and territorially discrete tribes. Each Nuer tribe can thus be studied separately, as representative of the whole society. The political organization of the Tallensi is quite different. Their largest publics are local communities. Each community is internally divided into lineages and segments of clans, which are connected to similar units elsewhere by a network of collective ties. Since these kinship bonds are coextensive with the society, the entire population constitutes a cohesive acephalous unit. To study a Tale community in isolation, therefore, yields a misleading picture of the society and polity alike, since in this case both coincide. Thus, acephalous and centralized polities alike may embrace entire societies as single units, or they may subdivide these societies into a number of structurally similar parts. Moreover, a society which has an effective centralized organization may also extend its rule over other aggregates with differing social institutions, thereby increasing the complexity of all. Instead of looking for discrete political communities characterized by authoritative decision making, the exclusion of internal force, or inclusive cooperative action, or of simply classifying polities as unitary or segmentary states or nonstates, we may regard the widest aggregates having a common form of political organization as the unit of comparative analysis. Where such aggregates are sub-

divided into a number of discrete autonomous self-regulating publics, we can treat these units as representatives of the polity as a whole. This is indeed the general practice of anthropologists and political scientists alike. In this way the modes of organization, degrees and areas of centralization, forms of internal order, cooperation, and decision making can be analyzed comparatively. Autonomy. The autonomy that a public requires as a condition of its viability may be reserved wholly to its membership, as in Nuer communities, in which case the public is genuinely acephalous; or autonomy may be concentrated wholly in one or several representative regulatory organs, such as colleges or offices; or it may be distributed variously among the members of the public and its representative regulatory institutions. In all cases, the institutionalized distribution of such autonomy is a critical dimension of the unit's authority structure. This distribution promotes the kinds of continuous political action that maintain or change the authority structure; and just as the distribution and scope of relative autonomy varies with the composition of the public, so do the typical forms of political issues and activities. The greater the authority allocated to a regulatory office or college, the greater the autonomy it requires. But the greater the autonomy this regulatory organ holds, the less easily is it controlled by the members of the public whose affairs it regulates. The autonomous discretion that inheres in regulatory authority is neither arbitrary nor unlimited. It represents the minimum range of discretion necessary to ensure appropriate action in various emergencies. The range may be very narrow, as in ancient Athens or modern Britain, or it may be very wide, as among the Inca (Moore 1958) and in Ottoman Turkey (Gibb & Bowen 1950). It may also be wide in some areas of activity and very restricted in others, as for instance in imperial China (Sprenkel 1962). The executive autonomy may be retained by the senior office of the hierarchy, as in the absolute monarchies of eighteenth-century Europe or the Roman Catholic church, or it may be exercised primarily by a senior subordinate, such as the Lozi ngambela (Gluckman 1951), the Ottoman grand vizier, the Aztec ciuacoatl (Soustelle 1955), or the Japanese shoguns (Sansom 1932). Executive authority may be vested in a college, such as the Inca opocunas, the Yoruba iwarefa (Lloyd 1962), the Roman senate, or modern cabinets. Weber, who seems to have regarded all stable concentrations of authority and expansions of political aggregates as correlates of "patrimonial," or

POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY: Political Organization chiefly, rule, characterizes the regime in which "absolute authority is maximized" by the chief as "sultanism" ([1922] 1957, p. 318). But, however broad and overwhelming such authority may be, it can never be absolute, since its effectiveness depends on the exercise of power to the degree that its action transgresses the legitimate range of permitted discretion. And power, however decisive, is always unstable and relative, never absolute or fixed. It breeds its own rivals. Few rulers have in fact been more uneasy in their rule and more dependent on their staffs than those sultans who sought to maximize an absolute authority, only to find that they were increasing their dependence on the staff, through which authority was exercised, and by which it would be appropriated unless rigorous discipline was maintained. As we have seen, the Lozi, Ottoman, and Aztec monarchs found it strategic to delegate executive power to "grand viziers," whose offices then bore the odium for actions necessary to maintain the system. But as the Ottoman case shows clearly, in transferring this autonomy, the sultan effectively placed his regime in the hands of his grand vizier. Comparative politics. Only in the very simplest societies are the publics not divided into a number of internally autonomous corporate groups. Examples of such societies include the Andamanese (Radcliffe-Brown 1922), the Mbuti (Turnbull 1961), the Bushmen (Marshall I960; 1961), the Shoshoneans (Steward 1938; 1955) or the Nambikuara (Levi-Strauss 1955). In all these cases, local communities or bands are sections of a wider aggregate, the tribe. Yet even among the Nambikuara and Shoshoneans, the leading members of these bands exercised little authority beyond that required by relations of ritual, kinship, and subsistence. In the absence of a representative public authority, autonomy is dispersed among the adult male members of the group, who may transfer their affiliations when they change residence. There being no hierarchic authority structure within such groups, there can be none between them. Nonetheless, within each band, positions of authority identified primarily by kinship and ritual relations do exist: the band as a whole may have a leader or a symbolic head, or it may regulate its common affairs collectively. Individual misconduct may lead to collective reactions; and dissatisfaction with such band government may lead to individual withdrawal. Occasionally feuds arise between bands. These feuds may actually reinforce internal cohesion. The segmentary lineage systems of such societies as the Nuer and Tiv exhibit similar conditions

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and principles of organization. Their most distinctive feature is a schematic alignment of local groups by their closeness or remoteness of kinship according to putative unilineal descent. This genealogical classification of autonomous local groups serves to guide their political relations of alliance and opposition. Internally, each group forms a single unit within which authority is distributed and collective action handled administratively. Externally, as coordinate units, groups may combine at one moment to oppose outsiders and then segregate to oppose one another, according to the prevailing scheme of lineal and local alignments. As in the case of band-organized units, authority is dispersed within each segment, but the genealogical connections of these segments cannot constitute a hierarchic organization of groups. Unless some principle of differential ranking prevails, segments are equal, each a distinct autonomous unit with its own internal concerns and regulatory arrangements. Under these circumstances, there may be an inclusive college, as among the Kikuyu and Ibo, but not necessarily a representative official structure, as, for example, in Tikopia (Firth 1949; 1959, p. 254 ff.). Political and administrative relations are here completely fused and corporately differentiated from other types of social relations. The autonomy of these corporate groups corresponds in its scope to the jurisdiction they exercise on behalf of their members and over them and thus to the limits of their collective responsibility. This autonomy may either be based on the absence of alternative forms of grouping or on the coexistence of a plurality of corporate forms that dislocate one another by dispersing loyalties and generating conflict. There are many differing types of such structurally disharmonic polities, for example the Murngin (Warner 1937), the Plateau Tonga (Colson 1953), the Siuai (Oliver 1955, p. 361 ff.), the Kachin (Leach 1954), the Usurufa, Kamano, and Fore of highland New Guinea (Berndt 1962), or European feudalism (Bloch 1939-1940). The prevalence of disharmonic systems should be noted. Some may perpetuate themselves almost indefinitely, having institutionalized adequate adaptations to their basic disharmony; other disharmonic systems oscillate between two poles, as among the Kachin or in medieval China and Japan; still others undergo changes of structural type as a result of the conflicts their disharmonies generate. Such structural changes occurred, for example, in ancient Athens and Rome and in feudal France and Britain. In extreme autarchy, relations between corporate units are almost entirely political, while those within them are primarily administrative. If these

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units are successively segmented or if they are linked serially by ties of increasing inclusiveness, then their political and administrative alignments alternate. To stabilize the larger aggregates it is necessary to find some basis other than mere genealogy for a more consistent differentiation of political and administrative relations. Whether such differentiations take a collegial, official, or mixed form, they all consist in the institutionalization of certain types of regulatory roles and responsibilities on the basis of some distinctions of seniority and precedence, however diffuse or flexible. The only alternatives to an acephalous structure of coordinate corporate groups are a collegial organization, a system of central regulatory offices, or both in various combinations. The broader the authority such representative organs exercise, the more the autonomy distributed among other segments or members of the group is restricted. The larger the aggregate that regulates its public affairs as a unit and the greater the functional differentiation of its regulatory roles, the more cohesive and integrated the unit becomes. Under collegial or official direction, the various segments of the larger public will continue to administer their internal affairs autonomously, although within the limits required by the unity of the entire aggregate and by the authority of its regulatory organs. These limits may be extensive or limited. Among the Iroquois, Kikuyu, and Ibo, whose local communities had a collegial regulatory organization, lineage rights of retaliation prevailed, and violence was sporadic, although feud was ruled out. In such "centralized" systems as Ruanda, feudal Europe, and Japan violence was so common as to be virtually institutionalized. It is thus not essential to the character, cohesion, or continuity of a public that violence should be excluded among its members; neither is it the case that all publics are units of internal cooperation and external independence. What is necessary is that the incidence, forms, and occasions of violence should be governed by authoritative rules and that responsibilities for violence should be allocated to corporate units. For the unity of the aggregate, a common set of external relations is much more essential and seems to be decisive. It is not always the case that polities differ in their scale according to their levels of centralization. Some large populations, such as the Tiv, Gusii, Masai, or Ibo, maintain polities of an acephalous type, while many small units, such as the Mambwe villages (Watson 1958, p. 72 ff.) or some Tswana tribes, are relatively centralized. Authority may be said to be centralized when

the autonomy to regulate certain types of affairs by positive action has been transferred to some single organ or set of organs which then coordinates these affairs for all members of the aggregate. This transfer of autonomy from the members and primary corporations of the unit may be voluntary, or it may be forced. Once achieved, in order to be instrumentally effective, it requires that the central regulatory organ should control an adequate concentration of sanctions and should also be capable of employing these autonomously to enforce its orders, especially to discourage political aggrandizements among its staff. When authority is effectively centralized in this way, whether on a collegial or an official basis or on both simultaneously—as in modern societies—those who hold this authority may try to increase its range or scope by pursuing territorial expansion or by extending the types of affairs that fall under their regulation. The latter is the course that most consistently requires and promotes increases in the size, complexity, and functional differentiation of the administrative structure and in its segregation from public political processes. This may either lead to the development of a strictly bureaucratic order (Weber [1919] 1946, p. 196 ff. ; [1922] 1957, p. 302 ff., p. 360 ff.) or to the domination of an aggregate by a "ruling bureaucracy" (Wittfogel 1953; 1957). An essential condition for the effective centralization of the administrative staff within any unit of moderate size is the segregation of this administrative structure from the context and processes of public political competition. This is a more difficult achievement than the simple differentiation of judicial, military, and civil functions. These functions may be distributed among different persons in both acephalous and centralized collegial systems, as among the Kipsigi, Galla, and Kikuyu. Or these functions may be combined and exercised through a single official or collegial structure in various centralized systems, as in the southern Bantu chiefdoms (Schapera 1937). However, to preclude the appropriation of power by administrative staff, to maintain disciplined performance, and to penalize inefficiency or corruption, it is essential that the different regulatory roles should be segregated and distributed among different units and that provisions for supervision and staff control should also be adequate. When an administration relies for its staff on territorial chiefs, who are often recruited hereditarily and may be identified politically with their communities, as among the Tswana or in feudal Europe, disassociation of the regulatory roles and the maintenance of central control are both very difficult. The Chinese sought,

POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY: Political Organization during the Ch'ing period, to prevent the political decentralization of the administration by restricting tenure of office to three years, by excluding hereditary appointments in the bureaucracy, by sending officials to communities where they were strangers, and by specializing the staff of different offices (Sprenkel 1962). The Inca sought to control their territorial officials through an elaborate system of specialized traveling inspectors. The Zulu, Ruanda, and Lozi kings, like the Kamakura shoguns, sought simultaneously to subdivide the loyalties of their subjects and to set their subordinates against one another by differentiating the types and sources of control. The Hausa of Zazzau simply concentrated their senior territorial officials in the capital and thus segregated them from the communities they were appointed to rule (Smith 1960). Despite the high levels of functional specialization of the ruling colleges of Athens and Rome, those colleges sought to control their highest officials by institutions of indictment, accountability, and time-limited tenure of office. In the acephalous collegial polities of the Cheyenne, Yako, and Kipsigi, authority to regulate different affairs was systematically dispersed among differing organs of government. One legacy of royal absolutism which is quite basic to the complex governments of modern society is the segregation of the bureaucratic apparatus from the arena of political competition for control of policy. M. G. SMITH BIBLIOGRAPHY

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LEVI-STRAUSS, CLAUDE (1955) 1961 A World on the Wane. London: Hutchinson. -> First published as Tristes tropiques. LEVY, MARION J. 1952 The Structure of Society. Princeton Univ. Press. LITTLE, K. L. 1949 The Role of the Secret Society in Cultural Specialization. American Anthropologist New Series 51:199-212. LLOYD, PETE:. C. 1960 Sacred Kingship and Government Among the Yoruba. Africa 30:221-237. LLOYD, PETER C. 1962 Yoruba Land Law. Published for the Nigerian Institute of Social and Economic Research. Oxford Univ. Press. MACRIDIS, ROY C. 1955 The Study of Comparative Government. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. MAINE, HENRY J. S. (1861) 1960 Ancient Law: Its Connection With the Early History of Society, and Its Relations to Modern Ideas. Rev. ed. New York: Button; London and Toronto: Dent. -> A paperback edition was published in 1963 by Beacon. MAIR, LUCY P. 1962 Primitive Government. Baltimore: Penguin. MAQUET, JACQUES J. 1961 The Premise of Inequality in Ruanda. Published for the International African Institute. Oxford Univ. Press. MARRIOTT, McKiM (editor) 1955 Village India: Studies in the Little Community. Univ. of Chicago Press. -> Also published as Memoir No. 83 of the American Anthropological Association and as American Anthropologist, Volume 57, No. 3, Part 2, June 1955. MARSHALL, LORNA 1960 /Kung Bushman Bands. Africa 30:325-355. MARSHALL, LORNA 1961 Sharing, Talking and Giving: Relief of Social Tensions Among /Kung Bushmen. Africa 31:231-249. MAYER, ADRIAN C. 1960 Caste and Kinship in Central India: A Village and Its Region. London: Routledge; Berkeley and Los Angeles: Univ. of California Press. MAYER, PHILIP 1949 The Lineage Principle in Gusii Society. International African Institute, Memorandum No. 24. Oxford Univ. Press. MEEK, CHARLES K. (1937) 1950 Law and Authority in a Nigerian Tribe: A Study in Indirect Rule. Oxford Univ. Press. MIDDLETON, JOHN 1953 The Central Tribes of the Northeastern Bantu: The Kikuyu, Including Embu, Meru, Mbere, Chuka, Mwimbi, Tharaka, and the Kamba of Kenya. Ethnographic Survey of Africa, East-central Africa, Part 5. London: International African Institute. MITCHELL, JAMES C. 1956 The Yao Village: A Study in the Social Structure of a Nyasaland Tribe. Manchester (England) Univ. Press. MOORE, SALLY F. 1958 Power and Property in Inca Peru. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. MORGAN, LEWIS H. (1851) 1962 League of the Iroquois. Gloucester, Mass.: Smith. -> First published as League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee, or Iroquois in two volumes. MORTON-WILLIAMS, P. 1960 The Yoruba Ogboni Cult in Oyo. Africa 30:362-374. NADEL, SIEGFRIED F. 1951 The Foundations of Social Anthropology. London: Cohen & West; Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. OLIVER, DOUGLAS L. 1955 A Solomon Island Society: Kinship and Leadership Among the Siuai of Bougainville. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. PERISTIANY, JEAN G. (1939) 1964 The Social Institutions of the Kipsigis. London: Routledge. RADCLIFFE-BROWN, A. R. (1922) 1948 The Andaman Islanders. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press.

RADCLIFFE-BROWN, A. R. 1940 Preface. In Meyer Fortes and E. E. Evans-Pritchard (editors), African Political Systems. Oxford Univ. Press. RICHARDS, AUDREY I. (1940)1961 The Political System of the Bemba Tribe—Northeastern Rhodesia. Pages 83-120 in Meyer Fortes and E. E. Evans-Pritchard (editors), African Political Systems. Oxford Univ. Press. RICHARDS, AUDREY I. 1950 Some Types of Family Structure Amongst the Central Bantu. Pages 207-251 in A. R. Radcliffe-Brown and Daryll Forde (editors), African Systems of Kinship and Marriage. Oxford Univ. Press. SANSOM, GEORGE B. (1932) 1962 Japan: A Short Cultural History. Rev. ed. New York: Appleton. SCHAPERA, ISAAC 1937 Political Institutions. Pages 173195 in Isaac Schapera (editor), The Bantu-speaking Tribes of South Africa. London: Routledge. SCHAPERA, ISAAC (1938) 1955 A Handbook of Tswana Law and Custom. 2d ed. Oxford Univ. Press. SCHAPERA, ISAAC 1953 The Tswana. Ethnographic Survey of Africa, Southern Africa, Part 3. London: International African Institute. SCHAPERA, ISAAC 1956 Government and Politics in Tribal Societies. London: Watts. SMITH, M. G. 1960 Government in Zazzau, 1800-1950. Published for the International African Institute. Oxford Univ. Press. SOUSTELLE, JACQUES (1955) 1961 Daily Life of the Aztecs, on the Eve of the Spanish Conquest. New York: Macmillan. -» First published as La vie quotidienne des Azteques a la veille de la conquete espagnole. SPRENKEL, SYBILLE VAN DER 1962 Legal Institutions in Manchu China. London: Athlone. STEWARD, JULIAN H. 1938 Basin-Plateau Aboriginal Sociopolitical Groups. Smithsonian Institution, Bureau of American Ethnology, Bulletin No. 120. Washington: Government Printing Office. STEWARD, JULIAN H. 1955 Theory of Culture Change: The Methodology of Multilinear Evolution. Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press. TURNBULL, COLIN M. 1961 The Forest People. New York: Simon & Schuster. WARNER, W. LLOYD (1937) 1958 A Black Civilization: A Social Study of an Australian Tribe. Rev. ed. New York: Harper. WATSON, WILLIAM 1958 Tribal Cohesion in a Money Economy: A Study of the Mambwe People of Northern Rhodesia. Published for the Rhodes-Livingstone Institute. Manchester (England) Univ. Press. WEBER, MAX (1919) 1946 Politics as a Vocation. Pages 77-128 in Max Weber, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology. Translated and edited by H. H. Gerth and C. W. Mills. New York: Oxford Univ. Press. WEBER, MAX (1922) 1957 The Theory of Social and Economic Organization. Edited by Talcott Parsons. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -» First published as Part 1 of Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. WILSON, GODFREY 1939 The Constitution of Ngonde. Rhodes-Livingstone Institute Papers, No. 3. Livingstone (Northern Rhodesia): The Institute. WITTFOGEL, KARL A. 1953 The Ruling Bureaucracy of Oriental Despotism: A Phenomenon That Paralysed Marx. Review of Politics 15:350-359. WITTFOGEL, KARL A. 1957 Oriental Despotism: A Comparative Study of Total Power. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. -» A paperback edition was published in 1963.

POLITICAL BEHAVIOR POLITICAL BEHAVIOR The analysis of political behavior proceeds from the assumption that politics as a special form of human activity is not, and cannot be, independent of what is known or knowable about social behavior generally. The primary objective of such analysis, therefore, is to link what is specifically political with other aspects of social relations. Specification In particular, political behavior analysis refers to a number of modes and methods of inquiry in the discipline of political science that have the following four general characteristics. (1) Political behavior analysis takes the individual person's behavior—broadly conceived as including not only his acts but also his orientations to action (identifications, demands, expectations, evaluations)—as the empirical unit of analysis. Most behavioral research in politics is not, in fact, concerned with the individual actor as such. It more often seeks to describe and explain the political behavior of a group, an organization, a community, an elite, a mass movement, or a nation, but also assumes that such collectivities do not exist apart from the conduct of their individual members. The interactions and transactions of these members make for systemic relationships that are structurally discrete and functionally specific and can be meaningfully studied. Political behavior analysis does not deny the importance of political institutions; rather it conceives of them as patterns of individual behavior that are more or less uniform and regular and can be analyzed in terms of the behavior of their molecular units. Individual political behavior is seen as deriving its meaning and significance from the institutional context in which it occurs. (2) Political behavior analysis chooses a frame of reference that is shared by the behavioral sciences, notably anthropology, psychology, and sociology. As man's political behavior is only one aspect of his total behavior as a social being, political behavior analysis must be interdisciplinary; it cannot neglect the wider context in which political action occurs. It is bound, therefore, to consider the possible effects of social, cultural, and personal factors on political behavior. The interdisciplinary focus of political behavior inquiry sensitizes the observer to the level of analysis on which research may be conducted most appropriately and fruitfully. Some problems of political behavior are best formulated and explored °n the level of social relations; others, on the level

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of culture; and still others, on the level of personality. Which level of analysis is chosen depends on the problem under inquiry and on the degree to which generic rather than particularistic explanations are sought. (3) Political behavior analysis chooses theoretical propositions about politics that lend themselves, in principle at least, although preferably in fact, to operational formulation for the purposes of empirical research. Political behavior analysis seeks to join theory and the data of experience in a single operational discourse that allows theory to fertilize empirical inquiry and that utilizes empirical findings to advance the development of theoretical propositions about politics. Of course, where a particular study will fall on the empirical-theoretical continuum depends partly on the inclinations of the researcher and partly on his ease of access to a given research arena. For instance, access is relatively easy in the domestic legislative arena but extremely difficult in the field of international relations. Where access is easy, theoretical development may lag behind data accumulation; where access is difficult, theoretical sophistication may outstrip empirical investigation. (4) Political behavior analysis chooses methods and techniques of inquiry that permit as rigorous treatment as possible of theoretical formulations and empirical data for the purposes of description and the testing of hypotheses. Many of the theoretical formulations of political behavior research are now posed in terms of notions derived from game theory, decision theory, general systems theory, and communication theory, as well as notions derived from political science. In its empirical work political behavior analysis also utilizes techniques taken over from the other social sciences. It is concerned with the problems of research design, reliability of data-gathering and measuring instruments, criteria of validation, and other features of scientific procedure. Techniques now employed include participant observation and survey research, content and cluster-bloc analysis, scalogram and factor analysis, sociometry and psychiatric procedures, laboratory and field experiments, multivariate analysis, and computer programs. Application of these methods and techniques has had the effect of enormously broadening the range of political phenomena available to behavioral investigation and of systematizing the study of politics. Development Behavioral analysis in the study of politics stems from the confluence of many converging tenden-

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cies that are isolated here only for the sake of identification. It is probably impossible to trace any particular approach to a single intellectual source. This section, therefore, though organized more or less chronologically, does not attempt precise historical reconstruction. In their ^arliest manifestations, political behavior approaches in political science were declarations of protest against what was felt to be an unduly historical-descriptive, legal-formal, or normative orientation in the study of government and politics. The protest came, on the one hand, from psychology-oriented observers of the political scene, perhaps best represented by Graham Wallas' Human Nature in Politics (1908), and on the other, from process-oriented students, stimulated by Arthur F. Bentley's The Process of Government (1908). But neither Wallas nor Bentley had an immediate impact on the course of academic political science. It was the work of a nonacademician, Walter Lippmann (Public Opinion 1922), that, during the 1920s, directed political scientists to the study of public opinion and political attitude formation. Bentley's "group approach" evidently had little influence on the studies of pressure groups which, in the late 1920s and early 1930s, gradually brought a new realism to the study of politics. It was not until after World War n that Bentley's recommendations and formulations were explicitly acknowledged and developed in David B. Truman's The Governmental Process (1951). Similarly, another early scholarly document of protest, Charles A. Beard's An Economic Interpretation of the Constitution of the United States (1913), came to influence the study of politics only in the 1920s. The efforts initiated in the early 1920s at the University of Chicago by the political scientist Charles E. Merriam exerted a more continuous and cumulative influence. His New Aspects of Politics (1925) was more than a critique of academic political science or a mere agenda for behavioral research. Men like Harold F. Gosnell and Harold D. Lasswell implemented Merriam's teaching by ingenious studies ranging from field experimentation (Gosnell 1927) to intensive personality research (Lasswell 1930). A second generation of Chicago political scientists, product of the 1930s, provided the leadership of the behavioral revolution in political science after World War n (Key 1949; Simon 1947; Almond 1950; Truman 1951; Leiserson 1958; Pool 1952). Other efforts in the interwar years to influence the course of political theory or research in a more behavioral or scientific direction were less successful. George E. G. Catlin's The Science and Method of Politics (1927) was too far removed from the

operational capabilities of the time to have much influence. On the other hand, Stuart A. Rice's Quantitative Methods in Politics (1928 ), inventive in the application of statistical and quasi-statistical techniques to aggregate election data and legislative roll-call votes, tended to ignore the theoretical relevance of this type of investigation. However, his techniques proved viable in the more theoretical context of postwar research on electoral and legislative voting. Perhaps even more difficult to identify and evaluate is the impact on political behavior analysis of the group of European or European-trained (Friedrich 1937; Parsons 1937) social scientists who, in the 1930s, familiarized American political science with new categories of thought rooted in the works of Marx, Durkheim, Freud, Pareto, Mosca, Michels, and Weber. Stimulated by the crises of democracy occasioned by the rise of totalitarianism, most of the work of these scholars sought explanations in terms of macro units of analysis. Only a few, like Paul F. Lazarsfeld or Theodor W. Adorno, were concerned with the individual as the unit of inquiry. The former's now classic study of the 1940 presidential election, The People's Choice, coauthored by Bernard Berelson and Hazel Gaudet, was not published until 1944 but came to have an enormous influence on political behavior research after the war. Similarly, The Authoritarian Personality (Adorno et al. 1950), though subjected to much criticism since its publication, has inspired a good deal of political behavior research. Although World War n undoubtedly made political scientists, serving in manifold capacities in governmental and military positions, sensitive to the inadequacies of traditional political science, the postwar "behavioral revolution" in the study of politics was probably less a movement of protest (Dahl 1961b) than a realization that the problems encountered in concrete research required new theoretical and methodological departures. The tendency toward behavioralism in political science was greatly aided by the activities of several groups of political scientists brought together under the auspices of the Social Science Research Council. In the 1950s and 1960s behavioral research was stimulated and financed by a committee on political behavior and a committee on comparative politics. A first "reader" on political behavior was published (Eulau et al. 1956). In the same year, a series of special panels devoted to political behavior analysis was included in the program of the annual.meeting of the American Political Science Association. In 1958 a group of political scientists and political sociologists from the United States, Europe, and Japan sponsored an "Interna-

POLITICAL BEHAVIOR tional Yearbook of Political Behavior Research," of which five volumes have appeared (Janowitz 1961; Marvick 1961; Huntington 1962; Schubert 1963; Apter 1964). Also, in the 1950s, special professorships were set up at almost all major universities. At some institutions, the University of Michigan, for instance, a "doctoral program in political behavior" has been established, while at others, notably Yale, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Northwestern, and Stanford, behavioral approaches permeate the offerings of the political science departments. In terms of research output, if one compares the pages of the learned journals in the first five decades of the century with the pages since about 1950, the development appears dramatic indeed. The establishment in 1962 of an "Inter-University Consortium for Political Research," sponsored by almost all major departments of political science in American universities, attests to the pervasive influence that political behavior analysis has gained in the discipline. While the "behavioral revolution" in political science has been primarily an American phenomenon, it has had some consequences for research developments abroad as well, especially in western Europe, India, and Japan. In some countries research institutes have undertaken behavioral or quasibehavioral research in politics—such as the studies on British elections undertaken under the auspices of Nuffield College (among others see Butler & Rose I960; Butler 1962) or the studies on electoral behavior conducted in Norway by the Bergen Chr. Michelsen Institute and the Oslo Institute for Social Research (Rokkan & Valen 1960). In France individual scholars have been concerned with public opinion, electoral party behavior, and pressure groups (Grosser 1960). In Italy the work of Sartori and his associates on parliament is an outstanding example of the behavioral approach (II parlamento italiano: 1946-1963). In Germany Otto Stammer and W. Hirsch-Weber, among others, have been influential and successful advocates of an empirical political science (Stammer 1960). In the 1960s the behavioral penetration of the study of comparative politics and the increasing interaction between American, European, and Asian scholars trained in behavioral research techniques promises to overcome traditional parochialisms in the study of politics [see POLITICS, COMPARATIVE]. Inventory—areas of research Political behavior research can be conveniently inventoried in terms of the situational or institutional contexts and arenas in which men act politically. We can, therefore, speak of voting behavior

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research, legislative behavior research, international behavior research, and so on. What recommends this classification is not simply the convenience of tradition but the fact that political behavior analysis is pre-eminently interested in determining the consequences of individual political behavior for the functioning of political institutions. Moreover, a classification of research by institutional categories facilitates linkage of behavioral and other modes of analysis, such as legal or historical inquiry, and permits appraisal of the cumulative contribution made by political behavior analysis to political science as a whole. Until the middle of the 1950s political behavior analysis was predominantly identified with (a) the study of political personality and related topics, such as the social composition of political elites; (fc) the study of political attitudes and public opinion, including content analysis of the media of mass communication; and (c) the study of voting behavior and political participation. There were a few pioneering studies of legislative behavior, judicial behavior, community politics, and sundry other topics, but political behavior research was primarily thought of as involving studies of either the attitudes and behavior of the mass public or of elites. Moreover, perhaps because social psychologists were especially interested in this research, political behavior analysis was often assumed to represent a species of "political psychology." Actually, the intensive study of political personality was and has remained a very marginal concern. Lasswell's pioneering Psychopathology and Politics (1930) has had few imitators. There has been some progress in this respect since 1955, but it has been slow [see PERSONALITY, POLITICAL]. However, studies of larger populations, indebted to various theories of personality and using inventories or scales derived from personality theories, concerned with such syndromes as authoritarianism, alienation, or anomie, have extended the range of political behavior research. Closely related to this research and undoubtedly influenced by it are an increasing number of studies of "political socialization" (Hyman 1959; Greenstein 1965) and of "political culture" (Almond & Verba 1963). Political socialization, of course, is only a critical first step in a person's political development, which must be distinguished from his recruitment and career pattern. The systematic study of elites, particularly in terms of their social backgrounds, has long been a concern of political science [see ELITES], but more recently research has been directed to recruitment and career patterns, much of it conducted in specific

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institutional settings [see POLITICAL RECRUITMENT AND CAREERS]. Electoral behavior. No institutional arena of politics has been given more attention than elections and electoral processes. The ready availability of aggregate voting statistics made for an early interest in elections as behavioral phenomena (Gosnell 1930; Tingsten 1937). But whereas electoral statistics permitted only inferential statements about individual voting behavior, the invention and application of the sample survey made possible the direct study of individual voters and isolation of the many institutional-structural, social-psychological, and directly political variables that influence the voting decision [see VOTING]. Evidence of the increasing maturity of this research is the fact that scholars, using both aggregate statistics and survey data, have come to seek insight into, and test propositions about, macro aspects of the political process, such as the viability of political competition (Key 1956), the conditions of democratic consent (Janowitz & Marvick 1956), the extent of cleavage and consensus in political systems (Lipset 1960), the function of representation (Miller & Stokes 1963), and the nature of democracy itself (Key 1961). Legislative behavior. As in the case of electoral behavior, research on legislative behavior had, in the form of roll-call votes and biographical data, an easily accessible reservoir of empirical information concerning both the backgrounds of legislators, from which presumably relevant attitudes were inferred, and the decisions of legislative bodies. Perhaps more than was the case with electoral research, both statistical and case studies of legislatures sought to link behavioral and institutional aspects of the legislative process. Recent studies of legislative committees as the critical tension points of decision making and of interpersonal relations have served to link even more closely individual and institutional patterns of legislative behavior [see LEGISLATION, article on LEGISLATIVE BEHAVIOR]. Judicial behavior. In the study of public law and judicial decision making the tradition of formal legal analysis was so strong that behavioral research did not emerge, with one exception (Pritchett 1948), until the late 1950s. When it came, the "behavioral revolution" in the field of public law took three forms. One group of scholars developed a largely nonquantitative "political process approach," locating judicial cases in the broader context of social, economic, and political conflicts and specifying the judiciary as a party to the conflicts of interests (Peltason 1955; Rosenblum 1955;

Shapiro 1964). A second group, using mathematical models and quantitative techniques, began to analyze opinions and decisions in terms of theories derived from social psychology and sociology for the purpose of making inferences about the motivations and attitudes of judges from a political perspective (Schubert I960; 1963; 1964). A third approach in the new direction relies on the systematic treatment of judicial biographies (Schmidhauser 1960). [See JUDICIARY, article on JUDICIAL BEHAVIOR.] Administrative behavior. Most of the work in administrative behavior research has been done, in the 1950s and early 1960s, by psychologists and sociologists (March & Simon 1958) who, with a few exceptions (Selznick 1949; Lipset et al. 1956; Wilensky 1956; Blau 1955; Janowitz 1961), are not particularly interested in governmental institutions or politically relevant organizational behavior. In a pioneering theoretical work by Herbert A. Simon, Administrative Behavior (1947), guidelines were made available for empirical research, but political scientists failed to follow this lead, probably because public administration has been dominated by "bureaus" which were primarily program-minded and preoccupied with "practical" matters. Only a few students of public administration have conducted behavioral research (Marvick 1954; Meyerson & Banfield 1955; Kaufman I960; Peabody 1964). Although there have been recent stirrings in the study of metropolitan government (Decisions in Syracuse 1961; Sayre & Kaufman 1960), on the whole, behavioral research in the public administrative process lies dormant. Community political behavior. Active political behavior research in the context of the local community revived the old struggle between monistic and pluralistic conceptions of power in society and government. Stimulated by Floyd Hunter's Community Power Structure (1953), political scientists, equally dissatisfied with his theoretical premises and research procedures, descended into the local community and made it, more than any other political arena, a testing ground of theoretical propositions of a generic character about the bases, scopes, and relations of power (Banfield 1961; Dahl 1961a; Polsby 1963; Agger et al. 1964). The pluralists challenged the work of the monists, but they did not succeed in explaining how, in a plural order, diverse sets of power holders are coordinated and integrated into a functioning whole. This is clearly a next step in behavioral research on the local community. International political behavior. Behavioral research in the field of international relations—i.e.,

POLITICAL BEHAVIOR the behavior of states in interaction rather than foreign policy making—presents many technical problems. Until the middle 1960s most of the work has been theoretical rather than empirical, indicative of the paradox that there seems to be an inverse relationship between theorizing as an independently creative activity and the empirical accessibility of the phenomena theorized about (Rosenau 1961; Kelman 1965; Singer 1965). Research along behavioral lines continues to rely on indirect evidence, produced by techniques such as content analysis, simulation, and the exploitation of aggregate data [see INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS]. Inventory—ranges of theory Institutional classification of political behavior analysis ignores the theoretical concerns at the core of scientific inquiry. A second classification would locate political behavior research in terms of either specific organizing concepts or the broader conceptual schemes that give it direction. Such a classification cuts across specific institutional arenas and has the advantage of being immediately useful in the further development of political theory. Political behavior analysis has produced or used a variety of conceptual approaches. While none of them has as yet culminated in a general theory of politics in a formal sense, all of them provide conceptual tools out of which more formal theories of empirical relevance might be constructed. Present approaches seem to fall into two major types. First, there are those which seek to build theoretical formulations around a single central concept, such as group, power, decision, or conflict. Second, there are those which proceed from comprehensive formulations of high generality, such as system, field, process, or communication. In these approaches the task of theorizing seems to consist in filling a formal scheme with conceptual content of political relevance. Both types of approach involve serious theoretical difficulties. Given the complexity of political phenomena, the efforts to build theories on a single central organizing concept are often unsatisfactory because they either explain too little or, paradoxically, pretend to explain much more than is actually explained. On the other hand, holistic approaches are often unsatisfactory because they really explain less than should be explained. Fortunately, in most empirical research on political behavior the dilemmas of theory are overcome by the good sense of scholars facing concrete research problems. Most theorizing about politics in the context of behavioral research proceeds, in rather catholic and

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eclectic fashion, from a range of problems where self-consciously theoretical formulations, whether of the unitary or systematic type, and operational necessities can fruitfully meet to extend the margins of political knowledge. Theoretical development in political behavior analysis over the next few decades is likely to follow the course charted in the past, although increased theoretical sophistication, methodological refinement, and technical skills on the part of behavioral practitioners are also likely to open up new research directions. System analysis. Of the different organizing schemes used in political behavior analysis, system notions, first promoted in political science by David Easton (1953; 1957), are only sparingly used in empirical research. While the system model provides a conceptual scheme broad enough to subsume most other formulations, and while, in the form of input-conversion-output-feedback analysis, it permits meaningful ordering of variables, the complexity of the model requires the production of so many kinds of data that any one piece of empirical research is likely to fall short of theoretical requirements. While the model has been used in macro analyses (Almond & Coleman I960; Mitchell 1962), little empirical work using the model has been done on the micro level of analysis. [But see the work on legislatures by Wahlke et al. 1962; and Fenno 1962; see also SYSTEMS ANALYSIS, article On POLITICAL SYSTEMS.] Group approach. The older work, stemming from Bentley (1908) and summarized by Truman (1951), was mainly concerned with interest or pressure groups as the effective actors on the political scene, and the interaction of groups was thought to constitute the political process. Political behavior research of more recent vintage, following a suggestive discussion by Garceau (1951), is more likely to think of the group as an agency that intervenes between the individual and the institutional tension points of the political system, where decisions are made. In this research, the group is mainly conceived of as a source of orientations and attitudes in individual behavior; it may also be treated as a system of action which, on the micro level of analysis, is a replica of larger political systems. Recent theoretical work on small groups (Verba 1961; Golembiewski 1962) shows that little empirical work in the field of politics has so far been produced [see POLITICAL GROUP ANALYSIS]. Decision-making analysis. In spite of a great deal of theoretical discussion, especially in the arenas of international and private-organization decision making, behavioral-empirical research has been unable to make much use of decision-making

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models in a systematic fashion. The notion of decision as the problematic focus of analysis has directed research attention to decision makers' attributes and the premises underlying their actions. But contextual and situational factors have eluded systematic analysis. With a few exceptions (Snyder & Paige 1958; Dahl 1957a), decisionmaking models in all their complexity have not been applied in political behavior research. Nevertheless, the possibility of breaking down the decision-making process into component parts that can be examined without necessary reference to the total process promises empirically testable research propositions [see DECISION MAKING]. Communication. Communication models to analyze political processes—in contrast to the study of communication as a social process in its own right—have only recently been used in political behavior research, and so far not with satisfactory results [see COMMUNICATION, POLITICAL]. That communication as a concrete process is a critical variable affecting political processes and outcomes is clear enough, but as a model, the communication process seems more appropriate in analyzing macro political phenomena (Deutsch 1953; 1963) than individual political behavior (Milbrath 1963). One of the difficulties with communication models on the level of individual political behavior is that, precisely because communication is a universal component of all social relations, a communication model is likely to be a rather weak conceptual tool for explaining highly specific political processes. Power analysis. Though no concept has been more central in political analysis than power and though no concept is more easily apprehended by common sense, its utility as a tool of behavioral research seems to be limited—not only because of definitional difficulties but also because of operational obstacles. Students of political behavior find it relatively easy to identify the bases of power or the scope of power (Lasswell & Kaplan 1950), but power relationships are extraordinarily difficult to identify and even more difficult to measure (Dahl 1957b). As a result, power is rapidly losing ground from the point of view of its operational, if not analytical, utility. Attempts to use the concept have been made in community and legislative behavior research, but the more research there is, the more elusive the concept of power appears to be [see POWER]. Role analysis. An increasing number of political behavior studies utilize concepts borrowed from sociological or social-psychological formulations of social role [see ROLE]. Of course, role analysis and whatever problems it is focused on—role conflict,

role consensus, role structures, and so on—do not stand by themselves. Role analysis is likely to be combined with other theoretical notions, such as those of system, decision making, or power, and is most useful in structural-functional approaches to the political process (Almond & Coleman I960; Wahlke et al. 1962; Barber 1965). It promises to be especially useful in closing the gap between macro analysis and micro analysis of politics (Eulau 1963). Inventory—state of methods and techniques Political behavior analysis has made very few original and independent contributions to research techniques and practically none to methodology. Rather, it has borrowed heavily from the other behavioral sciences, with the result that behavioral research on politics has generally lagged behind substantive discoveries in cognate fields. Interestingly, some of the most valuable research techniques that political behavior analysis can claim as its own were pioneered in the pre-World War n era, before the impact of the technological revolution in the behavioral sciences was felt in political science. The analysis of legislative roll calls by way of simple measures of likeness and cohesion (Rice 1928), content analysis of mass communication media (Lasswell 1927), and cluster-bloc analysis (Beyle 1931) are examples of creatively original technical innovations in the study of politics in the earlier period. Of course, other techniques were used as well by a handful of scholars, such as field interviewing, the mail questionnaire, punch-card data processing (Merriam & Gosnell 1924), the controlled field experiment (Gosnell 1927), and the sample survey (C. Robinson 1932), but concern with methodology has not been a hallmark of political inquiry until fairly recently. It is now recognized that political behavior research is necessarily facilitated or impeded by the state of methodological sophistication and technical know-how at a given time. Especially needed today is a corps of trained and skilled research workers who are able to use, and recognize the limitations of, the modern methods. While the training of research workers improved in the years after World War n, it is still generally deficient in view of the rapidity of technological development, especially in comparison with the training given in neighboring disciplines. It is true, of course, that concern with methods tends to direct research attention to areas of inquiry where data can be most readily harvested, processed, packaged, and distributed. As already mentioned, political behavior was for some time

POLITICAL BEHAVIOR primarily identified with voting behavior, largely because of the ready availability of aggregated election returns in many jurisdictions. But it was the development of the random sample survey and the use of panels—especially in the Erie County study of 1940 (Lazarsfeld et al. 1944), in the study of Elmira, N.Y. (Berelson et al. 1954), and in studies of presidential elections in the United States by the Survey Research Center, University of Michigan (Campbell et al. 1954; Michigan, University of 1960) that made possible the analysis of mass political behavior on the level of the individual person. The success of systematic interviewing in the study of voting and public opinion gradually encouraged researchers to employ these techniques in the study of institutionalized populations, like legislatures, bureaucracies, or courts, which are of special interest to the political scientist. The use of the interview in institutionalized groups in turn helped close the gap between behavioral and institutional analysis and made possible much more carefully controlled comparative study of formal governmental structures (Wahlke et al. 1962). Methodological development as a requisite of empirical inquiry is especially critical in a field like international relations where direct observation of political behavior on the level of group or individual is extraordinarily difficult. Nevertheless, recent efforts suggest future possibilities. Noteworthy are the application of the technique of the semantic differential and computer programming in the content analysis of state papers (North et al. 1963), the simulation of international behavior in laboratory decision-making groups and computer gaming (Guetzkow et al. 1963; Brody 1963), and the construction and exploitation of aggregate indicators of state behavior for the purpose of linking internal and external aspects of politics (Deutsch 1960). Problems In the third quarter of the twentieth century numerous problems of an empirical, theoretical, and methodological nature continue to limit the promises and prospects of a behavioral science of politics. Many of these problems are shared by the behavioral sciences generally. But some, it seems, stem from the character of politics as a particular mode of human action; even if these problems are not peculiar to politics, they are especially troublesome in the study of that particular field. The problem of theory. It is an ideal of science that theoretical explanation should remain within a system of definitions, axioms, theorems, and postulates. Yet at the present stage of development no single theory of politics seems adequate to cope

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with all the problems encountered in political research. In the task of testing theoretically derived propositions the researcher is certainly free to ignore data that do not seem to be immediately appropriate. However, if the purpose of research is to describe, predict, and explain political behavior in the real world, there is an irresistible strain toward departure from theoretical purity and toward adoption of concepts and categories of analysis alien to initial theoretical formulation. Such departure from theoretical consistency tends to make disproof of hypotheses impossible or extremely difficult. Yet to limit research to only those occurrences that can be accounted for by a single theory would tend to rigidify political behavior research and obstruct its usefulness in the creation of new knowledge about politics. It is for this reason, probably, that political behavior analysis will continue to be, for some time to come, catholic and eclectic. The macro-micro problem. Although concrete political action is invariably the behavior of individual human actors, the politically significant units of action are groups, associations, organizations, communities, states, and other collectivities. While referring to the "behavior" of such collectivities is readily recognized as necessary shorthand, the problem of how meaningful statements about collectivities can be made on the basis of inquiry into the behavior of individual political actors remains. The problem involves constructing, not only theoretically but also empirically, the chain of interactions and transactions that links the individual actor to the collectivities of which he is a part. In trying to solve the problem, a number of fallacies are possible. For instance, there is the fallacy of extrapolation from micro to macro phenomena. Small units are treated as analogues of large ones, and the findings on the micro level are extended to the macro level. There is the fallacy of personification : large-scale phenomena are reduced to the individual level through the use of anthropomorphic categories of analysis, as in the more grotesque descriptions of "national character." Or there is the fallacy of misplaced concreteness: interactional and relational phenomena are reified and treated as if they were physical entities. The problem of observation. Even at the least complex level, that of the individual, a great deal of political behavior is private, and at the most complex levels it is deliberately secret. Direct observation—whether of the citizen in the voting booth or the diplomat in interstate negotiations or the top-level decision maker at the apex of a political structure—is impossible. Moreover, there is

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likely to be an inverse relation between an actor's importance in the political system and his accessibility to research. As a result, the data of political behavior analysis are to a large degree secondary and phenomenological, creating problems of accuracy and validity that are difficult to handle. Even where political behavior is relatively open and public, as in deliberative bodies in democracies, the large number of actors constituting the collectivity whose behavior must be observed tends to defy direct observation, necessitating reliance on interviews. For both of these reasons—the paradox of privacy in presumably public action and the complexity of the action systems of interest to the observer of politics—political behavior analysis continues to rely largely either on inferences drawn from what political actors are willing to reveal or on inferences drawn from observable stimuli or from consequences of political actions. The problem of aggregation. Problems also arise out of the relationship between discrete and aggregate data. What may be true of aggregates need not be true of the individuals who compose them. Generalizations from aggregate data have been found untenable when tested against information about the behavior and attitudes of individuals (Miller 1955/1956). In other words, the use of aggregated data is likely to conceal a good deal of the variance in the behavior of individuals, which the use of discrete data reveals. Yet aggregate data are often the only kind of behavioral data that are available. On the other hand, even if individual data are available and aggregated so that statements about collectivities can be made, such aggregation may still do violence to findings about individual behavior. Aggregation has, of course, the advantage of showing what variance remains to be explained. But what is meant empirically by a group's loyalty, a party's cohesion, or an organization's morale has not been answered. It is seldom clear whether such conceptions refer to a "group property" that is independent of the behavior of the individuals composing a group or to the aggregated characteristics of individuals. The intensity-extensity problem. Political behavior research is also challenged by the gap between intensive case studies and more extensive, systematic analysis. A number of questions arise. Although there are many case studies of political behavior in all substantive fields of political science, the grounds on which the cases are selected are usually obscure. In other words, the assumptions of random sampling in the selection of cases are not met, with resultant difficulties for either the typicality or significance of findings. The re-

searcher's substantive interests or convenience seem to be the guiding criteria. Most case studies deal with exciting, spectacular, and perhaps critical situations rather than with more modal ones. Moreover, few case studies are cast in a theoretical framework that is geared to the problem of cumulative knowledge. Finally, although case studies are said to be rich sources of hypotheses for future systematic research, few follow-up studies are ever made (for an exception, see J. Robinson 1962). How can the relatively few but intensively studied cases be integrated into systematic research? That question remains on the agenda of future work in political behavior analysis. The problem of comparability. The accumulation of political behavior research makes sense only if, in due time, different studies of a systematic nature can be compared. Yet such comparability is difficult to achieve because indexes used by different researchers are often ambiguous and unstable. Because either conceptual or empirical equivalence between indicators is lacking, it is questionable just what it is that is being compared. Comparison, as a result, does not differ very much from the common-sense comparison of the layman. Comparative analysis has largely failed to remove from undisciplined and possibly arbitrary determination of similarities and differences those elements that are either irrelevant to comparison or perhaps even spurious. Moreover, comparison has not been systematic in the selection and control of the data from which inferences about the existence of uniformities and regularities are to be made. Agreement among analysts about the indicators that are to be used for specific concepts and about which controls and what degree of control should be minimally required is a desideratum of political behavior analysis that is yet to be attained. The problem of change. Most political behavior research is cross-sectional, dealing with the actions of individuals, collectivities, or aggregates at one point in time or over a relatively short period. As a result, most political behavior research has been ahistorical, the justification often being that the discovery of functional rather than causal relations is the objective of inquiry. But avoidance of the causal challenge does not solve the problem of studying change through time. It is, of course, possible to compare the behavior of cross sections or individuals through time and venture inferences about change from such comparison. But the method is unsatisfactory because changes may be in opposite directions and compensatory, making only for marginal results that indicate little or no change. Furthermore, if the time span is short, as it often

POLITICAL BEHAVIOR is, it is likely to reflect a sequence of possibly "unique" events and make for spurious inferences about causation. The dilemma of studying change through time must ultimately be solved by longitudinal studies. Longitudinal research on political behavior, using the individual as the unit of analysis, is probably the most dependable technique of studying the process of cause and effect, for it permits description of the direction, degree, rate, and character of political change. These are only some of the problems facing political behavior analysis. To point them up is hardly a sign of the weakness of the discipline. Rather, it is a precondition of scientific growth and development. Evaluation The emergence of political behavior analysis occasioned a number of controversies in political science as a whole. Some of these disputes stemmed from personal misunderstanding or distrust, but others centered on fundamental disagreements over the nature and functions of a science of politics in society. Quite often, controversies deriving from irreconcilable premises, on the one hand, and those based on misunderstanding, on the other hand, were confused, making for uneasy coalitions among opponents and proponents of the new trends. Charges and countercharges tended to deepen rather than resolve often fictitious cleavages (Charlesworth 1962). That political behavior analysts spoke in a language strange to the ears of more traditional scholars was certainly one source of suspicion. Other sources of difficulty were that political behavior analysts seemed happy with using in their research what traditionalists considered "gadgets" and "gimmicks"; that they seemed to be dealing in trivialities; that they sometimes exhibited a lack of respect for conventional scholarship; and that they turned their backs on problems of value and prescription. In some respects, all of these charges contained elements of truth, although from the perspective of the behavioralists they were largely made for the wrong reasons. On the other hand, proponents of behavioral analysis were critical of the mainstream of political science and its major tributaries because the discipline did not seem to measure up to the requirements of a genuine science of politics (Easton 1953). Traditional political scientists were charged with hopelessly confusing statements of fact and statements of value; grossly neglecting the subtle problems that beset the move from evidence to inference; dealing in global statements for which

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there was only flimsy proof at best; advocating reforms and proposing policies that pretended to be based on knowledge where there was little or none; using concepts that were immune to research operations; or indulging in tautological explanations or armchair speculations. This type of mutual harassment has largely disappeared in the middle 1960s. Rather than criticizing traditional scholarship, political behavior analysts are devoting their energies to the research tasks at hand. In particular, the largely fictitious gap between behavioral and institutional analysis separating empiricists has been closed (Ranney 1962). Analysts of both institutions and public policies have come to appreciate the utility of behavioral research for their own concerns. One could conclude that the mainstream of political science has been successfully channeled in a direction that accepts different emphases—institutional, behavioral, legal, and historical—as mutually complementary rather than divergent. Increasing sophistication about the relationship between empirical research of all kinds and the problems of public policy has reconciled both the science-oriented and the policy-oriented students of the political process [see POLICY SCIENCES]. Behavioral analysis has become self-consciously theoretical, and theoreticians have become increasingly aware of their responsibility to make their work empirically relevant. Resolute resistance to political behavior analysis as one mode of inquiry in political science is now largely restricted to a small group of theorists who believe that all important political questions can be answered only by insight into and deduction from philosophical premises involving some conception of "the nature of political man" (Storing 1962). There remain, of course, disagreements within the camp of political behavioralists, but these disagreements relate to problems of strategy and tactics in theory and research rather than to fundamental questions of knowledge. There are those who would start with the accumulation of raw facts and let the facts speak for themselves. There are those, at the other extreme, who believe that political behavior analysis will not get off the ground unless it begins with rigorous deductive-logical, if not mathematical, models of political systems and processes. By far the largest contingent among political behavioralists begins with somewhat less rigorous theoretical formulations of problems in the real world of politics and lets theoretical and empirical work fertilize each other. In general, whether favoring the inductive or the deductive theoretical outlook, most political behavior analysts agree that

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theory is not knowledge but only a tool for gaining knowledge, just as facts are not knowledge but only raw materials that must be translated into statements acceptable as probably true because they have been tested in the crucible of empirical research. HEINZ EULAU [See also POLITICAL SCIENCE.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

ADORNO, THEODOR W. et al. 1950 The Authoritarian Personality. American Jewish Committee, Social Studies Series, No. 3. New York: Harper. AGGER, ROBERT E.; GOLDRICH, DANIEL; and SWANSON, BERT 1964 The Rulers and the Ruled: Political Power and Impotence in American Communities. New York: Wiley. ALMOND, GABRIEL A. (1950) 1960 The American People and Foreign Policy. New York: Praeger. ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and COLEMAN, JAMES S. (editors) 1960 The Politics of the Developing Areas. Princeton Univ. Press. ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and VERBA, SIDNEY 1963 The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Princeton Univ. Press. AFTER, DAVID E. (editor) 1964 Ideology and Discontent. International Yearbook of Political Behavior Research, Vol. 5. New York: Free Press. BAILEY, STEPHEN K. 1950 Congress Makes a Law: The Story Behind the Employment Act of 1946. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. BANFIELD, EDWARD C. (1961) 1965 Political Influence. New York: Free Press. BARBER, JAMES D. 1965 The Lawmakers. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. B*;ARD, CHARLES A. (1913)1935 An Economic Interpretation of the Constitution of the United States. New York: Macmillan. -» A paperback edition was published in 1962. BENTLEY, ARTHUR F. (1908) 1949 The Process of Government: A Study of Social Pressures. Introduction by H. T. Davis. Bloomington, Ind.: Principia Press. BERELSON, BERNARD; LAZARSFELD, PAUL F.; and McPHEE, WILLIAM N. 1954 Voting: A Study of Opinion Formation in a Presidential Campaign. Univ. of Chicago Press. BEYLE, HERMAN C. 1931 Identification and Analysis of Attribute-cluster-blocs. Univ. of Chicago Press. BLAU, PETER (1955) 1963 The Dynamics of Bureaucracy: A Study of Interpersonal Relations in Two Government Agencies. Rev. ed. Univ. of Chicago Press. BRODY, RICHARD A. 1963 Some Systemic Effects of the Spread of Nuclear Weapons Technology: A Study Through Simulation of a Multi-nuclear Future. Journal of Conflict Resolution 7:663-753. BUTLER, DAVID E. 1962 The Study of Political Behavior in Britain. Pages 209-216 in Austin Ranney (editor), Essays on the Behavioral Study of Politics. Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press. BUTLER, DAVID E.; and ROSE, RICHARD 1960 The British General Election of 1959. London: Macmillan; New York: St. Martins. CAMPBELL, ANGUS; GURIN, GERALD; and MILLER, WARREN E. 1954 The Voter Decides. Evanston, 111.: Row, Peterson.

CATLIN, GEORGE E. G. 1927 The Science and Method of Politics. New York: Knopf; London: Routledge. CHARLESWORTH, JAMES C. (editor) 1962 The Limits of Behavioralism in Political Science: A Symposium. Philadelphia: American Academy of Political and Social Science. DAHL, ROBERT A. 1957a Decision-making in a Democracy: The Supreme Court as a National Policy-maker. Journal of Public Law 6:279-295. DAHL, ROBERT A. 1957b The Concept of Power. Behavioral Science 2:201-215. DAHL, ROBERT A. (1961a) 1963 Who Governs? Democracy and Power in an American City. Yale Studies in Political Science, No. 4. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. DAHL, ROBERT A. 1961b The Behavioral Approach in Political Science: Epitaph for a Monument to a Successful Protest. American Political Science Review 55: 763-772. Decisions in Syracuse, by Roscoe C. Martin et al. Metropolitan Action Studies, No. 1. 1961 Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press. DEUTSCH, KARL W. 1953 Nationalism and Social Communication: An Inquiry Into the Foundations of Nationality. Cambridge, Mass.: Technology Press of M.I.T.; New York: Wiley. DEUTSCH, KARL W. 1960 Toward an Inventory of Basic Trends and Patterns in Comparative and International Politics. American Political Science Review 54:34-57. DEUTSCH, KARL W. 1963 The Nerves of Government: Models of Political Communication and Control. New York: Free Press. DOWNS, ANTHONY 1957 An Economic Theory of Democracy. New York: Harper. EASTON, DAVID 1953 The Political System: An Inquiry Into the State of Political Science. New York: Knopf. EASTON, DAVID 1957 An Approach to the Analysis of Political Systems. World Politics 9:383-400. EASTON, DAVID 1965 A Framework for Political Analysis. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall. EULAU, HEINZ 1963 The Behavioral Persuasion in Politics. New York: Random House. EULAU, HEINZ; ELDERSVELD, SAMUEL J.; and JANOWITZ, MORRIS (editors) 1956 Political Behavior: A Reader in Theory and Research. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. FENNO, RICHARD F. 1962 The House Appropriations Committee as a Political System: The Problem of Integration. American Political Science Review 56: 310-324. FRIEDRICH, CARL J. (1937)1950 Constitutional Government and Democracy: Theory and Practice in Europe and America. Rev. ed. Boston: Ginn. -»• Originally published as Constitutional Government and Politics: Nature and Development. GARCEAU, OLIVER 1951 Research in the Political Process. American Political Science Review 45:69-85. GOLEMBIEWSKI, ROBERT T. 1962 The Small Group: An Analysis of Research Concepts and Operations. Univ. of Chicago Press. GOSNELL, HAROLD F. 1927 Getting Out the Vote: An Experiment in the Stimulation of Voting. Univ. of Chicago Press. GOSNELL, HAROLD F. 1930 Why Europe Votes. University of Chicago, Social Science Studies, No. 19. Univ. of Chicago Press. GREENSTEIN, FRED I. 1965 Children and Politics. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press.

POLITICAL BEHAVIOR GROSSER, ALFRED 1960 Die politisch-wissenschaftliche Forschung in Frankreich. Pages 39-63 in Otto Stammer (editor), Politische Forschung. Cologne (Germany ): Westdeutscher Verlag. GRUMM, JOHN G. 1963 A Factor Analysis of Legislative Behavior. Midwest Journal of Political Science 7:336356. GUETZKOW, HAROLD et al. 1963 Simulation in International Relations: Developments for Research and Teaching. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall. HUNTER, FLOYD 1953 Community Power Structure: A Study of Decision Makers. Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1963 by Doubleday. HUNTINGTON, SAMUEL P. (editor) 1962 Changing Patterns of Military Politics. International Yearbook of Political Behavior Research, Vol. 3. New York: Free Press. HYMAN, HERBERT H. 1959 Political Socialization: A Study in the Psychology of Political Behavior. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. INTERUNIVERSITY SUMMER SEMINAR ON POLITICAL BEHAVIOR, SOCIAL SCIENCE RESEARCH COUNCIL 1952 Research in Political Behavior. American Political Science Review 46:1003-1045. JANOWITZ, MORRIS 1960 The Professional Soldier: A Social and Political Portrait. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. JANOWITZ, MORRIS (editor) 1961 Community Political Systems. International Yearbook of Political Behavior Research, Vol. 1. New York: Free Press. JANOWITZ, MORRIS; and MARVICK, DWAINE 1956 Competitive Pressure and Democratic Consent: An Interpretation of the 1952 Presidential Election. Michigan Governmental Studies, No. 32. Ann Arbor: Univ. of Michigan Press. KAUFMAN, HERBERT 1960 The Forest Ranger: A Study in Administrative Behavior. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. KELMAN, HERBERT C. (editor) 1965 International Behavior: A Social-Psychological Analysis. New York: Holt. KEY, VALDIMER O. 1949 Southern'Politics in State and Nation. New York: Knopf. -* A paperback edition was published in 1962 by Random House. KEY, VALDIMER O. 1956 American State Politics: An Introduction. New York: Knopf. KEY, VALDIMER O. 1961 Public Opinion and American Democracy. New York: Knopf. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. (1927) 1938 Propaganda Technique in the World War. Gloucester, Mass.: Smith. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. (1930) 1960 Psychopathology and Politics. New ed., with afterthoughts by the author. New York: Viking. LASSWELL, HAROLD D.; and KAPLAN, ABRAHAM 1950 Power and Society: A Framework for Political Inquiry. Yale Law School Studies, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. -» A paperback edition was published in 1963. LAZARSFELD, PAUL F.; BERELSON, BERNARD; and GAUDET, HAZEL (1944) 1948 The People's Choice: How the Voter Makes Up His Mind in a Presidential Campaign. 2d ed. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. LEISERSON, AVERY 1958 Parties and Politics: An Institutional and Behavioral Approach. New York: Knopf. LIPPMANN, WALTER (1922) 1944 Public Opinion. New York: Macmillan.

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LIPSET, SEYMOUR M. 1960 Political Man: The Social Bases of Politics. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. LIPSET, SEYMOUR M.; TROW, MARTIN A.; and COLEMAN, JAMES S. 1956 Union Democracy: The Internal Politics of the International Typographical Union. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. LOWELL, A. LAWRENCE 1901 The Influence of Party Upon Legislation in England and America. American Historical Association, Annual Report 1:321-542. MACRAE, DUNCAN 1958 Dimensions of Congressional Voting: A Statistical Study of the House of Representatives in the Eighty-first Congress. University of California Publications in Sociology and Social Institutions, Vol. 1, no. 3. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press. MARCH, JAMES G.; and SIMON, HERBERT A. 1958 Organizations. New York: Wiley. MARVICK, DWAINE 1954 Career Perspectives in a Bureaucratic Setting. Michigan Governmental Studies, No. 27. Ann Arbor: Univ. of Michigan Press. MARVICK, DWAINE (editor) 1961 Political Decisionmakers. International Yearbook of Political Behavior Research, Vol. 2. New York: Free Press. MATTHEWS, DONALD R. 1960 U.S. Senators and Their World. Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press. MERRIAM, CHARLES E. (1925) 1931 New Aspects of Politics. 2d ed. Univ. of Chicago Press. MERRIAM, CHARLES E.; and GOSNELL, HAROLD F. 1924 Non-voting: Causes and Methods of Control. Univ. of Chicago Press. MEYERSON, MARTIN; and BANFIELD, EDWARD C. 1955 Politics, Planning, and the Public Interest: The Case of Public Housing in Chicago. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. MICHIGAN, UNIVERSITY OF, SURVEY RESEARCH CENTER 1960 The American Voter, by Angus Campbell et al. New York: Wiley. MILBRATH, LESTER W. 1963 The Washington Lobbyists. Chicago: Rand McNally. MILLER, WARREN E. 1955/1956 Presidential Coattails: A Study in Political Myth and Methodology. Public Opinion Quarterly 19:353-368. MILLER, WARREN E.; and STOKES, DONALD E. 1963 Constituency Influence in Congress. American Political Science Review 57:45-56. MITCHELL, WILLIAM C. 1962 The American Polity: A Social and Cultural Interpretation. New York: Free Press. NORTH, ROBERT C. et al. 1963 Content Analysis: A Handbook With Applications for the Study of International Crisis. Evanston, 111.: Northwestern Univ. Press. II parlamento italiano: 1946-1963. A research directed by Giovanni Sartori. 1963 Naples (Italy): Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane. PARSONS, TALCOTT 1937 The Structure of Social Action. New York: McGraw-Hill. PEABODY, ROBERT L. 1964 Organizational Authority: Superior-Subordinate Relationships in Three Public Service Organizations. New York: Atherton. PELTASON, JACK W. 1955 Federal Courts in the Political Process. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. POLSBY, NELSON W. 1963 Community Power and Political Theory. Yale Studies in Political Science, Vol. 7. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. POOL, ITHIEL DE SOLA 1952 Symbols of Democracy. Stanford (Calif.) Univ. Press. PRITCHETT, C. HERMAN (1948) 1963 The Roosevelt Court: A Study in Judicial Politics and Values, 19371947. New York: Octagon Books.

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RANNEY, AUSTIN (editor) 1962 Essays on the Behavioral Study of Politics. Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press. RICE, STUART A. 1928 Quantitative Methods in Politics. New York: Knopf. ROBINSON, CLAUDE E. 1932 Straw Votes: A Study of Political Prediction. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. ROBINSON, JAMES A. 1962 Congress and Foreign Policymaking: A Study in Legislative Influence and Initiative. Homewood, 111.: Dorsey. ROKKAN, STEIN; and VALEN, HENRY 1960 Parties, Elections and Political Behaviour in the Northern Countries. Pages 103-136 in Otto Stammer (editor), Politische Forschung. Cologne (Germany): Westdeutscher Verlag. ROSENAU, JAMES N. (editor) 1961 International Politics and Foreign Policy: A Reader in Research and Theory. New York: Free Press. ROSENBLUM, VICTOR G. 1955 Law as a Political Instrument. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. -» A paperback edition was published in 1964 by Random House. SAYRE, WALLACE S.; and KAUFMAN, HERBERT 1960 Governing New York City: Politics in the Metropolis. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. SCHMIDHAUSER, JOHN R. 1960 The Supreme Court: Its Politics, Personalities and Procedures. New York: Holt. SCHUBERT, GLENDON 1960 Quantitative Analysis of Judicial Behavior. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. SCHUBERT, GLENDON (editor) 1963 Judicial Decisionmaking. International Yearbook of Political Behavior Research, Vol. 4. New York: Free Press. SCHUBERT, GLENDON (editor) 1964 Judicial Behavior: A Reader in Theory and Research. Chicago: Rand McNally. SELZNICK, PHILIP 1949 TVA and the Grass Roots: A Study in the Sociology of Formal Organization. University of California Publications in Culture and Society, Vol. 3. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press. SHAPIRO, MARTIN 1964 Law and Politics in the Supreme Court: New Approaches to Political Jurisprudence. New York: Free Press. SIMON, HERBERT A. (1947)1957 Administrative Behavior: A Study of Decision-making Processes in Administrative Organization. 2d ed. New York: Macmillan. SINGER, J. DAVID 1965 Human Behavior and International Politics: Contributions From the Social—Psychological Sciences. Chicago: Rand McNally. SNYDER, RICHARD C.; and PAIGE, GLENN D. 1958 The United States Decision to Resist Aggression in Korea: The Application of an Analytical Scheme. Administrative Science Quarterly 3:341-378. STAMMER, OTTO (editor) 1960 Politische Forschung: Beitrdge zum zehnjdhrigen Bestehen des Instituts fur Politische Wissenschaft. Cologne (Germany): Westdeutscher Verlag. STORING, HERBERT J. (editor) 1962 Essays on the Scientific Study of Politics. New York: Holt. TINGSTEN, HERBERT (1937) 1963 Political Behavior: Studies in Election Statistics. Stockholm Economic Studies, No. 7. Totowa, N.J.: Bedminster Press. -> First published in Swedish. TRUMAN, DAVID B. (1951) 1962 The Governmental Process: Political Interests and Public Opinion. New York: Knopf. TRUMAN, DAVID B. 1955 The Impact on Political Science of the Revolution in the Behavioral Sciences. Pages 202-231 in Research Frontiers in Politics and Government. Washington: Brookings Institution.

TRUMAN, DAVID B. 1959 The Congressional Party: A Case Study. New York: Wiley. TURNER, JULIUS 1952 Party and Constituency: Pressures on Congress. Johns Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science, Series 69, No. 1. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. VERSA, SIDNEY 1961 Small Groups and Political Behavior: A Study of Leadership. Princeton Univ. Press. WAHLKE, JOHN et al. 1962 The Legislative System: Explorations in Legislative Behavior. New York: Wiley. WALLAS, GRAHAM (1908) 1962 Human Nature in Politics. 4th ed. Gloucester, Mass.: Smith. WILENSKY, HAROLD L. 1956 Intellectuals in Labor Unions: Organizational Pressures on Professional Roles. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press.

POLITICAL BOSS See POLITICAL MACHINES. POLITICAL CLUBS A political club is an organization to which members are attracted primarily by nonmaterial, associational incentives in order to influence the outcome of elections, the leadership of political parties, or the conduct of public affairs. These associational incentives are nonmaterial rewards accruing to members because of their sense of belonging and their relations with other members. It is this incentive system that distinguishes a club from other forms of political organization. A political organization that relies on specific, material incentives (usually money or things easily valued in money terms) is a jnachiiie; one that relies on the personal attachment of the members to a particular leader is a folloiving, especially if the connection is not formalized and club quarters are not provided. An interest group is distinguished from a club by its relying on a shared interest or purpose (group serving or public serving) rather than on the satisfactions that arise from solidarity with other members or with the club as an entity. The distinctions among these kinds of political organizations are analytical, not concrete; in reality, many organizations are mixed cases. Where the dominant mode of attachment—the primary incentive—is the sociability, camaraderie, and prestige of membership, we may use the term "club" with assurance. Generally speaking, a clublike attachment is evidenced by certain tangible criteria: a formal membership roster that distinguishes those "in" from those "out," a regular meeting place where members periodically come together, and a series of planned events that serve to affirm the members' solidarity and organize their conviviality. Political organizations that have all the charac-

POLITICAL CLUBS teristics of clubs—nonmaterial incentives, formal membership, regular meetings—except that they rely for inducement entirely on common purposes (for example, an ideology) and not at all on sociability arc hard to classify. In principle persons may associate together for the loftiest political purposes even though they dislike each other intensely; in practice such cases are rare. In general, nonideological incentives are important even in ideological associations; the more important they are, the more appropriate is the term "club." Organizations that rely wholly on ideology as an inducement rarely, if ever, display all the outward and visible signs of a club. Functions of clubs. Political clubs perform different functions, such as the following: (1) Symbolic—the club may form, manifest, or intensify political opinion or loyalty, drawing like-minded persons together both to heighten and make articulate their commitment and to demonstrate this commitment to others. (2) Resource—political resources, particularly money and prestige, may be mobilized by a club and made available to a party or to a faction within a party. (3) Leadership— efforts to mantain or capture the leadership of a political party may be organized and stimulated by a political club, the target of such efforts being either the party's general organization (for instance, the convention or executive committee) or the party in the legislature, or both. (4) Electoral —the voter, rather than a party, may be the object of action, the club seeking to register him, convince him, and bring him to the polls. A club may—and usually does—perform more than one function, but some combinations are more likely than others. The symbolic and resource functions tend to be associated in one kind of club, the leadership and electoral functions in another. In the first case the club exchanges associational benefits for the member's funds, the member's assent to a statement of purpose, or the right to use the member's name; in the second case the club's inducements must compensate the member for considerable expenditure of time and effort, often on tedious and unrewarding tasks (soliciting votes, for example). The first kind of club might be called a solidary association, the second a "combat" organization. Clubs suitable for one role are as a result often unsuitable for the other (for example, persons who join a club to partake of its status or to lend it theirs are not likely to attach a high value to routine electoral work among lower-class voters). Age and class influence the functions of clubs. Men whose success in life has given them the prestige and funds valued by a political club are

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likely also to be men sufficiently advanced in years, in career, and in status to have little time or inclination for the routine, conflict-laden aspects of politics; on the other hand, men too young or too lacking in family connections to have money and status are also likely to regard political labors as an opportunity rather than a burden. History. The earliest political clubs in England and the United States tended to be primarily solidary associations brought into being by political notables in order to symbolize (and in part to create) an emerging political party and to mobilize resources for the conduct of its affairs. In London the most influential aristocrats, ministers, and members of Parliament had for years gathered informally at White's or Brook's, private gambling and drinking clubs that began as business ventures but acquired political overtones owing to their patronage by the various pariamentary factions that were beginning to coalesce into the early Tory and Whig parties. These clubs were essentially social organizations (Brook's was made famous by the gambling exploits of Charles James Fox and the Prince of Wales); although each acquired a partisan flavor, there were some Whig members in the predominantly Tory White's club and some Tories at the Whig center, Brook's. After passage of the Reform Act of 1832, British party managers faced the necessity of registering a sizable number of newly enfranchised voters and of bringing together into an electoral organization the various factions and "connexions" that had flourished in the era of "rotten borough" politics. The Tories organized the Carlton Club and the Whigs the Reform Club. Both were intended to be political associations, but neither relied on party program to maintain the support of the members; rather, elegant dinners, the prestige of membership, and comfortable quarters kept the subscription lists filled. Because the clubs were almost exclusively upper class, many rank-and-file party workers and parliamentary backbenchers were not members. Status was often more important than ideology; several prominent members were allowed to remain even though ideologically they were backsliders, but not even the most ideologically pure candidate was admitted if he was not a "gentleman." The more middle-class clubs were often ideologically rigorous (the Conservative Club, founded in 1840, was apparently more intolerant of deviants than was the Carlton). In the United States no great national political clubs arose comparable to the Carlton or Reform; the localistic nature of American politics led to the establishment of local clubs. The Boston

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Caucus Club met irregularly in the 1760s. In the 1790s Democratic and Republican societies (often modeled after Jacobin clubs) were established in most states to challenge the Federalist domination of the national government; these short-lived associations served, under the leadership of "mother societies" i^ Philadelphia, as intermediate forms between the politics of the great family "connexions" and the politics of the mass parties of later years. In both England and the United States the clubs attempted to unite various wings of the parties, to provide central meeting places for activists and stopping places for sympathetic travelers, to supply funds and candidates for the constituencies, to influence newspapers and public opinion, and, in a few cases, to direct parliamentary strategy. It is easy to exaggerate their success in these matters; the clubs were, after all, a transitional political form whose functions were in the hands of parttime, lay members, many of them more interested in conviviality than in conviction. The need for full-time, professional party management grew increasingly evident, particularly as the franchise was steadily widened. The clubs began by supporting paid party managers and were ultimately supplanted by them. Clubs grew fastest in periods when the franchise was being enlarged and in areas where party competition was keenest. The club was an appropriate device for denning the party's identity and mobilizing its resources as long as the party consisted to some degree of like-minded persons; with the growth of a mass party, particularly under conditions of two-party competition, the party became too heterogeneous to be represented by a single solidary association and the requirements of party combat too demanding to be left to part-time amateurs. A centralized political structure, as in England, vested power increasingly in the parties' parliamentary leadership; party managers became the agents of this leadership. In the United States a highly decentralized political system saw the growth of local, not national, clubs (the Tammany Society, founded in 1789, was a conspicuous example) that either were assimilated into the regular party apparatus (the "members" becoming in fact paid party workers, precinct captains, and ward leaders for whom the "club" was a source of tangible more than intangible benefits) or became organizations through which insurgents challenged regular party leadership in hopes of obtaining the perquisites of power or of reforming the system of politics. Between 1868 and 1885 the number of political

clubs in London grew from 5 to 14 and the number of members from approximately 6,700 to over 25,000 (Hanham 1959). Most of this growth was accounted for by middle-class clubs, many of which provided London quarters for visiting politicians and dignitaries from the provinces. In addition, both parties—from about 1867—sought to extend their influence among the lower classes by fostering the growth of workingmen's associations and clubs in the wards. Such clubs, created from the top down, provided, for a small subscription fee, "plain and homely facilities" in which the principal attraction was the bar. In New York City and other large American cities such working-class clubs grew up spontaneously; whereas in politically centralized England there was little incentive other than sociability to bring persons together in such clubs, in America there was in addition the lure of the power, offices, and jobs available from ward and city politics. From the nineteenth century on, there were in England and America a number of clubs devoted as much to political argumentation as to sociability; in England these "local Houses of Commons" consisted of zealous young men, eager for a variety of causes and candidates, who were debarred by poverty or lack of connections from the traditional entry route (via the university) into politics. In the United States a hundred years later local Democratic clubs sprang up in New York, Illinois, California, and several other states where zealous young men and women felt themselves debarred from the traditional entry route into politics because they had a university education and strong convictions. These college-educated liberal Democrats sought to use the club as a device for (in New York) "reforming" the party leadership from within or (in California) committing the party's candidate to a particular policy position. The political club, which began as a device for bringing the prestige and wealth of aristocrats into a regularized association with nascent parties, now exists most commonly in the United States as an association in which young middle-class amateurs struggle against the regular party machinery in order to advance both their principles and their ambition. Where the earliest clubs stressed elegance and exclusiveness, contemporary clubs are likely to stress Robert's Rules of Order and community issues. The role of clubs. The club, whatever its form, has only seldom been successful in overcoming class differences. Naturally the solidary political club had no interest in becoming a multiclass association; its exclusiveness was a principal incentive. The combat club often strove to attract mem-

POLITICAL CLUBS bers from a variety of groups, but the middle-class and often professional or even intellectual leadership of the club was typically unable to make club life attractive to working-class members. Many of the Jacobin clubs in late eighteenth-century France achieved a very diverse membership, but usually only after the advent of the Terror had transformed the club from a middle-class gentlemen's literary, social, or freemason society into a powerful instrument of ideology and local government. Aaron Burr used the Tammany Society as a vehicle for mobilizing both wealth and votes, but by 1872 the Irish had driven the Anglo-Saxon Protestants out of leadership, and men of lower-class antecedents had displaced the merchants. In England, after 1883, the Primrose League attempted, by the use of elaborate fetes, carnivals, and vaudeville entertainments, to mobilize working-class voters on behalf of an ultraconservative position represented by Lord Randolph Churchill. The "reform" clubs of New York City in the 1950s and 1960s emphasized community and neighborhood service projects and servicing of tenants' complaints as a way of attracting working-class support. Both the Jacobin clubs and the Primrose League "habitations" (as the local units were called) placed heavy reliance on elaborate, quasi-masonic rituals, handclasps, litanies, titles, and ceremonies (the Tory Primrose League pledged its members to secrecy and "the Imperial Ascendancy of Great Britain" and conferred the title of "knight harbinger" and the order of the Jubilee Grand Star; the radical Jacobin clubs celebrated the Cult of Reason, revered busts of Jean Paul Marat and Louis Michel Lepeletier, and insisted on the single title of "citizen"). In general, ritual, entertainment, and refreshments have proved more useful than ideology or community service in attracting working-class support to clubs led by, or under the patronage of, middle-class activists. In tsarist Russia during the early twentieth century, for example, there were a number of intellectual "study circles" (such as Martov's circle in St. Petersburg), which discussed and debated the imperatives of history; there were, in addition, workers' circles to which intellectuals were invited as teachers. The intellectuals discovered, however, that the workers were often more interested in being taught how to read and write Russian than how to appreciate Marx, Georgi Plekhanov, and Pavel Akselrod; instead of arousing a revolutionary consciousness, the intellectuals usually succeeded only in assisting the workers in their efforts to acquire the attributes of bourgeois respectability. Another kind of semipolitical club (there were practically no clear-cut examples, ow-

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ing to the absence of electoral and party politics) were the older middle-class professional societies, such as the Moscow Society of Jurisprudence and the St. Petersburg Economic Society; discussion at these associations was sufficiently political for the government to order them either closed or curtailed. The decline of traditional political clubs in the United States has been the result of the decay of the political machine (of which the clubs were, in many cities, a part), the assimilation of the lower classes into a style of politics in which newspapers and television are more important than clubhouse conversation as a source of both entertainment and information, and the withdrawal of the old elites of wealth and prestige from an active role in local politics. Perhaps the last major upperclass male political club movement was the Union League Association. Union League clubs were founded in New York and Philadelphia in 18621863 to strengthen the Federal cause, counteract Copperhead influence, and support the war effort; after the Civil War they attempted to organize the freed slaves for political purposes. Following Reconstruction the Union League clubs turned their attention to political—particularly municipal—reform and to the difficult task of maintaining their expensive clubhouses. Political clubs today are more likely to be combat than solidary associations and to attract the ideologically militant rather than either the prestigious or the needy. The volunteer spirit of the club movement has brought to it many young women (ladies having more time than men for door-to-door politics); in this the clubs associated with the California Democratic Council or the New York Committee for Democratic Voters are like the Primrose League and the Jacobin clubs, which gave a major political role to women as early as the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Some of the constituency associations of the Conservative and Labour parties in England function as political clubs and attract the more zealous elements of the parties; as a result, constituency association views are often more extreme than (and at odds with) the views of central party managers or parliamentary leadership. Lord Randolph Churchill's efforts in 1883 to capture the leadership of the National Union of Conservative and Constitutional Associations by mobilizing the local units against the influence of the party whips and professional leaders presaged the efforts, seventy years later, of the reform-minded ^ubs of the New York Committee for Democratic Voters to capture the executive committee of the New York

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County Democratic party (that is, Tammany Hall). Club leaders are almost invariably in competition with the party's elected officials and managers; the former are constrained by the need to maintain the enthusiasm of like-minded volunteer club members, the latter by the need to win votes from a heterogeneous and slightly bored electorate.

ROBB, JANET H. 1942 The Primrose League: 1883-1906. Columbia University Studies in History, Economics and Public Law, No. 492. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. WILSON, JAMES Q. 1962 The Amateur Democrat: Club Politics in Three Cities. Univ. of Chicago Press.

POLITICAL COMMUNICATION See COMMUNICATION, POLITICAL.

Little comparative research has been done in the following areas: (1) the consequences for goals and strategies of differing kinds of club incentives; (2) the institutional or socioeconomic conditions under which associational incentives will be highly valued by political activists and hence under which political clubs will flourish; (3) the methods by which professional party managers deal with political clubs when the supply of, or demand for, other inducements (such as money) is insufficient to permit leaders to abandon the club form altogether; and (4) the relationship between ideology and sociability as organizational incentives. JAMES Q. WILSON [See also INTEREST GROUPS; VOLUNTARY ASSOCIATIONS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

BREEN, MATTHEW P. 1899 Thirty Years of New York Politics Up-to-date. New York: The author. BRINTON, CLARENCE CRANE (1930) 1961 The Jacobins: An Essay in the New History. New York: Russell. CHAMBERS, WILLIAM N. 1963 Political Parties in a New Nation: The American Experience, 1776-1809. New York: Oxford Univ. Press. CUNNINGHAM, NOBLE E. 1957 The Jeffersonian Republicans: The Formation of Party Organization, 17891801. Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press. FISCHER, GEORGE 1958 P.ussian Liberalism: From Gentry to Intelligentsia. Russian Research Center Studies, No. 30. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. GASH, NORMAN 1953 Politics in the Age of Peel: A Study in the Technique of Parliamentary Representation, 1830-1850. London and New York: Longmans. HAIMSON, LEOPOLD H. 1955 The Russian Marxists & the Origins of Bolshevism. Russian Research Center Studies, No. 19. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. HANHAM, H. J. 1959 Elections and Party Management: Politics in the Time of Disraeli and Gladstone. London: Longmans. MCKENZIE, ROBERT T. (1955) 1963 British Political Parties: The Distribution of Power Within the Conservative and Labour Parties. 2d ed. London: Heinemann; New York: St. Martins. -> A paperback edition was published in 1964 by Praeger. OSTROGORSKII, MOISEI IA. 1902 Democracy and the Organization of Political Parties. 2 vols. London and New York: Macmillan. -> First published in French. An abridged edition was published in 1964 by Quadrangle Books. PEEL, ROY V. 1935 The Political Clubs of New York City. New York and London: Putnam.

POLITICAL CULTURE Political culture is the set of attitudes, beliefs, and sentiments which give order and meaning to a poetical process and which provide the underlying assumptions and rules that govern behavior in the political system. It encompasses both the political ideals and the operating norms of a polity. Political culture is thus the manifestation in aggregate form of the psychological and subjective dimensions of politics. A political culture is the product of both the collective history of a political system and the life histories of the members of that system, and thus it is rooted equally in public events and private experiences. Political culture is a recent term which seeks to make more explicit and systematic much of the understanding associated with such long-standing concepts as political ideology, national ethos and spirit, national political psychology, and the fundamental values of a people. Political culture, by embracing the political orientations of both leaders and citizens, is more inclusive than such terms as political style or operational code, which focus on elite behavior. On the other hand, the term is more explicitly political and hence more restrictive than such concepts as public opinion and national character. The concept of political culture can be seen as a natural evolution in the growth of the behavioral approach in political analysis, for it represents an attempt to apply to problems of aggregate or systemic analysis the kinds of insights and knowledge which were developed initially by studying the political behavior of individuals and small groups. [See POLITICAL BEHAVIOR.] More specifically, the concept of political culture was developed in response to the need to bridge a growing gap in the behavioral approach between the level of microanalysis, based on the psychological interpretations of the individual's political behavior, and the level of macroanalysis, based on the variables common to political sociology. In this sense the concept constitutes an attempt to integrate psychology and sociology so as to be able to

POLITICAL CULTURE apply to dynamic political analysis both the revolutionary findings of modern depth psychology and recent advances in sociological techniques for measuring attitudes in mass societies. Within the discipline of political science, the emphasis on political culture signals an effort to apply an essentially behavioral form of analysis to the study of such traditional problems as political ideology, legitimacy, sovereignty, nationhood, and the rule of law. (For a theoretical analysis of the concept see Verba in Pye & Verba 1965, pp. 512-560.) Political culture and socialization Intellectual curiosity about the roots of national differences in politics dates from the writing of Herodotus, and possibly no recent studies have achieved the richness of understanding of such classic studies of national temperament as those by Tocqueville, Bryce, and Emerson. But the dynamic intellectual tradition which inspired political culture studies comes almost entirely from the studies of national character and the psychocultural analyses of the 1930s and 1940s. Benedict (1934; 1946), Mead (1942; 1953), Gorer (1948; 1953; 1955), Fromm (1941), and Klineberg (1950) all sought to utilize the findings of psychoanalysis and cultural anthropology to provide deeper understanding of national political behavior. A major objection to these studies was their failure to recognize that the political sphere constitutes a distinct subculture with its own rules of conduct and its distinct processes of socialization. The practice of moving directly from the stage of child training to the level of national decision making meant that crucial intervening processes were neglected. Stages of socialization. The notion of political culture seeks to retain the psychological subtleties of the earlier national character studies while giving appropriate attention to the distinctive features of the political sphere and to the intervening stages of personality development between childhood and induction into adult political life. This is achieved by conceiving of two stages of socialization; the first is the induction into the general culture, while the second is the more particular, and usually more explicit, socialization to political life. In some forms of analysis it is useful to distinguish an additional stage, political recruitment to special roles within the political process. These stages are not necessarily sequential; explicit political socialization can occur at a very early point, when the individual is still being socialized into his general culture. Basic to the analysis of political cultures is the investigation of the relationships between the vari-

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ous stages of socialization and between the final political socialization process and the dominant patterns of behavior in the political culture. In some systems there is a fundamental congruence between the content of the various socialization processes and the existing political culture. Such congruences existed historically in the traditional political cultures of Japan, Egypt, Ethiopia, and Turkey (see Ward, pp. 27-82; Binder, pp. 396449; Levine, pp. 245-281; Rustow, pp. 171-198 in Pye & Verba 1965). In such systems the values and attitudes internalized during the general socialization process are consistent with and reinforced by the attitudes and values stressed in the process of more explicitly political socialization; and the combined socialization processes tend in turn to support and reinforce the current political culture. Under such conditions the prospects are for the continued existence of a coherent and relatively stable political culture. It is, however, also possible to distinguish various kinds of tensions and instabilities in political cultures according to the types of contradictions and inconsistencies in the socialization processes and between these processes and the requirements of the political system. The most dramatic examples of such contradictions are to be found in revolutionary systems in which the elite political culture is either shaped by a highly explicit and unculture-bound ideology or is the product of an exogenous historical experience such as colonialism. In some societies the primary process of socialization tends to provide people with a strongly optimistic view of life and a deep sense of basic trust in human relations, while the later stages of political socialization emphasize cynicism and suspicion of political actors. As a result, the political culture is characterized by a critical and contemptuous view of existing political practices but is also colored by a strong Utopian faith that reform can ultimately remedy the existing situation. Thus cynicism is balanced by the expectation that reforms are worth seeking. This appears to have been the character of the cynicism which inspired the muckraking tradition in American politics. The same dynamics seem to be at work in the Philippines political culture (Grossholtz 1964). In other societies distrust of contemporary political institutions and personages is preceded by an earlier socialization process which instills a sense of fundamental distrust and suspicion, with the result that people have little faith in reformist solutions and feel that political improvement requires cataclysmic changes. Burma provides an example of this process (see Conference . . . 1963).

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Continuity and discontinuity. Problems of continuity and discontinuity also require analysis of the relations between socialization and the political culture. Historical events within the political system may demand changes in the political culture which are inconsistent with either past or present socialization processes. In all dynamic political systems, tensions are possible because the socialization process cannot change as rapidly as the political process. This problem becomes profoundly acute when there is a sudden change in the international status of a society, for instance, when a colony gains independence. One of the basic sources of instability and ineffectualness in many newly developing countries lies precisely in the differences between the emphasis of the socialization processes which produced the various strata of the contemporary society and the attitudes necessary for operating a national political process. Socializing agents. In shaping the political culture the political socialization process operates in terms of various socializing agents. Some of these agents, such as the family, tend to be prominent at the early phases of the socialization process, and thus their influences are most closely related to personality characteristics fundamental to the political culture. Other socializing agents, such as the mass media and political parties, tend to become critical at later stages and thus are primarily involved in influencing the more cognitive aspects of the political culture. Much current research on different political cultures has sought to determine the relative importance of different kinds of socializing agents in shaping different aspects of the political culture and, thus, in evaluating the links between the sociological structure of the society and the political process. The family, for example, according to Hyman (1959), is peculiarly potent in the United States in determining party loyalties, while formal education, according to Almond and Verba (1963) is most vital in producing commitment to democratic values. In studies of the transitional political systems of the underdeveloped countries, it has become apparent that the intensely politicized nature of these societies is often the result of the dominant role of partisan as against nonpartisan or constitutional agents of socialization. It is noteworthy that the trend toward one-party systems in sub-Sahara Africa is closely associated with the fact that nationalist parties were the only strong agency for socializing most of the newly politically conscious masses (Hanna 1964). When nonpartisan or politically neutral socializing agents are

weak, social life tends to become highly politicized, and little appreciation is likely to exist for such fundamental constitutional institutions as an impartial bureaucracy and the rule of law. Studies of the process of nation building in societies in which the mass media are weak and cannot provide an objective view of national events suggests that constitutional development cannot become readily institutionalized under such conditions (see Conference . . . 1963; Schramm 1964). This relationship between the socialization process and the ensuing political culture explains some basic difficulties in creating national institutions in countries where popular political consciousness was inspired by highly partisan and ideologically oriented independence movements. Elite and mass subcultures. In all societies there are inevitably some differences between the political orientations of those who have responsibility for decisions and those who are only observers or participating citizens. A national political culture thus consists of both an elite subculture and a mass subculture, and the relationship between the two is another critical factor determining the performance of the political system. The relationship determines such crucial matters as the basis of legitimacy of government, the freedom and limitations of leadership, the limits of political mobilization, and the possibilities for orderly transfers of power. Mass subcultures are rarely homogeneous, for there are usually significant differences between the politically attentive strata of the society and the elements who are little concerned with politics. In some cases the mass political culture is highly heterogeneous and sharp differences exist according to region, social and economic class, or ethnic community. In such cases, the pattern of relationships among the various subcultures becomes a crucial factor in describing the mass political culture. In analyzing the extent to which the elite and mass subcultures contain complementary sets of values, it is useful to distinguish between those systems in which recruitment into the elite subculture is generally preceded by socialization into the mass subculture and those in which the channels of socialization are completely separate. In most stable, modern democratic societies the general pattern is for individuals to be socialized into the mass culture before being recruited to leading political roles, and thus the elite, in spite of gaining highly specialized skills and political knowledge, can still appreciate the basic values of the

POLITICAL CULTURE citizenry as a whole. It does not, of course, follow that in all cases people who rise out of the mass subculture will continue to be sympathetic or responsive to their background; indeed, in transitional societies leadership elements often have deep resentments against what they feel are the backward attitudes of those with whom they were once associated. In most traditional, and many transitional, systems those destined for leadership positions tend to have quite different career lines, receive quite different forms of education, and have quite different social experiences from the mass of their followers. Even in many transitional societies the very basis of legitimacy of the leaders rests on the popular belief that they are men inherently set apart from others at birth. A basic problem in the dynamics of political cultures relates to uneven changes in the socialization patterns of the two subcultures. Serious difficulties for the political system can arise when rulers discover that the mass subculture is no longer responsive to traditional leadership patterns but that they themselves have little skill in more modern ways of ruling. Or the opposite problem can arise when the elite subculture has been changed significantly by new patterns of elite socialization but the mass culture remains largely unchanged. Under such conditions leaders may be impatient for change, and in displaying little understanding and even outright scorn for the essential qualities of the mass culture they may create resentment in the population, who may feel that their leaders have lost their sense of the proprieties of ruling. The content of political cultures The content of political cultures is in large measure unique to each particular society. Studies of different political cultures therefore tend to emphasize different themes, and the ultimate test of the utility of a theory of political culture will depend upon its value for comparative and generalized analysis. Already there have been promising pioneering advances in comparative analysis in which similar qualities of political cultures have been related to a common type of political system. For example, Almond and Verba (1963) have identified the "civic culture" which underlies democratic political systems. It would seem possible also to isolate some universal dimensions of political cultures in terms of certain inherent qualities of both political systems the processes of personality formation. Nathan

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Leites (1951; 1953) has demonstrated the value of analyzing elite political behavior characterologically. It seems likely that further research will reveal that political cultures tend to manifest definable syndromes that are related either to recognized patterns of personality development or to general patterns of historical development, or to both. At this stage of knowledge it is possible only to suggest certain universal problems or themes with which all political cultures must deal in one manner or another. Scope and function of politics. Every political culture must define for its society the generally accepted scope or limits of politics and the legitimate boundaries between the public and private spheres of life. Scope involves definition of the accepted participants in the political process, the range of permissible issues, and the recognized functions of both the political process as a whole and the separate agencies or domains of decision making which collectively constitute the political process. The scope of participants is in most systems formally defined by the requirements of citizenship, but in all systems there are usually also formal or informal limits relating to age, sex, social status, training, family connections, and the like which govern the recruitment process. Similarly, in most political cultures certain issues are recognized as being outside the domain of politics or the jurisdiction of particular parts or agencies of the political process. The relationship of issues and functions can be highly specialized in the sense that particular issues are recognized as being the special responsibility of special forms of decision making, such as electoral, parliamentary, bureaucratic, juridical, or technocratic expertise. In democratic political cultures there is usually a clear sense of the appropriate boundaries of political life, explicit recognition of new issues as they arise, and respect to some degree for functional specialization in the handling of issues and for the relative autonomy of the different domains of political decision making. In totalitarian cultures there are few established boundaries of the political sphere of activity, explicit knowledge that all issues can become political, and some respect for functional specializations but little for the autonomy of the different domains. In transitional systems there are usually no clearly accepted boundaries of political life, but the impotence of politics provides actual limits: there is an expectation that all matters can become politicized, and there is little func-

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tional specialization or autonomy in the various domains of political decision making. [See DECISION MAKING, article on POLITICAL ASPECTS.] Concepts of power and authority. Political cultures, in providing concepts about the nature and properties of power and authority, may differ according to (1) the basis for differentiating power and authority; (2) the modes by which the one may be translated into the other; (3) the assumed limits of the efficacy of power; (4) the elements or components of legitimate power, e.g., physical force, popular support, moral justification, legal sanctions, etc.; and (5) the degree of diffusion of centralization of power and authority. [See AUTHORITY; POWER.] The process of legitimizing power has a critical bearing on the performance of a political system [see LEGITIMACY]. Usually legitimization involves restraining the uses of potential power and placing limits upon the range of actions of particular institutions and power holders. This has been particularly true in Western political cultures and in the development of American constitutional theory in relation to the division of powers. These restraints of legitimacy sometimes take an absolutist form, with the result that no single institution or political actor can perform decisively and with full efficiency. In a few political cultures the process of legitimizing power proceeds in the opposite direction, so that legitimacy is conferred only upon those who can and do act decisively and effectively. This is particularly true in countries which have experienced a period of national humiliation as a result of weakness in international affairs. For example, the very effectiveness of the Chinese communists has been one of the most critical factors in giving the Peking government a sense of legitimacy in the eyes of its subjects. In democratic political cultures there are often ambiguous feelings about the need to restrain all power and the need for legitimate power to be effective. In transitional societies it is often difficult for any forms of power to become legitimized because all seem to have so much difficulty in being effective. In all political cultures, concepts about power and authority have deep psychological dimensions because of the fundamental role of parental authority in the early socialization process. The skills that children develop in coping with family authority tend to provide a lasting basis for adult styles in dealing with authority. Thus, in some cultures it is widely assumed that authority can best be constrained by stressing issues of justice and fairness in a spirit of friendly informality, while in

others the style is that of winning favor by displaying complete and abject submission. Political integration. In varying ways and in differing degrees, political cultures provide people with a sense of national identity and a feeling of belonging to particular political systems. Basic to the problems of the integration of the political system is that of establishing a sense of national identity, and the problem of national identity is in turn a function of the process by which individuals realize their own separate senses of identity. This basic relationship between national identity and personal identity provides a fundamental link between the socialization process and the integration of the political process [see IDENTIFICATION, POLITICAL]. Integration also involves the relationships of the various structures involved in the political process, and hence is related to the problems of specialization of function among decision-making groups discussed above. A third aspect of integration concerns the manner in which various subcommunities, ethnic or regional groups, or subcultures are related to each other. Political cultures differ according to the extent to which they permit such minorities to preserve their separate identities while meeting the expected standards of integration. [See INTEGRATION.] Status of politics and politicians. In traditional societies, religion, war, and government provided the elite, and the art of ruling was seen as having a sacred origin. Leadership carried high visibility, and those who shared in decision making could claim glory and greatness. Modern political cultures, reflecting an increased division of labor and the rise of secular considerations, tend to accept politics as only one of many professions and to debase the role of politician, even while still extolling the supreme importance of state and nation. A political culture must establish the generally acceptable rewards and penalties for active political participation. In traditional societies the high status of leaders also meant that those with power could legitimately expect high material rewards. With the emergence of other professions and the contraction of the political sphere, the material rewards of those who enter public life decreased, and they were increasingly expected to make personal sacrifices for performing public services. The political culture, in controlling the accepted balance between rewards and penalties for those entering public life, also tends to control the quality of people recruited. In democratic political cultures the

POLITICAL CULTURE desire to shackle power produces the requirement that those who seek power should have no selfinterests but only serve the interest of others; and the suspicion that this is not always the case lowers popular esteem for politicians as a class. Political cultures, in creating the distinctions between statesmen and politicians, provide another basis for rewarding and controlling those who seek power [see POLITICAL RECRUITMENT AND CAREERS]. Evaluating performance. All political cultures contain standards for evaluating the effectiveness and competence of those performing specialized roles in the political system. Such standards generally depend upon popular views as to how national and community-wide problems should best be solved. In traditional cultures, problem solving was usually associated with the correct performance of rituals, and hence evaluation of performance was strongly influenced by skills displayed in ceremonies. Although modern political cultures recognize the central place of rationality in problem solving, there tend to be great differences among cultures in what is accepted as being rational. Judgment about skill in leadership is also influenced by the extent to which a society values the personal magnetism of leadership or the abilities of technical specialists and experts. Changes in the evaluative dimension of political cultures occur as new skills and professions are recognized as being relevant for solving national problems. The evaluative aspect of political cultures must also reflect the inescapable fact that politics deals with future contingencies which lie beyond the range of ready prediction. Each political culture must provide some basis of faith in the forecasting powers of acceptable leaders. Traditionally, this faith was usually placed in the mystical and charismatic powers of personal leadership. In other cultures either divine or secularly inspired doctrines are presumed to be endowed with all necessary predictive powers. In still other cultures the very massiveness and essentially esoteric operation of bureaucracies and the complex machineries of government are enough to generate a popular faith that those in power have a grasp of the future. The ultimate test of leadership in all cases is skill in maintaining popular faith in the leader's capacity to deal with all possible contingencies. [See LEADERSHIP, article on POLITICAL ASPECTS.] The affective dimension of politics. Possibly no other social activity touches upon such a wide range of emotions as politics, and every political culture seeks to regulate the expression of acceptable public passions and to deny legitimacy to others. Above

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all, since politics invariably involves struggles over power, personal aggression is a basic emotion that all political cultures must deal with by making some forms of aggression legitimate and by defining areas and times in which its expression is permissible. This function of political cultures is related to but goes beyond the need of providing integration to the system and a spirit of collective identity. It involves the degree to which the inherent drama of power and decision is either accentuated or muted. Essentially, the affective dimension of the political culture is determined by the ways in which people are legitimately permitted to realize psychic satisfaction from active participation in politics. The coherence and stability of political cultures are constantly threatened by the fact that people may turn to political action for intensely private and psychologically personal reasons, and thus seek satisfactions which are completely unrelated to the social or collective functions of politics. Such people may have little interest in the public goals or purposes of the movements they support, since their satisfaction comes mainly from the spirit of involvement and the drama of participation. Harold Lasswell first pointed out this phenomenon (1930; 1948), which was also observed by Almond in communist movements (1954). Balance between cooperation and competition. Politics rests upon collective actions which in turn depend upon a basic spirit of trust and a capacity for cooperation. At the same time politics involves conflict and competition. Cultures must therefore strike an acceptable balance between cooperation and competition, and the capacity of political cultures to manage this problem usually depends on how the basic socialization process handles the problems of mutual trust and distrust in personality development. [See CONFLICT; COOPERATION.] A necessary prerequisite for the building of complex human organizations is a strong sense of human trust. Where the basic culture instills in people a profound sense of distrust and suspicion, collective action becomes difficult, and competition tends to get out of hand and become profoundly disruptive. On the other hand, general cultures which do emphasize the building of personal trust may have to be balanced by political cultures which emphasize the need for suspicion in the management of public institutions. For example, it has been suggested that in the United States the basic socialization process does emphasize to a peculiarly high degree basic trust in human re]ations, but that American political culture stresses the

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need to distrust institutions, to check their powers, and to demand strict accountability of all public officials. In many transitional societies we find the opposite pattern, in that the socialization process instills deep distrust of human relations while at the same time people are asked to have complete and uncri:;oal faith in their public institutions. The pattern has been observed in India (Carstairs 1957), Ceylon (Wriggins 1960), Burma (see Conference . . . 1963), and Italy (Banfield 1958). The future of a theory of political culture As the foregoing discussion shows, there is an increasing body of propositions that seeks to relate aggregate and individual behavior in different political systems, so that it is now possible to talk of the growth of a theory of political culture. However, it is also appropriate to note several criticisms of this theory which reflect its current early stage of development. It has been suggested that the concept represents little more than a new label for old ideas. To a degree, this is a valid observation but one that ignores the central purpose of the theory, which is to search for a new way of connecting psychological theory to the performance of the total political system. At present the mere term "political culture" is capable of evoking quick intuitive understanding, so that people often feel that without further and explicit definition they can appreciate its meanings and freely use it. The very ease with which the term can be used, however, means that there is considerable danger that it will be employed as a "missing link" to fill in anything that cannot be explained in political analysis. This danger of tautology is particularly great in precisely the area which is now the most important for the future development of the theory—the relationship between political culture and political structures or institutions. If the concept of political culture is to be effectively utilized, it needs to be supplemented with structural analysis, but the difficulty is that political structures can be seen on the one hand as products reflecting the political culture, while on the other hand they are also important "givens" which shape the political culture. These are problems which must be surmounted if the theory of political culture is to realize its early promise. The prospect is excellent that current research is going to set aside most of these objections and greatly advance the utility of a political culture theory. Recent systematic comparative research, based on survey methods, promises to clarify further the relationship between the politi-

cal socialization processes and numerous dimensions of the political culture. The work of Gabriel A. Almond and Sidney Verba in identifying the components of the democratic political culture has already stimulated new attempts to evaluate the factors affecting democratic development throughout the world. In the 1960s Verba was directing a study applying some of the hypotheses of The Civic Culture to India, Japan, Nigeria, and Mexico. The basic concepts of The Civic Culture have been utilized by Ward in analyzing Japanese developments, by Scott for Mexico, by Rose for England, and by Barghoorn for the Soviet Union (see pp. 83-129; 330-395; 450-511 in Pye & Verba 1965). Other research on the political and psychological inhibitions to economic growth is suggesting further critical dimensions to the modern political culture, whether democratic or not (McClelland 1961; Hagen 1962). Even in its current state, the theory of political culture represents a significant advance in the direction of integrating psychology and sociology with political science to produce a richer and fuller understanding of politics. LuciAN W. PYE [Directly related are the entries CULTURE; GOVERNMENT; SOCIALIZATION, especially the article on POLITICAL SOCIALIZATION. Other relevant material may he found in MODERNIZATION; NATIONAL CHARACTER; POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY; POLITICAL SOCIOLOGY; SOCIETAL ANALYSIS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ALMOND, GABRIEL A. 1954 The Appeals of Communism. Princeton Univ. Press. ALMOND, GABRIEL A. 1956 Comparative Political Systems. Journal of Politics 18:391-409. ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and VERBA, SIDNEY 1963 The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Princeton Univ. Press. BANFIELD, EDWARD C. 1958 The Moral Basis of a Eachward Society. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. BENEDICT, RUTH 1934 Patterns of Culture. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. -» A paperback edition was published in 1961. BENEDICT, RUTH 1946 The Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. CARSTAIRS, MORRIS 1957 The Twice Born. London: Hogarth. CONFERENCE ON COMMUNICATION AND POLITICAL DEVELOPMENT, DOBBS FERRY, N.Y., 1961 1963 Communications and Political Development. Edited by Lucian W. Pye. Princeton Univ. Press. FROMM, ERICH 1941 Escape From Freedom. New York: Farrar & Rinehart. GORER, GEOFFREY 1948 The American People: A Study in National Character. New York: Norton. GOREK, GEOFFREY 1953 National Character: Theory and Practice. Pages 57-82 in Margaret Mead and Rhoda

POLITICAL EFFICACY Meitraux (editors), The Study of Culture at a Distance. Univ. of Chicago Press. GORER, GEOFFREY 1955 Exploring English Character. New York: Criterion. GROSSHOLTZ, JEAN 1964 Politics in the Philippines: A Country Study. Boston: Little. HAGEN, EVERETT E. 1962 On the Theory of Social Change. Homewood, 111.: Dorsey. HANNA, WILLIAM J. (editor) 1964 Independent Black Africa: The Politics of Freedom. Chicago: Rand McNally. HYMAN, HERBERT H. 1959 Political Socialization: A Study in the Psychology of Political Behavior. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. KLINEBERG, OTTO 1950 Tensions Affecting International Understanding: A Survey of Research. Social Science Research Council, Bulletin No. 62. New York: The Council. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. (1930) 1960 Psychopathology and Politics. New ed., with afterthoughts by the author. New York: Viking. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. 1948 Power and Personality. New York: Norton. LETTES, NATHAN C. 1951 The Operational Code of the Politburo. New York: McGraw-Hill. LEITES, NATHAN C. 1953 A Study of Bolshevism. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. MCCLELLAND, DAVID C. 1961 The Achieving Society. Princeton, N.J.: Van Nostrand. MEAD, MARGARET (1942) 1965 And Keep Your Powder Dry: An Anthropologist Looks at America. New ed. New York: Morrow. MEAD, MARGARET 1953 National Character. Pages 642667 in International Symposium on Anthropology, New York, 1952, Anthropology Today: An Encyclopedic Inventory. Edited by Alfred L. Kroeber. Univ. of Chicago Press. POTTER, DAVID M. (1954) 1963 People of Plenty: Economic Abundance and the American Character. Univ. of Chicago Press. PYE, LUCIAN W. 1962 Politics, Personality, and Nation Building: Burma's Search for Identity. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. PYE, LUCIAN W.; and VERBA, SIDNEY (editors) 1965 Political Culture and Political Development. Princeton Univ. Press. SCHRAMM, WILRUR L. 1964 Mass Media and National Development: The Role of Information in the Developing Countries. Stanford Univ. Press. WRIGGTNS, WILLIAM H. 1960 Ceylon: Dilemmas of a New Nation. Princeton Univ. Press.

POLITICAL EFFICACY The concept of political efficacy is used by students of political behavior to identify a citizen's feelings about the effects of his action on political events. It refers to the person's belief that political and social change can be effected or retarded and that his efforts, alone or in concert with others, can produce desired behavior on the part of political authorities. Efficacy has its origins in social psychology and is closely related to "ego strength," 'subjective competence," "self-confidence," and

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"personal effectiveness." The concept has particular relevance for assessing behavior in democratic systems, where a premium is placed on citizen participation and where there are accessible channels for expressing political needs. The efficacious person views his political self with respect. He feels powerful, competent, and important. He holds a corollary set of expectations with respect to political officials; they are concerned about his vote and heed his demands. These self-evaluations and orientations toward political authorities are related to a generalized set of attitudes about the political system—for example, that elections matter or that leadership circles can be influenced and even penetrated. Efficacy is not the same as a sense of civic obligation. The latter can motivate political activity whether or not the citizen feels that his action matters. Involvement, interest, and concern also tap dimensions different from efficacy. They are likely to be specialized or temporary, whereas efficacy involves a generalized orientation, toward the self and toward political objects, which remains more or less stable over time. Efficacy refers to the individual's perceptions of his effectiveness, not his actual influence. It is possible for a citizen to make a mistake in evaluating his political importance by either underestimating or overestimating the extent to which officials are sensitive to his demands. However, while evaluations of influence may not mirror reality, they are probably not unrelated to objective political conditions. It is quite likely that feelings of efficaciousness are nurtured and reinforced in a context in which one witnesses the translation of one's wishes into realities. This, in large part, explains why the concept has been used in studying democratic systems. The citizen's feelings of efficacy are conditioned by the availability of institutionalized channels for expressing demands, as well as by the creed requiring leaders to be responsible and responsive to nonleaders. Studies focusing on efficacy at the citizen level raised three questions: (1) What are the antecedent conditions accounting for distributions of efficacy? (2) What do efficacy data explain about other political attitudes and behavior? (3) What are the consequences of efficacy distributions for the functioning of the general political system? Antecedents of efficacy. In studies of American voting behavior, the Survey Research Center at the University of Michigan has contributed the most systematic evidence tracing the antecedents of efficacy (Campbell et al. 1954; Michigan, University of 1960). A person who feels he can cope

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with the complexities of politics and believes that his participation carries weight in the political process is generally better educated, has a higher socioeconomic standing, and is more likely to be a member of a majority ethnic and religious group than the less efficacious citizen. These antecedent social corditions are to be expected; dominance in one aspect of social life produces a sense of control and effectiveness, which can be generalized to the political sphere. Cross-cultural measurings of efficacy have produced support for the findings generated by American data. In five democratic nations, educational attainment, highly correlated with socioeconomic status, substantially predicted efficacy rates. Different levels of political confidence are more dependent on educational differences than on cultural variations between societies. In addition to providing the citizen with the necessary skills and tools for exercising political prerogatives, education evidently contributes to a general sense of security conducive to interacting with forces beyond the comfortable sphere of the familiar. In fact, there is support for the proposition that advanced education is the single most important factor contributing to high efficacy (assuming an institutional structure that permits citizen participation). The citizen whose family and school experiences have encouraged expression of preferences is likely to feel efficacious in his adult political life. Irrespective of autocratic or democratic socialization experiences, the well-educated person feels more politically competent than the less-educated individual (Almond & Verba 1963, pp. 204-209). Psychological antecedents to political efficacy have been less clearly established. Current theorizing suggests that the capacity to assert oneself in politics is related to ego strength—the ability to adjust to external events and to control disruptive impulses (Lane 1959, p. 147). It is further argued that psychological structures which are compatible with high evaluations of the self and are conducive to feelings of effectiveness in the political world are suitable to activity in democratic systems. On the other hand, power-driven or authoritarian individuals are not expected to find satisfactions in political systems that place a premium on bargaining and compromise (Lasswell 1954). In the identification of antecedent conditions of efficacy little attention has been given to structural or institutional factors. In part this is due to the lack of comparable data from different institutional settings. Persons do tend to feel more efficacious with respect to personnel and policies of their local government than to those of their national

government (Almond & Verba 1963). Since local government is more immediate, accessible, and familiar to the citizen, it might be inferred that institutional availability plays some part in retarding or promoting efficaciousness. Explanatory uses. The use of efficacy information as an independent variable for analyzing political behavior has been particularly fruitful in explaining rates of political participation and in assessing the intensity of involvement in electoral politics. Measures of political efficacy predict not only voter turnout (the stronger the feeling of efficacy, the more likely the person is to vote) but also more demanding forms of activity in democratic politics—letter writing, discussing issues, contributing money, and running for office. It is of course true that participation and efficacy are mutually supportive. The more one participates, the more likely one is to feel confident and vice versa. Efforts to isolate either efficacy or participation as the crucial antecedent variable would produce an inadequate theory of political involvement. Although well-educated persons tend to score higher on efficacy measures than do the lesseducated, there is a residue among the collegeeducated who take a cynical stand toward the effectiveness of their vote. Nevertheless, they vote. This suggests that education leads to political participation even when the feeling of efficacy normally associated with educational status is absent. Voters may be classified on a scale of "political relatedness" (Eulau & Schneider 1956), a concept combining efficacy with citizen duty. By examining the intensity as well as the rate of political activity, this measure helps to explain several dimensions of involvement in electoral politics. For example, citizens more "highly related" to the political process (i.e., those who score high on the scale of political relatedness) are more sensitive to differences between the parties, more issue oriented, and more concerned about the election outcome, have stronger partisan identifications, have greater interest in, and knowledge about, candidates and campaigns, and expose themselves to the media more often than persons less related. Consequences for the political system. In assessing the quality of citizen involvement in the political culture, observers stress that the more an individual considers himself capable of influencing political decisions, the higher is his satisfaction with the general political system and the more likely he is to evaluate positively the performance of the authorities. This close relationship between efficacy and general feelings of satisfaction has important implications for problems of consensus and

POLITICAL EFFICACY support in democratic nations. There is evidence that a sizable gap exists between citizens' perceptions of their capacity to influence decisions and their actual exercise of prerogatives (Almond & Verba 1963, pp. 473-505). This gap may be healthy for democratic systems. While the democratic creed prescribes that leaders be responsive to nonleaders, the practical needs of government require that officials be relatively free of hampering restrictions when initiating and carrying out decisions. Stability is viewed as a workable balance between governmental responsiveness and governmental power. One important factor contributing to this balance is an appropriate set of political attitudes held by the citizenry. A wide distribution of efficaciousness implies that citizens feel they have a reserve of influence, whether they exert any influence or not. The citizen is satisfied and supports governmental authorities. Within broad limits the reserve of potential influence operates to check the leadership. However, since political activity is low on the scale of salient activities for a large proportion of the population, the leadership remains unhampered by constant citizen attentiveness. The gap between felt influence and used influence contributes to a political culture consistent with both democratic norms and the realities of governing. The distribution of efficacy may also affect the quality of an election as a process of consent (Janowitz & Marvick 1956). A person lacking political self-confidence is less likely than others to conform to the politics of his socioeconomic group. There is also some evidence that the authoritarian syndrome is related to low efficacy. Quite possibly, an individual's sense of impotence or confusion about his political role predisposes him to seek less rational and more absolutistic answers to political problems. Moreover, the citizen lacking political confidence is more subject to manipulation than the efficacious voter. The inference is that political participation unaccompanied by political confidence may turn a democratic election into a process of manipulation instead of a process of consent. Efforts to relate findings about the correlates of efficacy to evaluations of the election function in democracies are just beginning, but it is already clear that such attempts are important steps in closing the theoretical gap between data on individual attitudes and explanations of the political system. Specialized uses of political efficacy. The concept of efficacy has proven useful in examining certain orientations of political officials. For purposes of analyzing legislative behavior the concept is rede-

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fined to mean a legislator's sense of effectiveness in his political roles (Wahlke et al. 1962). The focus is less on the feeling of self-confidence, its antecedents, and implications than on the question of whether the legislator feels he has the abilities, skills, and knowledge to meet the demands of his office. The legislator confident of his political skills is more innovative and more often mediates between conflicting interests in the political arena than his less efficacious colleague. Efforts to trace the antecedents of legislative efficacy suggest that membership in the majority party produces a greater sense of confidence toward one's political role. Information about careers of elected officials indicates that greater efficacy characterizes the incumbent who has been nurtured in politics since youth, who was self-recruited into active political life, and who has political ambitions. Though studies to date have closed certain empirical gaps in knowledge of antecedent conditions of efficacy, major theoretical problems remain unsolved. The concentration on democratic systems has hampered an understanding of how structures and ideologies affect efficacy patterns. Little attention has been given to the relationship between feelings of competence arid the actual availability of channels for expressing political feelings. Until comparisons between different institutionalideological contexts are made, any explanations of efficacy distributions will remain parochial. Other unanswered theoretical questions concern the consequences of efficacy patterns for the political system. For example, in what manner do particular distributions of efficacy restrain political leadership, affect policy outputs, or cause change in institutional structures? Important theoretical potentials of the efficacy concept remain unexploited. It may well be that the understanding of such phenomena as stability and change in political systems will turn in part on careful attention to the degree of confidence a population feels about its political worth. KENNETH PREWITT BIBLIOGRAPHY

ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and VERBA, SIDNEY 1963 The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Princeton Univ. Press. CAMPBELL, ANGUS; GURIN, GERALD; and MILLER, WARREN E. 1954 The Voter Decides. Evanston, 111.: Row, Peterson. EULAU, HEINZ; and SCHNEIDER, PETER 1956 Dimensions of Political Involvement. Public Opinion Quarterly 20:128-142. JANOWITZ, MORRIS; and MARVICK, DWAINE 1956 Competitive Pressure and Democratic Consent: An Inter-

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pretation of the 1952 Presidential Election. Michigan Governmental Studies, No. 32. Ann Arbor: Univ. of Michigan Press. LANE, ROBERT E. 1959 Political Life: Why People Get Involved in Politics. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. LASSWELL, HAROLD D. 1954 The Selective Effect of Personality on Political Participation. Pages 197-225 in Richard Christie and Marie Jahoda (editors), Studies in the Scope and Method of The Authoritarian Personality. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. MICHIGAN, UNIVERSITY OF, SURVEY RESEARCH CENTER 1960 The American Voter. By Angus Campbell et al. New York: Wiley. WAHLKE, JOHN et al. 1962 The Legislative System: Explorations in Legislative Behavior. New York: Wiley.

POLITICAL EXECUTIVE The political executive consists of those institutions formally responsible for governing a political community—that is, for applying its binding decisions, which may be formulated, to a greater or lesser extent, by the executive institutions themselves. The structure, function, and character of the executive have varied widely over time, and no single conceptual framework can disclose all these variations and their consequences. Yet, certain fundamentals are clear, and on these we can concentrate our attention. The two most prevalent structural forms of the executive are the presidential and the cabinet systems. The source of executive power has shifted from hereditary right, cooptation, and the use of force to election, either direct or indirect. The legitimacy of executive power has become secularized; "tradition," divine origin, and other forms of appeal to occult forces have given way to rational criteria of achievement and popular approbation. The principal functions of the contemporary political executive are increasingly being carried out by specialized structures; these functions are representation and integration, leadership, deliberation and decision making, control and supervision of subordinate decision-making and enforcement organs. Finally, executive responsibility and accountability have become institutionalized through the acceptance and use of regular procedures. The above generalizations may be valid for mature and developed political systems, but they hardly apply to the new nations, which are in a period of transition. Force continues to play an important role in their political life, and the legitimization of mechanisms of nomination, selection, and decision making has yet to develop. Lack of a sense of community, a low level of industrial development and modernization, and a confused party configuration continue to characterize the

new nations: charisma and personal relations are more important than institutions and legitimized procedures; governmental roles and functions and the corresponding structures, including the executive, are undifferentiated; factions often play the game of politics without accepting general rules, and executive leadership is unstable because of the prevalence of factional strife. There is a gap between form and substance in the new nations, so that while most of them have copied the formal and written constitutional arrangements of developed societies, particularly the organization of the executive, they have failed thus far to endow these arrangements with corresponding political roles and functions. With rare exceptions, the executive is the political leader who has attained power and the executive structures are only a temporary and fluid machinery that serves his rule. It is only in a few of the developing societies—notably in India, Ceylon, and in some of the stable democracies of Latin America—that executive structures and corresponding roles are beginning to be clearly differentiated. The office The executive office consists of a number of elected and appointed officials responsible for the over-all performances of the functions associated with it. The number of officials is generally small —twenty or, at most, thirty. If we include top civil service personnel, heads of planning agencies and nationalized industries, top scientists, and defense officials who participate in deliberation and decision making, the number rarely goes beyond a hundred. While the executive is a collective entity, ultimate responsibility for decision making is sometimes lodged in the hands of one man. This is notably the case in presidential systems and in many of the cabinet systems in which a welldisciplined party controls a majority in the legislature. In totalitarian one-party systems the leader of the party is in law or in fact—and often in both —in charge of the executive. On the other hand, in a number of multiparty parliamentary democracies, notably in the Scandinavian countries, the coalition cabinets account for a genuine collegiality of decision making and responsibility. Thus, viewed from the point of decision making and responsibility and depending upon the formal constitutional arrangements, the prevalent norms in the society, and such adventitious factors as personality and circumstance, there is a continuum between genuine one-man rule and genuine collegiality. The structures are generally flexible enough to allow for movement from one form to the other, within

POLITICAL EXECUTIVE the same political system. This, incidentally, is true both for cabinet systems and for presidential systems. Under United States and French influence, the presidential system has been adopted in various forms and with varying degrees of effectiveness in Latin America and French-speaking Africa. The cabinet system, which originated in England, has been adopted in most of the countries of the European continent, in all the English-speaking dominions, in many of the former British colonies, and in many of the totalitarian systems—notably in the Soviet Union and eastern Europe. The differences between the two systems are formal rather than substantive. In the presidential system, the president is elected by the people. He holds the highest executive office over a given period of time, during which he is not politically accountable to the legislature. All top executive officials are nominated by him and can be removed by him. In the cabinet system, on the other hand, the prime minister and his cabinet are responsible to the legislature. They are formally invested with executive power by a vote of the legislature, and their term can be suspended at any time by an adverse vote. Despite these formal differences, universal suffrage, the growth of national parties, and the progressive adoption of a majority electoral system account for striking similarities. In presidential or cabinet systems, the immediate source of executive power is the election and the party. In the cabinet system, the leader of the majority party becomes prime minister. If the party is disciplined, it is unlikely that it will overthrow the prime minister. Thus, while the prime minister is technically responsible to the legislature, he is just as immune to it as the president. In the one-party totalitarian systems that have adopted the cabinet system— and we use the Soviet Union as the prototype—it is the party that sustains executive leadership. As long as the leader controls the party (as Stalin did) or is accepted by the higher party echelons (the Central Committee and the Politburo), he also controls the legislature and is technically immune to legislative scrutiny. If there are dissensions within the party or if the leader loses his support in the Politburo and the Central Committee, he can no longer hold his position. Many trends since World War n account for the reinforcement of the political executive. Among them, the most significant ones are the widespread adoption of the majority electoral system and constitutional reforms establishing the ascendancy of the executive over the legislature. The two most notable cases are West Germany and France. In

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West Germany proportional representation was greatly modified by the requirement that half of the members of the legislature be elected by majority vote. Executive stability and independence were strengthened by the provision that the chancellor cannot be removed from office by a vote of the legislature unless it is accompanied by a vote in favor of a successor. In France proportional representation in legislative elections was abandoned in 1958. Iri the presidential election, if none of the candidates receives an absolute majority on the first ballot, the contest is narrowed to only two candidates on the second. As for executive—legislative relations, parliament was "rationalized"; stringent restrictions were placed on the vote of censure by the national assembly, the executive was given control over legislative business and legislation; the committee system was simplified and the powers of the committees drastically reduced; and the president was given the right to dissolve the National Assembly and call for an election. The trend has been the same, significantly, in Great Britain, where the control of the executive over Parliament is made effective through the control of the majority party, and in the United States, where legislative initiative has passed into the hands of the president and party discipline in Congress has been tightened. From an organizational viewpoint, all executives display striking similarities. The prime minister or president is surrounded by concentric circles of advisers and staff and line agencies: the first is the immediate circle of personal advisers and liaison agents; the second consists of specialized coordinating agencies with functions that cut across departmental or ministerial responsibilities (economic planning, national security, atomic energy, space programs, administrative reorganization, etc.); the third is the cabinet, consisting of top officials responsible for policy making and administration of functionally defined governmental activities (foreign affairs, trade, labor, welfare, defense, etc.); a fourth circle consists of an increasing number of independent or semi-independent agencies with regulatory and supervisory responsibilities, some of which operate or control economic services. To gain a comprehensive view of the political executive, however, we must further expand our circles to include other forces in the political system. There are the political parties and the party leaders, who must be persuaded or placated; the legislature, whose compliance to policy measures is indispensable; interest groups that must be taken into account; the press and the public at large, from which support is ultimately to be derived; and,

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finally, other nations, various international organizations and the international community at large. In the new nations the lack of stable structures sharply contrasts with the leadership and decisionmaking tasks imposed upon the executive. Difficulties in creating a viable political community, providing unity where there was factionalism and tribalism, are augmented by the immediate and urgent needs of a rapid social and economic development through planning. This may also be one reason for the rapid turnover of executives and, in general, for executive instability. The loads upon executive management decision making and enforcement have been too heavy, and the corresponding supports, in the form of party systems or interest-group organizations, too weak. There is also a contradiction between the roles associated with political unification and community building, on the one hand, and those related to policy making and enforcement, on the other. The first tasks require personal leadership, the appeal to national symbols, and ideology, while the second call for rational skills, organizational talents, and a pragmatic assessment of goals and available means. Functions of the political executive The political system can be seen as a mechanism through which interests and demands are translated into decisions. The decision-making mechanism must be widely accepted by the community —that is, it must have legitimacy. Since the political executive plays an important role in transforming interests and demands into decisions, it has, first and foremost, output functions. However, since it also represents and accommodates major social and interest groupings, it plays an integrative role as well. In addition to being the central policy-making organ, it also supervises and controls all the subordinate deliberative and enforcement organs. [See SYSTEMS ANALYSIS, article on POLITICAL SYSTEMS.]

Integration and representation. The integrative and representative function of the political executive is both ceremonial and efficient. The executive embodies the political community and represents it internally and externally. It provides effective links between the members of the community and the state. In some political systems the ceremonial and symbolic role is played by a politically irresponsible head—the monarch or the president of the republic. In other instances, mostly in presidential systems, the ceremonial and efficient functions are combined in the same office and man. It is, of course, the efficient functions of integration on which depends the durability of the effec-

tive ties that link the community with its ceremonial head. By integrative functions, we mean representing demands and interests and making decisions accordingly. This is the ultimate test of performance. It links the executive with the party, the legislature, and the public. It is the "hyphen which joins, a buckle which fastens" the community to the executive. To play this integrative role, the executive must provide for leadership, decision making, and enforcement. Leadership. The crux of executive power is leadership. Yet, leadership is a phenomenon not well understood. It varies from one system to another and from one period to another. A leader must have the ability to organize, deliberate, decide, and execute and the capacity to arouse trust and affection and to gain support. Charisma—a personal magic of leadership arousing special popular loyalty or enthusiasm—is an indispensable ingredient of leadership [see CHARISMA]. This aspect of leadership is closely related to the ability to take a determined stand and to express a belief without equivocation. As John Stuart Mill remarked, "a great part of political power consists in will. . . . One person with a belief is a social power equal to ninety-nine who have interests." If we combine the rational and charismatic traits, leadership must: (a) provide for representation and identification within the community; (b) foresee common problems and suggest policy solutions; (c) provide, at the executive level, a strong following of loyal officials; and (cZ) receive popular support. Thus, the political executive has significant input functions to perform. By injecting new demands and expectations or by proposing solutions, it can manufacture supports. While it acts within a given structure of political forces, it can rearrange these forces and create new reference groups to gain support. [See LEADERSHIP, article on POLITICAL ASPECTS.] Decision making and deliberation. Political theory has long distinguished beween legislative and executive acts. This formal distinction is no longer adequate. First, the political executive can perform the leadership functions traditionally assigned to the legislature. Second, it possesses independent powers—for instance, in foreign policy and defense. Third, the practice of delegated legislation has given vast, albeit subordinate, legislative powers to the executive. Finally, the law enacted by the legislature is initiated, prepared, and drafted by the political executive—-policy initiation has become an executive prerogative. The legislative process tends to be increasingly one-sided. In the totalitarian systems that have adopted cabinet government, legislative scrutiny is of no significance,

POLITICAL EXECUTIVE and this is virtually the case in all cabinet systems that have a strong, disciplined party system. Only in the United States does the legislature continue to have genuinely independent power of legislative scrutiny and initiative. Even so, Congressional initiative tends to be limited to scrutiny and amendment of proposals already submitted by the executive. [See LEGISLATION, article on LEGISLATURES.] In order to initiate, decide, and act, the executive must deliberate. As a result, intelligence, fact finding, liaison, and staff agencies have mushroomed. This has particularly been the case with new governmental activities that do not fit the traditional organization of the executive into departments and ministries: economic planning and supervision; coordinating the preparation of budgetary policy; providing administrative reform to create new structures that can cope with new functions; and considering national security matters from a variety of governmental points of view. Thus, new layers of agencies and offices have developed to comprise what may be called the office of the president or the office of the prime minister. The trend is universal, but it is especially clear in developed societies, in which industrialization has created the imperative of regulation and international conflict has emphasized coordination and preparedness for quick action. It also reflects a concomitant trend in favor of developing new procedures to provide for deliberation prior to a decision. Given the sheer bulk of matters that call for decisions and the need of specific knowledge and information in order to make them, decision making becomes a matter of following deliberative and consultative processes. Increasingly, it becomes a matter of process rather than substance. In turn, the basis of the authority of the executive shifts from the personal to the procedural. The appeal of charisma becomes limited, and tradition is no longer invoked. The basis of executive authority begins to coincide with its ability to act on the basis of rationalized procedures. It is only in the new, underdeveloped nations that the charismatic leader has played, and may continue to play, an important role. Crisis situations, however, often account for the emergence of personal government in developed societies. The emerging leader either bypasses the existing procedures or sets them aside in an effort to establish new ones. In all cases the effective invocation of personal government and the successful appeal to new political institutions are closely related to the legitimacy of the political system. [See CRISIS GOVERNMENT.] Supervision and enforcement. While the classic distinction between deliberation (legislature) and

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execution (executive) is no longer tenable, it is still true that the political executive is the agency of execution in the narrow sense. It supervises and controls all subordinate organs. However, execution, properly speaking, is within the purview of the bureaucracy. Executive decisions are general and comprehensive in scope, and their detailed implementation is in the hands of the civil service and the various subordinate agencies. The political executive, however, remains responsible for the organization and reorganization of the machinery of government. It can create and reorganize departments and agencies, establish the rules of advancement and recruitment within the civil service, and set down procedures for making subordinate decisions. Ultimate responsibility for lack of efficient execution will be focused on the political executive. But, it is increasingly understood that the political executive establishes the procedures surrounding bureaucratic decisions without assuming direct responsibility for implementing or failing to implement them. A division of labor between the political executive and the bureaucracy as a whole has developed and is reflected in different evaluations of roles and functions and differing standards of responsibility. [See BUREAUCRACY; CIVIL SERVICE.] Executive restraints and responsibility The growth of executive power and the increasing scope of initiative and decision making call for a discussion of the existing restraints and of the manner in which responsibility is institutionalized. The restraints appear to be relatively few. First, there is the burden, common to all political executives, including totalitarian ones, of persuading the elite. Second, there are systemic restraints —no leader can attempt a synthesis of policy objectives and goals that does not reflect, up to a certain point, the existing demands and aspirations of the community. To go too far in suggesting policy goals is to become separated from supporters; to stand still is to alienate the interests and the demands that could provide support. To be effective and to gain approbation and support, the executive must gear its actions to the interests and demands within the system. As was pointed out earlier, the limits of initiative and freedom of action may be wide and it is the task of leadership to discover them. But, failure to do so or miscalculation may lead to disapproval and rejection. Third, there are various types of constitutional and procedural limitations that trace the contours of executive power and provide for executive responsibility. We already mentioned the formal

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responsibility of the cabinet to the legislature. In presidential systems in which the chief executive is not directly responsible to the legislature—for example, in the United States and, to a certain degree, in France—separation of powers, judicial review, legislative scrutiny, and, in some instances, the direct association of one or the other of the houses of legislature in the exercise of executive prerogatives impose restraint. [See CONSTITUTIONS

because of mob violence, factional uprisings, or military coups. It should be recalled, however, that executive responsibility and the manner in which top political leadership is replaced or called to office did not become institutionalized in most countries until the end of the nineteenth century and, in some European systems, not until the twentieth. [See ELECTIONS; PARTIES, POLITICAL; RESPONSIBILITY.]

AND CONSTITUTIONALISM.]

The substance of executive responsibility, however, lies in the party system and in periodic elections. The party is both an instrument at the disposal of the leader to attain power and carry out policies and a device tnat controls him, since without the support of the party, he is invariably helpless. As long as the party acquiesces or agrees, the political executive is omnipotent in virtually all political systems, despite procedural limitations. To lose the support of the party is to lose power. The political executive is, in fact, both the leader and the prisoner of his party. The only way to overcome party control is to appeal to the people. However, in totalitarian systems, there is no mechanism for this, and even in democratic systems, where the mechanism is readily available, such an occurrence is rare. Ramsay MacDonald did it in 1931, and Charles de Gaulle, in 1962. But the first was supported by a party other than his own, and the second managed to overcome a badly divided and fragmented party system. Theodore Roosevelt's failure demonstrated the difficulty of this procedure in the United States. The appeal to the people through election provides the second type of responsibility. In democratic societies, where basic freedoms are respected, an election is the most effective instrument of control and, ultimately, of executive responsibility. It gives the electorate the opportunity to approve or disapprove of policies and to choose between competing parties and leaderships. In totalitarian systems the executive is responsible to the party only. In all cases, however, we must consider the degree of freedom that surrounds an election and the role and structure of political parties in democratic societies as opposed to the internal organization and the degree of discipline within the party in a one-party totalitarian system. We must look at the substance and not the form. This is abundantly clear in the new nations, in which institutionalized forms—either through the party system, through open competitive elections, or through well-articulated social grouping —have yet to develop. As a result, no matter what the constitutional prescriptions, the top executive and his associates are often removed from office

A typology of political executives A typology of the political executive requires a prior typology of political systems. The two types that we discussed—cabinet and presidential—represent descriptive, rather than analytical, categories. The same is true of the widely used distinction between "weak" and "strong" executives. A strong executive has been defined in terms of stability in office and ability to make and enforce decisions. This is the case when party support is forthcoming or when specific constitutional provisions secure the stability and the independence of the executive. Weak executives, on the other hand, obtain wherever the parties are many or lack internal discipline, so that the executive cannot rely upon a disciplined majority in the legislature—a situation often prevalent among multiparty cabinet systems. Thus, weak executives generally accompany multiparty or weak-party configurations, while strong executives can accompany either two-party or disciplined-party systems. The key variable is the party, not the constitutional and procedural arrangements. In fact, it may be argued that "executive leadership" and "strength" in West Germany since World War n and in France in the Fifth Republic derive from the existence of a majority party rather than from constitutional arrangements. To provide for an analytic typology, we shall use the concepts of power, legitimacy, and decision making. In terms of power, absolute and qualified executives can be distinguished: the first is endowed with unlimited powers, and the second operates within accepted and formulated restraints. Unless we refer to extinct satrapies and tyrannies, it will be difficult to identify absolute executives today. Absolute power is qualified in several ways: by constitutional limitations (i.e., separation of powers), by shared executive power (collegiality), and by clear procedures for assuring the responsibility of the political executive to the party or to the people. The combination of constitutional limitations, collegiality, and responsibility characterizes the generic category of democratic executives. The absence of such characteristics or the absence

POLITICAL EXECUTIVE of their explicit formulation and effective implementation typifies the executives in closed polities, the most prevalent of which are the modern totalitarian systems. [See TOTALITARIANISM.] Following Max Weber, the basis of executive legitimacy may be classified as rational, traditional, and charismatic [see LEGITIMACY]. Rational legitimacy—the development of institutions and procedures that channel executive decision making and, hence, legitimize it—is prevalent in both totalitarian and democratic systems. Traditional legitimacy is generally associated with static and primitive societies and is, therefore, characteristic of very few contemporary executives. Charismatic legitimacy is most prevalent in intermediate stages of development—where tradition has been exploded, but authority has not been institutionalized and legitimized. This type includes many of the new Afro—Asian nations. Finally, in terms of decision making, executives can be classified as monocratic or pluralistic, personal or collegial, arbitrary or limited. The obvious "syndromes" here are the "monocratic-personalarbitrary" and the "pluralistic—collegial—limited." But, these syndromes do not fit neatly in empirical situations—unless we limit our comparisons arbitrarily (e.g., Great Britain versus a Latin American dictatorship). Generally speaking, one can equate the "monocratic-personal-arbitrary" syndrome with totalitarian systems and the "pluralistic-collegiallimited" one with democratic systems if it is remembered that ingredients of all six can be found in all contemporary political systems. The types suggested are only analytical types; they must be carefully related to a generalized theory of political systems in order to study the empirical forms they take and the conditions under which they are likely to develop and change. Trends and prospects As we have seen, the burden of decision making thrust upon the political executive has grown immensely. The effective performance of executive leadership calls for an unprecedented balance between leadership and technical know-how, information and evaluation, specialization and coordination. Political structures must adjust to new environmental demands. The adjustive process of the executive branch over the years, particularly since World War i, has involved devolution, depoliticization, and the creation of new administrative organs. Devolution is the delegation of the power to make decisions to subordinate organs or agencies. Every effort has been made to decongest the political executive by explicitly authorizing subor-

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dinates or subordinate agencies and boards to make decisions. Depoliticization is the process whereby certain issues are removed from the realm of political controversy and executive discretion. Collective bargaining; wage fixing on the basis of a preagreed device that pegs wages on the cost of living index; and the establishment of public corporations, boards for nationalized industries, and regulatory commissions are some of the most usual practices. Finally, an inevitable solution to the problem of handling the new burdens is to create new agencies and offices and lodge them within the office of the president or the prime minister. [See CENTRALIZATION AND DECENTRALIZATION; DELEGATION OF POWERS.] The multiplicity of the new functions and the growth of new administrative structures to cope with them account for the emergence of two opposed developmental trends: concentration and diffusion. Concentration is a constitutional and political requirement. Even in collegial executives, one man increasingly bears the responsibility for decision making. The growth of powers, the multiplicity of offices, and the division of tasks within the executive have only underlined this. It has been heightened by the considerations of defense and strategy. Institutionalized forms such as the inner cabinet or the National Security Council are likely to give place to restricted committees of very few officials. Crisis government and corresponding flexible structures to cope with crises have now become permanent aspects of executive decision making. Yet, at the same time, the more important a decision, the more it is contingent upon a complex process of deliberation and consultation in which offices and men with specialized tasks participate. It is increasingly diffuse and bureaucratized, while it appears to be highly concentrated and often personal. A separation of powers that limits the ability of the top executive to reach a decision and act is informally institutionalized within the political executive. Divergent points of view, varying evaluations, and conflicting information about the same situation confront the top political leader. As decision making becomes routinized and bureaucratized, the top political executive often becomes limited to ad hoc compromises and may be reduced to immobility. This conflict, between the concentration of decision making and the diffusion and impersonality that go with the routinization of decision making, must be resolved if the political executive is to play its role of leadership effectively. The trends we noted above apply primarily to the developed political systems. In the new nations

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the executive, along with virtually all other governmental structures, is still in the process of establishing itself as a legitimized instrument of decision making. The problem ahead is not so much finding a proper balance between personal leadership and bureaucratic mechanisms for decision making, but rather establishing viable and stable structures with specialized roles and effective capabilities to suggest policies and make decisions. Whether this will be accomplished or not depends upon a great number of factors—the development of a sense of community, agreement on the basic rules of polity, the development of institutions with specific tasks, and, above all, the routinization and institutionalization of the personal government which continues to be the rule today. ROY C. MACRIDIS [See also LEADERSHIP, article on POLITICAL ASPECTS. Directly related are the entries CAUDILLISMO; DICTATORSHIP; GOVERNMENT; MONARCHY; OLIGARCHY; PARLIAMENTARY GOVERNMENT; PRESIDENTIAL GOVERNMENT. Other relevant material may be found in ADMINISTRATION; DECISION MAKING; LEGISLATION; PARTIES, POLITICAL; REPRESENTATION.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and COLEMAN, JAMES S. (editors) 1960 The Politics of the Developing Areas. Princeton Univ. Press. AMERY, LEONARD C. M. S. (1947) 1956 Thoughts on the Constitution. 2d ed. Oxford Univ. Press. -» A paperback edition was published in 1964, ANDREWS, WILLIAM G. 1960 Some Thoughts on the Power of Dissolution. Parliamentary Affairs 13:286— 296. APTHORPE, RAYMOND 1960 The Introduction of Bureaucracy Into African Politics. Journal of African Administration 12:125-134. BAGEHOT, WALTER (1865-1867) 1964 The English Constitution. London: Watts. BARNARD, CHESTER I. (1938) 1962 The Functions of the Executive. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. BEER, SAMUEL H. (1956) 1957 Treasury Control: The Co-ordination of Financial and Economic Policy in Great Britain. 2d ed. Oxford: Clarendon. BINDER, LEONARD 1962 The Cabinet of Iran: A Case Study of Institutional Adaptation. Middle East Journal 16:29-47. CARLETON, WILLIAM G. 1960 Centralization and the Open Society. Political Science Quarterly 75:244-259. CHESTER, D. N. (editor) 1957 The Organisation of British Central Government, 1914-1956: A Survey of a Study Group. London: Allen & Unwin. CORWIN, EDWARD SAMUEL (1940) 1957 The President: Office and Powers, 1787-1957; History and Analysis of Practice and Opinion. 4th rev. ed. New York Univ. Press. CRAIG, JAMES T. 1961 The Reluctant Executive. Public Law [1961]: 45-74.

CRAWFORD, J. G. 1960 Relations Between Civil Servants and Ministers in Policy Making. Public Administration (Sydney) 19, no. 2:99-112. CROZIER, MICHEL (1963) 1964 The Bureaucratic Phenomenon. Univ. of Chicago Press. -> First published as Le phenomene bureaucratique. DEBRE, MICHEL 1947 La mort de I'etat republicain. Paris: Gallimard. DUTHEILLET DE LAMoxHE, A. 1965 Ministerial Cabinets in France. Public Administration (London) 43:365381. DUVERGER, MAURICE (1955)1965 Institutions politiques et droit constitutionnel. 8th ed. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. -> First published as Droit constitutionnel et institutions politiques. DUVERGER, MAURICE (1959) 1963 La Cinquieme Republique. 3d ed. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. ECKSTEIN, HARRY 1966 Division and Cohesion in Democracy: A Study of Norway. Princeton Univ. Press. ERZUAH, J. B. 1964 Comparative Study of Constitutional and Administrative Structures in Ghana. Civilizations 14:85-91. FENNO, RICHARD F. 1959 The President's Cabinet: An Analysis in the Period From Wilson to Eisenhower. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. FITZGIBBON, RUSSELL H. 1960 Dictatorship and Democracy in Latin America. International Affairs 36:48-57. FRANKEL, CHARLES 1964 Bureaucracy and Democracy in the New Europe. Dasdalus 93:471-492. FRIEDRICH, CARL J. (1937) 1950 Constitutional Government and Democracy: Theory and Practice in Europe and America. Rev. ed. Boston: Ginn. -» First published as Constitutional Government and Politics: Nature and Development. FRIEDRICH, CARL J. 1949 Rebuilding the German Constitution. American Political Science Review 43:461— 482, 704-720. GOLAY, JOHN F. 1958 The Founding of the Federal Republic of Germany. Univ. of Chicago Press. GOOCH, R. K. 1960 Reflections on the Constitution of the Fifth French Republic. Journal of Politics 22: 193-202. GOULDNER, ALVIN W. (editor) 1950 Studies in Leadership: Leadership and Democratic Action. New York: Harper. HALLIDAY, W. E. D. 1959 The Executive of the Government of Canada. Canadian Public Administration 2:229-241. HANKEY, MAURICE P. A. 1946 Diplomacy by Conference: Studies in Public Affairs, 1920-1946. London: Benn. HARRISON, M. 1963 The French Experience of Exceptional Powers: 1961. Journal of Politics 25:139-158. HAURIOU, ANDRE 1966 Droit constitutionnel et institutions politiques. Paris: Montchrestien. HEASMAN, D. J. 1962 The Prime Minister and the Cabinet. Parliamentary Affairs 15:461-484. HINTON, R. W. K. 1960 The Prime Minister as an Elected Monarch. Parliamentary Affairs 13:297-303. HIRSCHFIELD, ROBERT S. 1961 The Power of the Contemporary Presidency. Parliamentary Affairs 14:353377. JENNINGS, W. IVOR (1936) 1959 Cabinet Government. 3d ed. Cambridge Univ. Press. KASSOF, ALLEN H. 1964 The Administered Society: Totalitarianism Without Terror. World Politics 16:558575.

POLITICAL FINANCING KEITH, ARTHUR B. (1939) 1952 The British Cabinet System. 2d ed. London: Stevens. KING, J. B. 1960 Ministerial Cabinets of the Fourth Republic. Western Political Quarterly 13:433-444. KOENIG, Louis W. 1964 The Chief Executive. New York: Harcourt. LAPALOMBARA, JOSEPH G. (editor) 1963 Bureaucracy and Political Development. Studies in Political Development, No. 2. Princeton Univ. Press. LASSWELL, HAROLD D.; and LERNER, DANIEL (editors) 1965 World Revolutionary Elites: Studies in Coercive Ideological Movements. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. LOEWENSTEIN, KARL 1957 Political Power and the Governmental Process. Univ. of Chicago Press. MACKINTOSH, JOHN P. 1962 The British Cabinet. Univ. of Toronto Press. MANN, SEYMOUR Z. 1960 Policy Formulation in the Executive Branch: The Taft-Hartley Experience. Western Political Quarterly 13:597-608. MEYNAUD, JEAN (editor) 1958 The Role of the Executive in the Modern State. International Bulletin of Social Sciences 10, no. 2. NEUSTADT, RICHARD E. 1960 Presidential Power: The Politics of Leadership. New York: Wiley. -» A paperback edition was published in 1962 by Science Editions. NEUSTADT, RICHARD E. 1963 Approaches to Staffing the Presidency: Notes on FDR and JFK. American Political Science Review 57:855-862. PICKLES, WILLIAM 1959 The French Constitution of October 4th, 1958. Public Law [1959]: 228-276. PROCTOR, J. H. JR. 1964 Constitutional Defects and the Collapse of the West Indian Federation. Public Law [1964] .-125-151. PYE, LUCIAN W. 1958 The Non-Western Political Process. Journal of Politics 20:468-486. ROSSITER, CLINTON L. (1956) 1960 The American Presidency. 2d ed. New York: Harcourt. RUSTOW, DANKWART A. 1955 The Politics of Compromise: A Study of Parties and Cabinet Government in Sweden. Princeton Univ. Press. SIMON, HERBERT A.; SMITHBURG, DONALD W.; and THOMPSON, VICTOR A. 1950 Public Administration. New York: Knopf. VILE, M. J. C. 1962 The Formation and Execution of Policy in the United States. Political Quarterly 33: 162-171. WEBER, MAX (1922) 1957 The Theory of Social and Economic Organization. Edited by Talcott Parsons. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -» First published as Part 1 of Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. WILDAVSKY, AARON B. 1964 The Politics of the Budgetary Process. Boston: Little. YOSHIMURA, T. 1961 The Position of the Prime Minister Under the Constitution of Japan. Waseda Political Studies 4:1-25.

POLITICAL FINANCING The acquisition and retention of political power require material resources and human energies. Money is the most important medium for transferring command over material resources. Its command over human energies varies among societies

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at different stages of development but is of great importance in all political systems with competitive popular elections. Political financing, therefore, comprises the processes through which money is used to channel resources and energies for political purposes. Modern studies of political financing have been concentrated in systems where important social decisions are made in competitive elections. They have been little concerned with how money is used as a source of influence in authoritarian regimes. In the democracies, observation and analysis of political financing have focused principally on the activities of candidates, political parties, and other participants in election campaigns, including organized interest groups and parallel-action organizations. Lobbying activities have usually been treated separately. The financial aspects of the political process have been given greatest attention in the United States. In other nations, however, especially in western Europe but not only there, certain phases of political financing have increasingly become objects of study. The study of political financing Characteristics. In systems where political financing has been studied, money flows through many reaches of the political process. Focus upon money per se involves, directly or by implication, all aspects of the political system. Features of the conversion of economic power into political power are revealed, for example, by analysis of the sources of political funds. General questions of voting behavior are encountered by analyses of the uses to which funds are put in election campaigns. Tracing the flow of funds projects the student into analyses of human motivation, political participation, the character of influence, and the structure and operation of political party systems. The widespread attempts to regulate political financing lead to questions of constitutional authority, of the social requisites for enforceable law, and of public understanding and attitudes. Historical topics of political philosophy and complex questions of explanatory theory pervade the scrutiny of political financing. Since money is an agent, standing in place of the goods and services into which it can be converted, arbitrary boundaries on its definition are introduced to make its study feasible. These boundaries can be strategically altered as the data available and the character of the political system being studied permit. In past research, distinctions have been made between contributions of cash and contributions of goods or services. The latter have often been excluded from analysis. Also usually

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separated from analysis have been the general effects of economic power, as felt through many channels in the society—control over credit sources, impact on the mass media of communications, influence emanating from the hierarchical structure of segments of the economic system, and such. Moreover, the personal wealth of candidates is frequently difficult to isolate from the superior development of personal political abilities that those resources may have helped to develop; hence it, too, has often been excluded from the analysis. The quality of available data has profoundly affected the study of political financing. Much more is known in some nations than in others about the grand architecture and operational details of political financing. In all systems, to varying extents, empirical knowledge of desired scope and reliability is lacking. Absence of records and deficiencies in such records as exist partially account for this lack. Inducements to secrecy, because of the character of transactions in political financing and the public suspicion aroused by them, obstruct impressionistic as well as hard, empirical analysis. The complexity of the relevant data, given the implications of political financing for entire political systems, further compounds the difficulties of interpretation. The subject has at times suffered from both sweeping, oversimplified imputations and excessively narrow attempts to assemble dependable data for analysis. The study of political financing has also been shaped by the different incentives of the students. Reform sentiment seeks to alter practices, often in accordance with ideological assumptions about the proper functioning of the political process. Such sentiments have originated both with practitioners and with others. Political interests directly engaged in competitive politics concern themselves with the subject in order to gain or maintain conditions they consider advantageous to themselves. Some study of the subject is politically neutral, directed simply toward better understanding of political behavior. Thus, the study of political financing may serve as a tool of political analysis, a means to political objectives, or a combination of both. Evolution of the study. The broad development of political finance research is revealed by the changes that have occurred over the years in the primary purpose of study, in the scope of concern, in the kinds of data and how they were employed, and in the intensity of comparative analysis. After an almost exclusive concern with public policy, students of political finance have increasingly been examining the subject simply for what could be revealed about the behavior of political systems.

From a narrow focus on formal campaign committees, attention has widened to embrace many of the other aspects of the political process affected by political finance. From a heavy reliance on quantitative data submitted in official reports, analysts have made more and more use of information gathered by depth interview, survey research, direct observation, and other empirical means. After a long period of exclusive concern with political financing in single nations, comparative analysis across the boundaries of political systems has emerged. In the United States, where over the years most political finance research has been produced, this mounting sophistication can be traced through four chronological phases. (1) Until the 1920s data and commentary were largely found in public documents and in the writings of journalists such as the muckrakers of the progressive era. Congressional testimony, state and federal reports, and the discussion they inspired constituted the bulk of inquiry and interpretation. The first effective concern was felt for public employees who were subject to financial assessment by political leaders responsible for their jobs. Some evidence of existing practices was assembled in the move for protective legislation. Attempts were later made to determine total sums spent in certain political campaigns and the amounts and sources of campaign gifts. Interest in the subject increased with the belief that large donations to political parties gave unwarranted influence in government to the individuals and corporations supplying the funds. State and federal legislation was directed not only at age-old abuses, many of them (such as bribery) long contrary to the common law, but also toward limiting the sources of funds and the amounts and kinds of expenditures. It was directed too toward providing publicity to campaign accounts, on the theory that public knowledge of political financing would have a purifying effect on the practices followed and would give voters important information to assist them in deciding which parties and candidates to support. Proposals for public subsidies to help meet campaign costs were generally ignored. In 1926 James K. Pollock published the first scholarly treatment of political financing in book form, Party Campaign Funds. He was concerned with the formulation of wise public policies for the regulation of campaign funds and placed heavy faith in the efficacy of forced publicity. He focused on favoritism in government and emphasized a conception of selfish interests in conflict with public interests. The analysis was confined to practices of party campaign committees and used data drawn

POLITICAL FINANCING chiefly from official party financial statements and the findings of Congressional committees. Pollock cited the shortage of dependable data as a serious obstacle to the creation of effective public policy. The categories of description included the volume of expenditures, the fund-raising methods, the sources of funds, the uses of funds, and the state and federal legal controls. (2) In 1932 a second phase of study opened. Pollock published what long remained the only book on campaign finance outside the United States, Money and Politics Abroad. Practices in Great Britain, Northern Ireland, France, and Germany were examined. Pioneering attention was given to auxiliary and nonparty organizations, and the main sources of data were direct observation and interviews. New categories of analysis were added: e.g., the effect of expenditures on the outcome of elections, the handling of funds within parties, the impact of money on a total political system, the general identification of controlling interests in a state. The main purpose was still to discern effective controls of political finance, but broader understanding of ihs whole party system was sought as a means to that end. Each nation was treated descriptively, separately, and differently, without attempt to develop concepts for comparative analysis. Also in 1932, the first of a series of writings by Louise Overacker appeared, Money in Elections. While essentially policy connected, it professed to formulate a "theory of parties" in order to state, although not necessarily solve, problems posed by political financing practices in the United States. Overacker accepted political pressures as inherent and was chiefly concerned with whether prevailing practices prevented voters from adequately expressing their wants and protecting their interests. She viewed the use of money in elections as a byproduct of popular government and reached the strong conclusion that legislative efforts to limit the volume of election expenditures should be abandoned. Overacker put her faith in publicity of campaign accounts. She included the financing of nomination campaigns in her inquiry, analyzed the sizes of contributions, identified economic and family connections of contributors, set down categories of motivation underlying campaign giving, made certain analyses of trends over time, along with certain comparisons between nations, and otherwise expanded the focus and depth of analysis. Overacker's writings on political finance, culminating in 1946 in Presidential Campaign Funds, especially illuminated the sources of political contributions, including the newly important labor

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movement, and exposed the defects of the Hatch acts, adopted in 1939 and 1940, in their attempts to regulate political finance. She relied mostly on data from official reports and public investigations. (3) The difficulties of obtaining usable empirical data have always limited the number of scholars willing to study political financing. In the United States usually no more than one major worker has been active at a time. In 1953, at the University of North Carolina, a program of research was initiated designed to engage the energies of many persons, expand the range of inquiry, make larger amounts of varied, dependable data available, and use the scrutiny of political finance as an avenue to study of the general political system. The chief resulting publication was The Costs of Democracy (1960), by Alexander Heard. The study viewed solicitation, donation, transmission, and use of political funds as forms of political participation, to be evaluated with other forms of political participation—e.g., campaigning and voting —as parts of the intricate network of relationships that constitute government and politics in the United States. The complex of activities involving political financing was viewed as one set of the evolving mechanisms by which representation of interests in the politics of the United States is achieved. In this framework financial and nonfinancial influences in the outcome of elections were delineated; a typology of motivations for financial participation in politics was presented; and measures of the financial involvement of various types of groups and associations, including the underworld, were offered. The significance of fund solicitors as a type of political activist was evaluated. The flow of funds through and between political organizations was traced and analyzed, with special attention to the character of party cohesion revealed. The significance of political financing in the recruitment and winnowing of candidates for nomination was appraised. Throughout, efforts were made to bring a maximum of qualified data into use, to identify meaningful trends in political practices, to detect causal relationships, and to interpret for its public policy significance the experience and changing context of public regulation of political finance. This work and the studies associated with it were national in focus, although Heard drew on foreign experiences to give perspective to United States practices. In 1958 an organization devoted exclusively to the study of campaign finance was established in Princeton, New Jersey. The Citizens' Research Foundation, with a small staff under the direction

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of Herbert E. Alexander, extended some of Heard's approaches and initiated new ones of their own. Through its publications series, its own research, its assistance to anyone studying the subject, and the accumulation and dissemination of information, the Foundation kept a steady focus of attention on poetical finance in the United States and contributed in many significant ways to the continuity and development of its study. While scholarly concern with political finance was evolving in the United States, western Europe for a long time was the only other major area in which research into the subject was seriously pursued, and much of the work there was isolated and unrelated. Earlier hypotheses, by theorists like Max Weber, were never seriously tested, and research has been focused quite differently in the several countries. In Britain the most extensive investigations of recent years were historically oriented, analyzing changes in the techniques of political finance as related to the widening of the franchise, changes in elite recruitment, and the development of party organizations in the nineteenth century. In Germany a large part of the extensive literature was addressed to legalistic problems of constitutional interpretation and regulations, although numerous monographs and articles also used empirical data to evaluate political finance practices in the German Federal Republic. Some research endeavors were offshoots of interestgroup studies. The greater disclosure of financial data by European trade unions and socialist political parties made possible the analysis of political financing activities of various labor movements. Certain highly controversial political questions, like the relationship of German business to the Nazis in the early 1930s, stimulated other islands of research. Some information, as well as normative evaluation, was also developed by a number of official commissions set up to advise governments on possible regulatory legislation. Such commissions submitted reports in the 1950s in Sweden, Norway, and Germany. (4) In the early 1960s an attempt was made to prepare for more-broadly comparative analyses of political finance. Efforts were begun to develop common frameworks for studies of political financing in the United States, Europe, and non-Western countries. A number of studies were commissioned that for the first time presented system-wide descriptions of the processes of political finance in a number of Asian democracies, particularly the Philippines and India. The range of nations for which minimal information became available was enlarged through article-length studies of political

financing in Italy, Israel, and Australia. These overview studies, constructed within the same basic framework of inquiry, together with similar articles on Great Britain, Japan, and West Germany, were published under the editorship of Richard Rose and Arnold J. Heidenheimer (1963). In his accompanying "Comparative Party Finance: Notes on Practices and Toward a Theory," Heidenheimer (1963) developed concepts that could be used in measuring and explaining differences in political financing between political systems and argued the relationships between levels of expenditures and stages of economic, social, and political development. The emergence of comparative studies made clear the need for more generalized conceptual terms. Moreover, the introduction of nonWestern data and the use of developmental concepts widened the horizons of investigators. The move toward comparative studies spanning continents, and perhaps ultimately spanning centuries also, forced recognition of the need for greater stress on the general theoretical significance of analytical and descriptive studies. Research outside the United States. In 1966 the "research map" of political financing was unevenly charted. Apart from the United States there were three major nations in which the principal dimensions of political financing had been substantially explored. These were West Germany, Great Britain, and Japan, although in the latter two cases analyses were based mainly on information from official reports filed by the participants themselves. In an intermediary group of countries, some Western, some Asian (including Israel, Italy, Australia, Canada, the Philippines, and India), the search for hard data and functional analysis had begun with some promise. In certain groups of countries, like the small democracies of western Europe and the more stable Latin American countries, with only a few exceptions little attempt had yet been made to assay and develop political financing data. The least amount of inquiry had been attempted in the new democracies of Africa and Asia. There the study of political finance, although necessarily focused on different structures and techniques, may eventually prove fruitful. With regard to contemporary practices, more had become known about political financing in West Germany than in any other country except the United States. Research was stimulated not only by scholarly curiosity but also by partisan interests. The political parties had stakes in differing patterns of financial support and in conflicting interpretations of constitutional requirements. Struggles over enactment of disclosure requirements, tax

POLITICAL FINANCING deducibility provisions, and the role of "conveyer" and "sponsor" associations helped to keep the subject timely, throwing up much raw information in the process. The Germans developed a comprehensive system for public financing of political parties, under which in 1964 some 50 million marks were paid annually to the three major parties from the budgets of federal, Land, and local governments. This development not only led scholars to important reinterpretations of the German party system but also provided a new model of political financing practice that itself stimulated further study. In Great Britain following World War n, the conditions of political finance appeared satisfactory to most, except some followers of the Labour party, and were given relatively little study. Many scholars and politicians felt that few improprieties were committed and that few distortions of representative government resulted, a radical change from practices that prevailed in the nineteenth century. British law imposed a rigid limit on expenditures made on behalf of a candidate in his constituency during an election campaign. The effectiveness of the limit bred satisfaction with the system, and most research in political finance was based on official reports of these constituency expenditures. The growth of central-organization campaign activities, however, not limited by these controls and not covered by official reports, led eventually to a mounting desire for more extensive knowledge of British campaign finance. In Great Britain, as in other places, the increased importance of mass communications and the increased role of organized interests in general efforts to shape public opinion brought realization that the British controls over candidate expenditures during the limited campaign period constituted regulation of but a small share of significant political expenditures. The state of knowledge Knowledge of political finance can be viewed at three levels: descriptive, interpretive, and theoretical. After four decades of scholarly study, knowledge of political finance at all three levels had advanced substantially in the United States and was appreciably greater than corresponding knowledge in other nations. The greatest progress had been made in assembling and ordering descriptive data. These led to new interpretive insights into particular segments of political finance, and the broadened range of inquiry during the 1950s and 1960s made possible the development of typologies and of limited, empirically based gen-

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eralizations about some aspects of the subject that had not been offered previously. No comprehensive, abstract theory seeking explicitly to account for all phenomena of the subject appeared, but a number of unifying themes emerged from the diverse inquiries of Heard and his associates, e.g., the ultimate primacy of votes in a society with a free election system, the multiple sources of influence over votes, the limits imposed by a pluralistic political system on any single source of power, and the multiple manifestations of social and economic power. Information about the processes of political financing was detailed and well documented in many particulars, especially the volume and sources of contributions and the volume and purposes of expenditures in certain kinds of elections. Financial relationships between many party and campaign units had been traced and understood. The differential roles of certain significant participants in the processes of campaign finance had been identified. Political giving, as part of the syndrome of political involvement of individuals and groups, had been explored. The roots of effective and ineffective legal controls had been probed, and experimentation with new forms of regulation occurred. Expertise of certain kinds had been developed sufficiently to make possible the evaluation of innovations in soliciting procedures and in other campaign practices. And, over-all, many financial linkages between social structure and political structure had been delineated. Election expenditures. Data and understanding were technically more complete in the United States at national political levels than at state and local levels, an inevitable concomitant of the federal governmental system and the decentralized party structures of the United States. For the presidential election year 1964, for example, over $26 million in expenditures through national-level campaign organizations could be clearly identified, made up of cash outlays plus debts. These expenditures were substantially higher than in previous recent presidential election years. The division of expenditures between the parties has generally favored the Republicans by a ratio of about 60 to 40, although in 1960 the division was about equal. Fluctuations in the purposes for which expenditures were made by national-level organizations could be charted, revealing, for illustration, not only the relatively stable emphasis given to both organizational and communications activities over the decades but also the displacement of the communications medium dominant at a particular time by another, i.e., newspaper advertising by radio,

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radio by television. The relative importance of donations of certain sizes could be traced: usually about two-thirds of the amount received by both parties in individual donations at the national level is in sums of $500 or more. The $26 million accounted for in 1964 by national groups constituted, however, only a small portion of the total cash spent in all nomination and election campaigns that year, probably $200 million in all. In the large states millions of dollars were spent in the presidential race. Where competition was heated, a candidate for governor or United States senator might find over a million dollars spent on his behalf. But below the national campaign level the reliability of data varied greatly from one state and locality to another, so that in only a few specific places could trends be followed from election to election. Generally, at state and local levels the number of reporting and receiving officers, the frequency of reports, and their variable accuracy and completeness made the summary and analysis of data too laborious for regular use. Many funds employed in political finance, moreover, went unreported in official accounts, thus requiring the use of much supplementary information from other sources. Party structures. The effects of political finance practices on internal party structures, and the reverse, had been increasingly studied. For example, the system of special finance committees organized openly and solely for solicitation purposes by the Republican party in the United States for years contrasted sharply with traditional practices in most units of the Democratic party. In the latter, fund raising was a function of regular campaign committees or of special small cadres of individuals, well placed to give or solicit funds, who operated largely out of public view. The Republican finance system consistently displayed greater technical proficiency and less secrecy in its operations than did Democratic practices. In both parties political solicitors became recognized as critically important communications links, representing the views and needs of candidates to donors and reflecting the interests of donors to parties and public officials. Techniques of fund raising changed rapidly in the United States in response to changes in income tax and gift tax laws, in per capita disposable income, in the tools of solicitation, in public attitudes, and in other conditions that affect who gives and how much. Legal limitations. The futility of the legal ceilings imposed on individual political gifts and on expenditures by individual campaign committees had been demonstrated. The federal and state gov-

ernments in the United States had generally pursued repressive and negative approaches in seeking to regulate political financing, prohibiting or limiting various types or amounts of contributions and expenditures. Reliance on public disclosure of campaign accounts as a disciplining influence on candidates and parties had proved disappointing to most of its advocates. Direct and indirect governmental subsidies had increasingly found favor with students and practitioners as a way of helping to meet campaign costs while avoiding some of the pressures of private financing. Four states adopted statutes permitting limited deductions of political contributions in computing personal income taxable under state law. The U.S. President's Commission on Campaign Costs, a bipartisan group appointed by John F. Kennedy in 1961, recommended tax concessions to encourage more-widelydispersed popular financing of presidential campaigns. At all three levels of knowledge postulated above—descriptive, interpretive, theoretical—greatest future progress in understanding political finance lies through systematic comparative study. This progress will require the development of many standard categories of information about political finance in diverse institutional and cultural settings. It will require sophisticated concepts and units of measurement of a type that have not characterized study of the subject in the past. The mere acquisition of certain types of desired data may in many places prove impossible. The type of material that constitutes relevant data varies from one setting to another. Common functions appear in different guises, and seemingly similar phenomena may, in their particular contexts, have quite different significances. The advances already made at a conceptual and theoretical level by students of comparative political systems offer stimulus and promise to students of comparative political finance. The effect of the processes of political finance on the recruitment of political leadership requires special attention. The financial aspects of nomination and prenomination processes have been examined in the United States, for example, yet they remain relatively obscure and their revision seems beyond the purview of most proposals for change. The character of commitments that result from acceptance of financial support requires categorization, and the conditions which prompt financial support instead of other forms of support need delineation. The illumination of these two features of political finance is essential to an understand-

POLITICAL GROUP ANALYSIS

ing of the sources and exercise of political power. Inevitably, the study of political finance will be affected—sometimes encouraged, sometimes obstructed—by its implications for political controversy. ALEXANDER HEARD [See also BUDGETING; CONFLICT OF INTEREST; PARTIES, POLITICAL; POLITICAL PARTICIPATION.]

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Office. -> The most comprehensive report of campaign finances in a presidential election year. U.S. CONGRESS, SENATE, SPECIAL COMMITTEE TO INVESTIGATE POLITICAL ACTIVITIES, LOBBYING, AND CAMPAIGN CONTRIBUTIONS 1957 Final Report. . . . Washington: Government Printing Office. -> Includes a digest of regulatory recommendations made by Congressional committees from 1905 to 1956. U.S. PRESIDENT'S COMMISSION ON CAMPAIGN COSTS 1962 Financing Presidential Campaigns: Report. Washington: Government Printing Office.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

CITIZENS' RESEARCH FOUNDATION Study. -» Published since 1960. A series of studies of diverse aspects of United States campaign finance, many of them written or edited by Herbert E. Alexander, the director of the Foundation. Congressional Quarterly Almanac. -*• Published since 1945. Publishes annual summaries of certain campaign finance information filed by candidates and political committees with the U.S. Congress. GWYN, WILLIAM B. 1962 Democracy and the Cost of Politics in Britain. London: Athlone. -> An analysis of the evolution of British practices. HEARD, ALEXANDER 1960 The Costs of Democracy. Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press. HEIDENHEIMER, ARNOLD J. 1963 Comparative Party Finance: Notes on Practices and Toward a Theory. Journal of Politics 25:790-811. OVERACKER, LOUISE 1932 Money in Elections. New York: Macmillan. OVERACKER, LOUISE 1933 Campaign Funds in a Depression Year. American Political Science Review 27:769-783. OVERACKER, LOUISE 1937 Campaign Funds in the Presidential Election of 1936. American Political Science Review 31:473-498. OVERACKER, LOUISE 1941 Campaign Finance in the Presidential Election of 1940. American Political Science Review 35:701-727. OVERACKER, LOUISE 1945 Presidential Campaign Funds, 1944. American Political Science Review 39:899-925. OVERACKER, LOUISE 1946 Presidential Campaign Funds. Boston Univ. Press. POLLOCK, JAMES K. 1926 Party Campaign Funds. New York: Knopf. POLLOCK, JAMES K. 1932 Money and Politics Abroad. New York: Knopf. ROSE, RICHARD; and HEIDENHEIMER, ARNOLD J. (editors) 1963 [Comparative Studies in Political Finance.] Journal of Politics 25:643-811. -» This symposium represents the first major project of the International Study Group on Political Finance. Contains many references to professional literature outside the United States. SHANNON, JASPER 1959 Money and Politics. New York: Random House. -» A brief historical and prescriptive treatment of political finance in the United States, with a chapter on Norwegian practices. SIKES, EARL R. 1928 State and Federal Corrupt-practices Legislation. Durham, N.C.: Duke Univ. Press. -» The principal early work on legal regulation. Largely historical and descriptive. U.S. CONGRESS, SENATE, COMMITTEE ON RULES AND ADMINISTRATION 1957 1956 General Election Campaigns: Report of the Subcommittee on Privileges and Elections. . . . Washington: Government Printing

POLITICAL GROUP ANALYSIS The analysis of political groups covers a wide range of viewpoints, conceptual schemes, and structures of preference. Although the study of nongovernmental groups is currently a widespread academic concern and although some attempts have been made to construct conceptions of the structure of political power in which groups, variously denned, are central elements, no genuine consensus of a theoretical sort has emerged from these investigations. To speak of the group approach to political studies, of the group theory, or of the group model is both inaccurate and misleading. Such terms are at best labels applied to a diverse and frequently conflicting collection of analytical efforts in the study of politics. Despite the absence of a consensus on what group analysis can do for the understanding of politics and power, one can identify two tendencies in the contemporary literature that provide a means of classifying the vast bulk of such writing. The first of these is the position that, especially in relatively developed societies, it is not possible to achieve an adequate understanding of the more visible, constitutionally recognized governmental institutions and their interconnections without taking into account the attributes and activities of nongovernmental or unofficial groups of various sorts. This position has produced a large and growing body of essentially descriptive research on the organization and activities of what are usually called pressure groups or interest groups. This type of investigation developed first in the United States, where the issues of domestic politics and the peculiarities of the constitutional structure combined to make such groups relatively visible and accessible to inquiry. Since shortly after the close of World War n, however, studies of interest groups have been conducted in most of the developed parts of the globe, especially in countries whose systems permit relatively free political inquiry and at least tolerate the formation of extragovernmental associations. The contribution of

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these studies to the description of political systems often has not gone beyond adding another set of institutions to those customarily examined—executives, legislatures, courts, bureaucracies, and political parties. A second tendency, much less common, is represented by a limited set of attempts to develop, directly from research or by synthesis from descriptive studies, something approaching a general theory of politics in which the group, variously conceived, occupies a central position. These efforts show differing degrees of sophistication and complexity. None is satisfactory as a general theory, but collectively they have helped to raise or revive, in the analysis of political systems, questions and problems of a fundamental sort that otherwise were likely to be neglected or to remain unidentified. Among these are questions concerning the nature of political leadership, the processes of electoral choice, the structure of official decision making, the character of linkages between constituents and officials, and the consequences of alternative forms of governmental organization. The convergences among these attempts are far from complete. They differ chiefly in the degree to which they allow for an independent initiative in public policy by elements of the official government, in the extent to which they see influence relations between groups and governmental units as unidirectional or reciprocal, and in the room they allow for short-run consequences of idiosyncratic behavior by those in positions of formal leadership. History The recognition of groups, broadly conceived, as significant actors in politics is scarcely a novelty in Western thought. The essential notion of the group, even as a claimant on the choices of governmental decision makers, is to be found in Plato and Aristotle. It appears and reappears in successive periods, especially when attention is focused on the classic problem of tensions between rulers and the ruled, the problem of the center versus the circumference, as Charles E. Merriam phrased it, whether in the restriction of the claims of the universal church, in the formation of the nation-state, or in the turbulence associated with the commercial and industrial revolutions. In contemporary terms the analysis of political groups has claimed attention as groups have become highly differentiated and numerous under social systems characterized by a complex division of labor, interdependence, a resulting emphasis upon bargaining relations, and efficient means of

communication, almost regardless of whether the political culture supports the open expression of dissent and the legitimacy of nongovernmental associations. In addition, the concept has been taken up by investigators attempting to give some sort of order to the confusing crosscurrents of political influence in semideveloped or underdeveloped countries exhibiting rapid change in various societal sectors. The intellectual paths leading to contemporary concern with the analysis of political groups are, however, diverse. At least four can be discerned. The first path is that of the English and Continental, especially German, pluralists. Essentially a reformist reaction, especially among its later English adherents, against the inclusive claims on behalf of the modern state to a virtual monopoly of legitimate authority, this doctrine's most influential origins are to be found in the historical jurisprudence of Gierke [see GIERKE]. Clearly not hostile to the emergent German nationalism of Bismarck, Gierke saw danger or at least error in the concept of the state as the exclusive source of law. Accordingly, he emphasized the similarities between the state and other social groups and employed his impressive historical scholarship in an attempt to revive the German Genossenschaftsrecht. Gierke's work was introduced to English thought primarily by Maitland, who was skeptical about the implications of Austin's monistic theories of state power and was consequently concerned to emphasize the importance of nongovernmental associations to an understanding of contemporary politics [see AUSTIN; MAITLAND]. Following Maitland and Figgis, who confined his attention largely to the relations between church and state, the later pluralists, G. D. H. Cole and especially Harold Laski, used these insights for an attack on existing state power and on the capitalism with which they saw it inextricably allied [see COLE, G. D. H.; FIGGIS; LASKI]. Paradoxically, their writings implicitly assumed the relative stability of postVictorian British politics in their neglect, at least until the 1930s, of the problem of how the authority of an ultimate power, whether as director or as umpire, is to be maintained. A useful instrument for socialist criticisms in Britain and for the demands of British labor, the doctrines of English pluralism were influential in the United States as a convenient descriptive approximation of some increasingly familiar features of the dispersion of power on the American scene. [See PLURALISM.] A second path to contemporary concerns was opened up by a set of highly influential Continental sociologists, notably Gumplowicz, Simmel, and

POLITICAL GROUP ANALYSIS Ratzenhofer, in the closing years of the last century [see GUMPLOWICZ; RATZENHOFER; SIMMEL]. Differing widely among themselves and pursuing sharply differing goals, they had in common an effort to use notions of the group as a means of comprehending the process of social and political development. They were among the contributors to the stimulating atmosphere of the Continental, especially the German, universities, into which entered a generation of young American scholars who were to be important in the emerging American graduate schools, in the social sciences as well as in other fields. The third path to the contemporary concern with the analysis of political groups is best exemplified by the work of one man, Arthur F. Bentley, although he was not wholly alone in his efforts. His name must be linked with that of John Dewey, who was an influence upon him as early as 1895 and with whom an increasingly intimate association and collaboration developed in the 1930s and 1940s [see DEWEY]. Bentley's classic, The Process of Government (1908), was his only systematic excursion into the explicitly political realm. The book, which was in his words an "attempt to fashion a tool," is in part critical and in part constructive. Bentley participated in "the revolt against formalism" in this period of American thought. He rejected the reification of conventional categories, whether legal, political, or psychological, and repudiated a fixed and simple classification of social groups, whether that of Marx or those of the German sociologists. He insisted that a political science, or any social science, could be based only upon observable human behavior, although he left room for a "potential" stage of activity which he called "tendencies of activity." Group activity, which he saw as a means of stating all the phenomena of government, was to be known and to be stated on this basis. He began to see the process composed of such activity as sets of "transactions," though he did not use the term or elaborate the view until much later. [See BENTLEY.] The Process of Government is thus an inquiry much broader in scope than a study of "pressure groups." For more than thirty years after its publication, however, the broader relevance of the book was almost wholly ignored. Instead, American scholars produced a series of studies of pressure groups and "lobbies" which collectively constitute the fourth discernible path to contemporary concern for the analysis of political groups. Frequently owing their inspiration to materials generated in the course of investigations conducted by committees of the Congress, these studies varied

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in scope and level of sophistication, but they built up a body of comment on a hitherto neglected type of political institution. The best of them focused on a particular arena (Herring 1929; 1936), on a type of policy choice (Schattschneider 1935), on the actions of a single group (Odegard 1928), or on the connections between a group's internal processes and its actions (Garceau 1941). Following World War n, as previously noted, the discovery that such groups were not restricted to the American political scene led to a large number of comparable investigations in a wide variety of countries. "Pressure-group" studies have since become a staple in the research activities of political scientists in almost every corner of the globe. Current trends No genuine convergence of these four paths has occurred, but collectively they have led to a number of uneven attempts to produce some limited theories or at least to alter prevailing modes of exposition. One of the first areas for this sort of effort was the American political party. The works of Herring (1940), Schattschneider (1942), and especially Key (1942) differed in their analytical and prescriptive positions, but each helped to establish the view that the political party, in the United States at least, could not be understood apart from its relations with constellations of nonparty groups [see KEY]. Key took the additional step of examining the party organization itself as one type of interest group, functionally indistinguishable in some of its features from nonparty groupings. Paralleling such attempts have been a number of efforts at theorizing about nonparty groups in relation to the whole spectrum of the political system. Although these efforts cannot yet be properly assessed, it seems likely that those which avoid too narrow a conception of the term "group" will prove most acceptable. To limit the reference of this term to the "pressure group" of popular parlance is dangerous because, on the one hand, there is the risk of oversimplification and, on the other, the likelihood of adding another piece of misleading formalism to those erected by the constitutional structure. Groups thus narrowly conceived are often assigned a monopoly of initiative in the area of public policy, no nongovernmental actors except formally organized groups of this sort are considered, and, consequently, governmental actors are treated as mere referees of group conflict or recorders and ratifiers of the outcomes of intergroup contests. This oversimplification leads to the error of treating a limiting case as if it were the norm. This

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obvious error occurs with great frequency in the literature, despite the fact that even our rough knowledge of the distribution of cases of the relation between interest group and government demonstrates that this oversimplification fails to square with the evidence concerning a vast range of instances. A proper understanding of Bentley's conception would help to avoid the constricting consequences of these oversimplified formulations. Bentley does not use the word "group" altogether unambiguously, but he does use it broadly, so that it becomes almost the equivalent of any pattern of activity. The gap between his own and conventional denotations may have been too wide, but the whole thrust of his theory was away from preassigned weights and roles. Even his distinction between underlying groups and representative groups, a variant of Marx's sub- and super-structure, did not confine the representative groups to being referees and recorders. Those who merely add the nongovernmental group to the collection of formal structures to be explained by analysis may do a different sort of disservice. By concentrating on a single institutional pattern in a descriptive way, they often lose sight of the total political process in all its complexities. In particular, they may ignore the question of variations in power resources, the question of differences in the degree of commitment and of efficient use of such resources, and the matter of the emergence of new groups and the recession of established ones. They may also neglect the functional similarities, as claimants upon legitimate authority, among a wide variety of groupings extending well beyond those conventionally accepted as "pressure groups" or interest groups. If the group notion is to prove useful in a theory of the political system, it is not likely to come about through such a reversion to formalism. Among the more promising recent efforts in the analysis of political groups have been those which have focused on a broad segment of a political system or on the whole of a single system and have attempted to include political groups in the larger analytical enterprise. The best examples of the segmental sort are to be found in recent voting studies based on sample surveys, especially The American Voter (Michigan, University of ... 1960). As part of an extensive examination of the electoral decision in the United States, this study includes an analysis of the influence of group activity and identification on the choices of voters. The immediate significance of this work is its effectiveness in coming to grips with variations in group influence

within and between elections. These the authors trace to a series of factors relating the individual to the group and the group to the political world. They show that some of these factors are relatively stable and some susceptible to considerable shortterm fluctuation through circumstance or design. This work has important implications for a wider range of questions. Exploration of the factors affecting group influence on voters' choices suggests and strengthens hypotheses and intimates lines of inquiry concerning the relations between groups and points of decision within the formal governmental apparatus. In particular, the variability of electoral influence casts further doubt on those conceptions of the relations between group and government which give the group a monopoly of initiative in all circumstances. A second and closely related example that deals with groups in the context of one broad segment of a political system is Key's work on public opinion in the United States (1961). Working primarily from survey data, in this instance data on the structure and properties of mass opinion, Key selects as a basic objective an analysis of the system of "linkages" that may make opinion governmentally relevant, including nongovernmental "pressure groups." His findings are largely inferential, but they serve to undermine simplistic conceptions that categorically assign to groups a coercive monopoly in the formation of policy. He shows that such power is exercised at most in marginal cases of low frequency, and he makes a persuasive case for more sophisticated conceptions involving a greater number of variables. A revived interest in the analysis of political systems as such has been a marked feature of the period following World War n. This revival of a classic concern is traceable in large measure to a high rate of change in numerous political systems, which has compelled analysts to re-examine and in some instances drastically to recast the organizing conceptions with which they previously worked. As a result, the activities and functions of governmentally relevant groups have been placed in context. The work, though not uniform, has produced more general and perhaps more satisfactory conceptions of governmental systems and at the same time has helped to refine views of group activity within the systems. The strongest thrust in this revival has come from the necessity to come to grips with the developing political systems in the newer nations, to which the categories conventionally used in discussing states of the western European type were patently inadequate either for

POLITICAL GROUP ANALYSIS analyzing these less familiar systems or for comparing them with the more familiar types. The most influential example of this kind of effort is the work of Almond and his associates (Almond & Coleman 1960). Building on the accumulated evidence of the multifunctionality of political structures and working on the assumption that conceptions of Western systems have overstated the functional specificity of structure, while those of the primitive and traditional systems have overemphasized diffuseness and lack of differentiation, Almond develops a set of structures and of functions and proposes a comparison of political systems in terms of the probabilities of performance of specified functions by specified structures in specified styles. In discussing the function of interest articulation, he identifies four main types of interest groups, conceived almost as broadly as Bentley's, and suggests a variety of styles in which these may perform this function. Although its success has not been definitely established, the scheme is useful because it places the analysis of political groups in a context which could allow for effective comparison of structures, styles, and systems. A more concrete example of the renewed interest in systems as it bears upon the analysis of political groups is provided by a recent study of the process of governing New York City (Sayre & Kaufman 1960). Examining this system as a contest among individuals and groups, including both governmental and nongovernmental groups, the authors deal comparatively as well as descriptively with variations in the degree of involvement, in the resources, and in the goals of the group contestants. They introduce further and significant probabilistic properties into their scheme by emphasizing the effects of uncertainty, including imperfect information, upon the actions of participants. The resulting conception has considerable analytical power. Although it may not, without considerable modification, be appropriate to a wide range of cases, it bears at least a familial resemblance to other leading efforts to deal with groups in the context of an analysis of systems. In one form or another the analysis of political groups has become fixed as part of the study of governmental systems and processes. Whether this analysis is pursued at the level of the group or at the level of the system, the current trends suggest that it is unlikely to prove fruitful unless it avoids a reversion to formalism and rejects simplistic, single-factor schemes of explanation. The promising revival of interest in the political system and

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the associated tendencies toward probabilistic conceptions point more constructively toward conceiving political groups in context and toward developing multivariate schemes in which such groups are taken into account as factors of varying weight and consequence. DAVID B. TRUMAN [See also INTEREST GROUPS; PLURALISM; PUBLIC POLICY; SYSTEMS ANALYSIS, article on POLITICAL SYSTEMS. Other relevant material may be found in POLITICAL SCIENCE; and in the biographies of BENTLEY; FOLLETT; MERRIAM.] BIBLIOGRAPHY

ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and COLEMAN, JAMES S. (editors) 1960 The Politics of the Developing Areas. Princeton Univ. Press. BENTLEY, ARTHUR F. (1908) 1949 The Process of Government: A Study of Social Pressures. Introduction by H. T. Davis. Bloomington, Ind.: Principia Press. GARCEAU, OLIVER (1941) 1961 The Political Life of the American Medical Association. Hamden, Conn.: Shoe String Press. HERRING, E. PENDLETON 1929 Group Representation Before Congress. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press. HERRING, E. PENDLETON 1936 Public Administration and the Public Interest. New York: McGraw-Hill. HERRING, E. PENDLETON 1940 The Politics of Democracy. New York: Norton. HIRSCHMAN, ALBERT O. 1963 Journeys Toward Progress: Studies of Economic Policy-making in Latin America. New York: Twentieth Century Fund. KEY, VALDIMER O. JR. (1942)1964 Politics, Parties, and Pressure Groups. 5th ed. New York: Crowell. KEY, VALDIMER O. JR. 1961 Public Opinion and American Democracy. New York: Knopf. LAPALOMBARA, JOSEPH G. 1964 Interest Groups in Italian Politics. Princeton Univ. Press. LOVEDAY, PETER 1962 Group Theory and Its Critics. Pages 3-44 in Peter Loveday and Ian Campbell, Groups in Theory and Practice. Melbourne: Cheshire. MACRIDIS, ROY C. 1961 Interest Groups in Comparative Analysis. Journal of Politics 23:25-45. MEYNAUD, JEAN 1958 Les groupes de pression en France. Paris: Colin. MICHIGAN, UNIVERSITY OF, SURVEY RESEARCH CENTER 1960 The American Voter, by Angus Campbell et al. New York: Wiley. ODEGARD, PETER H. 1928 Pressure Politics: The Story of the Anti-saloon League. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. SAYRE, WALLACE S.; and KAUFMAN, HERBERT 1960 Governing New York City: Politics in the Metropolis. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. SCHATTSCHNEIDER, ELMER E. 1935 Politics, Pressures, and the Tariff: A Study of Free Private Enterprise in Pressure Politics, As Shown in the 1929-1930 Revision of the Tariff. New York: Prentice-Hall. SCHATTSCHNEIDER, ELMER E. (1942) 1960 Party Government. New York: Holt. TRUMAN, DAVID B. (1951) 1962 The Governmental Process: Political Interests and Public Opinion. New York; Knopf.

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POLITICAL IDENTIFICATION See IDENTIFICATION, POLITICAL. POLITICAL JUSTICE Political justice refers to the use of the judicial process for the purpose of gaining (or upholding or enlarging) or limiting (or destroying) political power or influence. It may accompany or confirm political or military action, or it may be a substitute for such action. Political justice usually involves the courts, which may be invoked either by public officials or, in those societies which permit open competition for political power, by private individuals. The party invoking the judicial arm must present its demands in a form susceptible of legal determination. This party's allegations in regard to facts must be open to incrimination and proof under the specific legal system involved. These allegations may relate to intrinsically political acts or to common crimes in which the criminal is charged with political motivation, for example, bank robbery to finance revolutionary activity. Those bringing the case may reap propaganda benefits from the political stature of a person implicated in offenses of a nonpolitical and even technical nature, for example, violation of foreign exchange regulations. The classical political offense is that of attempting to obtain or to damage a position of political power by actions incompatible with the rules of the existing political system. The state may define the offense in such all-embracing terms as those defining the early Roman perduellio—"animated by a spirit hostile to the commonweal" (Ulpian, Digest 48, 4, 11). This offense simply consisted in whatever the tribuni plebis were able to put over on the people as perduellio (Brecht 1938). Contemporary equivalents are various forms of the offense of "endangering the security of the state." This type of protective grant may, of course, be refined into any number of ad hoc enactments. The modern concept of uniform citizenship has led toward a more clear-cut definition of civic obligations, although the extension of the individual's political rights has created many possibilities of contest over the boundary between political freedom and political crime, between permissible dissent and punishable disloyalty. Until the beginning of the twentieth century both legislation and judicial practice in Western society showed a general line of development that increasingly excluded peaceful speech and agitation by individuals or

groups from the category of crime against the state or its rulers. The political and intellectual climate deteriorated in the interwar period. The concept of the independent and unified national state was challenged by technological changes, by the increasing intransigence of domestic political deviations, and by external threats to the autonomy of the nationstate. Furthermore, a number of states were reorganized on totalitarian lines far more restrictive than had been the case with old-fashioned autocracies. Consequently, twentieth-century statutes have tended to narrow the perimeters of permitted political activities, facilitating the prevention or detection by the state apparatus of even the most incipient stages of hostile organization or propaganda. Internal and external dangers have given rise to concepts such as "demoralization" of the army or nation and "danger to the existence or independence" of the state. Even in fairly open societies, where traditional categories of political offenses provide fewer means for reproving real or fancied dissent, the state may redefine "perjury" or "contempt of the legislature" so that the area of legal control extends over political attitudes or actions. Individual and group competitors in politics may invoke the concept of "defamation of character" to intimidate their opponents or score propaganda advantages. The utilization of such concepts allows the state or the political contestants to compress the most complex processes and correspondingly complex attitudes into stereotypes of black-or-white, yes-or-no alternatives. The contest between alternatives seems to lend itself to court determination and helps to create public images of defense of, or attack upon, traditional values. In the liberal constitutional framework the value of the political trial depends on the psychological and political pressures of the moment. Because of the meaningfulness of the traditional legal institutions and processes, the trial is marked by a creative element of risk and unpredictability, which distinguishes it from an administrative command performance. Outside the realm of liberal constitutionalism this creative element of uncertainty is reduced, sometimes to the vanishing point. The judiciary is likely not only to be connected with the state authorities of the day by common social premises (as is usual in all societies) but to be directly dependent upon them. The element of uncertainty disappeared altogether in the Stalinist trials of the 1930s and 1940s. They differed not only from liberal usage but from old-style authoritarian trials

POLITICAL JUSTICE by integrating allegations and evidence almost completely with changing political needs. They prefabricated the incriminating facts and tried to fit them tightly into the hypothesis of treasonable development, which the defendant, now publicly cooperating with the prosecution, was assigned to represent. The Stalinist trial formula was the extreme and partly self-defeating culmination of political justice. In political trials, the decision is officially sought in terms of the alleged criminal past behavior of the real or fancied political foe. Yet the judgment frequently rests on a projection of the defendant's alleged past behavior into the future. Criminal responsibility for past action is transformed into responsibility for hypothetical future happenings. The criminal-conspiracy thesis is manipulated so as to converge with the conspiracy thesis of the historical process. Political trials of leaders and prominent members of fallen political regimes are a special, though by no means novel, category of political justice (e.g., Charles i, Louis xvi, Robespierre). Frequent changes of political regime have brought an increasing number of trials by fiat of political successors. Beginning with the abortive Riom trials of the leaders of the French Third Republic and reaching a peak in the Nuremberg and Tokyo warcrimes trials, judicial arraignments of predecessor regimes have become a regular feature of sudden political change. In the late 1950s and early 1960s such trials took place in Turkey, South Korea, Cuba, and elsewhere. They frequently lump together responsibility for unsuccessful political action with charges of violation of constitutional norms, illegal forms of personal enrichment, and inhuman and brutal acts, termed "crimes against humanity" in the war-crimes language. The war-crimes trials were an intensive form of predecessor-regime trial, although in their case the successor regime was a composite of foreign military victors. These trials added a new and, judging by the results, problematic dimension to international political justice: the charge of aggressive warfare. This charge raised legal doubts because it was newly created after the commission of the incriminated acts. Moreover, this charge was somewhat tainted by hypocrisy, coming as it did from states that had either tolerated many of the acts of the now fallen culprits or even become their accomplices. Predecessor-regime trials combine the most problematic features of political trials. They invariably raise the problems of the ad hoc court (judges

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selected for the specific purpose) and the tu quoque rejoinder (discussed above). They also suffer from procedural shortcomings, restrictions on the freedom of defense, and the lack of any appeals jurisdiction. They are largely directed toward the creation of politically useful imagery. Nevertheless, the trials of predecessor regimes carry their own justification to the extent that the procedural irregularities are outbalanced by the weight of the intrinsic evils that they bring before the bar. The frequency and severity of political trials depend on many variables of time and place. Few societies have been entirely free of political justice, but the continuum extends from the halcyon days of Victorian England to the delirium of Stalinist Russia. Acute physical threat to the existing order —social, political, colonial, or racial—is most likely to lead the authorities to invoke the judicial apparatus frequently; sometimes their foes are in a position to invoke it too, and occasionally political prosecutions may result from the local interplay between informal police violence and judicial procedure. Where access to courts is fairly free and where witnesses are protected against the cruder forms of intimidation and violence, courts exercise a dual function. They legitimize official reaction against open challenge to constituted authority. Also, however, by submitting official action to some form of court scrutiny, however mild, they act as brakes upon the spread of official violence. In the absence of acute physical challenge to established authority the likelihood of political prosecution is linked to tactical and propagandistic considerations. It also depends on the strength or weakness of liberal traditions, on ideological judgments, on the prospects of continued erosion of existing authority—as well as on officeholders' calm or fear in the face of events beyond their control. Any court performing an act of political justice rejects the contentions of illegality and prejudice and insists on the strict legality of its bases of action. But whether courts apply an existing norm to appropriately ascertained events or apply a spurious norm to "events" perhaps artificially concocted, they are influenced by the actions of political agencies. Similarly, the actions of the courts can support, mitigate, or check those of the political bodies. The utilization of the apparatus of justice to attain, and at the same time to legitimize, political goals raises questions of appropriateness, necessity, and usefulness. The justification of both goals pursued and methods applied will remain endlessly in

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dispute, in general and in each individual case. Meanwhile, resort to court proceedings for political ends, especially by the state, will be subject to its own inherent limitations. It is one paradox of political justice that repression is most effective when least necessary—that is, when th*3 regime attacks small, unimportant, or transitory minorities—and least likely to be effective when most attractive to the regime, that is, in the face of strong, persistent minority opinion and organization. It is another basic paradox that the value of legal procedure in conveying or enhancing the legitimacy of a regime depends largely on the degree to which that procedure respects the limitations on political prosecution, that is, the degree of insistence upon evidence of concrete past action, the untrammeled introduction and challenge of testimony, the freedom of the defense, and the organizational and intellectual distance between the prosecution and the court. OTTO KIRCHHEIMER [See also INTERNATIONAL CRIMES; JUDICIAL PROCESS; JUSTICE.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ARENDT, HANNAH 1963 Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil. New York: Viking. BRECHT, CHRISTOPH HEINRICH 1938 Perduello: Eine Studie zur ihrer begrifflichen Abgrenzung im romischen Strafrecht bis zum Ausgang der Republik. Munich: Beck. CASAMAYOR, Louis 1960 Le bras seculier: Justice et police. Paris: Edition du Seuil. DONNEDIEU DE VABRES, HENRI 1947 Le proces de Nuremberg. Paris: Editions Domat Montchrestien. GUDE, MAX 1957 Probleme des politischen Strafrechts. Hamburg: Monatsschrift fur Dt. Recht Verlag-Gesellschaft. HAUSNER, GIDEON 1966 Justice in Jerusalem. New York: Harper. HURST, WILLARD 1944-1945 Treason in the United States. Harvard Law Review 58:226-272, 395-444, 806-857. KIRCHHEIMER, OTTO 1961 Political Justice: The Use of Legal Procedure for Political Ends. Princeton Univ. Press. LEITES, NATHAN; and BERNAUT, ELSA 1954 Ritual of Liquidation: The Case of the Moscow Trials. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. MERLEAU-PONTY, MAURICE 1947 Humanisme et terreur: Essai sur le probleme communiste. Paris: Gallimard. MOMMSEN, THEODOR 1899 Romisches Strafrecht. Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot. PAPADATOS, PIERRE A. 1954 Le delit politique: Contribution a I'etude des crimes contre I'etat. Geneva: Droz. RITTER, JOHANNES M. 1942 Verr at und Untreue an Volk, Reich und Staat. Berlin: De Gruyter. WOETZEL, ROBERT K. (1960) 1962 The Nuremberg Trials in International Law: With a Postlude on the Eichmann Case. New York: Praeger; London: Stevens.

POLITICAL MACHINES The term "machine," when used in a social context, describes a hierarchic organization whose members perform different functions, play various roles, and occupy various statuses. It has a leadership which defines and pursues goals and policies with sufficient effectiveness and regularity so that it can be compared to a mechanical device. The term also suggests efficiency, impersonality, and ruthlessness in operation and in the pursuit of goals. The analogy between the human organization and the mechanical organization can be elaborated by pointing to the need of both for fuel, lubricant, and an operator, or headman, or boss. A political machine is a stable, well-functioning party organization headed by a boss or leader or by a small leadership group. It may be rural or urban. It usually operates on a city or county basis, although state-wide machines can also be found. It is a group composed in the main of professional politicians whose principal objective is the acquisition, maintenance, and enlargement of political power. Development of the concept. In the past (see Sait 1933) it was usual to distinguish between the political party, the political organization, and the political club on the one hand, and the machine on the other. The machine was wicked. It sought power secretly and through the use of corrupt and sometimes criminal methods. Its objectives were not the public or party good but private and personal gain. Ostrogorskii (1902) promulgated this view. For him, machines were legitimate party organizations which had been "captured" by mercenaries. He believed that honest machines were not natural. Such views are less common today but are still widely held, especially outside scholarly circles. They emphasize "ruthless efficiency," bribery, patronage, graft, and rigging of elections. In the past and certainly currently, the term has also been applied without such sinister connotations. This was true in such cases as the "La Follette machine" or the "Taft machine." The neutral connotation is more useful, since it makes a greater contribution to an understanding of the phenomenon. Thus, any stable, effective, political organization which has a leadership, a hierarchy, and disciplined members should be considered a political machine. Theodore Roosevelt was correct when he observed that the opposition's organization is habitually called a machine, and its leader a boss or a politician. One's own is a club or party, perhaps even a faction or a caucus, and its head is invari-

POLITICAL MACHINES ably a political leader. Sait insisted that "the boss generally claims the title of leader and the machine, usurping the name as well as the thing, calls itself the party organization" (1933, p. 657). Roosevelt and other commentators recognized that both leaders and machines were necessary as well as inevitable. However, machine and boss are generally considered by press and people as evil both in purpose and in method. Bryce considered "machine" as simply a synonym for "party organization." His chapters entitled "The Machine" dealt with the hierarchy of party committees and conventions (1888, vol. 2, chapters 60-62). Most contemporary scholarship follows this lead. For example, according to V. O. Key, Jr., the party consists of all those who consider themselves members, while the "inner core" of the party is the "party machine or organization"—"the more or less cohesive group held together by the ambition to gain power" (1942, see p. 337 in the 1953 edition). What the machine does with the power if and when it gains it is much less important in Key's approach. The machine may be corrupt and vicious, or clean as a hound's tooth and publicspirited to boot. Avery Leiserson cogently sums up these attempts to distinguish between "political" bosses and machines, without principles or ideology, etc., and the presumably principled, nonpolitical organizations and leaders. With respect to these legitimate as against nonlegitimate forms, he concludes: As a conception of political organization, the picture of party organizations as being necessarily dominated more by the motives of private, personal gain than are so-called non-political organizations suffers from two defects: (1) substitution of a logical or ethical criterion for empirical, functional analysis, and (2) failure to realize that any kind of organization that enters the political process commits the "sin" of mixing ideal with material motives. If there is a distinctive motivation and attitude characteristic of political parties, it is the survival and the power of the organization, but in this the party is no worse than the church, the army, the corporation, or the trade union. (1958, pp. 199-200) The history of machines. Machines and bosses are as old as politics. They have existed in many parts of the world. Pericles was a boss; so were Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus—and the last three constituted the leadership of a "machine." So was Robert Walpole in eighteenth-century England. Today Latin American dictators, General Franco of Spain, Premier Ky of South Vietnam, and the heads of most of the emerging countries could be considered bosses. Michels' "iron law of oligarchy" dis-

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covered bosses in European socialist parties. Everyone is familiar with the description of Nikita Khrushchev as a boss. Hamilton, Jefferson, and Burr were bosses; and their "factions" or "caucuses" were "machines" composed of members of the gentry. Jacksonian democracy ushered in an era which required the ordering and mobilization of large numbers of newly enfranchised frontiersmen. This was a great opportunity for the creators of effective political organization. The "gentlemen" were pushed aside by this new breed, who brought new skills to the political arena. They cared less for niceties and manners than for effectiveness and private pelf. The spoils had been increased by the multiplication of offices and the destruction of the civil service. The Jacksonians succeeded in this enterprise because of widespread antipathy toward the gentry, because their tactics were rationalized by a primitive democratic theory, and because the attention of most of the population was on the conquest of the continent. A division of labor was made between "the people" and the political machine. By mid-nineteenth century, effective, disciplined machines were active in most cities. Because of their near monopoly of nominations, they became in a real sense the governments of the cities. Highly organized local politics became the rule, while national politics remained chaotic. Local machines continued to be characteristic in both urban and rural areas at least until after World War n. Since then there has been a decline. But in the 1950s Philadelphia, which had formerly been a Republican fief, created an old-style Democratic organization. Why were many of these machines so corrupt? Tocqueville noted that Americans believed that politics was disreputable. It was considered suitable only for those who had failed in private business. In those early days the public business was believed to offer fewer challenges than private realms. American party conflict has been unusually nonideological in character as compared with that of parties elsewhere. Issues between parties, especially local parties, have tended to be nonexistent or dull. Gifted or imaginative men have not been attracted to party life, especially if they are genteel. This continued to be the case at least until the time of Theodore Roosevelt, and even then friends tried to cajole him away from dealing with the low fellows in politics. The apathy of the "decent" person, that is, one who shunned politics, was not the only reason for abdication of the responsibilities of republican citi-

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zenship. The machines succeeded to complicate government machinery and the electoral process to such an extent that many amateurs became frustrated. This was even more true of the growing number of poorly educated, sometimes illiterate, usually non-English-speaking voters. The funrtions of machines. Machines developed in part to compensate for the fractionalization of governmental authority decreed by the national and state constitutions. The wide dispersal of power made effective and responsible government difficult, if not impossible. The inability of the national government to act with energy was a serious matter. A similar situation existed at the state and local levels. In state governments, long lists of administrative officials were elected. In cities and counties it was worse. There was confusion, overlapping, and duplication between cities and counties, and also among the myriad school districts and specialpurpose governments. Thus, frequently when important problems occurred and the people or some interests demanded firm, quick action, no one had adequate authority to act. The machine filled this lack. It was the only available means of redressing the rigidities of formal government structure. Structure, in the form of law, was stifling necessary function. The machine volunteered to redress the balance. This process was accelerated by the rapid growth of cities as the industrial revolution transformed an agrarian land into an embryonic urban society. By 1890 the population of urban centers had increased sixfold while the rural population had only doubled. The crazy-quilt system of local government which had already demonstrated its inadequacy could not begin to meet the grave new challenges. Then, as now, the new urbanites were not prepared for their changed life—nor were their governments and their public officials. City life of those days was more harsh and more cruel than it is today. Many immigrants were terrified. Even native-born, rural-reared Americans found adjustment to the impersonal and dangerous city difficult. Both needed and wanted help. Middle-class people, especially businessmen, also had needs: streets, sewers, police and fire protection. Building permits and other licenses were required. Protection was wanted from sometimes debilitatingly rigorous administration of regulatory ordinances. Valuable franchises for public utilities and mass transportation were desired. Many fled to the suburbs in order to escape corruption, boss rule, and high taxes, surrendering the city to the machine and the poor. Criminal and twilight enterprises require per-

mission and protection: bookmaking, gambling, prostitution, horse and dog races. The best available broker for the criminal and the racketeer was the corrupt machine and its captive police force. The quid pro quo was not only money but also votes and manpower on election day. Chicago bosses "Hinky-Dink" Kenna and "Bathhouse" John Coughlin had a horde of pimps, prostitutes, and their cohorts regularly available on election day. Mass immigration was the source of an important part of the population growth. The majority of immigrants settled in the cities, which became ethnically heterogeneous, so that the machines were able to appeal to national pride and prejudice. Often the immigrants received nearly instant citizenship and franchise. Because of their inability to speak English, because of their poverty and illiteracy and lack of experience with voting, their votes were often purchasable. The machines had the manpower, experience, incentive, and effrontery to manipulate the new citizens. The task of the machines was made easier by the legacy of Jacksonian democracy and populism. Aided by the loose national governmental structure, the spoils system had become institutionalized. So had the long ballot. Only a few people had the energy, time, and knowledge to comprehend the complexities of the electoral process and the unreasonable burden of seriously evaluating dozens of candidates in every election. Being unable to do this, many voters were prepared to be assisted by the willing machines. In a society in which there is rapid and dramatic concentration of wealth coupled with a developing tradition of an ever-widening franchise, it is inevitable that the wealthy attempt to control the growing number of enfranchised poor. Ethical restrictions could not stand in the way of furthering this goal. Machines were used because they possessed the skills and resources to control the multitudes. In part, machine politics developed for these reasons. In a deeper sense, however, the growth of machines was inevitable. Organization is required in all complex undertakings, and in any organization there is a tendency for a few to dominate, no matter how many may seem to participate. This tendency is exacerbated by the lack of effective, integrated leadership which can produce coherent policies and viable government and which the people can hold accountable. Because this sort of leadership was absent and unavailable in the formal structure, it had to be supplied from the outside as the only alternative to chaos. Leadership thus went to the party organization, the political machine, and the boss.

POLITICAL MACHINES Corruption and reform. The political, social, economic, and financial costs of corrupt machines are incalculable but enormous, whatever their inevitability or functional utility. The cost in terms of the "degradation of the democratic dogma" cannot be measured. Tens of millions of Americans have developed cynical attitudes toward the myths of our political system, expressed by "You can't fight city hall." The low prestige of politics and politicians is another result, since it has served to keep many potentially able people away from the public arena. The civil service has been degraded. The United States lagged fifty years behind European countries in adopting public welfare and social insurance programs. The physical city and the quality of life therein have deteriorated. Few cities have been specifically planned, and thus lack parks, beaches, and other public amenities. Inadequate schools, inadequate fire protection, inadequate and/or brutal police service, the development of slums, lack of minimum standards for housing, neglect of tenements, rent gouging, lack of consumer protection, wholly inadequate hospital and public health services, an almost total lack of protective labor legislation, and long delays in legislation for the protection of women and children— all have been caused by rapacious machines. From the early days, attempts have been made to bring about structural changes to improve the quality, tone, and probity of government. Most of these have not succeeded. There is evidence that good government can come into being without structural changes and that bad government can continue despite great changes in form. On the one hand, high-quality leadership by the mayor and city council can rectify some systems considered wretched; on the other hand, wily bosses have successfully circumvented reform. The major reforms attempted included the following: the nonpartisan election; the commission form of government; the council-manager form of government; the election for councilmen-at-large; the proliferation of the merit system at all levels; the initiative, referendum, and recall; the Australian secret ballot; the short ballot; centralizing power and responsibility at state and local levels, including the state government reorganization movement and the public administration movement. [See LOCAL POLITICS.] The decline of the machine. In recent years, machine politics has been in decline. Local sources of machine power have been significantly eroded. A study of the 1956 national elections in the United States reported that only 10 per cent of its respondents had been contacted by party workers. If only

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residents of nonsouthern cities of over 100,000 population are considered, this proportion increases to nearly 20 per cent. But even this figure is a modest one for an effective machine (Greenstein 1963, p. 40). The reasons for this decay are in part conjectural. There has been a great reduction in traditional rewards of money, perquisites, and jobs offered by the machine to the poor and the ethnic minorities. Some of this is doubtless due to accretions of various reforms and the loss of patronage. There has also been a vast increase in governmental social welfare programs. And the dramatic increase in the general standard of living has reduced the value of the rewards that the machine is still able to offer. The number of persons so attracted has declined as the poor have decreased. Material security has altered attitudes toward the self, government, and society. "Recognition" and other emoluments no longer seduce blocs of voters as they once did. Boss control was further weakened as the intensity of group identification diminished and as many old ethnic neighborhoods changed. The rise in strength and influence of trade unions, with their strong pension, health, and welfare plans, has further reduced the value of boss rewards to yet another clientele. Moreover, union members receive political directions from union political action committees which may rival political machines in resources and manpower. Generally the electorate is now better educated and the mass media offer much political information, increasing the sophistication of the electorate. In some places machines have been brought down from the outside. In New York, Carmine DiSapio was unseated in this way, and the forces of Eisenhower and Goldwater each defeated the "regular" Republican machines in enough states and localities to win presidential nominations by landslides. An important element in these defeats of the machine was the availability of what the constituents accepted as attractive candidates. In addition, especially in the Goldwater campaign, control of party machinery was wrested from the regulars. Reformers in New York and California have displayed more political insight and greater willingness to "play" organizational politics than their predecessors did. Although the new reformers abhor bosses and machine politics, they have worked within the parties and have challenged the machine at its own game of face-to-face voter persuasion. Machine politics still survives. There remain large

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pockets of poverty amid American affluence where conditions are similar to those which accompanied the rise of the machines. By various estimates 17 per cent or 20 per cent or 25 per cent of the population is poor. Negroes and Puerto Ricans make up a significant portion of the poor, and their problems ?re somewhat similar to those of the earlier waves of immigrants. Both groups have made important, though insufficient, gains in political representation. The power that Congressman Adam Clayton Powell had in New York and the increasing number of Negroes in Congress testify to this. In California and the Southwest, citizens of Mexican origin are similarly increasing their political activities. Machine politics is not yet dead, even in the invidious sense. There have been major transformations; there will be more. But the need for organizations, for leadership, and for political responsibility has increased in the contemporary world. Some promising new organizational forms are developing. They coexist side by side with the remaining weakened and modified older forms and with the still developing structures in the troubled Negro, Puerto Rican, and Mexican-American ghettos. Perhaps we are now wiser than we were fifty years ago. Perhaps we can devise structures that will permit access and integration for those groups which are still dispossessed, without paying the enormous price we have paid for ineffective and often venal local governments.

ALEX GOTTFRIED [Directly related are the entries CITY, especially the article on METROPOLITAN GOVERNMENT; LOCAL POLITICS; POLITICAL CLUBS. Other relevant material may be found in COMMUNITY; LOCAL GOVERNMENT; NONPARTISANSHIP; POLITICAL.]

OFFICE,

MISUSE OF; PARTIES,

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BANFIELD, EDWARD C. (1961) 1965 Political Influence. New York: Free Press. BRYCE, JAMES (1888) 1909 The American Commonwealth. 3d ed. 2 vols. New York and London: Macmillan. -» An abridged edition was published in 1959 by Putnam. FLYNN, EDWARD J. 1947 You're the Boss. New York: Viking. GOSNELL, HAROLD F. (1937) 1939 Machine Politics: Chicago Model. Univ. of Chicago Press. GOTTFRIED, ALEX 1962 Boss Cermak of Chicago: A Study of Political Leadership. Seattle: Univ. of Washington Press. GREENSTEIN, FRED I. 1963 The American Party System and the American People. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall. GREENSTEIN, FRED I. 1964 The Changing Pattern of Urban Politics. American Academy of Political and Social Science, Annals 353:1-13.

KEY, V. O. JR. (1942) 1964 Politics, Parties, and Pressure Groups. 5th ed. New York: Crowell. LEISERSON, AVERY 1958 Parties and Politics: An Institutional and Behavioral Approach. New York: Knopf. McKEAN, DAYTON O. 1949 Party and Pressure Politics. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. MARTIN, RALPH G. 1964 The Bosses. New York: Putnam. MERRIAM, CHARLES E. 1929 Chicago: A More Intimate View of Urban Politics. New York: Macmillan. MERRIAM, CHARLES E.; and GOSNELL, HAROLD F. (1922) 1949 The American Party System: An Introduction to the Study of Political Parties in the United States. 4th ed. New York: Macmillan. MERTON, ROBERT K. (1949) 1964 The Functions of the Political Machine. Pages 215-226 in Frank J. Munger and Douglas Price (editors), Readings in Political Parties and Pressure Groups. New York: Crowell. OSTROGORSKII, MoisEi I. 1902 Democracy and the Organization of Political Parties. 2 vols. London and New York: Macmillan. -» An abridged paperback edition was published in 1964 by Quadrangle. RIORDAN, WILLIAM L. (1905) 1948 Plunkitt of Tammany Hall. New York: Knopf. -» A paperback edition was published in 1963 by Button. ROGOW, ARNOLD A.; and LASSWELL, HAROLD D. (1963) 1964 The Boss and His Past: Game and Gain Politicians. Pages 207-217 in James D. Barber (compiler), Political Leadership in American Government. Boston: Little. SALT, EDWARD MCCHESNEY 1933 Machine, Political. Volume 9. pages 657-661 in Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences. New York: Macmillan. SALTER, JOHN T. 1935 Boss Rule: Portraits in City Politics. New York: McGraw-Hill. WILSON, JAMES Q. 1960 Negro Politics: The Search for Leadership. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press.

POLITICAL MOVEMENTS See the guide under SOCIAL MOVEMENTS.

POLITICAL ORGANIZATION See under POLITICAL ANTHROPOLOGY.

POLITICAL PARTICIPATION In this article the term "political participation" will refer to those voluntary activities by which members of a society share in the selection of rulers and, directly or indirectly, in the formation of public policy. The term "apathy" will refer to a state of withdrawal from, or indifference to, such activities. These activities typically include voting, seeking information, discussing and proselytizing, attending meetings, contributing financially, and communicating with representatives. The more "active" forms of participation include formal enrollment in a party, canvassing and registering voters, speech writing and speechmaking, working in campaigns, and competing for public

POLITICAL PARTICIPATION and party office. We shall exclude from this discussion such involuntary activities as paying taxes, serving in the armed forces, and performing jury duty. Why do social scientists study political participation? To begin with, participation is an ingredent of every polity, large or small. Whether the society is an oligarchy or a democracy, someone must make political decisions and appoint, uphold, and remove leaders. Those who fail to participate, whether out of neglect or exclusion, are likely to enjoy less power than other men. Although not all who participate possess effective power, those who do not participate cannot exercise or share power. As these observations imply, the right to participate is an essential element of democratic government, inseparable from such other attributes of democracy as consent, accountability, majority rule, equality, and popular sovereignty. Indeed, the growth of democratic government is in part measured by the extension of the suffrage and the correlative rights to hold office and to associate for political purposes. Whereas traditional monarchies restrict power and participation largely to the nobility and their agents, democracies have in principle transformed these prerogatives into rights enjoyed by everyone. This expansion of participation was partly stimulated by the desire to give meaning and force to the principles of consent, accountability, and political opposition. Participation is the principal means by which consent is granted or withdrawn in a democracy and rulers are made accountable to the ruled. Since men can be equal and free only if they share in the determination of their own affairs, participation has been viewed as a means for realizing these democratic objectives as well. [See DEMOCRACY.] From Aristotle to John Dewey, political philosophers have extolled popular participation as a source of vitality and creative energy, as a defense against tyranny, and as a means of enacting the collective wisdom. By involving the many in the affairs of the state, participation should promote stability and order; and by giving everyone the opportunity to express his own interests, it should secure the greatest good for the greatest number. The community should gain, furthermore, by drawing upon the talents and skills of the largest possible number of people. Some philosophers have claimed, in addition, that participation benefits the participants as well as the larger community. It ennobles men by giving them a sense of their own dignity and value, alerts both rulers

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and ruled to their duties and responsibilities, and broadens political understanding. Ought participation, however, to be open to all, or restricted to those who know how to use it wisely? On this question, political philosophers and statesmen have often disagreed. Some have maintained that men are not equally worthy of being consulted about their opinions. Some have held that men should be excluded because of caste, race, religion, poverty, or other presumed marks of irresponsibility and moral deficiency. Some have argued that men who lack property or education have no "stake in society," are likely to be swayed by demagogues, and will use the opportunity to participate merely to register their envy and recalcitrance. Arguments like these lay behind the exclusion of slaves and aliens from Athenian democratic processes; of commoners and Jews and other nonCatholics from participation in medieval principalities; and of Catholics from governments formed in the wake of the Reformation. Even the American constitution, as originally framed, implicitly sanctioned prohibitions against voting or holding office for reasons of race, property, religion, or sex. At the present time, the suffrage in some parts of the United States is, in law or in fact, denied to aliens, illiterates, paupers, criminals, Indians, and Negroes. Nevertheless, as democratic institutions have advanced, the trend has been for such barriers to be dropped. Despite their historical association, widespread participation is not peculiar to democracy. Even greater emphasis is placed upon participation by the modern mass dictatorships, both communist and fascist. Their desire to involve every citizen in political affairs is evident not only in their efforts to achieve unanimous voting in elections but also in their organizaton of the masses into an elaborate network of youth groups, mass parties, trade unions, people's councils, cooperatives, recreational and cultural societies, study circles, conferences, rallies, parades, demonstrations, and staged mass demonstrations. Whether these efforts represent participation in the sense in which we have been using that term is open to question. Much of this activity is involuntary, and none of it is designed to allow the masses to wield influence over policy or the selection of rulers. On the contrary, it is manipulated by the self-appointed political elite so as to exploit the democratic mystique, make the masses accessible to the regime's propaganda, harness their energies in the building of the state, and lend the regime an appearance of legitimacy. Thus, the

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attempt to involve the people in the achievement of the state's programs is calculated to strengthen the dictatorship rather than to bring it under popular control. [See DICTATORSHIP.] Nature and frequency of participation Despite its importance to democracy, the right to participate is not exercised by all who possess it. The number of nonparticipants varies with time, place, and circumstance, and also with the type of participation. More people discuss politics than vote, and many more vote than join parties or work in campaigns. Approximately three-fourths of the Americans surveyed during recent national elections reported that they had discussed the campaign with other people. The number of eligible Americans who have actually voted in presidential elections since World War ii has ranged from 51.5 per cent in 1948 to 63.8 per cent in 1960 (U.S. Bureau of the Census 1965, p. 384). Turnout in off-year elections to the House of Representatives during the same period has ranged from 37.6 per cent in 1946 to 48.9 per cent in 1962 (U.S. President's Commission . . . 1963, p. 66). Approximately one-fourth of the electorate professes to have proselytized others on behalf of one of the parties or candidates (Michigan . . . 1960, p. 91). Some 15 per cent say they have worn a campaign button or displayed a sticker (Milbrath 1965a, p. 19), and almost the same number claim to have written or wired their congressmen or senators on some occasion (Public Opinion: 1935-1946 1951, p. 703). An even smaller number (roughly 10 per cent) claim to have contributed campaign funds (Alexander 1966, p. 69), while 7 per cent assert that they have attended political meetings, rallies, or dinners (Michigan . . . 1960, p. 91). From 3 to 5 per cent maintain that they participated actively in recent national campaigns (Lane 1959, p. 53), while only 2 or 3 per cent claim membership in political clubs or organizations (Michigan . . . 1960, p. 91). The number who run for political office or hold influential posts in the parties is, of course, even smaller—only a fraction of 1 per cent. Even these figures are probably inflated, for more people tend to report political activity than actually engage in it. The figures cited may also vary, depending upon the time of polling (e.g., whether during or between campaigns) and the type of election: more people vote in national than in local elections, in presidential than in off-year elections, in partisan elections than in primaries, and in elections involving candidates than in referenda involving issues.

Political interest and awareness are related variables that are even more difficult to assess than participation, because their manifestations are less overt. Roughly one-third to one-half of the respondents surveyed during the 1956 election had no opinion or information on 16 well-known political issues (ibid., p. 174). Approximately one-third of the adult public expressed little or no interest in the 1948 and 1952 elections, while another third were only "moderately" or "somewhat" interested (Berelson et al. 1954; Campbell et al. 1954). Even fewer have the interest or capacity to arrive at a coherent set of opinions (Converse 1964). The attentive public, thus, is distinctly a minority. As Bryce observed ([1921] 1931, vol. 2, pp. 157 ff.), only a small group gives constant attention to politics, a slightly larger group is interested but comparatively passive, while the mass of men are largely indifferent. A contemporary writer, Milbrath (1965a, pp. 16-22), employing a similar classification, stratified the electorate into "gladiators" (the small number of party actives and officeholders), "spectators" (who seek information and vote), and "apathetics" (who participate only passively, if at all). Although all such classifications are arbitrary, they point up the tendency for various forms of political involvement and indifference to cluster: people who engage in one of the more "active" forms of participation (say, canvassing) are inclined to be active in other ways as well (say, the collection of money); whereas people who habitually fail to vote will usually avoid such other minimal activities as reading the political news. Milbrath suggests that the various forms of political involvement fall into a hierarchy or continuum according to the cost in time and effort that each demands. But other variables, such as political articulateness, saliency, and interest— which can only partially be reckoned into the "costs"—also affect the frequency of the various forms of participation. These patterns of political activity are also subject to considerable variation. Many people vote habitually, but others vote only intermittently. Although reliable figures are not available, there is considerable fluctuation from one election to another among those who participate actively, as candidates, issues, and political conditions change. A party that is out of power or that has little hope of winning elections is particularly vulnerable to such shifts. Turnover seems to be especially rapid at the lower party levels, among political amateurs and volunteers, who have neither office nor emoluments to sustain them. Variations are also to be found in the rates and

POLITICAL PARTICIPATION patterns of participation from one era to another and from one nation to another. In the United States, participation appears to have declined sharply at the end of the nineteenth century. Although turnout for presidential elections in the decades following the Civil War had averaged more than 75 per cent, the rate fell steadily during the early years of the present century to an average of 51.7 per cent in the 1920s, rose again in the 1930s, and in the 1960s averaged slightly above 60 per cent (Burnham 1965; U.S. Bureau of the Census 1965). Even within the United States, regional variations in participation are great in any given year: in 1960, for example, the turnout ranged from 30.4 per cent in Georgia to 80.7 per cent in Idaho (U.S. President's Commission . . . 1963, p. 67). Equally striking are the differences in the rates of political activity from one country to another. Despite the greater incidence of education, urbanization, affluence, and mass communication, turnout in the United States has generally been lower than in other modern democracies. Turnout in Italy and Belgium in the years since World War n has approximated 90 per cent; in Denmark, West Germany, and Great Britain, 80-85 per cent; and in Canada, Norway, Finland, and Japan, 70-80 per cent. The few cross-national studies conducted so far indicate, however, that despite the low turnout, other indexes of participation—political interest and awareness, expressed party affiliation, sense of political competence, etc.—tend to be higher in the United States than in many other countries, such as France and Italy (U.S. President's Commission . . . 1963; Almond & Verba 1963; Lipset 1960). These findings suggest that the interrelations among the several forms of participation found in the United States are not universal. No one has yet discovered any overarching principle to explain the varying ways in which these phenomena are ordered in different countries. Some of this variation is surely due to the familiar determinants of participation (education, access to information, etc.). But important weight must also be given to factors peculiar to individual countries—traditions, history, access to the governing institutions, the particular forms of political competition, or, as in Italy, special inducements to vote. The systematic investigation and weighting of these factors in various countries remains one of the urgent research tasks. So far we have treated participation as though it were a unidimensional variable. This may be a questionable assumption, however, for although all

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instances of nonvoting are overtly the same, they may spring from different motivations and may represent quite different acts. Thus, in general, two classes of apathetic individuals can be distinguished: those who fail to participate out of political indifference, exclusion, or incapacity; and those who consciously choose not to participate. Although no precise information is available as to their frequency, the first is plainly the larger of the two classes. It includes the habitual nonvoters who have little knowledge of issues or candidates and are mystified by political events. Rarely are they able to connect what happens "out there" with the events of their own lives. Apathy of this type abounds among the uneducated, the inarticulate, the parochial, the isolated, and those who occupy roles in which political passivity is perceived as the norm, e.g., women in political systems heavily dominated by men (Bell et al. 1961; Lipset 1960). As these findings signify, political participation is not "natural," but must be learned; and for learning to occur, one must have capacity, motivation, and opportunity. In some strata of the society, all three preconditions are missing. The second class of apathetics, though small, is far more diverse. It includes those who disdain politics because it seems to them self-serving and corrupt. Some adopt this view as a projection of their own hostility or dissatisfaction with their own lives; others, out of misplaced idealism and the inevitable disappointment with human imperfection; some, out of a generalized cynicism toward mankind and all his arrangements; and some, merely because they are prey to prevailing stereotypes. Still others are disenchanted either because the system serves them badly or because politics does not seem to them sufficiently "meaningful." Some— the "realists"—have concluded that their chances of influencing the gigantic and remote political system are too slight to warrant the investment of time and energy. Others believe that the system offers no genuine alternatives and that all efforts to change the outcomes are idle and self-deluding (Almond & Verba 1963; Campbell in Rokkan 1962(2; Erbe 1964; Rosenberg 1954). Still others, while aware of politics and convinced of its importance, simply find the entire subject dull. Nor are the forces that lead to withdrawal in all respects "negative." In certain subgroups of the society, apathy is positively reinforced. Among those who have attempted to set up their communities outside the prevailing culture—for example, certain "bohemian" subcultures—conventional political activities are frequently regarded as foolish and unbecoming, while political indiffer-

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ence is esteemed. The same holds, though less consciously and articulately, for certain deprived minorities, who perceive participation as useless, dangerous, or as an affectation. For them, the "affirmative" act is to express one's contempt by withdrawing. [See ALIENATION; RADICALISM.] Explaining participation Social scientists aim to develop general theories of human behavior that will account for as many relevant facts as possible with the smallest number of assumptions and explanatory variables. So far no general theory of participation even approaches this ideal. Participation appears to be a complex phenomenon that depends on a great many variables of different relative weights. This does not necessarily mean that no conceptual model can be employed to explain it. For one can at least group the relevant independent variables into those influences which are essentially internal (psychological and cognitive) and those which derive from the individual's external environment, social and political. Any model employing these broad categories is bound to be oversimplified. One may nevertheless reason that (a) individuals are embedded in a matrix of social forces (status, education, religion, etc.) that orients them toward or away from political participation; (fo) in addition, characteristic differences in drives and capacities will cause individuals to vary in their readiness to respond to political stimuli; and (c) the degree to which these social and psychological predispositions find expression as political activity depends partly on the nature of the political environment itself—including the political structure and institutions, the party system, and the pattern of political values and beliefs. The three sets of variables are closely linked and intermingled. A change in any of them can, therefore, increase or decrease participation, and an analysis based on only one of them is bound to be misleading and incomplete. The social environment. The elements that compose the social environment include education, occupation, income, age, race, religion, sex, mobility, and residence. Research in the United States and elsewhere shows that most of these variables correlate to some degree with participation. In general, participation tends to be higher among the better-educated, members of the higher occupational and income groups, the middle-aged, the dominant ethnic and religious groups, men (as opposed to women), settled residents, urban dwellers, and members of voluntary associations.

It should be emphasized, however, that the correlations between participation and some of these variables are low and unstable and that they may vary from one cultural-political context to another. Thus, education and socioeconomic status and participation correlate strongly in the United States but weakly in Norway. Urban-rural differences in participation occur in some elections but not in others. City dwellers, with their increased exposure to mass media, higher education, and greater predisposition to form voluntary associations, characteristically participate more than those who live in rural communities in the United States; yetsome farm states, such as Idaho, Utah, and South Dakota, have significantly higher turnouts than some industrial states, such as California, New York, and New Jersey. Likewise, in some countries that have long traditions of communal leadership or cooperative forms of agricultural organization, participation is greater in rural than in urban areas—e.g., Japan, France, Arab villages in Israel, and parts of Scandinavia (Lipset I960; Milbrath 1965a). Church attendance correlates positively with political participation in the United States, scarcely at all in Great Britain, and negatively in Germany and Italy. Some ethnic minorities in the United States (e.g., Negroes) have very low turnout rates, while others (e.g., Jews) have among the very highest. These deviations suggest several observations about the relation of the social environment to participation. First, the variables in this category are so broad as to be fairly limited in their explanatory power. Often they represent configurations of more exact and dynamic variables, but the configurations are not always identical. Political apathy of Negroes in the United States reflects in large measure not just their position as a minority but also their status as a deprived minority—poor, uneducated, rural, parochial, etc.; this, in turn, has gradually led to the widespread acceptance by both whites and Negroes of the Negro's role as that of nonparticipant. At the other end, the greater participation of high-status groups in most societies is due partly to their superior education and partly to their enhanced opportunities to acquire firsthand knowledge of and to influence politics by greater access to political leaders and to the sources of political decision making. Since the relevant variables are subject to interaction effects, the same demographic factors may have dramatically different consequences in different political-cultural contexts. Social class differences, for example, may signify powerful

POLITICAL PARTICIPATION inequalities in one culture and trivial differences in another. The disparity in the correlations between occupational level and participation in Norway and the United States, for instance, results partly from the greater political and ideological organization of the Norwegian working class than the American working class (Campbell & Valen 1961). The inverse relationship between correlations for church attendance and voting turnout for the United States and Italy reflects primarily the differences in education and economic status of churchgoers in the two countries. Despite these qualifications, categoric variables are not only heuristically useful but sometimes can actually influence participation. Thus, education offers high and reliable correlations with participation, partly because it helps to develop a sense of civic duty, political competence, interest, and responsibility, as well as personality characteristics of self-confidence, dominance, and articulateness. Furthermore, the schools themselves serve as settings in which the skills of participation are acquired: one learns to join organizations, fulfill duties, participate in meetings, discuss broad social questions, and organize to achieve group goals. Finally, the more educated are better able to transmit their political interest and knowledge to their children and, hence, to perpetuate the relationship between education and participation. In the example of education we thus see at work three of the most powerful influences affecting participation: articulateness, sensitivity to one's self-interest, and effective socialization by the political culture. While these influences bear even on differences in voting frequency, they are especially significant in differentiating the politically active from ordinary citizens. These same factors also help to explain the findings on participation yielded by research on other categoric variables. The higher turnout among, say, Congregationalists than Baptists is a function, in part, of their greater articulateness. The greater activity and ideological solidarity of higher-status occupations can be traced in part to their superior capacity for perceiving the relation of their own interests to governmental decisions. The higher frequency of voting among the middle-aged compared with young adults reflects the need for time and experience in order for politicization to take effect; and the same principle applies to the greater turnout and activity of settled residents as against transients. The greater political activity in the cities, compared with rural areas, testifies to a. higher level of articulateness there. The greater political activity of

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members of voluntary associations reflects in some measure the effects of all three influences: articulateness, awareness of self-interest, and greater exposure to the agencies of socialization. Through such variables as these, and through other general constructs of a more dynamic nature (e.g., power, influence, motives, pressures, drives), we may eventually succeed in developing models that refine demographic variables into their appropriate units, equivalent over time and across cultures. When these components are isolated and appropriately weighted, predictions about participation under varying conditions should become much more accurate. [See SOCIALIZATION, article on POLITICAL SOCIALIZATION.] Psychological variables. Participation survives by virtue of its capacity to provide rewards for those who engage in it. Political observers throughout the ages have variously attributed man's political activity to his need for power, competition, achievement, affiliation, aggression, money, prestige, status, recognition, approval, manipulation, sympathy, responsibility—in short, to virtually every need that impels human behavior. Unfortunately, systematic data on the relative frequency and influence of any of these motives are extremely sparse. Nor do we know whether political participation gratifies certain needs that are not satisfied by other kinds of endeavor, or whether the motives that induce active or psychologically costly forms of participation (such as managing a campaign) differ from those which prompt simpler, less arduous activities like voting. In addition to the active versus passive distinction, one may classify participation in terms of its goals: i.e., instrumental as opposed to consummatory or expressive (Davies 1963; Milbrath 1965Z?). Instrumental political activities are primarily oriented toward concrete goals, such as party victory, the passage of a bill, or the enhancement of one's own status, influence, or income. Consummatory or expressive activities are aimed at more immediate satisfaction or release of feeling: thus, voting may be a consummatory rather than an instrumental act for those who care less about the outcome than about the positive feeling they get from casting their ballots; like parading or saluting the flag, it may become a ritualistic form of rewarding behavior. For other people who are mainly concerned with achieving certain goals, the same act of voting would be instrumental. Most behaviors embody both instrumental and consummatory purposes to some degree. In general, psychological variables may be

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thought of as those stemming from individual personality traits (whether primarily constitutionalgenetic or primarily learned) and from cognitive structures, which in this case represent certain characteristic ways of conceptualizing the self and the surrounding sociopolitical world. [See PERSONALITY, POLITICAL.] Available evidence suggests that a number of the more basic or genotypic personality traits— rigidity, guilt neurasthenia, intolerance of ambiguity, manic-depressive tendencies, manifest anxiety—do not correlate highly with political participation. The weakness of these relationships is particularly evident at the more passive end of the participation continuum. Thus, voters scarcely differ from nonvoters on the traits mentioned above. However, apathetic individuals tend to be slightly more aggressive and paranoid than voters. In general, the more active participants exhibit less hostility than the general population, except in the case of activists who belong to extreme or messianic movements. Participants in such movements, which aim at quick and drastic refashioning of the world, are frequently motivated by rage and paranoia and find that participation gives them a legitimized context for discharging their aggression (Almond 1954). Although basic personality dimensions such as guilt and rigidity do not adequately distinguish participants from nonparticipants, they do differentiate somewhat the less active from the more active, the inactives exhibiting these traits in greater measure. The correlations are not high, but one would not expect them to be. Participation is so complex a phenomenon that the connection between any particular activity (e.g., voting) and any source trait (e.g., rigidity) is bound to be extremely tenuous. Then, too, for many people—especially the more passive participants—the psychological investment in politics is so slight that one would be surprised to discover that deep-seated motives were attached to a given activity. Furthermore, the "distance" between a basic personality trait and a specific manifestation of political activity is too great and the route between them too circuitous for the one to be directly engaged by the other. Nevertheless, correlations do turn up between certain personality traits and participation that appear to be due mainly to the impairment of social functioning induced by personality disturbances. An individual who scores high on measures of paranoia, inflexibility, guilt, hostility, and so on will ipso facto function less effectively in many social contexts. He will be less able to perform tasks that

require accurate appraisals of reality and may find threatening such political activities as organizing, deciding, bargaining, interacting, cooperating, debating, and proselytizing. Similarly, research has shown (Gough et al. 1951; Milbrath 1965a) that personality traits which are particularly influenced by social learning—such as dominance, social responsibility, and self-confidence—are positively associated with political participation. It is not so much that these signs of ego strength are sufficient to inspire political participation, but that individuals who lack them are more likely to avoid active involvement. Although the correlations between psychological traits and participation are modest, their direction largely refutes much of the folklore about political practitioners as highly ambitious, exhibitionistic, "folksy," narcissistic, driven, enthusiastic, materialistic, authoritarian, and power-hungry. Research in the United States (very little has been conducted on the subject elsewhere) indicates that politicians and other active participants do not possess these traits in greater measure than do nonparticipants or members of other professions (Hennessy 1959; McClosky & Schaar 1965). American data on social responsibility, authoritarianism, and related measures suggest that participants are more likely than nonparticipants to show social conscience and concern and affirmative attitudes toward mankind. Participants are also distinguished from nonparticipants by such cognitive variables as belief in one's own adequacy and in the amenability of the social order to change. Even the elementary forms of participation, such as voting, may present some people with threatening questions about their ability to understand and affect external institutions that strike them as bewildering or remote. An individual's sense of his own personal competence tends to color his judgment of his political effectiveness, which in turn strengthens his motivation to participate. Confronted with the challenge of trying to change political and social conditions, lower-status groups and the psychologically handicapped are prone to feel bewildered and helpless; they are, in general, more susceptible to feelings of alienation, anomie, and pessimism—both personal and political (McClosky & Schaar 1965). In their view, the social-political system is hostile and inaccessible. They find few of the personal rewards received by the politically active (approval of friends, being "on the inside," the "excitement" of politics, and so on). Accordingly, they not only vote less frequently but also are less interested and personally involved in politics, have fewer and less

POLITICAL PARTICIPATION coherent opinions, and are less concerned with issues and with the outcome of elections (Michigan . . . I960; Eulau & Schneider 1956). While the relations between the cognitive states of low self-esteem and feelings of pessimism and alienation from society are strongly correlated with political apathy, one cannot be certain which way the causal arrow is pointing: i.e., alienation may lead to nonparticipation; nonparticipation may encourage alienation; or both may be correlates of a more basic variable, such as ignorance, which breeds fear, mistrust, and avoidance of situations that might turn out to be threatening. Similarly, the relationship of participation to actual or imagined efficacy can be demonstrated, but here, too, the influence patterns are somewhat circular: one who participates has a greater incentive to learn how the system works and how to function effectively within it; a sense of efficacy, in turn, may predispose one toward further participation. [See POLITICAL EFFICACY.] These psychological variables, and especially the degree to which political participation is felt to be rewarding or nonrewarding, are powerfully mediated by the individual's reference groups. Many of the values and habits of participation are instilled by the family and sustained by peers and other primary groups (Almond & Verba 1963; McClosky & Dahlgren 1959). Any such group for which politics is highly salient will reward its members for participation or punish them for nonparticipation by granting or withholding approval and affection. Intermediate groups as well as primary groups may help prepare their members for citizenship by alerting them to their own interests, developing their social skills, and instructing them in the techniques of public activity. Membership in trade unions, service clubs, and other voluntary associations has repeatedly been found to correlate significantly with political participation. The influences exerted on a given individual by his various reference groups may be aggregative or may cancel each other out, depending on how consonant the groups are. Conflict or cross pressure among one's membership groups may dilute the reinforcement pattern or cause the individual so much pain that he refuses to vote or avoids participating in other ways. Cross pressures, of course, may also result from holding conflicting beliefs, from attempting to serve conflicting interests, or from harboring opinions that are manifestly discrepant with reality. [See CROSS PRESSURE.] The political environment. Much is asserted but little is reliably known about the political cor-

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relates of participation. Political apathy is alleged to be affected by the size, remoteness, and complexity of modern political systems and, more specifically, in the United States by the frequency of elections, the number of offices to be filled, the length of the ballot, and the necessity for observing and making decisions about four levels (municipal, county, state, federal) and three branches (executive, legislative, judicial) of government. Widespread participation is presumably further discouraged when the major parties are large, loosely knit brokerage agencies which lack enrolled memberships, effective discipline, or vital centers for adopting party policy. In the light of these conditions, many observers have suggested that largescale political participation may be an unrealistic goal. A few studies have indicated that such institutional barriers as complicated election codes and nonpartisan forms of the ballot somewhat reduce turnout (Michigan . . . I960; Tingsten 1937). On the other hand, participation is highest among the very individuals who are most articulate and most capable of perceiving the ambiguities and complexities in the system. Would the inactives be less apathetic if government were simpler and more comprehensible? We cannot tell. One difficulty in resolving this question is that those who have little initial interest in politics often rationalize their inactivity by seizing upon any potential obstacle, while the highly motivated have relatively little difficulty in surmounting the informal barriers to participation thrown up by the system (Michigan . . . I960; Almond & Verba 1963). Obstacles to participation may also take more narrow and prescriptive forms: cumbersome registration procedures, literacy tests, poll taxes, residence requirements, inadequate provision for absentee voting, inaccessibility of polling places, and so on. Residence requirements alone may disenfranchise as much as 5 to 10 per cent of the eligible electorate (U.S. President's Commission . . . 1963, chapter 1). Except for a few restrictions designed to disqualify specific groups (e.g., literacy tests and poll taxes in the South), these obstacles chiefly impede those who are least motivated to vote in any case. In the United States, only a modest effort is made by government or the parties to register and instruct potential voters. While voting is widely encouraged, mere exhortation appears to have little effect, except perhaps on professed attitudes toward voting. Thus many more people—nonvoters as well as voters—believe that everyone ought to vote or participate than actually do so. Conversely, the cit-

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izens of some nations with typically higher turnouts than the United States nevertheless admit to a weaker sense of civic duty (Almond & Verba 1963). Like feelings of political efficacy, professed belief in civic duty is significantly influenced by education, status, and general articulateness, as well as by the cultural norms. The situational factors that predispose people toward political activity are no better understood than are the legal and institutional barriers to participation. For example, the commonly held belief that great national or international crises awaken the impulse to participate has not been systematically tested. Scholars favoring this hypothesis can point to the increase in election turnout during the last years of the Weimar Republic, the early days of the New Deal, and similar isolated examples; but one can find as many instances that support a contrary interpretation: Turnout did not increase during the depression of 1932 or the recession of 1958. In wartime, voting tends to decline rather than to rise—partly, however, because many young voters are away from home. Thus, turnout increased slightly in 1940 over 1936, but dropped in 1944. In 1948—a time of momentous decisions and cold war tensions—the proportion of eligible voters who cast their ballots fell to 51.3 per cent, the smallest percentage for any presidential election since 1924. The relative unpopularity of the candidates seems to have had far greater weight than the urgency of international events. In 1956, a comparatively placid year, the presidential vote represented 60.1 per cent of those eligible—a relatively high proportion for the United States. It may even be that unusually grave or ambiguous problems tend to paralyze rather than to activate voters. Such anecdotal data, unfortunately, do not tell us much. What is needed is a series of cross-cultural investigations in which the meaning of such terms as "crisis" and "important" are operationally defined a priori, rather than rationalized in post hoc interpretations by either the respondents or the investigators. In addition to the general variables touched on, the party system, the nature of the campaign, and issues and ideology are three areas that shape participation in modern societies. The party system. Of all political influences on participation, the party is probably the most potent. Its role is partly expressive and partly instrumental. The party resembles the nation or the church both in its symbolic force and in its capacity for arousing affection, devotion, and sacrifice on the part of its loyal members. The vast majority of the party faithful would no more think of switching parties

than of changing their nationality or religion. The party inspires in its members feelings of belonging and, equally, of opposition to those in other parties. While membership in cognate social groups may strengthen party influence on participation, the party is a powerful reference group in its own right. Indeed, it may help to solidify attachments to other social groups. This mystique keeps large numbers of people persistently active even though they have only a slim chance of affecting the outcome of important public events. The parties also perform a number of instrumental functions. Despite their many derelictions, the American parties contact and register voters, select candidates, organize the campaign, and tell supporters what to believe on issues and how to vote. Accordingly, people who affiliate with a party vote more often than those who do not; and those who are strongly attached are more active in discussions, listen to more speeches, and respond more positively to their party's views than do those who are weakly attached. Again, these are correlates, and one cannot always be certain whether party affiliation causes participation or the reverse. Furthermore, even these correlations are far from perfect. Many voters have only a marginal preference for one party over the other, while many nonvoters report strong party loyalties (Michigan , . . 1960, p. 97). In France and some other European countries, party affiliation is less common than in the United States, but electoral turnout is higher (Converse & Dupeux 1962). Many students of politics believe that participation in the United States would be greater if the competition between parties were more intense— that is, if they were more equally matched in the number of their adherents or more sharply divided in ideology. There is some empirical support for the belief that owing to greater incentives, turnout increases as the number of supporters of the competing parties becomes more equal (Milbrath 1965£>). But closeness of competition appears to exercise most of its effect on those with strong party identifications (Michigan . . . 1960, p. 99). More debatable is the claim that greater ideological cleavage between parties increases participation. The argument rests principally on the assumption that those who see the parties as diverging are more likely to find the election important and will therefore be more strongly motivated to work and vote for their party. Support for the hypothesis can be gleaned from several sets of findings: turnout in regular elections is almost invariably greater than turnout in primaries; voters in some countries with typically heavier turnouts than the United

POLITICAL PARTICIPATION States (e.g., Norway) see their parties as more divergent ideologically than do Americans (Campbell & Valen 1961); and within the United States, active party workers are more likely than ordinary citizens to regard the parties as differing sharply on issues (McClosky 1964). But another set of observations can be adduced to support the opposite view: Many voters support their party without reference to the stand it takes on issues (McClosky et al. 1960), and only a minority accurately perceive the degree of intellectual cleavage that already exists between the major American parties. In some countries with high turnout, such as France and Italy, voters do not see the parties as very divergent ideologically. Nor has participation declined in countries that are alleged to have experienced "depoliticization," or a so-called "end of ideology" (Himmelstrand in Rokkan 1962a; Lipset 1960), even though they may have undergone a reduction in the amount of political controversy and agitation among intellectuals. It is also possible that when party positions become polarized, some people will shrink from having to choose between extreme and unpalatable alternatives. [See PARTIES, POLITICAL.]

The campaign. The effort made by the parties to involve the electorate in the political contest is concentrated in the campaign itself. Something has been learned about the effects of campaigns on polarizing party attachments, reinforcing candidate preferences, and switching votes (Berelson et al. 1954). But little is reliably known about the effects of different kinds of campaign techniques on participation. One can assume that even the most listless campaign will succeed in arousing some people who might not otherwise think of attending a political meeting, listening to a political speech, or carrying a banner. Such findings as we do have suggest that the campaign chiefly reaches the faithful, crystallizing partisanship and reinforcing the intention of committed party adherents to vote and to persuade others to vote (ibid.}. When the campaign ends, most of the participants revert to their relatively passive roles. Which campaign techniques are most effective in stimulating citizen participation? All forms of persuasion and publicity probably have some effect, however minuscule. The most dramatic results, however, appear to be achieved through face-toface communication with potential voters. This contact can be made formally, through designated party canvassers, or informally, through politically interested friends and opinion leaders (Lazarsfeld et al. 1944; Cutright & Rossi 1958; Katz & Lazarsfeld 1955). The relative effectiveness of these com-

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municators depends on their ability to command the attention of the people they seek to contact, to represent themselves as trustworthy sources of information, to enforce moral or psychological pressures, and to convey campaign messages in meaningful language (Cohen 1964). The effect of the campaign on participation depends not only on campaign techniques but also on the popularity or charisma of the candidates. Intuitive or anecdotal data suggest that candidates with strong personal appeal can significantly increase the interest of typical nonparticipants and quicken the fervor and activity of party regulars. But in the few elections on which we have data, most voters were unable to discriminate clearly the personality attributes of the candidates (Pool 1959; Davies 1954). Issues and ideology. A sizable body of research has shown that participation is associated with political awareness, that is, actual knowledge of political affairs. (Awareness, of course, is in turn highly correlated with interest.) As we have seen, the number of citizens who can be described as "aware" in any sophisticated sense is extremely small. As many as half or three-fourths of the electorate are unable to define terms common to ordinary political discourse—e.g., "monopoly," "plurality," "left," "right," "balanced budget" (see Key 1961). Many cannot identify the reference groups that speak for their interests, cannot classify themselves accurately as liberal or conservative, and cannot describe the differences between their party and that of the opposition. Striking as these findings are for the United States, they are even clearer for other countries where education and dissemination of public information are less widespread. Awareness affects both the amount and the quality of participation. If the unaware participate at all, they tend to do so in a random, inconsistent way that may actually work against their own stated aims. Data indicate that the politically aware are usually better able to relate their social values to their political opinions; to achieve stable, internally consistent belief systems; and to comprehend and act upon the constitutional "rules of the game" (McClosky 1964; Prothro & Grigg I960; Stouffer 1955). Issues also play a role in participation. Although voters may lack knowledge of the array of issues being contested in a given election, some are strongly motivated by a single issue or class of issues that are for them particularly salient. For some purposes, then, the electorate can be thought of as constituting "issue publics"—e.g., Negroes (civil rights), the elderly (Medicare), trade union-

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ists (the closed shop), young men of draft age (the war in Vietnam), and so on. The activity generated within such publics by the surfacing of the appropriate issue may be critical both for the outcome of the election and for the adoption of government policies. But self-testimony about the important issues can be deceptive: Although some people may actually be moved to vote by the issues they name as decisive—e.g., the Korean conflict in 1952— (Campbell et al. 1954), others may be motivated largely by their preference for a candidate and, when asked, merely name the issues stressed by him. Evidence suggests that the party actives are more likely than ordinary voters to be aware of and motivated by issues. In the United States the active members of the two parties differ sharply on a wide range of issues, while their respective followers tend to agree on all but a few issues (McClosky et al. 1960). These disagreements in the issue outlook of party elites furnish motive force, help to define the parties' images, and determine whom the parties recruit and activate. In principle, any issue can be a powerful stimulus to participation; in practice, some issues are so narrow, technical, or esoteric that they have little chance of capturing the interest of a large public. "Position" issues (the so-called bread-and-butter issues) are generally thought to have a better chance of interesting would-be voters than "style," or symbolic, issues (Berelson et al. 1954). Such position issues as social security, minimum wages, and Medicare are presumably easier to understand, even for the uneducated, and promise more tangible rewards. Style issues, such as civil liberties and many foreign policy questions, are presumably more complex and abstract and, hence, less compelling. Obviously there are important exceptions to these generalizations: for example, civil rights is for most Americans a style rather than a position issue, but during the 1960s it has probably inspired more activity than any other domestic issue. There are severe limitations on the degree to which issues of any type can stimulate interest and participation among large segments of the population. The distance between the individual's behavior and the eventual reward (i.e., effective government action on the issue) is typically very great, and the reinforcement pattern sporadic and uncertain. The wonder, then, is not that people do not participate, but that they do. Political factors, thus, may cause participation rates to vary, but one must keep in mind that the over-all rate of participation for a given country in a given era tends to remain fairly stable and that

changes in the rates of participation from one election to another are usually small. This suggests that the broad social and psychological predispositions earlier discussed set severe limitations on the play of political and situational elements. Participation and democracy What do the findings on participation mean for the theory and practice of democracy? According to the textbook model of democracy, an alert, informed, and wise citizenry rationally assesses the men who offer themselves for election, chooses the best, and removes or reappoints them after carefully weighing their performance. As we have seen, the portrait bears little resemblance to reality. How should this picture be revised in the light of the findings on participation? Does the evidence render traditional notions of democracy untenable, requiring a reformulation of its basic assumptions and claims? These questions have stirred considerable controversy (Dahl 1966; Walker 1966). Much of the argument has centered on what the widespread failure to participate means for democratic government. While some observers have felt that universal participation is neither possible nor especially desirable, none has proposed restricting the practice of universal suffrage. The issue, rather, is the assessment of the consequences of political inactivity among certain sections of the electorate and the amount of participation that reasonably can or should be expected of citizens in a democracy. The answers to these questions, many believe, will shape the nature and quality of the democracy a society enjoys. The arguments of those who are not severely troubled about the dangers of political apathy may be summarized as follows: (1) Little is gained, and something may be lost, by encouraging the involvement of men and women who are politically uninformed and uninterested. Such people are likely to misperceive their own and society's best interests. They are likely to have the poorest understanding of the requirements of a democratic system (civil liberties, tolerance of nonconformity, etc.) and are most susceptible to misleading propaganda and the appeals of popular but inappropriate leaders. Encouraging them to participate may actually cause harm to democratic government. (2) To insist that all must participate because all are affected by politics is to substitute piety for judgment. Little is gained merely by increasing the number of voters. Political activity may be addressed to undesirable as well as to desirable ends. A vote may be used to elect a Hitler as well as a

POLITICAL PARTICIPATION Roosevelt or a Churchill. In a democracy, moreover, a citizen has the right to disdain politics if he chooses. Better apathy than heedless participation. (3) Since even under optimal conditions the great mass of the electorate can never possess the awareness that complex political judgments now demand, the business of politics might better be turned over to those active minorities who, by virtue of their interest, knowledge, and judgment, have shown that they are capable of governing in a democracy. As a safeguard in this kind of government-by-minority, the would-be rulers must, of course, be drawn from all segments of the society, must compete among themselves for office, and must account to the voters for their actions. (4) Widespread political activity, while desirable in some respects, also carries disadvantages. A "too active" electorate may impede those who rule from making the decisions they are best qualified to make. A highly politicized electorate may lead to excessive controversy, fragmentation, and instability. The existence of a large number of "indifferents" among the electorate lends flexibility to the system by permitting power to shift from one administration (or party) to another without generating unusual tension or anger; the decisions of the new officeholders are thus more easily accepted and accommodated. Any sudden upswing of political interest and activity is likely to herald a condition of disturbance or crisis in the system and the emergence of new and profound cleavages. While some observers remain fairly sanguine about the incidence of nonparticipation, others are deeply troubled (Walker 1966; Lane 1959). Typical of their arguments are the following: (1) Those who fail to participate are not properly represented. Government is thereby deprived of its broadest possible assessment and of the benefit of whatever these nonparticipants have learned from their experience. In a democracy, participation is power. Rulers can therefore afford to ignore the needs and interests of nonparticipants. By neglecting to avail themselves of the reinforcements contingent upon participation, the apathetic are further discouraged from bothering to formulate political opinions and demands. Ignorance thus accumulates, and the general level of political vitality and vigilance declines. In practice, it will typically be the poor and the socially deprived who are most likely to be unrepresented—those who most need to be represented. (2) Widespread apathy increases the chances that government will be dominated by men who are unresponsive, self-aggrandizing, and unscrupulous;

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participation, on the other hand, reminds those who govern that they must attend to their duties and serve the electorate. Whenever apathy prevails, it becomes more difficult to organize and maintain a political opposition—an essential ingredient of the defense against tyranny and the abuse of political power. (3) Even if the opinions of the nonparticipants are presently ill-informed, there is no better way to improve the quality of their judgment than by the experience of participation. In the course of participating, one is impelled to acquire the knowledge needed for sound judgment, to become aware of one's best interests, to learn how the system works and what principles and beliefs it values. Voters looking for guidance are prompted to seek out information, to discuss politics with others, and so on. Therefore, participation not only stimulates political learning but also heightens responsibility, deepens awareness, and increases one's sense of political effectiveness. (4) Apathy is a symptom as well as a cause of weakness in the system. It signifies a failure to involve all members of the society in their own governance, a failure to inspire interest and loyalty. Such failures may be dangerous to democracy, for whenever a large number of people exist outside the normal channels of politics and are unable to share in the decisions that shape their lives, the political atmosphere becomes potentially explosive. The cogency of some of the foregoing arguments on both sides of the issue indicates that the relationship of participation to democracy cannot be understood simplistically. To claim that more participation is always preferable is to blind oneself to the possible disadvantages of enlarging participation under certain circumstances. To contend, on the other side, that any increase in participation will invariably serve to enshrine mediocrity and to debase the quality of political life is to ignore the powerful considerations for giving everyone who wants it a role in the collective decision process. Most of the disputants, fortunately, would be unwilling to press their arguments to these extremes. Nothing is to be gained by converting participation into either a fetish or a taboo. It seems plain enough that in itself it is neither good nor bad, but that it takes its character from the social and political contexts in which it occurs, as well as from the motivations of the participants. Both participation and apathy, then, are complex phenomena which resist easy characterization and analysis, not only for the reasons just given but also because many of their correlates are still

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unknown. Although much has been learned in a relatively short time, the relationship between participation and its social, psychological, and political correlates is far from being understood in a systematic way. The explorations that need to be undertaken might be much more useful if both participation and its correlates were broken down into their principal components, so that the influence process—whatever the direction of its flow— might be understood more dynamically. Once identified, these components need to be systematically explored in different social contexts and across cultures to determine their relative explanatory power under varying combinations of forces. HERBERT MCCLOSKY [See also ACCESS TO POLITICS; ELECTIONS; REPRESENTATION, especially the article on REPRESENTATIONAL BEHAVIOR; VOTING. Directly related are the entries DEMOCRACY; ELITES; INTEREST GROUPS; MAJORITY RULE; OLIGARCHY; PARTIES, POLITICAL; POLITICAL CLUBS; POLITICAL EFFICACY; POLITICAL FINANCING; TOTALITARIANISM. Other relevant material may be found in POLITICAL BEHAVIOR; POLITICAL SOCIOLOGY; PUBLIC OPINION; SOCIAL MOVEMENTS; SOCIALIZATION, article on POLITICAL SOCIALIZATION; VOLUNTARY ASSOCIATIONS, article on SOCIOLOGICAL ASPECTS.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ALEXANDER, HERBERT E. 1966 Financing the 1964 Election. Citizens Research Foundation, Study No. 9. Princeton, N.J.: The Foundation. ALMOND, GABRIEL A. 1954 The Appeals of Communism. Princeton Univ. Press. ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and VERBA, SIDNEY 1963 The Civic Culture: Political Attitudes and Democracy in Five Nations. Princeton Univ. Press. BELL, WENDELL; HILL, RICHARD J.; and WRIGHT, CHARLES R. 1961 Public Leadership: A Critical Review With Special Reference to Adult Education. San Francisco: Chandler. BERELSON, BERNARD; LAZARSFELD, PAUL F.; and McPnEE, WILLIAM N. 1954 Voting: A Study of Opinion Formation in a Presidential Campaign. Univ. of Chicago Press. BRYCE, JAMES (1921) 1931 Modern Democracies. Vol. 2. New York: Macmillan. BURNHAM, WALTER D. 1965 The Changing Shape of the American Political Universe. American Political Science Review 59:7-28. CAMPBELL, ANGUS; GURIN, GERALD; and MILLER, WARREN E. 1954 The Voter Decides. Evanson, 111.: Row, Peterson. CAMPBELL, ANGUS; and VALEN, HENRY 1961 Party Identification in Norway and the United States. Public Opinion Quarterly 25:505-525. Citizen Participation in Political Life. 1960 International Social Science Journal 12, no. 1. -> The whole issue is devoted to the topic. Contains articles on England, Wales, Finland, France, Norway, and the United States.

COHEN, ARTHUR R. 1964 Attitude Change and Social Influence. New York and London: Basic Books. CONVERSE, PHILIP E. 1964 The Nature of Belief Systems in Mass Publics. Pages 206-261 in David E. Apter (editor), Ideology and Discontent. New York: Free Press. CONVERSE, PHILIP E.; and DUPEUX, GEORGES 1962 Politicization of the Electorate in France and the United States. Public Opinion Quarterly 26:1-23. CUTRIGHT, PHILLIPS; and Rossi, PETER H. 1958 Grass Roots Politicians and the Vote. American Sociological Review 23:171-179. DAHL, ROBERT A. (1961) 1963 Who Governs? Democracy and Power in an American City. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. DAHL, ROBERT A. 1966 Further Reflections on "The Elitist Theory of Democracy." American Political Science Review 60:296-305. DAVIES, JAMES C. 1954 Charisma in the 1952 Campaign. American Political Science Review 48:10831102. DAVIES, JAMES C. 1963 Human Nature in Politics: The Dynamics of Political Behavior. New York: Wiley. ERBE, WILLIAM 1964 Social Involvement and Political Activity: A Replication and Elaboration. American Sociological Review 29:198-215. EULAU, HEINZ 1962 Class and Party in the Eisenhower Years: Class Roles and Perspectives in the 1952 and 1956 Elections. New York: Free Press. EULAU, HEINZ; and SCHNEIDER, PETER 1956 Dimensions of Political Involvement. Public Opinion Quarterly 20:128-142. GOSNELL, HAROLD F. 1930 Why Europe Votes. University of Chicago, Social Science Studies, No. 19. Univ. of Chicago Press. GOUGH, HARRISON G.; MCCLOSKY, HERBERT; and MEEHL, PAUL E. 1951 A Personality Scale for Dominance. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology 46:360366. HASTINGS, PHILIP K. 1956 The Voter and the Nonvoter. American Journal of Sociology 62:302-307. HEARD, ALEXANDER (1960) 1962 The Costs of Democracy: Financing American Political Campaigns. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. HENNESSY, BERNARD C. 1959 Politicals and Apoliticals: Some Measurements of Personality Traits. Midwest Journal of Political Science 3:336-355. KATZ, ELIHU; and LAZARSFELD, PAUL F. 1955 Personal Influence: The Part Played by People in the Flow of Mass Communications. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1964. KEY, V. O. JR. 1961 Public Opinion and American Democracy. New York: Knopf. KEY, V. O. JR. 1966 The Responsible Electorate. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. KNUPFER, GENEVIEVE 1947 Portrait of the Underdog. Public Opinion Quarterly 11:103-114. KORCHIN, SHELDON J. 1946 Psychological Variables in the Behavior of Voters. Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard Univ. KORNHAUSER, ARTHUR; SHEPPARD, HAROLD I.; and

MAYER,

ALBERT J. 1956 When Labor Votes: A Study of Auto Workers. New York: University Books. LANE, ROBERT E. 1959 Political Life: Why People Get Involved in Politics. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1965. LAZARSFELD, PAUL F.; BERELSON, BERNARD; and GAUDET, HAZEL (1944) 1960 The People's Choice: How the

POLITICAL PROCESS Voter Makes Up His Mind in a Presidential Campaign. 2d ed. New York: Columbia Univ. Press. LIPSET, SEYMOUR M. 1960 Political Man: The Social Bases of Politics. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. LIPSET, SEYMOUR M. et al. (1954) 1959 The Psychology of Voting: An Analysis of Political Behavior. Volume 2, pages 1124-1175 in Gardner Lindzey (editor), Handbook of Social Psychology. Cambridge, Mass.: Addison-Wesley. MCCLOSKY, HERBERT 1964 Consensus and Ideology in American Politics. American Political Science Review 58:361-382. MCCLOSKY, HERBERT; and DAHLGREN, HAROLD E. 1959 Primary Group Influence on Party Loyalty. American Political Science Review 53:757-776. MCCLOSKY, HERBERT; HOFFMAN, PAUL J.; and O'HARA, ROSEMARY 1960 Issue Conflict and Consensus Among Party Leaders and Followers. American Political Science Review 54:406-427. MCCLOSKY, HERBERT; and SCHAAR, JOHN H. 1965 Psychological Dimensions of Anomy. American Sociological Review 30:14-40. McDiLL, EDWARD L.; and RIDLEY, JEANNE C. 1962 Status, Anomia, Political Alienation, and Political Participation. American Journal of Sociology 68:205-213. MATTHEWS, DONALD R. 1954 The Social Background of Political Decision-makers. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday. MATTHEWS, DONALD R.; and PROTHRO, JAMES W. 1966 Negroes and the New Southern Politics. New York: Harcourt. MICHIGAN, UNIVERSITY OF, SURVEY RESEARCH CENTER 1960 The American Voter, by Angus Campbell et al. New York: Wiley. MILBRATH, LESTER W. 1965a Political Participation: How and Why Do People Get Involved in Politics? Chicago: Rand McNally. MILBRATH, LESTER W. 1965£> Political Participation in the States. Pages 25-60 in Herbert Jacob and Kenneth N. Vines (editors), Politics iu iJie American States: A Comparative Analysis. Boston: Little. MUSSEN, PAUL H.; and WYSZYNSKI, ANNE B. 1952 Personality and Political Participation. Human Relations 5:65-82. POOL, ITHIEL DE SOLA 1959 TV: A New Dimension in Politics. Pages 236-261 in Eugene Burdick and Arthur J. Brodbeck (editors), American Voting Behavior. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press. PROTHRO, JAMES W.; and GRIGG, C. M. 1960 Fundamental Principles of Democracy: Bases of Agreement and Disagreement. Journal of Politics 22:276-294. Public Opinion: 1935-1946. 1951 Princeton Univ. Press. -» Edited by Hadley Cantril. RANNEY, AUSTIN; and KENDALL, WILLMOORE 1956 Democracy and the American Party System. New York: Harcourt. RIESMAN, DAVID; and GLAZER, NATHAN 1950 Criteria for Political Apathy. Pages 505-559 in Alvin Gouldner (editor), Studies in Leadership: Leadership and Democratic Action. New York: Harper. ROKKAN, STEIN (editor) 1962a Approaches to the Study of Political Participation. Acia sociologica 6, no. 1/2. -» See especially the articles by Angus Campbell, pages 9-21, and Ulf Himmelstrand, pages 83-110. ROKKAN, STEIN 1962b The Comparative Study of Political Participation: Notes Toward a Perspective on Current Research. Pages 46-90 in Austin Ranney

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(editor), Essays on the Behavioral Study of Politics. Urbana: Univ. of Illinois Press. ROSENBERG, MORRIS 1954 Some Determinants of Political Apathy. Public Opinion Quarterly 18:349-366. Rossi, PETER H.; and CUTRIGHT, PHILLIPS 1961 The Impact of Party Organization in an Industrial Setting. Pages 81-116 in Morris Janowitz (editor), Community Political Systems. New York: Free Press. STOUFFER, SAMUEL A. (1955) 1963 Communism, Conformity, and Civil Liberties: A Cross-section of the Nation Speaks Its Mind. Gloucester, Mass.: Smith. TINGSTEN, HERBERT (1937) 1963 Political Behavior: Studies in Election Statistics. Stockholm Economic Studies, No. 7. Totowa, N.J.: Bedminster Press. U.S. BUREAU OF THE CENSUS 1965 Statistical Abstract of the United States. Washington: Government Printing Office. U.S. PRESIDENT'S COMMISSION ON REGISTRATION AND VOTING PARTICIPATION 1963 Registration and Voting Participation. Washington: Government Printing Office. WALKER, JACK L. 1966 A Critique of the Elitist Theory of Democracy. American Political Science Review 60:285-295. WOLFINGER, RAYMOND A. 1963 The Influence of Precinct Work on Voting Behavior. Public Opinion Quarterly 27:387-398.

POLITICAL PARTIES See PARTIES, POLITICAL. POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY See POLITICAL THEORY.

POLITICAL PROCESS "Political process" refers to the activities of people in various groups as they struggle for—and use—power to achieve personal and group purposes. Its most carefully studied forms have been the efforts of conflicting political parties, factions, cliques, and leaders to attain formal positions of legitimate authority in the central organs of public government—unitary and federal, national and local. The process also operates in the endless conflicts between nations and between international blocs. It may be found in the internal governance of corporations, government agencies, trade unions, churches, and universities (Merriam 1944). In all these forms of the political process, actual power may be far different from formal authority. Any power wielder's objectives, whether manifest or or latent, may fall anywhere on the broad spectrum between good and evil. The means may include not only violence, bribery, and character assassination but also persuasion, mutual understanding, reciprocal adjustment, and the slow building of consensus as well. The political process is probably a more difficult

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object of study than most other aspects of human behavior. One difficulty, as with many forms of social action, is the tremendous number of variables that interact simultaneously in many subtle ways. This produces an "organized complexity," something much more difficult to understand than the "disorganized complexity" of random phenomena and random variations, which is susceptible to statistical analysis based on probability theory (Rockefeller Foundation 1959, pp. 7-15). With political events, moreover, the distortion and suppression of important information—whether through ignorance, bluff and maneuver, taboos, or selfcensorship—are inevitable aspects of the process itself. Indeed, participation in the political process is frequently characterized by the vigorous denial of participation. The posture of being nonpolitical, nonpartisan, bipartisan, or "above politics" is a popular style of playing politics. To some extent these difficulties have been counterbalanced by progress in formulating basic concepts, developing currently useful generalizations, and linking concepts and generalizations to observed data, both qualitative and quantitative. Some of the elements in this forward progress may be reviewed in terms of (1) the process approach to politics; (2) the actors in the political process; (3) their purposes; (4) their methods of utilizing power; (5) their development of power; and (6) the art-science relation in the political process. The process approach The process approach is far broader than politics. Indeed, the process concept has been a major unifying influence in modern thought and science. Although its roots go back to Heraclitus and Hegel, among many others, it has been set forth in both general and explicit terms by twentieth-century sociologists, such as Ross (1897-1904) and Cooley (1918), and philosophers, such as Dewey (1925), Whitehead (1929), and Bentley (see Dewey & Bentley 1949). By the process approach, the world or any part of it is seen as an ongoing stream of events in time, as becoming, rather than merely being. "Facts do not remain stationary. . . . The value of every fact depends on its position in the whole world-process, is bound up in its multitudinous relations" (Follett 1924, pp. 9, 12). Facts and process are separated into discrete elements only by human analysis, which is itself a continuing process of interrelating between knowers and the known. Change—whether slow or rapid, hidden or open—is continuous. It is also complex. Single causation is impossible; multiple causation and multiple effects are inevitable. Structures are not

ruled out by this approach; they are included as the more stable aspects of action and interrelationship. "To designate the slower and the regular rhythmic events structure, and more rapid and irregular ones process, is sound practical sense. It expresses the function of one in respect to the other" (Dewey [1925] 1958, p. 62). More concretely, although often less explicitly, the process approach has entered each of the natural and social sciences. In his efforts to understand the ongoing flow of events, man tries to slice up his universe into various specific processes: physical, chemical, physiological, psychological, sociological, political, economic, administrative, and many others. Each of these represents a different aspect of or a different way of thinking about the same ongoing stream of action and becoming. The process approach to politics developed as a reaction against viewing politics in the terms of presumably static and depersonalized structures, such as "the state," individual nations, branches of governments, and political parties. As Easton has pointed out (1953, pp. 160-170), the first steps toward a process approach were taken by those who, like Bagehot (1865-1867), Wilson (1885), and Bryce (1888) examined the genuine loci of power, as distinguished from mere formal authority, in governments and parties. The next step, as illustrated by the work of Bentley (1908) and his many followers, was to look outside government and view the political process "principally as the interaction among governmental institutions and social groups" (Easton 1953, p. 172). This has led to a pluralistic concern with the activities of many kinds of organized groups inside and outside of government, but with much more attention than Bentley was willing to give to individuals, common interests, and normative values. Within any area of inquiry, in turn, theorists and researchers slice up activity into many subprocesses and types. Thus, the political process has been persistently studied in terms of the electoral, legislative, judicial, executive, and international processes, with occasional attention to the more violent processes of revolution and war. The deeper any such study goes, the more it involves attention to still-more-specific processes, such as decision making, planning, budgeting, conflict resolution, socialization, communication and information processing, adaptation and learning, organization and reorganization, growth and decay. The list is endless—particularly since each is, in turn, often subdivided still further. As the theorist or researcher penetrates any of these many aspects of the political process, he soon

POLITICAL PROCESS finds that what he is dealing with is "only the political aspect of the social process in its entirety" (Lasswell & Kaplan 1950, p. xvii). Political decision making involves processes of problem posing and problem solving that are also studied by psychologists, social psychologists, economists, logicians, and mathematicians [see DECISION MAKING]. The process approach has thus led specialists from these fields to apply their skills to political decision making. Similarly, it has led political scientists into one or another of these fields, either to appropriate ideas for quick application to political decision making or, more boldly, to formulate concepts or theories that cannot be obtained prefabricated from those less familiar with political data. Indeed, any political process is closely interrelated with other social processes. An integrated view of these interrelations would require something more than isolated ventures across disciplinary boundaries, namely, a comprehensive view of the "social process in its entirety." This may be done through social systems models dealing with the full range of systems from the nation-state down to formal organizations and small groups (Kuhn 1963; Miller 1965; Gross 1966). Such models provide the analytical tools for describing and explaining the changing structure and performance of concrete systems in specific environments composed of other systems. Unless great care is taken, however, such a view may be so abstract as to lose contact with the major realities of political action (as in Parsons & Shils 1951). This contact may be partially regained by focusing on the "political system" (as suggested in Easton 1953; 1965a; 1965£>; and attempted in Almond & Coleman 1960). Here the risk becomes one of losing contact with the political processes in nongovernment organizations. This contact may be preserved by viewing the political system as a subsystem involved in continuous transactions with other crisscrossing subsystems [see SYSTEMS ANALYSIS]. The actors Although everyone plays some small part in the political process, the majority of people are relatively passive. It is the activist minority of elites, leaders, rulers, or managers who play the major roles, exercise the greater power, receive the greater rewards and recriminations, and become the heroes and villains of history. In many societies these activist roles have been reserved mainly for men who have been born into the proper families, castes, or classes, have been blessed with inherited wealth, or have demonstrated successful

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achievement in battle, business, or trial by competitive test. In all societies many are relegated to subordinate roles by discrimination based on sex, religion, ethnic origin, race, color, or caste. And many others, not barred by such obstacles, may be effectively restricted by poverty, disease, oppression, inadequate education, and an atmosphere of hopelessness. Yet, the passive masses are always part of the act. Their style of "fellowship" affects the pattern of leadership. Their interests and norms, even when unorganized, provide the potentials for future organization (Truman 1951, pp. 34-35, 51-52). They may even determine where and how the leaders end up—as suggested by the age-old description of the ruler as a man riding a tiger. From them may come builders of new organizations, challengers of old regimes, and successors to oldtime leaders. Moreover, there is rarely a sharp and single dividing line between the major and minor actors. Hierarchical relations in societies and large organizations provide finely graded scales of formal authority and crisscrossing spheres of legitimate influence. In industrialized and industrializing societies, with increasing differentiation between and within organizations, the number of such spheres grows apace. All of them may be sources of the indirect and reciprocal influences that lead toward pluralistic dispersions of power (Dahl 1961, pp. 89-103). The identity of all major actors is never readily apparent. Behind the "great man" there often stands the eminence grise and the anonymous assistants; behind the directorate, the "kitchen cabinet"; behind the patriarch, the influential wife, mother, or mistress; behind the "boss," the sprawling bureaucracy, and behind it, a network of alliances with supporting groups and individuals. The illusion of the central omnipotence of a single person or group is often fostered, both by top leaders seeking to expand their power by exaggerating it and by behind-the-scenes operators seeking to protect their power by hiding it. In the electoral process the people most active in picking candidates and supporting their campaigns are seldom as visible as the candidates or the electors. In the daily business of government and nongovernment operations, the major contenders in the power struggle are usually known only to the contestants themselves and a handful of close observers. The social roles of the major actors are always complex. In part they are formally determined by constitutions, laws, charters, regulations, and customs. In part they are, also, the product of informal arrangements and understandings. On the one

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hand, they embody the expectations of others. On the other hand, they are shaped by the personality and capacities of the incumbents themselves. In some respects the role determines the actor's major movements. In some it leaves him free to depart from the script, to extemporize, or to prepare his own lines in advance. In some it saddles him with conflicting and partly irreconcilable requirements. These role conflicts are magnified when people play different roles in different organizations or, as frequently happens at higher levels of authority, "wear many hats" in the same organization. All the actors in the political process are involved in conflicts with opposing groups and individuals. At the lower and middle ranks of single organizations these conflicts may center largely on the "internal politics" of budgets, reorganization, jobs to be filled, and tasks to be grabbed or evaded. At the higher levels they tend to reflect divergent interests in the environment and the divergent pressures of suppliers, and clients, associates and adversaries, controllers and controllees. In "public politics" the executive, legislative, and judicial organizations of government are even more intimately embroiled in structuring or resolving the major conflicts of the community or nation. Purposes of the actors A major objective of all actors in the political process is the use and development of power or influence—that is, the capacity to influence events. The extent of their power distinguishes the major from the minor actors. Because of its importance, the role of power in the political process may easily be exaggerated. It makes sense to regard politics as a "power struggle." But viewing it as a struggle for nothing but power means disregarding other objectives and misunderstanding the nature of power itself. The modern tendency is to view power as one objective within a complex network of purposes. Power's critical importance derives from its essential contribution toward achieving other purposes. Without power no leader or administrator can serve his own interests, the interests of a small minority, or the interests of a great majority. Power, however, is rarely an undifferentiated form of currency. It is usually the more specialized capacity to influence certain events under certain conditions. The extent of power can be appraised only in terms of the achievement—actual or potential—of specific objectives. The sources and forms of power are adapted to and constrained by the objectives sought. An association of doctors, with considerable influence on health matters, will not

exert much influence on foreign policy. The power to install a person in office or remove him from it is not equivalent to the power to control his decisions in office. A president usually finds that the power to do one thing may interfere with the power to do another: "The move that gains him ground on some particular may scar his general Washington reputation" (Neustadt 1960, p. 192). The purposes served by power may be viewed both in terms of group and of individual interests. In organized groups people work together to provide outputs that satisfy various interests of members and outsiders. To do this, they try to obtain certain resources from the environment and—with some degree of economizing on resources perceived as scarce—engage in activities that produce the services or goods needed to satisfy interests. They seek to use some resources to strengthen the capacity of the organization itself. They try to do all these things rationally and in accordance with acceptable codes of behavior (Gross 1964, part 5). Their successes and failures in trying to achieve these various objectives are the best measures of their power. The difficulty in making such measurements derives in part from the great complexity —and in some cases the impossibility—of appraising these various dimensions of performance. The greatest difficulty lies in appraising the satisfaction of human interests. It is easier to identify the parties at interest—the "interesteds"—than to analyze their interests. It is easier to identify their interests than to appraise the fluid and evanescent combinations of satisfaction and frustration. Power is also an instrument for the satisfaction of individual interests. People need power to provide for their basic physiological needs and to help assure their security and survival. They seek power as a means of winning acceptance by others and becoming part of a group or community. Power is needed to satisfy the "desire for a stable, firmly based . . . evaluation of themselves, for self-respect, or self-esteem, and for the esteem of others" (Maslow 1954, p. 90). It is a means toward greater autonomy, creativity, and self-fulfillment. Power may also be used for self-aggrandizement at the expense of others and as a way of venting aggressions upon those too weak to resist. It may be sought as a path to higher status without reference to performance. These are the kinds of things referred to by the idea of power sought "for its own sake." On the other hand, power may also be sought by individuals and groups sincerely interested in serving interests beyond their own. Without the use of power, altruism and idealism become exercises in pathos and futility. Only through the efforts

POLITICAL PROCESS of enough people struggling for more power has it been possible to achieve those dispersions of power that make an organization, a polity, or a society more democratic. Only through the struggle for power may significant steps be taken toward serving the higher interests of human beings and the common interests of humanity. Neustadt (1960) has pointed out that presidents of the United States can provide adequate national leadership only through conscious and expert efforts to build presidential power. A similar comment may be made concerning administrators in any organization and leaders in any nation. Using power Power in use invariably involves a mixture of many different forms—sometimes mutually reinforcing—of persuasion and pressure (Gross 1964, pp. 781-794). Persuasion. Persuasion takes place when A influences B to adopt a course of action without A's promising or threatening any reward or punishment. It may take the form of example, expectation, proposals, information, education, or propaganda. Many actors in the political process influence others by the sheer power of example. Where leaders go, others may follow on the basis of loyalty, devotion, or mere imitativeness. People and groups may also be influenced by mere expectations—particularly when their expectations of the power wielders conform to established customs or codes. Expectations, even when unspoken, tend to communicate themselves in effective ways; when communicated more openly, they become proposals and advice. These, too, may be extremely influential—particularly when there is confidence in the wisdom or disinterestedness of the proposers or advisers. Even without specific proposals or advice, great influence may be exercised merely by providing—or withholding—certain types of information. When the premises on which people act are known, the mere structuring of the information at their disposal may shape their future behavior (March & Simon 1958, pp. 162-169). But education is a long-range and indirect means of influencing behavior, and although it has great potentialities for the development of learning abilities and adaptability, it is often used more vigorously to promote conformity [see SOCIALIZATION]. In some countries it has been "the most powerful means of social control to which individuals must submit" (Crozier [1963] 1964, p. 238). Propaganda is a more immediate form of persuasion, in which powerful symbols are used to appeal to people's

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interests through their emotions and feelings. Propaganda "can strengthen predispositions and, in particular, give them specific direction; and it can contribute to weakening them if this process is supported by direct experience, or by nonpropaganda symbols" (Lasswell & Kaplan 1950, pp. 113— 114). It is particularly powerful when supported by other forms of persuasion and by various forms of pressure—that is, by the "propaganda of the deed." Sustained propaganda and demonstration by the mass media of communication can have profound "characterological effects" on the values and attitudes of many people (Pool 1963). [See PROPAGANDA.] Pressure. Pressure is applied by A upon B whenever A tries to make a course of action more desirable by promising or threatening contingent rewards or punishments. It may take the form of force, commands, manipulation, or bargaining. Force is the most extreme form of power—one that has made the very term "power" obnoxious to many. Its application through imprisonment, torture, or destruction of life and resources will reduce or eliminate the recipient's capacity to act in an undesirable way. Even its threat may serve as an important deterrent. In the international arena nations have traditionally used military power in the pursuit of both offensive and defensive ends. Within nations, governmental monopoly of the legitimate use of organized violence provides the ultimate sanctions behind the enforcement of law and order. Beyond this, physical force is usually used as a method of influence only by revolutionary or separatist groups, criminals, the parents of young children, and in some old-fashioned schools, teachers. Physical force is a blunt instrument which, even when used as a last resort, may have little positive value. It may unleash counterforces capable of undoing what has been done, if not of seriously damaging its users. Besides, more flexible and reliable modes of pressure are available. Rewards, in the form of monetary payments, new positions, higher status, support, favorable votes, cooperation, approval, or the withdrawal of any anticipated punishment, may be bestowed or promised. Punishment, in the form of fines, firing, reduction in status, unfavorable votes, noncooperation, rejection, disapproval, or withdrawal of any anticipated reward, may be given or threatened. It is such incentives and sanctions that provide the backing for command—that is, for the use of power through orders, directions, regulations, or instructions. Command also suffers from many limitations. It can be used only by those whose authority to

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give orders is accepted. It may undermine the initiative and self-respect of those receiving the orders. "Because command is a more ostensible, direct, person-to-person relationship, perhaps it can offend status, self-respect, and dignity of individuals more than does manipulation of operating penalties. Manipulation of the field seems to be more suitable for creating 'permissive' situations, i.e., situations in which a particular response is attained although the individual can choose among a variety of rewards and penalties" (Dahl & Lindblom 1953, p. 121). In manipulation, rewards and punishments are used without an open statement concerning the kinds of action desired. Bargaining is a still more fluid—and far more pervasive—form of using pressure. In bargaining, all sides exercise power upon each other through reciprocal promises or threats. The objectives, the rewards, and the punishments are all subject to negotiation. Indeed, force, command, and manipulation tend to become enveloped in the broader and more subtle processes of bargaining. The great contribution of these cruder methods of power is not in supplanting bargaining but in strengthening the hands of the actors at the bargaining table. [See NEGOTIATION.] Overcoming resistance. No matter what the combination of persuasion and pressure, the users of power always encounter inertia or resistance. "Yet, when the order is given, obedience is reluctant, partial; resistance widens: and as penalties are made heavier, opposition becomes stronger. . . . Naked hands and empty pockets may obstruct and antagonize the action of authority and with means which can scarcely be successfully opposed without destroying the basis of human association itself" (Merriam 1934, pp. 156-157, 183). Other forms of power are met by other forms of resistance. For example, expectation and proposals may be countered by indifference; information by inattention or misinterpretation; propaganda by cynicism. The more effective any form of influence is, the more it may encourage, under certain circumstances, the organizers of countervailing power. In using power, therefore, the actors in the political process develop strategies and tactics for dealing with inertia and resistance. Head-on resistance can often be avoided by the "strategy of the indirect approach," that is, by flexible shifting from points of greater to points of lesser resistance (Liddell Hart 1929). Action campaigns may be carefully timed and designed. This often means taking the initiative, remaining on the offensive, avoiding overdefensive positions, and, where necessary, making sudden changes or retreats. It often

requires a quick response to the challenge of an unexpected crisis or even the purposeful creation of crisis conditions. "Crisis may make it possible to take required actions against powerful groups which are normally well entrenched and invulnerable . . . [and] may stimulate action and hence learning on a problem on which insight has been low and for that very reason has not been tackled as long as it was in a quiescent state" (Hirschman 1963, p. 261). Above all, the various forms of persuasion and pressure must be continuously alternated and intermingled—with bargaining backed up by potential force; propaganda, by example; and manipulation, by information or by the iron fist suitably encased in the velvet glove. No matter how excellent the leadership, the fully successful use of power is extremely rare. Unseen or unpredicted influences usually bear upon a situation. Desired consequences are often accompanied by unforeseen or unforeseeable ones, either immediate or subsequent. On the other hand, what appears to be total failure will usually be counterbalanced by mitigating circumstances and favorable, albeit unforeseen, aftereffects. Many sharp conflicts lead only to deadlock or—when either side fears the outcome—avoidance. Some conflicts may be resolved by an integration of opposing interests, that is, a creative readjustment of interests so that all contenders may gain and none lose (Follett 1926-1930, pp. 31-36). Most power struggles seem to end in mutual concessions. From this point of view the political process may be characterized as a stream of successive compromises punctuated by frequent episodes of deadlock and avoidance and by occasional victories, defeats, and integrations. Under such circumstances, the measurement of actual or potential power is indeed a baffling task. [See POWER.] Developing power The actual use of power requires the development of a "power base," which in turn usually requires the actual use of power. Indeed, any use of power may help strengthen the power base, just as a muscle may be strengthened by exercise. But the constant use of power to achieve substantive objectives will, by itself, usually lead to the depletion of power. The actors in the political process must conserve their power for the occasions on which it is most needed. Over the long run, depletion is inevitable unless some power is diverted from other purposes and invested in the maintenance or strengthening of the power base itself. Formal authority. Formal authority, or the legitimate right to engage in certain actions, is one

POLITICAL PROCESS of the most obvious sources of power. It is conferred upon individuals, groups, or organizations by constitutions, charters, statutes, regulations, delegations, or official decisions. It becomes entrenched and protected by habit, custom, tradition, and the ritual or ceremonial "trappings" of authority (Merriam 1934, pp. 102-132)- It is often derived from a person's lineage, wealth, professional status, knowledge, abilities, or sheer energy. Whether at the level of a nation-state (where it is called sovereignty) or of a single organization, it becomes meaningful only if accepted by those subject to the influence of the authority holders (Michels 1930; Barnard 1938, pp. 161-165). To strengthen their power base, the actors in the political process usually spend considerable time in efforts to win or expand authority. Indeed, the terms "struggle for power" and "seizure of power" often refer specifically to a struggle for or seizure of positions of formal authority. This struggle involves the creation of new positions, the adjustment of old ones, and the installation of people in positions by appointment, election, or military force. It involves the interpretation (or even the change) of customs (Merriam 1945, pp. 74-76) and the use of conspicuous symbolism, in the form of flags, uniforms, buildings, office furnishings, titles, insignias, degrees, or ceremonies (Merriam 1945, pp. 81-93; Barnard [1935-1946] 1956, pp. 207-244). At times it involves "usurping authority" by engaging in unauthorized acts and subsequently seeking legitimation. Wealth. Wealth is another source of power. Almost any form of wealth—natural resources, man-made goods, or monetary claims against resources—may be used as a reward. Some forms of wealth, such as the media of communication, are effective instruments of persuasion. Others, such as armaments, are widely used by nations as instruments of pressure. Money is an all-around instrument for mobilizing other sources of power. Indeed, in many societies the wealthy person or organization acquires a certain aura of authority on the basis of wealth alone. Ownership is not essential. It is control of wealth that is important. This may be exercised by the managers of corporations, as distinguished from stockholders, and by the top officials of government agencies and private associations. Human resources. People—or human resources —are a still more fundamental source of power. It is people who convert physical resources to wealth by developing them and finding them useful. Both authority and organization are rooted in the interrelations of people. The sheer quantity of people

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is an important factor. The huge population of China constitutes a tremendous power potential; the small population of Cyprus, a great constraint. The economic power of producers often depends on the availability of mass markets. The power of political parties and factions is affected by the number of their supporters; that of trade unions and other associations by the number of members. Where democratic values and customs obtain (and particularly where conflicts are settled by voting), the number of people committed to or supporting a given course of action is a significant factor. Yet, in any society or situation the quality of people is also important. In the modern world "quality" refers to much more than the aristocratic birth symbolized by the old phrase "people of quality." It refers to a person's potential for performance, a potential based on education, knowledge, intelligence, skill, interests, age, health, and energy level. Science and technology are of steadily increasing significance in the power base of any nation or organization. Although they are sometimes discussed as if they were abstract, disembodied forces, science and technology are meaningful only insofar as they are embodied in the capacities of specific scientists and technologists, capable of drawing upon or adding to the stock of human knowledge and know-how. Of still greater significance are the qualities of leadership exercised by the major actors in the political process. It is this critical minority of people who exploit or bring to fruition the power potential in larger numbers of people. Organization. Organization is an indispensable source of power. Individuals themselves have only limited influence upon others, but by joining together in some sort of organization, they can develop the power to do things that could not be done at all, or at least not as well, alone. Through the specialization of labor and the cooperation between its component parts, an organization can exploit the special capacities of better-qualified people. It can bring people, resources, and authority positions together in a far-flung and flexible system of power. Accordingly, the major actors in the political process invest considerable time and other resources in maintaining, expanding, and reorganizing existing organizations or in building new ones. Those who free themselves from this task can do so only because others in the organization devote themselves to it. Since no human organization is a closed system, the power developed through internal relationships must usually be sustained—and can invariably be extended—by various coalitions with

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external organizations arid individuals. Supply lines must be protected, clients pacified, controllers mollified, controllees kept in line, associates given assistance and—to the extent feasible— adversaries split or outwitted. This involves the organization of a complex network of support, composed L»oth of active allies and of passive collaborators. This network may include a large variety of shifting and overlapping coalitions, or it may be crystallized into one pattern of alliances. In many situations considerable effort is spent on building unorganized opinions and attitudes into the support network. One of the most important functions of political campaign organizations is to win or maintain the support of unorganized individuals. The art—science relationship The most successful actors in the political process, it has often been said, are those who master the "art of the possible." This phrase emphasizes the fact that the users and developers of power usually must be prepared to compromise on certain principles. Otherwise, the desirable may be impossible. The possible, however, covers a broad spectrum, from the inevitable to the improbable. Some actors in the political process concentrate only upon the most feasible of objectives and the lowest of aspirations. Here the major skill lies in taking credit for events that would probably have happened anyway, as in "epiphenomenal planning" (Wiles 1962, pp. 72-74). Much greater artistry is involved in overcoming inertia and resistance that seem invincible. The masters of the political process are those who from time to time transcend the limits of immediate feasibility and shape sequences of events previously regarded as highly improbable. To satisfy higher aspiration levels, politics must become the "art of the improbable." At any level of aspiration, however, the actors in the political process face indeterminate situations. Except for certain highly routinized behaviors, they can never be sure what will happen if they do not act or what will be the effects of alternative courses of action. They must make their decisions in the face of risk and uncertainty. This calls for considerable artistry in developing a power base, in using power in the form most suitable to their purposes, and in adapting purposes to the exigencies of power development and use. Although ancient, the political art is not static. It changes with and adapts to changing cultures, life styles, forms of organization, and scientific and

technological advances. It has unquestionably been affected in many ways by the slow accumulation of scientific knowledge and theory on the political process. For one thing, under the influence of modern technique it has become highly differentiated. The art of budgetary politics is not the same as the art of using mass media of communication or public opinion polls. It is now appropriate to talk about "the arts," rather than "the art," of the improbable and the possible. Moreover, the expansion of scientific knowledge of the political process places a higher premium on these arts. It is not knowledge by itself but rather its skillful use that replaces hunch with fact, intuition with principle, and fuzziness with an operational definition (Polanyi 1958). Such use requires greater judgment in evaluating and coordinating the contributions of expert advisers. It calls for greater wisdom in selecting those types of knowledge and techniques that are most relevant to any particular problem. It demands more training and sustained learning. Although scientific inquiry, in turn, may even focus upon the acquisition and growth of these arts, it cannot hope to replace them. The most it can do is provide a stronger foundation for the art-science relationship in the political process. BERTRAM M. GROSS [Other relevant material may be found in GOVERNMENT; POLITICAL BEHAVIOR; POLITICAL SCIENCE.] BIBLIOGRAPHY ALMOND, GABRIEL A.; and COLEMAN, JAMES S. (editors) 1960 The Politics of the Developing Areas. Princeton Univ. Press. BAGEHOT, WALTER (1865-1867)1964 The English Constitution. London: Watts. BARNARD, CHESTER I. (1935-1946) 1956 Organization and Management: Selected Papers. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. BARNARD, CHESTER I. (1938) 1962 The Functions of the Executive. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. BENTLEY, ARTHUR F. (1908) 1949 The Process of Government: A Study of Social Pressures. Introduction by H. T. Davis. Bloomington, Ind.: Principia Press. BERTALANFFY, LUDWIG VON (1949) 1960 Problems of Life: An Evaluation of Modern Biological Thought. New York: Harper. -» First published as Das Biologische Weltbild, Volume 1. BRYCE, JAMES (1888) 1909 The American Commonwealth. 3d ed. 2 vols. New York and London: Macmillan. -» An abridged edition was published in 1959 by Putnam. COOLEY, CHARLES H. 1918 Social Process. New York: Scribner. CROZIER, MICHEL (1963) 1964 The Bureaucratic Phenomenon. Univ. of Chicago Press. -> First published as Le phenomena bureaucratique.

POLITICAL RECRUITMENT AND CAREERS DAHL, ROBERT A. (1961) 1963 Who Governs? Democracy and Power in an American City. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. DAHL, ROBERT A.; and LINDBLOM, CHARLES E. 1953 Politics, Economics, and Welfare: Planning and Politico—Economic Systems Resolved Into Basic Social Processes. New York: Harper. -» A paperback edition was published in 1963. DEWEY, JOHN (1925) 1958 Experience and Nature. 2d ed. La Salle, 111.: Open Court. DEWEY, JOHN; and BENTLEY, ARTHUR 1949 Knowing and the Known. Boston: Beacon. EASTON, DAVID 1953 The Political System: An Inquiry Into the State of Political Science. New York: Knopf. EASTON, DAVID 1965a A Framework for Political Analysis. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall. EASTON, DAVID 1965Z? A Systems Analysis of Political Life. New York: Wiley. FOLLETT, MAJIY P. (1924) 1951 Creative Experience. Gloucester, Mass.: Smith. FOLLETT, MARY P. (1926-1930)1942 Dynamic Administration: The Collected Papers of Mary Parker Follett. New York: Harper. GROSS, BERTRAM M. 1953 The Legislative Struggle: A Study in Social Combat. New York: McGraw-Hill. GROSS, BERTRAM M. 1964 The Managing of Organizations: The Administrative Struggle. 2 vols. New York: Free Press. GROSS, BERTRAM M. 1966 The State of the Nation: Social System Accounting. Pages 154-271 in Raymond A. Bauer (editor), Social Indicators. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press. -> See especially page 181. HIRSCHMAN, ALBERT O. 1963 Journeys Toward Progress: Studies of Economic Policy-making in Latin America. New York: Twentieth Century Fund. KEY, V. O. JR. (1942) 1964 Politics, Parties, and Pressure Groups. 5th ed. New York: Crowell. KUHN, ALFRED 1963 The Study of Society: A Unified Approach. Homewood, 111.: Irwin. LASSWELL, HAROLD D.; and KAPLAN, ABRAHAM 1950 Power and Society: A Framework for Political Inquiry. Yale Law School Studies, Vol. 2. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. -> A paperback edition was published in 1963. LIDDELL HART, BASIL H. (1929) 1954 Strategy: The Indirect Approach. New York: Praeger. -> First published as The Decisive Wars of History. MARCH, JAMES G.; and SIMON, HERBERT A. 1958 Organizations. New York: Wiley. MASLOW, ABRAHAM H. 1954 Motivation and Personality. New York: Harper. MERRIAM, CHARLES E. 1934 Political Power: Its Composition and Incidence. New York: McGraw-Hill. -> A paperback edition was published in 1964 by Collier. MERRIAM, CHARLES E. 1944 Public and Private Government. New Haven: Yale Univ. Press. MERRIAM, CHARLES E. (1945) 1962 Systematic Politics. Univ. of Chicago Press. MICHELS, ROBERT 1930 Authority. Volume 2, pages 319-321 in Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences. New York: Macmillan. MILLER, JAMES G. 1965 Living Systems: Basic Concepts. Behavioral Science 10:193-237. NEUSTADT, RICHARD E. 1960 Presidential Power: The Politics of Leadership. New York: Wiley. -> A paperback edition was published in 1962.

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PARSONS, TALCOTT; and SHILS, EDWARD (editors) 1951 Toward a General Theory of Action. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. -» A paperback edition was published in 1962 by Harper. POLANYI, MICHAEL 1958 Personal Knowledge: Towards a Post-critical Philosophy. Univ. of Chicago Press. POOL, ITHIEL DE SOLA 1963 The Mass Media and Politics in the Modernization Process. Pages 234-253 in Conference on Communication and Political Development, Dobbs Ferry, N.Y., 1961, Communications and Political Development. Edited by Lucian W. Pye. Princeton Univ. Press. ROCKEFELLER FOUNDATION 1959 Annual Report: 1958. New York: The Foundation. Ross, EDWARD A. (1897-1904) 1920 Foundations of Sociology. 5th ed. New York: Macmillan. -> An abridged edition was published by Beacon in 1959 in Social Control and Foundations of Sociology. SIMON, HERBERT A. (1947) 1961 Administrative Behavior: A Study of Decision-making Processes in Administrative Organization. New York: Macmillan. -> A paperback edition was published in 1965 by the Free Press. TRUMAN, DAVID B. (1951) 1962 The Governmental Process: Political Interests and Public Opinion. New York: Knopf. WHITEHEAD, ALFRED N. (1929) 1957 Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. New York: Humanities. WILES, PETER J. D. 1962 The Political Economy of Communism. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press. WILSON, WOODROW (1885) 1961 Congressional Government: A Study in American Politics. New York: Meridian.

POLITICAL RECRUITMENT AND CAREERS The social sciences are only now beginning the systematic quantitative study of the social bases for political recruitment and career patterns. By contrast, politicians and their biographers, as well as political philosophers, historians, and legal specialists, have long given attention to the credentials and careers of men in public life—how political recruits used or improved upon their birth chances and what they contributed to political affairs. The range of relevant studies Belatedly but energetically, early lines of scholarly inquiry into political career lines and selection mechanisms are being retraced and extended. In 1919 Max Weber's influential lecture "Politics as a Vocation" was published; in America bench-mark studies such as those of Gosnell (1935; 1937), Salter (1938), and Zink (1930) followed, using vignettes to show how the careers of ethnic-group leaders, legislators, or city bosses could be made or wrecked by turns of luck quite as much as by

POLITICAL RECRUITMENT AND CAREERS either merit or maneuver. In the 1950s and 1960s studies like those of Schlesinger (1957), Eulau and Sprague (1964), and Milbrath (1963) used more rigorous measuring instruments and more extensive samples of evidence in order to identify changing skill patterns, organizational screening devices, ard shifting power bases as aspects of political recruitment. A similar contrast in technique may be seen in work linking psychological needs to the kinds of gratifications, the intensity of commitment, or the style of performance manifested by a public personality. In 1930 Lasswell's clinical case studies of the motivational factors underlying self-recruitment into politics were formulated in terms of how "private motives" could be displaced onto "public objects" and later endowed with "public purposes." Thirty years later in work like that by Gabriel A. Almond, Robert E. Lane, and David C. McClelland, predispositional categories were being differentiated and methods devised for measuring the complex psychological dynamics that underlie political career aspirations. Fundamental social trends of the past half century, as well as advances in technique, have transformed the functional analysis of elite recruitment. In the modern comparative work of scholars like Edward Shils, Lucian Pye, and Morris Janowitz, the changing social origins and activation patterns of plural "elites" in politics are in focus. In the early elite formulations of Mosca, Pareto, and Michels eligibility was presumed to be sharply restricted, and the emphasis tended to be upon the stultifying effects of incumbency. Institutional processes, rather than functions, are the focus of other current studies. Sustained attention is being given to how men are selected and groomed for careers involving community decision making, party activities, legislative work, or the policy-making orbits of officialdom. In contexts where political induction and advancement are increasingly bureaucratized, sample-interviewing techniques have facilitated systematic inquiry. Rigorous marshaling of quantitative empirical evidence, however, is only beginning to characterize studies of political recruitment. The relevant literature is vast only if one includes philosophical speculations about who should rule, plus the work of modern historians concerned with elite transformations, and—in every society featuring a juridical code—the disquisitions by legal specialists on the formalities of investiture, the mechanics of election, the conditions of examination, the prerogatives of office, and the rules of accountability. Of course, source materials linked to unique public

lives and occasions—memoirs and biographies— are also voluminous. From them a diversity of keen impressions and some shrewd aphorisms on how to succeed can be gleaned. But they constitute an unsystematic commentary on political recruitment and career patterns. Modern historians have been somewhat more explicit about patterns, trends, and research methods. They have tried to identify the canalizing and formative structures typical of various regimes. Elites are sometimes treated as vehicles of change; sometimes historical forces are seen creating or destroying elites. There has been recurrent emphasis on the lag between elite habits and preoccupations and the emerging historical challenges to their tenure. Distinctive configurations of rearing and apprenticeship, stamping political elites with inimitable styles, are sketched. Careful work, like that of Namier, has traced the social origins and family connections of those in "constituted bodies" —assemblies, councils, and state bureaucracies. New techniques exploit genealogical records, wills, and tax rolls. Documentary evidence remains unavoidably incomplete, however; historians commonly use it to illustrate, rather than to measure, phenomena. Merit selection and vocational opportunities are shown to have produced effective administrative elites, whose efforts sustained great systems of public order in ancient China, India, the Near East, and pre-Columbian America, as well as in ancient Rome. Under Islamic regimes slaves of the sultan could be groomed and elevated to the imperial administrative elite; the selection criteria were not seriously hampered by considerations of birth or family status. By contrast, nearly everywhere in Europe birthright fixed one's life status and made smaller the talent reservoir. In the Orient the Confucian principles that men were unequal and that merit should determine social status helped to legitimize the competitive examination system, which kept the bureaucratic elite from becoming self-perpetuating. However, many recruits in each generation did come from old official families, whose traditions of service helped give the Chinese bureaucracy its continuity, stability, and assimilative capacities. In the West historians have noted the modern proliferation of nonhereditary elites into every field of endeavor. Those with advantages of birth increasingly must validate their ascriptive credentials with achievements of their own. Nor is elitehood in one domain a warrant for capacity to help shape public policy. The special skills and perspectives needed to negotiate, legitimize, and imple-

POLITICAL RECRUITMENT AND CAREERS ment collective community efforts—the distinctively political skills—increasingly require special grooming. With the development of political vocations careers for poor men were opened in public life, as Weber noted. Success in politics, both as a chosen lifework and as a secondary career linked to success in civilian life, has become possible through a combination of merit, luck, tactics, sponsorship, and perseverance. Perspectives for inquiry and evaluation In the long history of theorizing about politics, "who should govern" is a familiar query. To Plato and Aristotle no real distinction between public service and private lives could be sustained. A political community, by its machinery for inducting men into offices, inevitably allocated rewards and opportunities, integrated resources and perspectives in some degree, and affirmed the ethical "mix" of its political life by the conduct of typical public men as well as stellar figures. Modern formulations like those of Dahl (1961) or Lasswell are preoccupied with pluralism, multiple power centers, semiautonomous localities, intrabureaucratic satrapies. Accordingly, they stress procedural consensus—the rules of the game, for co-optation as well as election—rather than substantive norms. People who would fight over ultimate principles may agree on intermediate objectives. Modern issues pose problem complexes that call for political brokers and administrative expediters. Highly divergent career patterns must be supported. Men may enter politics for reasons only remotely linked to shared ideals or public purposes. The attitude of modern civility expects personal career calculations and concern for the common weal to exist simultaneously in the minds of fellow citizens. Systematic comparative research into political manpower problems has substantially appeared only since World War n. Two major approaches, which differ markedly in the treatment of substantive and procedural norms, exist: the functional systems approach and the conventional organizations approach. The former deals in elites; the latter, in personnel. The systems approach provides both an idiom and an agenda for comparative research. As yet, it has not solved the problems of marshaling empirical evidence to "test" ideas. Functional systems analysis looks at all processes and structures in terms of their instrumental contribution to the vitality of a larger political system. Attention centers on the performance of functions by structures. Success is inferred from the continued viability of

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the political order in question. Put another way, the key structures are elites who collectively perform the functional necessities, elites whose perspectives are undergoing often profound cultural metamorphosis, elites who are in the process of learning how to operate new machinery of political life. In Almond's formulation, that machinery includes not only the essential means of governing but also the means to enlarge the system's developmental capabilities—to integrate perspectives, accommodate interests, sustain a sense of participation, and distribute values equitably. The organizations approach is usually confined to a single sector or segment of the conventional political order—a legislative process, a policymaking sequence of executive meetings, a party organization selecting its legislative candidates. Attention focuses on the performance of tasks by personnel, and success is inferred when actual achievements conform to the idealized patterns aimed at by participants—e.g., democratic selection, representative action, statutory policy, or a constitutional standard. Men are born with certain life chances by virtue of their social circumstances and personal endowments. Modern elite recruitment studies have concentrated on social origins, activation patterns, and the changing kinds of political jobs available as major dimensions for analysis. For example, by studying recruitment patterns during the last stages of colonialism and the early stages of national autonomy, political scientists have plausibly inferred the activation motives and identified the social bases of those involved in periods of accommodation with the alien elite, agitation for selfgovernment and modernity, maneuver for place and protection during the tutelary transition, and consolidation after independence. In virtually all "new states" political recruitment patterns since independence have been shifting substantially, in terms of class and educational levels and in terms of urban-rural and center-hinterland derivations. Always the shifts have been downward and out, that is, in the directions that broaden and diversify the pool of aspirants. What have not been examined carefully in elite studies are the effects of grooming, and career commitments, or the selective screening criteria by which institutions safeguard their key roles from "misfits." These are the very dimensions, on the other hand, that have begun to receive systematic attention in studies of organizational personnel selection in politics. Instituions do not recruit crosssection samples from the social pools of eligible raw material. Even if they did—or where they

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seemed to—the formative influence of career experience may be expected to attenuate the primordial loyalties in some unestablished degree. As Weber has noted: "According to all experience there is no stronger means of breeding traits than through the necessity of holding one's own in the circle of one's associates." To do any firsthand investigation one has to specify the jobs, identify the incumbents, consider both formal and informal screening arrangements used to fill the positions, and then compare the "fit" between what is wanted and what is obtained. Organizations do not regularly get what they want by way of manpower Nor do organizations necessarily seek what they functionally need. The fit between the functional role structures and the organizational position structures in a political system is rarely, if ever, one-to-one. Only with great caution is it possible to treat a job incumbent as a functional role incumbent. Findings about organizational grooming and screening patterns are thus not easily articulated in terms of functional systems theories as presently formulated. Organizational positions and functional roles The study of political recruitment must begin with some consideration of what the jobs in politics are. First come the legally defined positions. Clearly included are legislators, chief executives, high civilian and military officials, judges, and diplomats. Their counterparts in local government are mayors, councilmen, board members, and agency chiefs. How should these jobs be grouped? Classifying them by reference to their legal powers and duties quickly proliferates the categories; grouping them according to statutory terms of eligibility or formal method of selection obfuscates nonlegal comparisons by treating legally recognized criteria such as age, residence, citizenship, literacy, or nominal group affiliation as unambiguous attributes or by suggesting that the same functional considerations should be applied to all elected recruits or to all appointed—or all co-opted —public officials. Legal prescriptions and similar formalized distinctions are useful but inconclusive evidence about political jobs. Second, the inventory of positions includes the institutionalized roles distinguished by participants in the political arena. Terms like lobbyist, propagandist, staff man, reporter, commentator, party cadre, agitator, anchor man, and trouble shooter only begin to suggest the kinds of behavioral patterns—the orbits of action as well as the skills and resources involved—that may be familiar in

a given milieu. Even in studying a conventional political organization, it becomes apparent that ad hoc functional equivalents must be used to subsume the enormous variety of role patterns. Clearly, too, roles may exist but not be filled, either because no qualified candidate can be found or because it is preferred to keep a post vacant. Whatever the institutional boundaries and orbits of politics under investigation, the tasks which apply to a given job are partly shaped—preshaped in binding ways even—by virtue of constitutional and organizational forms. In part they depend upon the expectations of other participants—outsiders as well as insiders, subordinates and peers as well as superiors—and those of the incumbent himself, concerning both the ordinary tasks to be done and the marginal behavior that is acceptable. Circumscriptions on political jobs arise also because of the resources, both technological and human, directed and controlled differentially through organizational processes. A further circumscription is imposed by the political culture. Roles that are equivalent in form, in norms of performance, and in resources may call for a distinctive style in one milieu but not in another. The position structure, both formal and informal, within a legislature, party unit, secretariat, or any other political entity is presumably meant to secure a minimum level of functional output of the organization's product, whether that be statutes, precinct work, briefing materials, or something else. To understand how the organization's modal product is generated, and thereby have a basis for suggesting improvements, it is evidently necessary to undertake a detailed analysis of the intramural role structure both as the participants see it (i.e., conventionally) and in terms of a functional model. For many kinds of research, however, it is not necessary to study the organization's internal dynamics at all. Its membership can be studied in terms of the social origins, skills, and moral qualities demonstrated by modal and deviant types. In this kind of inventory the qualities of key actors are in some degree confounded with those of lesser significance. But it can be argued that the test of an organization's health is the caliber of its average decision maker, not the brilliance of its stellar figures. Moreover, in functional systems terms, what is important is how adequately the structure viewed as a collectivity is equipped and staffed to perform the desired functions. A knowledge of the inputs, in other words, is a reasonably adequate basis for making inferences about the outputs. A

POLITICAL RECRUITMENT AND CAREERS better basis, but not an essential one, would be provided by a full analysis of the organization's functional dynamics. Political socialization and recruitment The induction of manpower into political roles is more specialized and focused than the induction of people into a political culture. Recruitment is concerned with special political role socializations which occur "on top of" general political socialization. However the political system is denned, recruitment to its posts taps people from various subcultures. Presumably, by giving recruits an inside view of a political process, it trains them in appropriate skills and furnishes them with political cognitive maps and perspectives. The prevailing expectation among most scholars is that primordial perspectives and psychic management patterns acquired early in life remain operative in later years and are overlaid by attitudes, values, and conduct patterns more or less acceptable and appropriate to one's career aspirations—i.e., what one wants to make of one's life. Whether these perspectives and patterns govern all basic decisions in later life, including one's official acts, or whether they only color one's political judgment on certain problems or sharpen one's political sensitivities in specific ways are unresolved questions. Hard as it is to draw a line, early political socialization is relevant to the study of political recruitment only insofar as it affects one's chances of being recruited or of desiring to enter into specific roles in political life. Therefore, much current academic work about politicians is formulated in terms of their early socialization. Inferences are often uncritically drawn as though a person's subsequent career experiences had only minor weight in determining his adult perspective on essentials. Yet the individual's life path through the corporate and primary group "infrastructures" of his community provides crucial skills and attitudes as well as sponsors and material resources. Especially in poorly developed countries with weak infrastructures and poor consensus, early political socialization and later experience seem to be of roughly equal importance in determining the viability of the political order. Apart from the development of suitable career perspectives by in-service grooming, it is important to note that selective recruitment from the pool of eligibles may minimize the effects of imperfect early socialization on leadership in a modern civil society. Ordinarily, performing the role of voter or pur-

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suing a citizen's career are not included in discussions of recruitment and career patterns in politics. More specifically, political recruitment refers to institutional processes by which political jobs beyond the citizenship level are filled. Political careers are patterns of incumbency in these political offices and roles. Subjectively, career perspectives are moving vantage points from which men in politics, whether treating public affairs as a calling or as a vocation, appraise their duties and opportunities. Selection devices and screeningo criteria Institutions use a variety of devices to fill all jobs. Through co-optation, equals augment their ranks or sustain their numbers. By mobilization supporters are rallied to perform basic tasks in organized efforts or to "act out" their contributions. Through appointment a key figure designates subordinates to hold office or discharge tasks. Election elevates a man to act as spokesman, leader, or representative for the legally defined electorate that chooses him. Lot and rotation are deliberately arbitrary methods for securing incumbents for specialized roles from among a group of presumed peers. Apprenticeship and examinations, both formal and informal, often precede incumbency in political jobs. Formal recruitment processes in politics are typically extramural or organizational threshold processes, that is, they are designed to secure manpower from an outside pool or public. They give title to political offices and some claim to institutional resources, but they seldom bestow distinctive influence xuithin the organization. Such influence comes, instead, when one can rally a following, claim to be an insider, show special prowess, or otherwise become distinguishable to colleagues. Intramural recruitment mechanisms are basic to most analyses of the organization's performance; these mechanisms select individuals to fill not only the organization's formal offices and recognized positions but also optional informal roles. In the extreme sense of hiring and firing personnel, the formal processes can override the informal ones; extramural controls can prevail over intramural ones. In the ordinary course of political business, however, the intramural screening and reception system for the neophyte legislator, official, or party functionary is a more searching and more unnerving process than any formal, or extramural, hurdle. Moreover, apart from official prerogatives that come with formal induction, the influence wielded inside a political organization is largely

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determined by the intramural rofe patterns that a member finds himself conformhg to, or—more rarely—carving out for himself. Of the formal induction mocbs, special attention has been given to elections. )ublic machinery, including such devices as nominating conventions, primary elections and runoffs, valous proportional representation (PR) formulas, aid such contrivances as nonpartisan elections, is unlikely to be very efficient in picking the caididate with the best credentials of skill and ability for the job; style and native character are perhaps more likely to be discerned -and appreciate! by electorates; personality, one's stand on cuirent issues, and party sponsorship are widely fet to be the most important determinants of popuar support. In the activities of candidate-sponsoring groups prior to elections, the consideratims felt to be most relevant in the search for candidates do not always provide voters with a serious el