PASSAGES
from EMILE DURKHEIM (Starr/LBST
304)
I.
From Emile Durkheim, The Rules of the Sociological Method
What
is a Social Fact?
Before beginning the
search for the method appropriate to the study of social facts it is important
to know what are the facts termed 'social'.
The question is all the
more necessary because the term is used without much precision. It is commonly
used to designate almost all the phenomena that occur within society, however
little social interest of some generality they present. Yet under this heading
there is, so to speak, no human occurrence that cannot be called social. Every
individual drinks, sleeps, eats, or employs his reason, and society has every
interest in seeing that these functions are regularly exercised. If therefore
these facts were social ones, sociology would possess no subject matter
peculiarly its own, and its domain would be confused with that of biology and
psychology.
However, in reality there
is in every society a clearly determined group of phenomena separable, because
of their distinct characteristics, from those that form the subject matter of
other sciences of nature.
When I perform my duties
as a brother, a husband or a citizen and carry out the commitments I have
entered into, I fulfil obligations which are defined in law and custom and which
are external to myself and my actions. Even when they conform to my own
sentiments and when I feel their reality within me, that reality does not cease
to be objective, for it is not I who have prescribed these duties; I have
received them through education. Moreover, how often does it happen that we are
ignorant of the details of the obligations that we must assume, and that, to
know them, we must consult the legal code and its authorised interpreters!
Similarly the believer has discovered from birth, ready fashioned, the beliefs
and practices of his religious life; if they existed before he did, it follows
that they exist outside him. The system of signs that I employ to express my
thoughts, the monetary system I use to pay my debts, the credit instruments I
utilise in my commercial relationships, the practices I follow in my profession,
etc., all function independently of the use I make of them. Considering in turn
each member of society, the foregoing remarks can be repeated for each single
one of them. Thus there are ways of acting, thinking and feeling which possess
the remarkable property of existing outside the consciousness of the individual.
Not only are these types
of behaviour and thinking external to the individual, but they are endued with a
compelling and coercive power by virtue of which, whether he wishes it or not,
they impose themselves upon him. Undoubtedly when I conform to them of my own
free will, this coercion is not felt or felt hardly at all, since it is
unnecessary. None the less it is intrinsically a characteristic of these facts;
the proof of this is that it asserts itself as soon as I try to resist. If I
attempt to violate the rules of law they react against me so as to forestall my
action, if there is still time. Alternatively, they annul it or make my action
conform to the norm if it is already accomplished but capable of being reversed;
or they cause me to pay the penalty for it if it is irreparable. If purely moral
rules are at stake, the public conscience restricts any act which infringes them
by the surveillance it exercises over the conduct of citizens and by the special
punishments it has at its disposal. In other cases the constraint is less
violent; nevertheless, it does not cease to exist. If I do not conform to
ordinary conventions, if in my mode of dress I pay no heed to what is customary
in my country and in my social class, the laughter I provoke, the social
distance at which I am kept, produce, although in a more mitigated form, the
same results as any real penalty. In other cases, although it may be indirect,
constraint is no less effective. I am not forced to speak French with my
compatriots, nor to use the legal currency, but it is impossible for me to do
otherwise. If I tried to escape the necessity, my attempt would fail miserably.
As an industrialist nothing prevents me from working with the processes and
methods of the previous century, but if I do I will most certainly ruin myself.
Even when in fact I can struggle free from these rules and successfully break
them, it is never without being forced to fight against them. Even if in the end
they are overcome, they make their constraining power sufficiently felt in the
resistance that they afford. There is no innovator, even a fortunate one, whose
ventures do not encounter opposition of this kind.
Here, then, is a category
of facts which present very special characteristics: they consist of manners of
acting, thinking and feeling external to the individual, which are invested with
a coercive power by virtue of which they exercise control over him.
Consequently, since they consist of representations and actions, they cannot be
confused with organic phenomena, nor with psychical phenomena, which have no
existence save in and through the individual consciousness. Thus they constitute
a new species and to them must be exclusively assigned the term social. It is
appropriate, since it is clear that, not having the individual as their
substratum, they can have none other than society, either political society in
its entirety or one of the partial groups that it includes - religious
denominations, political and literary schools, occupational corporations, etc.
Moreover, it is for such as these alone that the term is fitting, for the word
'social' has the sole meaning of designating those phenomena which fall into
none of the categories of facts already constituted and labelled. They are
consequently the proper field of sociology. It is true that this word
'constraint', in terms of which we define them, is in danger of infuriating
those who zealously uphold out-and-out individualism. Since they maintain that
the individual is completely autonomous, it seems to them that he is diminished
every time he is made aware that he is not dependent on himself alone. Yet since
it is indisputable today that most of our ideas and tendencies are not developed
by ourselves, but come to us from outside, they can only penetrate us by
imposing themselves upon us. This is all that our definition implies. Moreover,
we know that all social constraints do not necessarily exclude the individual
personality. [1]
PASSAGE
A
[We]
shall recognize only two kinds of positive solidarity which are distinguishable
by the following qualities:
1. The first binds the
individual directly to society without any intermediary. In the second, he
depends upon society, because he depends upon the parts of which it is composed.
2. Society is not seen in
the same aspect in the two cases. In the first, what we call society is a more
or less organized totality of beliefs and sentiments common to all the members
of the group: this is the collective type. On the other hand, the society in
which we are solidary in the second instance is a system of different, special
functions which definite relations unite. These two societies really make up
only one. They are two aspects of one and the same reality, but none the less
they must be distinguished.
3. From this second
difference there arises another which helps us to characterize and name the two
kinds of solidarity.
The first can be strong
only if the ideas and tendencies common to all the members of the society are
greater in number and intensity than those which pertain personally to each
member. It is as much stronger as the excess is more considerable. But what
makes our personality is how much of our own individual qualities we have, what
distinguishes us from others. This solidarity can grow only in inverse ratio to
personality. There are in each of us, as we have said, two consciences: one
which is common to our group in its entirety, which, consequently, is not
ourselves, but society living and acting within us; the other, on the contrary,
represents that in us which is personal and distinct, that which makes us an
individual. [1] Solidarity which comes from likenesses is at its maximum when
the collective conscience completely envelops our whole conscience and coincides
in all points with it. But, at that moment, our individuality is nil. It can be
born only if the community takes smaller toll of us. There are, here, two
contrary forces, one centripetal, the other centrifugal, which cannot flourish
at the same time. We cannot, at one and the same time, develop ourselves in two
opposite senses. If we have a lively desire to think and act for ourselves, we
cannot be strongly inclined to think and act as others do. If our ideal is to
present a singular and personal appearance, we do not want to resemble everybody
else. Moreover, at the moment when this solidarity exercises its force, our
personality vanishes, as our definition permits us to say, for we are no longer
ourselves, but the collective life.
The social molecules which
can be coherent in this way can act together only in the measure that they have
no actions of their own, as the molecules of inorganic bodies. That is why we
propose to call this type of solidarity mechanical. The term does not signify
that it is produced by mechanical and artificial means. We call it that only by
analogy to the cohesion which unites the elements of an inanimate body, as
opposed to that which makes a unity out of the elements of a living body. What
justifies this term is that the link which thus unites the individual to society
is wholly analogous to that which attaches a thing to a person. The individual
conscience, considered in this light, is a simple dependent upon the collective
type and follows all of its movements, as the possessed object follows those of
its owner. In societies where this type of solidarity is highly developed, the
individual does not appear, as we shall see later. Individuality is something
which the society possesses. Thus, in these social types, personal rights are
not yet distinguished from real rights.
It is quite otherwise with
the solidarity which the division of labor produces. Whereas the previous type
implies that individuals resemble each other, this type presumes their
difference. The first is possible only in so far as the individual personality
is absorbed into the collective personality; the second is possible only if each
one has a sphere of action which is peculiar to him; that is, a personality. It
is necessary, then, that the collective conscience leave open a part of the
individual conscience in order that special functions may be established there,
functions which it cannot regulate. The more this region is extended, the
stronger is the cohesion which results from this solidarity. In effect, on the
one hand, each one depends as much more strictly on society as labor is more
divided; and, on the other, the activity of each is as much more personal as it
is more specialized. Doubtless, as circumscribed as it is, it is never
completely original. Even in the exercise of our occupation, we conform to
usages, to practices which are common to our whole professional brotherhood.
But, even in this instance, the yoke that we submit to is much less heavy than
when society completely controls us, and it leaves much more place open for the
free play of our initiative. Here, then, the individuality of all grows at the
same time as that of its parts. Society becomes more capable of collective
movement, at the same time that each of its elements has more freedom of
movement. This solidarity resembles that which we observe among the higher
animals. Each organ, in effect, has its special physiognomy, its autonomy. And,
moreover, the unity of the organism is as great as the individuation of the
parts is more marked. Because of this analogy, we propose to call the solidarity
which is due to the division of labor, organic.
PASSAGE
B
But the division of labor
is not peculiar to the economic world; we can observe its growing influence in
the most varied fields of society. The political, administrative, and judicial
functions are growing more and more specialized. It is the same with the
aesthetic and scientific functions. It is long since philosophy reigned as a
science unique; it has been broken into a multitude of special disciplines each
of which has its object, method, and thought....
The time has passed when
the perfect man was he who appeared interested in everything without attaching
himself exclusively to anything, capable of tasting and understanding
everything, finding means to unite and condense in himself all that was most
exquisite in civilization. This general culture, formerly lavishly praised, now
appears to us as a loose and flabby discipline.... We distrust those excessively
mobile talents that lend themselves equally to all uses, refusing to choose a
special role and to keep to it. We disapprove of those men whose unique care is
to organize and develop all their faculties, but without making any definite use
of them and without sacrificing any of them, as if each man were sufficient unto
himself, and constituted an independent world. It seems to us that this state of
attachment and indetermination has something ant-social about it. The
praiseworthy man of former times is only a dilettante to us, and we refuse to
give dilettantism any moral value; we rather see perfection in the man seeking ,
not to be complete, but to produce; who has a restricted task, and devotes
himself to it; who does his duty, accomplishes his work....Education has grown
more specialized. We deem it more and more unnecessary to submit small children to
a uniform culture, as if all were to lead the same life; but to train them
differently in the light of the different functions they will be called upon to
fill. Briefly, in one of its aspects, the categorical imperative of the moral
conscience is assuming the following form: Make yourself usefully fulfil a
determinate function....
But in the face of these
facts, others can be cited contradicting them. If public opinion sanctions the
division of labor, it is not without a sort of uneasiness and hesitation. While
commanding men to specialize, it seems to fear they will specialize too much....
[As Tocqueville says:] "In so far as the principle of the division of labor
receives a more complete application, the art progresses, the artisan
retrogresses." Generally, the maxim ordering us to specialize is refuted by
the contradictory maxim command us all to realize the same ideal, and the latter
is still far from having lost all its authority.... It is no less true that in
such antagonism there is something to trouble the moral conscience of nations,
for an explanation of such contradiction must be given.
To put an end to this
indecision, we shall not resort to the ordinary method of moralists, who, when
they wish to decide the moral value of any precept, begin by putting forward a
general formula of morality in order thus to confront the maxim in question with
it.... The one way to succeed in objectively appreciating the division of labor
is to study it first in itself, entirely speculatively, to look for its use, and
upon what it depends, and finally, to form as adequate a notion as possible of
it. That done, we shall be in a position to compare it with other moral
phenomena, and see what relations it has with them....
Our work, then, will be
divided into three principal parts:
To determine the function
of the division of labor, that is to say, what social need it satisfies;
To determine, then, the
causes and conditions on which it is dependent;
Finally, as it would not
have been the object of such grave accusations if it had not really deviated
fairly often from the normal condition, we shall try to classify the principal
abnormal forms it presents, so that they will not be confused with the others.
PASSAGE
C
But not only does the
division of labor present the character by which we have defined morality; it
more and more tends to become the essential condition of social solidarity. As
we advance in the evolutionary scale, the ties which bind the individual to his
family, to his native soil, to traditions which the past has given to him, to
collective group usages, become loose. More mobile, he changes his environment
more easily, leaves his people to go elsewhere to live a more autonomous
existence, to a greater extent forms his own ideas and sentiments. Of course,
the whole common conscience does not, on this account, pass out of existence. At
least there will always remain this cult of personality, of individual dignity
of which we have just been speaking, and which, today, is the rallying-point of
so many people. But how little a thing it is when one contemplates the ever
increasing extent of social life, and, consequently, of individual consciences!
For, as they become more voluminous, as intelligence becomes richer, activity
more varied, in order for morality to remain constant, that is to say, in order
for the individual to remain attached to the group with a force equal to that of
yesterday, the ties which bind him to it must become stronger and more numerous.
If, then, he formed no others than those which come from resemblances, the
effacement of the segmental type would be accompanied by a systematic debasement
of morality. Man would no longer be sufficiently obligated; he would no longer
feel about and above him this salutary pressure of society which moderates his
egoism and makes him a normal being. This is what gives moral value to the
division of labor. Through it, the individual becomes cognizant of his
dependence upon society; from it come the forces which keep him in check and
restrain him. In short, since the division of labor becomes the chief source of
social solidarity, it becomes, at the same time, the foundation of the moral
order.
III.
From Durkheim, "Individualism and the Intellectuals."
The human person, whose
definition serves as the touchstone according to which good must be
distinguished from evil, is considered sacred, in what one might call the ritual
sense of the word. It has something of that transcendental majesty which the
churches of all times have given to their Gods. It is conceived as being
invested with that mysterious property which creates an empty space around holy
objects, which keeps them away from profane contacts and which draws them away
from ordinary life. And it is exactly this feature which induces the respect of
which it is the object. Whoever makes an attempt on a man’s life, on a man’s
liberty, on a man’s honour inspires us with a feeling of horror, in every way
analogous to that which the believer experiences when he sees his idol profaned.
Such a morality is therefore not simply a hygienic discipline or a wise
principle of economy. It is a religion of which man is, at the same time, both
believer and God....
As societies become more
voluminous and spread over vaster territories, their traditions and practices,
in order to adapt to the diversity of situations and constantly changing
circumstances, are compelled to maintain a state of plasticity and instability
which no longer offers adequate resistance to individual variations. These
latter, being less well contained, develop more freely and multiply in number;
that is, everyone increasingly follows his own path. At the same time, as a
consequence of a more advanced division of labor, each mind finds itself
directed towards a different point on the horizon, reflects a different aspect
of the world and, as a result, the content of men’s minds differ from one
subject to another. One is thus gradually proceeding toward a state of affairs,
now almost attained, in which the members of a single social group will no
longer have anything in common other than their humanity, that is, the
characteristics which constitute the human person in general. The idea of the
human person, given different emphases in accordance with the diversity of
national temperaments, is therefore the sole idea that survives, immutable and
impersonal, above the changing tides of particular opinions; and the sentiments
which it awakens are the only ones to be found in almost all hearts. The
communion of minds can no longer form around particular rites and prejudices,
since rites and prejudices have been swept away in the natural course of things.
In consequence, there remains nothing that men may love and honor inn common,
apart from man himself. This is why man has become a god for man, and why he can
no longer turn to other gods without being untrue to himself. And just as each
of us embodies something of humanity, so each individual mind has within it
something of the divine, and thereby finds itself marked by a characteristic
which renders it sacred and inviolable to others. The whole of individualism
lies there. That is what makes it into the doctrine that is currently necessary.
For should we wish to hold back its progress, we would have to prevent men from
becoming increasingly differentiated from one another, reduce their
personalities to a single level, bring them back to the old conformism of former
times and arrest, in consequence, the tendency of societies to become ever more
extended and centralized, and stem the unceasing growth of the division of
labor. Such an undertaking, whether desirable or not, infinitely surpasses all
human powers.
The religion of humanity has all that is required to speak to believers in a tone that is no less imperative than the religions it replaced. Far from confining itself to indulging our instincts, it offers us an ideal which infinitely surpasses nature; for we do not naturally have that wise and pure reason which, dissociated from all personal motives, would make laws in the abstract concerning its own conduct.
IV.
DURKHEIM on SUICIDE
NOTE: The material linked below is a good brief summary of Durkheim's ideas about suicide, but unfortunately it may be riddled with annoying pop-up advertisements. Sorry about that.