1389148-Catton

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Emile Who and the Division of What?Author(s): William R. Catton, Jr.Reviewed work(s):Source: Sociological Perspectives, Vol. 28, No. 3 (Jul., 1985), pp. 251-280Published by: University of California PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1389148 .Accessed: 14/03/2012 09:50

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EMILE WHO AND THE

DIVISION OF WHAT?

WILLIAM R. CATTON, Jr. Washington State University

Durkheim believed division of labor could promote human fraternity, but today's world raises doubts. Has division of labor become more disintegrative than integrative? With 1,000 times as many occupations as in a preliterate tribe, industrial society has transcended limits of biological division of function by substituting sociocultural differentiation and technology for biological polymorphism and interspecific differences. But industrial-level division of functions entails four serious problems: abrogation of responsibility, vested interests, predatory relations, and creation of supernumeraries. Two kinds of study are urgently needed. We must map out the unbalancing operations that foster predation and, aided by synthesis of several traditions, investi- gate social psychological mechanisms that enable people to treat humans as means rather than ends.

At least 99.9% of the world's people are not sociologists. Ours is an esoteric profession. I was reminded once that this is so when I happened to be studying portions of Durkheim's treatise on The Division of Labor in Society in the waiting room of a foreign car dealership while my Honda Civic was being serviced. The sales manager came over to me and asked, as a conversation opener, what was I reading. I told him the author's name and the title of the book. His quick response was, "I wish I could divide my labor."

This joking pretense to being overworked implied to me that he had never heard of Durkheim nor of the transition from mechanical to organic solidarity. I was reasonably sure this man was not begging to be enlightened on such matters, so, hoping to get back to my reading, I politely returned his friendly overture by simply adding that the book was a classic study of human relations by a European sociologist. Perhaps "sociologist" sounded to his ears like "socialist," for his next remark

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This article was presented as the 1985 Presidential Address to the Pacific SociologicalAssociation, Albuquerque, New Mexico, April 19, 1985.

SOCIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES, Vol. 28 No. 3, July 1985 251-280 ? 1985 Pacific Sociological Assn.

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252 SOCIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVES / JULY 1985

was a racist anecdote, followed by one of those of-course-you- as-a-decent-fellow-will-agree type of assertions, that anyone who thought the American system was not the best in the world should go (as he had) and see for oneself how badly they do things elsewhere-this from a person who was reaping a com- fortable living by selling to American customers cars he obtained not from Detroit but from an ultramodern factory in Japan.

I'll have more to say later about Japanese industry and about selling. When the maintenance people had finished servicing my Honda, I wondered as I was driving home whether the man with whom I'd been talking might have meant he would like to divide not his work but his workers. (The word "labor" could have meant either.) Was there too much social cohesion among his subordinates to suit him? Was he confusing the phrase "division of labor" with the cliche "divide and conquer"? If so, was he thereby inadvertently giving fleeting expression to what might turn out to be a profound idea?

A QUESTION FOR OUR TIME

The central question I propose to address in this article is related to that possibility. It is a question sociologists normally do not consider, but I think it is a question whose time has come: What is the life expectancy of an industrial society? Can our species long endure, divided within itself as modern technology and cultural differentiation have enabled us to become?

Division of labor has certainly become characteristic of human life. Has it remained, as it appeared to Durkheim, a source of social solidarity, or is it a beguiling step onto a steepening slippery slope of self-destruction? Can division of labor became more disintegrative than integrative?

Six years before Durkheim's book on division of labor was first published in France, the original German edition of Ferdinand Toennies's Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft came out. It is widely recognized among sociologists today that the contrast Toennies drew between these two forms of social organization resembles the distinction Durkheim soon afterward made between mechanical solidarity and organic solidarity.

Catton / DIVISION OF LABOR 253

An important difference between the two books lay in the opposite views of the two authors on whether the historical trend each had discerned was desirable or lamentable. For Toennies, the days of Gemeinschaft were the good old days. The newer form, Gesellschaft, was a less humane way of living. Durkheim, on the other hand, saw organic solidarity as a promising new development. He believed "the ideal of human fraternity can be realized only in proportion to the progress of division of labor" (Durkheim, 1933: 406-407).

Events of recent decades have led me to suspect instead that continuing ramification of the division of labor may produce more chaos than cohesion. Much has happened to human societies, and to sociology, in the 68 years since Durkheim died (at the age I happen to be right now).

My encounter with the nonsociologist at the Honda agency was just one of many contexts in which I have had occasion to ponder matters of occupational specialization and social cohesion. One of the momentous experiences to hit the world since Durkheim's day was World War II, during which I was still a member of the uninitiated 99.9%. I had yet to learn even the word "sociology," let alone the name of Durkheim, but I suppose I was being preconditioned for an interest in my present topic when I heard about a young woman at a party for off-duty servicemen who asked her handsome dance partner in the dark uniform with gold braid on his cuffs (a man toward whom she was feeling very cohesive at the moment) just what was his job in the military. "I'm a naval surgeon," he told her, to which she responded, admiringly, "My how you doctors do specialize."

As an enlisted man in the same navy, I was made aware firsthand of the extreme degree to which tasks can be subdivided. At the Norfolk Naval Air Station for several weeks in 1943 I found myself assigned to rather menial duty in a mess hall. The demeaning character of the assignment was somewhat compensated by the fact that the clientele for this mess hall were female enlisted personnel, known as Waves. As a conse- quence of that fact, however, my job in the scullery was reduced to standing next to the conveyor belt and picking up each coffee mug before it entered the huge dishwashing mechanism, and giving its rim a swift wipedown with a wad of steel wool-to remove the lipstick. How's that for dividing labor! I have often


wondered how long any malfeasance at that task might have postponed Hitler's defeat. More to the point, had Durkheim held that job, how would he have assessed the solidarity of our allied forces?

In all seriousness, when humans become specialists, it matters very much what the relations between specialties do to the relations between differentiated humans. In response to publication of the belated English translation of Durkheim's book, Robert Merton (1934: 325) wrote that continued development of division of labor could lead not to more and more solidarity but to more and more anomie. That is one way of putting the issue upon which I want to focus. For a more vivid expression of Merton's insight, consider two lines from Tom Lehrer's musical commentary about the consequences of "good old American knowhow" as exhibited by a "good old American" imported from Germany:

"Once the rockets are up who cares where they come down? That's not my department," says Wernher von Braun.

One historian in Japan (the only country so far to suffer devastation from incoming nuclear warheads) has suggested that one of the new goals humanity ought to be pursuing nowa- days is "the overcoming of the division of labor" (Hidaka, 1984: 102). A political writer concerned that we are becoming decivilized believes, "The conditions of mass society have de- stroyed the foundations of political community" and have played a part in devitalizing conscience and morality (Walter, 1960:291). And according to the Israeli sociologist, S. N. Eisenstadt (1981: 23), the classical problem of social order is generated (rather than solved) by division of labor.

EXTENT OF SPECIALIZATION

After the English translation ofDivision of Labor appeared, theA merican Journal of Sociology published a scathing review of it. The reviewer exaggerated part of Durkheim's argument, construing it as having claimed that "there is no division of labor among primitive people" (Faris, 1934: 376). To rebut


that alleged claim, the reviewer cited an article published six years earlier in AJS (Watson, 1929) in which 30 preliterate tribes supposedly had been found to have "1,485 different occupations." Does that sound like a large number, making "primitive" societies comparable after all to industrial societies? We shall see that it grossly exaggerates the similarity. Does it undermine everything Durkheim said about the change from mechanical to organic solidarity? It does not.

In the first place, Durkheim was too knowledgeable to have meant to assert total nondifferentiation as a property of any real society. Like Max Weber, he conceptualized matters in terms of "ideal types" (Durkheim, 1933: 174), but he knew reality always differed from the abstractions used to charac- terize its tendencies. Second, the reviewer had misread the article he was citing to rebut the claim he had erroneously imputed to Durkheim. For the 30 preliterate tribes, the article had tabulated totals of 1,485 specialized functions (or activities) but only 551 occupations-some occupations obviously comprising combinations of activities. Moreover, the reviewer had cited the total for 30 tribes combined, when he should have cited the mean. He had thereby greatly magnified the apparent intratribal occupational diversity. The average number of occupations per tribe was only 18.4 (and the mean number of specialized activities per tribe was 49.5). The tribe with the highest number of distinct occupations had 80, and the one with the fewest had just 5.

Had Durkheim lived to reply to that reviewer, or were he here now to engage with us in serious discussion of issues raised by confronting his solidarity theory with our dangerously divided world, I believe he would acknowledge that there is some division of labor even in the simplest human societies. How much of it there is can vary considerably from one society to another-from just a handful of distinguishable occupations in a preliterate tribe to thousands in an industrial society. The range of variation is not infinite, but it is enormous, and quite sufficient, it seems to me, to serve as a basis for his theory.

The U.S. Department of Labor's Dictionary of Occupational Titles was published the same year as the English translation of Division of Labor. It defined 17,452 separate occupations.1 This was almost a thousand times as many as the average in


those 30 tribes. A ratio on the order of 1,000 to 1 seems quite sufficient to accord with Durkheim's claim that certain quanti- tative pressures (increased material and moral density) had produced a qualitative transformation-with mechanical solidarity (based on comparative homogeneity and a collective conscience) being replaced by organic solidarity (based on interdependence of functionally differentiated specialists).

For the second edition of the Dictionary of Occupational Titles, 4,576 more occupations were tabulated.2 Just the apparent increment of new specialties in our society between 1933 and 1949 was thus 57 times the number of occupations found in even the most differentiated one of those primitive societies.

The third edition, published in 1965, listed 287 fewer occupations than were listed in the 1949 edition. The fourth edition, 1977, trimmed the roster of occupations by another 1,800. Do these reductions mean labor is becoming less divided, after centuries of increasing specialization? Hardly. Compilers of the Dictionary were probably just trying to err on the side of greater conservatism in distinguishing one occupation from another.3

The number of entries in any edition of this reference source provides, I would argue, what may be taken as a cautious understatement of the degree to which members of a modern labor force are specialized. "Sociologist," for example, is listed as one occupation. How many of the 20,000 others in the fourth edition are really, as you and I know this one to be, a cluster of distinguishable specialties? In the long paragraph defining the occupation called "Sociologist," only nine sociological specializations are mentioned, one of which, "Demographer," had not been mentioned in previous editions, 1965 and earlier.4 There is clearly some arbitrariness in any such compilation of occupational categories-as there surely was in that tabulation of occupations in primitive tribes (see Watson, 1929: 634-635).

Consider further the fact that in this Dictionary "Athlete" is one defined occupation. Here is the essence of its definition:

Participates in competitive athletic events, such as football, boxing, and hockey for personal enjoyment and monetary gain: ... May be designated according to type of sport in which


individual typically participates as Baseball Player: Basketball Player: Boxer: Football Player: Hockey Player: Wrestler.

If one looks up Baseball Player alphabetically in this Dictionary of Occupational Titles, one finds no definition or other information, just "see Athlete." Not only is there less than adequate recognition of the extent to which different professional sports call for different training, experience and skills; there is a startling absence of acknowledgment of specialization within a sport. I looked up "Pitcher" to see if the compilers recognized it as a different occupation from "Catcher" or "Outfielder." There were just two entries under "Pitcher," one pertaining to agriculture, "see Farm Hand, Grain II," and the other pertaining to cooperage, "see Barrel Liner, Spray."

So the occupation called "Sociologist" was not unusual in being defined with insufficient recognition of its own subdivi- sion. I felt I had to probe further. Some of my best friends are called "Human Ecologists," so I looked to see if that term might be listed alphabetically with a "see Sociologist" (or even "see Social Ecologist") entry. It was not there. The only job title beginning with the word "Human" was "Human Projec- tile," and the entry said simply, "see Thrill Performer." I guess none of my friends are qualified for that. Would that circus role have sufficed to raise doubts in Durkheim's mind about the solidarity function of division of labor? To test his faith in the progressive significance of occupational specialization, I wish we could get his reaction to what may be the Dictionary's most tantalizingjob title of all-the "Tin-Whiz Machine Operator."

The upshot of this exploration of a surprisingly amusing reference work is that 20,000 seems to be an eminently conser- vative estimate of the number of distinguishable occupations in our industrial society. Division of labor obviously has far out- stripped what was known in the preindustrial world. Now it remains to explore possible repercussions of that fact, using some hindsight not available to Durkheim.

INDUSTRIAL POLYMORPHISM

We must be careful to avoid falling into a language trap. Although it has been a common characteristic of human socie-


ties to divide among various members the assorted functions that together constitute and maintain a given society's way of living, we have the unfortunate custom of calling this characteristic the division of labor. This word has been misleading. (In the case of the man I conversed with in the Honda agency we have already seen one of its ambiguities.) In ordinary usage it connotes exertion or toil rather than function. In fact, the French word "travail," which Durkheim used, has become an English word meaning either very hard work or intense pain or agony. We need to see that specialization offunction is a very central sociological idea. To do so, we need to strip away any implication that what matters is the subdividing of exertion or torment. If these are indeed subdivided, this is incidental, not fundamental.

Much of sociology is a study of the division of functions. But perhaps from using the anthropocentric term "labor," sociologists have too easily supposed that they were dealing with a peculiarly human phenomenon. Division offunction is characteristic of all life (Hawley, 1950: 29-31). In a plant community, for example, each species fills a niche and contributes to the collective adaptation of all the species in other associated niches. The study of such phenomena used to be called "plant sociology" until our discipline preempted the term "sociology." The word "phytosociology" is still sometimes used in biological literature to refer to that facet of general ecology. Insofar as the study of patterned interactions among differently specialized organisms is the domain of ecologists, what we call sociology can thus be deemed an ecological science preoccu- pied with creatures that all belong to one human species but are nevertheless differentiated and interdependent.

It was not long after Durkheim died that Robert Park coined the term "human ecology." I have long felt slightly annoyed at a minor and unintentional injustice done to Durkheim by Leo Schnore (1958: 620), who said Durkheim was not a human ecologist. He said this, however, in a paper, the main thrust of which was that among American sociologists it was the human ecologists who had most fully followed through with concepts of "social morphology" launched by Division of Labor. Durkheim (1 9 3 3: 25 6-271) had in fact used ecological reason- ing. He was well aware that significant division of functions


occurs within populations of other species of social animal. As if I were preparing to discuss with Durkheim the degree to which his concept of organic solidarity might be generalizable to prehuman instances of division of labor, I devoted some effort to exploring what biologists have written about such instances.

One recent book (Topoff, 1981) that I consulted had in its index just one entry under "division of labor," a cross-reference: " See Polymorphism. " This term was defined in the book's glossary as follows: "Polymorphism: In a colony of social insects, the existence of individuals that differ in both size and structure." I knew, of course, that sexual dimorphism was a common special case of this concept, and that division of labor by age and sex, even in early human societies, was an obvious manifestation of polymorphism. The index entry and the glossary definition triggered off the following thoughts:

(1) The extent of differentiation of functions that will be possible is limited when it depends either on biological polymorphism within a single social species, or on genetically based differences between the various species cooperating in a biotic community.

(2) Human societies have obviously transcended these limits, and ecologically speaking, what is distinctive about our species is that we have substituted sociocultural differentiation and technology for biological polymorphism and interspecific differences.

Another way to put it would be to say that in a human labor force the polymorphism is in the tools rather than in the hands that wield them; it is in the socialized contents rather than in the biological structure of the brains that control those hands and those tools. Elsewhere I have described machines, tools, and other artifacts as "prosthetic devices"-as detachable exten- sions of the human organism (Catton, 1980: 145-150). An industrial labor force, considered not just as a population of humans but as a population of tool-users-modified-by-their- respective-tools, is quite impressively polymorphic. This is the ecological meaning of culture: It enables Homo sapiens to be, in this sense, the most polymorphic species of all. To be human


is to substitute sociocultural polymorphism for the much less diversified and less flexible biological version.

This way of conceptualizing our difference from other species enables us to see why human societies can vary all the way from those that involve as few as 5 (to 80) distinguishable occupations (or "quasi-species") to those embracing 20,000 or so.

Durkheim divided his treatise on division of labor into three major segments. His "Book One" explained "The Function of the Division of Labor," saying it provided a new form of solidarity based on differences instead of likeness, and it was here that he proposed the transition from a preponderance of repres- sive law to a preponderance of restitutive law as the empirical indicator of the transformation. "Book Two" stated the "Causes and Conditions" of increasing division of labor, attributing it to growth of human numbers, which intensified interaction and the "struggle for existence" so that "to live in new conditions of existence that have been made for us," human ingenuity had to devise new specialized occupations (Durkheim, 1933: 275). The main function of division of labor had not been just to increase the gross national product; it was to limit the range of competition afflicting each of the members of a growing society. "Book Three" dealt with "Abnormal Forms" of the division of labor.

"Book Three" comes closest to my present topic, but does not probe far enough. Meanwhile, "Book Two" had long seemed to me the most interesting of the three parts. In it, Durkheim acknowledged that human occupational differentiation was virtually a special case of the process of speciation by which organisms in general achieve a limitation of the range of competition. Because of this, I had originally intended to devote this article to further exploration of division of labor as the human equivalent to speciation. Very much more is known now about the speciation process than was known to Darwin, whom Durkheim (1933: 266) cited as his source for understanding what we would now call "the principle of competitive exclu- sion" (see Hardin, 1960). So I had set out to write an elaborated and updated version of Durkheim's explanation for how division of labor comes about, using post-Durkheim knowledge of speciation processes as my model (e.g., Wiley, 1981: 21-69; Mayr, 1976; Forey, 1981).


But as one writes, one learns, and one's ideas sometimes take unanticipated turns. So the originally intended topic remains for a subsequent article. This one has become instead an exploration of major dysfunctions from human division of labor, a topic that came to seem more urgent.

FOUR SOCIETAL PERILS OF INDUSTRIAL-LEVEL DIVISION OF LABOR

In "Book Three" Durkheim did acknowledge that division of labor could become anomic. His treatment of this and two other "abnormal forms" did not come to grips with the problems facing industrial societies today. His analysis remained enthu- siastic and optimistic. By now, so many decades later, there seem to be discernible at least four ways in which the normal division of labor so characteristic of an industrial society can be harmful to its health. I shall first enumerate them and then take up each in some further detail.

Division of labor leaves gaps. By dividing up the functions, we divide responsibility. That can be tantamount to abrogation of responsibility. In other words, the more intricate the division of labor, the more likely that something important will fall through the cracks.

Division of labor produces vested interests. The more we divide up life's tasks and assign increasingly specialized functions to separate people, the more our lives depend on the system rather than on our own actions. This is almost what Durkheim meant by "organic solidarity"-cohesion based on interdependence. To him this seemed eminently functional, but I am saying that it can be dysfunctional because it requires one's occupational role increasingly to become the major basis for one's outlook on life and one's attitudes toward other humans.

Division of labor fosters predatory relations. We become increasingly dependent on an increasingly intricate web of exchange, which casts each of us in a role that is predatory


toward others (and at the same time makes each of us potential prey of others).

Division of labor creates supernumeraries. The further we drift away from conditions of "mechanical solidarity," wherein we could regard ourselves as "all in the same boat," the easier it becomes for people who happen not to fit into any currently required occupational niche to be treated as simply superfluous.

Now let us look at each of these four problems somewhat more closely. Bear in mind that I consider them fully characteristic of the industrial degree of division of labor. They are not meant to be construed as "abnormal forms." I do not expect that they can be expunged if we just take care.

GAPS

Among the many factors putting our social fabric at risk, James Short (1984: 711) has mentioned the failure of sociology to illuminate the nature and sources of society's gravest perils. "So varied are the methods and perspectives of sociological analysis," he said in his presidential address to the American Sociological Association, "that the discipline lacks a central focus." And he further noted how the division of sociological labor does let important matters fall through the cracks: "Specialization based on particular aspects of the social fabric tends to obscure our common interests and may, indeed, lead to neglect of topics which have not generated a body of specialized research or theory."

Also cognizant of neglect resulting from specialization, Robin Williams, editor of a new journal, Sociological Forum, announced that it will seek out integrative articles. "In any field of science, specialization is inevitable," he was quoted as acknowledging (in ASA Footnotes, February 1985: 6), "but it often leads to fragmentation of focus and to serious gaps in communication."

That phrase, "gaps in communication," inevitably calls to my mind Herta Herzog's ( 1944: 28) incisive study four decades ago, of advice-seeking listeners to the radio soap operas of that era. She quoted one interviewee who said, "I always tell the woman upstairs who wants my advice, to listen to the people on


the radio because they are smarter than I am." If we were startled to learn from such research that consumers of this form of product-selling fictional entertainment were using it as a source of guidance for coping with interpersonal problems in real life, how much more startling should be the assumption contained in a subsequent sentence in that woman's explanation of her "referral service" to her neighbor: "I think if I told her to do something and something would happen, I would feel guilty. If it happens from the story, then it is nobody's fault." To suppose it is "nobody's fault" if responsibility for advice that proves inappropriate is dispersed among sponsor, network management, script writer, actors and actresses, and the refer- ring listener, exemplifies what I mean by suggesting that division of functions ends up as abrogation of responsibility.

From an industry that makes and sells complicated devices called automobiles, consider the following insight. The designer of the car's air-conditioning system has to remember that the car will most often be used for short trips lasting just a few minutes; it must not take half an hour to cool the car.

So you need to install high-speed blowers. But they can't be too noisy, because the guy driving the car wants to listen to his $300 stereo while the air conditioning is on. The air-conditioning guy can't say: "That's not my problem. I just want to cool him down." He's got to integrate his part into the total system of the car [Iacocca, 1984: 174].

From the same industry, at a more macro level, compare this insider's diagnosis of the organizational illness that almost killed off one of the "big three."

Chrysler in 1978 was like Italy in the 1860s-the company consisted of a cluster of little duchies, each one run by a prima donna. It was a bunch of mini-empires, with nobody giving a damn about what anyone else was doing [Iacocca, 1984: 152].

Had that condition remained undiagnosed, hundreds of thousands of people dependent on the company's survival would have lost their livelihood. As it was, many employees had to be jettisoned in the process of keeping the firm alive, a point to be mentioned again later.


In another instance of corporate gaps, 257 innocent people met violent death. On a November night in 1979, when I found I couldn't turn off my mind after a late evening's work in my study, I had the little earphone on my bedside transistor radio plugged into my ear and heard from KNX newsradio in Los Angeles that the corporate headquarters of Air New Zealand, in Auckland, had reported loss of radio contact by flight con- trollers at the U.S. Navy's Williams Field in Antarctica with Air New Zealand's sight-seeing excursion flight 901. Hours later it was confirmed that the plane had crashed into the north face of Mount Erebus, an Antarctic volcano. Some time afterward, "pilot error" was the expectable first explanation offered by investigating authorities, but many in New Zealand doubted it. A Royal Commission was appointed to probe much more deeply (over the next year and a half) into the circumstances of the disaster. What it discovered was no pilot error but the gap phenomenon.

When the plane collided with the mountain, killing everyone on board, it was flying in clear air, beneath a cloud ceiling that diffused the daylight in a way that made the upward sloping white surface of the mountain directly ahead indistinguishable from the horizontal white expanse all five pairs of eyes in the plane's cockpit had every reason to suppose they were seeing. According to the destination coordinates the pilot had been given in his preflight briefing, they were on a safe route down the middle of ice-covered McMurdo Sound. Due to changed destination coordinates the airline's Navigation Section had inserted into the aircraft's computer, they were instead flying toward a point lying directly behind the mountain (Mahon, 1981).

It was not the job of the person who had "corrected" a supposed error in the flight plan to notify the pilot that a change of coordinates had been made. It was not the computer pro- grammer's job to inspect the pilot's navigation chart to see if his preflight briefing had agreed with the information going into the Inertial Navigation System computer. It was not the responsibility of the Williams Field controller who authorized descent into the clear air below the cloud ceiling to ask the pilot whether his preflight briefing and his computer held the same information. It happened from the division of labor and it was nobody's fault. Two hundred-fifty-seven lives fell through the cracks.


I suspect that had Durkheim lived to study the report of the Royal Commission he would have been sensitized by it, as I was, to the possibility that some similar division/abrogation of responsibility for a detail might have been a factor in the navi- gational error that put the ill-fated Korean Airlines flight 007 over Soviet territory in predawn darkness on 1 September 1983. Accidental omission of an intermediate way point from the navigation plan put into its computer that night would have done it. As anyone can see by stretching a piece of string on a globe, the great circle from Anchorage to Seoul does pass through Soviet airspace, so one or more planned deviations from that direct route are needed to avoid intrusion. Miss one deviation, fly direct, get shot down.

The gap problem may have contributed also to the disastrous leak of methyl isocyanate at the Union Carbide plant in Bhopal, India, in December 1984. More people died in that episode than were killed in another famous international incident-the Pearl Harbor air raid that took the United States into active belligerency in World War II.

One further example should indicate the potentially grave consequences of the gap problem. When Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger was reported to have said "the United States is not miningthe harbors of Nicaragua," he was reminded that the CIA was known to be involved with the mining. The CIA, of course is part of the Executive Branch of the United States government, but it is "not his department." He replied (without Tom Lehrer's ironic humor) that he was "not talking about anything the CIA is doing or not doing" (Lutz, 1985: 2).

VESTED INTERESTS

Manfred Stanley (1978: 200) has suggested that "modern societies are becoming ensembles of social organizations that persist only because persons are coming to experience their interests, energy, and hopes as irrevocably tied to their functionary status in the service of some physical or social technique." Allan Schnaiberg (1980: 227-231) has described a "treadmill of production" that operates not only for most industrial societies but also even for Third World societies. While Schnaiberg sees this treadmill as especially pronounced in capitalist nations. it is mv view that he has described a


fundamental attribute of industrialism, by no means exclusively capitalistic. If the treadmill shows up in some Third World countries, too, it is my hunch that it does so mainly as an unsought side-effect of their efforts to become industrial. Being on a treadmill means that each member of an industrial society has an abiding interest in never letting his particular job be finished. The system's need for his special function must never be allowed to be satiated or to subside.

Consider some examples. The recent autobiography of a man who has headed two of America's "big three" automobile manufacturing companies, Lee Iacocca, contains many indica- tors of the overwhelming tendency for one's outlook on life and on the world to depend upon one's role in the occupational web of this industrial society. When Iacocca (1984: 35) was young and forging up through the ranks at Ford Motor Com- pany, he was told by Ford's East Coast regional manager, "Make money.... Screw everything else. This is a profit- making system, boy. The rest is frills." In the early 1950s, having been promoted to Assistant Sales Manager for Ford's Philadelphia district, Iacocca (1984: 38) justified certain innovative selling practices with the view: "Whether or not the dealers are moving them, the cars keep coming off the assembly lines and you've got to do something about it. ... You learn to produce, or you get into trouble-fast!"5 Even his political affinities were shaped by his place in the division of labor. "As long as I was at Ford and all was right with the world, I was a Republican," said Iacocca (1984: 10). But when he took over at Chrysler, with several hundred thousand people about to lose their jobs from that company's impending demise, he found the Democrats to be "the ones who were pragmatic enough to do what was necessary. If the Chrysler crisis had come up during a Republican administration, the company would have gone down the tubes before you could say Herbert Hoover."

In principle it is conceivable that a given society needs only so many cars, TV sets, or nuclear missiles, only some finite number of copies of a particular sociology textbook-or even, perish the thought, only so many sociologists. However, because academic sociologists prosper when numerous stu-


dents enroll in sociology courses, it is not to our interest that society's finite need for sociology graduates ever be fully met. Either completion of our task of educating the appropriate quota, or any other change of conditions that would reduce the number of sociology graduates per year required by society, would be a threat to our own employment. Similarly, a textbook publisher is threatened by the consequences of market satura- tion, whatever text he may have published. So it is common practice to "drive the used books off the market" by bringing out revisions more frequently than might otherwise bejustified, especially if no way has been found to make the book so valuable students will just keep it permanently even when they have finished the course.

Workers in a TV factory may have no further livelihood once every household has been equipped with a satisfactory TV s et-unless having multiple sets per household can be made the norm. Engineers, whether American or Russian, who earn their living building intercontinental missiles are tied by the division of labor system to an interest in continued stockpiling of their product even when enough is enough. Retired U.S. Navy Admiral Eugene Carroll, who has opposed the MX mis- sile on strategic grounds, has bluntly stated, "Once you get the program rolling, the money itself builds a constituency." And the mayor of Sacramento, California, in whose county the largest employer is Aerojet General, builder of the second stage of the MX, has expressed "fear that the outbreak of true peace would bring massive unemployment" (transcript, MacNeil/Lehrer News Hour, Feb. 26, 1985: 11-12).

"There is no work so dirty or dangerous but that it will attract volunteers pleading wife and babies to support," said E. A. Ross (1907: 118)-almost eight decades ago. According to Barrington Moore, even some people with potential grievances are tied by a strongly sanctioned division of labor into the prevailing order (Smith, 1983: 23).

It is thus arguable that at the industrial level of development, division of labor has become a markedly unprogressive force. We look upon preindustrial cultures as tending to make people unreceptive to innovation. Shouldn't we recognize in the high degree of occupational specialization so characteristic of our


own society a comparably powerful device that locks us onto accustomed paths, and keeps us unresponsive to indications of disastrous consequences over the horizon?

PREDATORY RELATIONS

The key to Durkheim's belief that division of labor could be a source of solidarity was his recognition that specialization led to interdependence. But interdependence was seen differently by Ross (1907: 4). It puts us, he said, "at one another's mercy, and so ushers in a multitude of new forms of wrong doing." With a flair for the dramatic phrase, Ross suggested further that "every new social relation begets its cannibalism."

In more scholarly language half a century later, Richard Emerson (1962: 32) pointed out that in an interactive system (such as the division of labor) one person's (or group's) "power resides implicitly in the other's dependency." Actor A is dependent on Actor B to the extent that (1) he desires goals mediated by B, and (2) A's satisfaction of those desires is unavailable from sources outside the relation with B. By a remarkably simple formulation, Emerson (1962: 33) brought penetrating new insights to bear on Durkheim's topic, though his point of departure was not Durkheim's work but the sociological understanding of power and authority derived from the work of Max Weber, and Durkheim was not cited. According to Emerson, the power of A over B is equivalent to the dependence of B on A; conversely, the power of B over A is equivalent to A's dependence on B. These power-dependence relations may be either balanced or unbalanced. They are unbalanced when one party is more dependent on the other than vice versa.

Division of labor is, as Durkheim conceived it, a web of interdependent specialists. In light of Emerson's analysis, it becomes a web of power-dependence relations. What I am arguing is that in an industrial society the very intricacy of the system produces a tendency for power-dependence relations to become unbalanced.

A major portion of Emerson's paper was devoted to analysis of types of operation by which unbalanced power-dependence relations can become balanced. But if we invert his analysis, we can derive a comparable list of operations by which initially


balanced relations could be made unbalanced. These would tell us how A and B might proceed from equal and mutual interdependence toward a more one-sided predator-prey relation. Two such unbalancing operations would consist of

(1) actions causing B to increase motivational investment in goals mediated by A;

(2) actions that reduce B's access to alternative sources for grati- fication of these goals.

Type 2 will not be further discussed here, save to note that it is reflected in all instances of monopolistic control, either by business firms or by governments. I want to focus on Type 1, which is reflected in advertising-publicity about a product or service offered by A that is aimed at increasing B's desire for that product or service. Advertising has recently been called "one of the dominant forces in twentieth-century America" (Fox, 1984: 7), even though the same source acknowledges that practically everyone dislikes its interruption of TV programs, its defacement of the countryside, its appeals to despicable aspects of human nature, and its common departures from credibility.

Inequality among society's participants was recognized by Durkheim ( 1933: 379, 381,386-387) as a condition that could make division of labor divisive rather than cohesive. Societies have the task, said Durkheim, of working to ensure justice so that advanced division of labor could lead to interdependence- based solidarity. It may be added that there must exist appropriate (i.e., balanced) numbers of the various specialists, not too many of one occupation and too few of another. This point was noted only in passing by Durkheim (1933: 271). I would argue that mass advertising tends to violate these conditions. It is concerned neither with justice nor with proportionality among society's spectrum of occupations. It deliberately heightens customers' dependence on sellers, providing no opportunity for comparably intensifying the reverse dependence. Whatever the product or service advertised, the aim is to sell as much of it as possible, without regard for society's or people's need to conserve resources for other vital purposes.


An industrial society is a vast and intricate web of power- dependence relations. If advertising acts as an unbalancing operation between vendor and consumer, we are in accord with Durkheim's style of inquiry if we use growth of advertising as an indicator of increase in predatory human relations-with vendors as predators and consumers as prey. In the United States, growth of advertising has been phenomenal since the date of this country's firm commitment to industrialization. Measured in constant dollars and on a per capita basis, advertising expenditures increased more than 4000% from 1865 to 1984. That means the "real growth" of advertising expenditures, considered exponentially, averaged 3.2% per year from the time the industrial North reaffirmed by military success its dominance over the plantation South. The total American expenditure on advertising in 1983 (see Phillips, 1984) was more than five times the 1983 outlay by the U.S. Depart- ment of Education. It was nine times what was spent by the Department of Energy, or nearly three times the total spent by the Departments of Commerce, Interior, Justice, State, and Housing and Urban Development. It even exceeded by 70% what the Department of Defense spent for procurement (though it was only 37% of what DOD spent altogether). The estimated increase from 1983 to 1984 in total dollars spent for advertising was almost 15%.

Growth of advertising supports Ross's idea more than Durkheim's about the impact of division of labor. It leads to predation. Schnaiberg's "treadmill" concept is confirmed. Industry does not just produce to satisfy preexisting consumer appetites. By advertising, it strives to produce appetites to satisfy industry's need to "move" its product. As the eminent economist J. K. Galbraith (quoted by Schnaiberg, 1980: 227) put it: "Production fills only the void it has created." If we idolize industrialism, said Galbraith, we are like "the onlooker who applauds the efforts of the squirrel to keep abreast of the wheel that is propelled by his own efforts."

The deliberate effort to unbalance power-dependence relations has accelerated faster at some times, more slowly at other times. Table 1 reveals important fluctuations in the rate of growth of advertising. The pattern supports one hypothesis from Schnaiberg (1980: 228)-that consumption needs, which


TABLE 1 Growth of U.S. Per Capita Expenditures on Advertising

(in constant 1980 dollars)

Total U.S. advertising expenditures (per capita)

Total billings of ten largest ad agencies (per capita)

$ 7.51

$ 64.82

$ 78.57

$134.44

$ 65.84

$ 92.37

$ 94.97

$129.04 $ 15.46

$ 27.60

$ 22.72

$ 34.43

SOURCES: Advertising data: expenditure totals, Fox (1984: 39, 77, 118-119, 170, 172); total billings ten largest agencies, Fox (1984: 332-333); population data and consumer price indexes (for adjusting to constant dollars per capita): Historical Statistics of the United States: Colonial Times to 1970, pp. 8, 210-211; World Almanac 1985: 101, 250.

1865

1900

1918

1929

Average percent increase per year

6.35 %

1.07 %

5.00 %

1933

1941

-16.34 %

1945

4.32 %

1950

0.70 %

1965

6.32 %

1975

3.94 %

1980

-1.93 %

8.68 %


TABLE 2 Trends in Endorsement of Various Values, in Nationwide

Surveys in Japan

'53 to '78 1953 1958 1963 1968 1973 1978 change

Value: Percent endorsing

To lead a pure and upright life, resisting the 29 23 18 17 11 11 -18 injustices of the world

To live a life devoted entirely to society 10 6 6 6 5 7 -3 without thought of self

To study seriously and establish a reputation 6 3 4 3 3 2 -4

To work hard and make money 15 17 17 17 14 14 -1

To lead an easy life in a happy-go-lucky fashion i1 18 19 20 23 22 +11

To do what you find interesting, regardless of 21 27 30 32 39 39 +18 money or honor

SOURCE: Hidaka (1984: 66).

may be variably inflated by advertising, are inversely related to public requirements. Note specifically that after each of the two World Wars and after the Vietnam War, the rate of increase of advertising expenditure surged upward. During the wars industry apparently had all it could do; it had no need to try to accelerate intensification of consumer demand. One might say that in war it is the people of an enemy nation that function as prey for our predatory industry. When the war ends, the business of America is again business, which then strives anew to increase predation upon American consumers.

But these are not uniquely American phenomena. In Japan, too, advertising is reported to have been stimulating a passion to consume. It is said to have been so effective that people of the

postwar generation have been "swept off their feet" (Hidaka, 1984: 31). Be that as it may, national opinion survey data indicate a marked change in Japanese values during the period when that country's economy has boomed (see Table 2). The


TABLE 3

Increasing Male Nonparticipation in U.S. Labor Force, 1954 to 1976

blacks whites

Age: 1954 1976 1954 1976

25 to 34 3.7% 9.4% 2.5% 4.1%

45 to 54 6.8% 16.1% 3.2% 7.5%

SOURCE: Harrington (1984: 135-136).

direction of the value change hardly suggests increasing social solidarity. The adult population of Japan appears to have become less concerned for propriety, civic spirit, and honor. Instead, people in Japan are increasingly self-indulgent. Per- haps there, as in America, advertisers have pushed product after product by telling consumers "You owe it to yourself."

SUPERNUMERARIES

A recent book on poverty (Harrington, 1984: 135) suggested that if you drive through Newark, New Jersey, in the middle of a weekday afternoon, "you can see a good part of the problem ... with the naked eye." It said "the streets are filled with milling, aimless men and youths." They are not just without jobs; they are omitted from the U.S. "unemployment rate" that reports the ratio of people looking for jobs to the sum of those looking plus those working. "Many of those men standing around on that Newark street do not even function as statistics" because they have for so long been unable to obtain employment that they have ceased looking. As Table 3 shows, such "non-participation in the labor force" has risen. If responsibilities can fall through the cracks when division of labor becomes intricate, so can people. Increasingly they do.

In other ways, too, division of labor dehumanizes. This is indicated when we think closely about our modern vocabulary. Some of the words and phrases to which we have grown accus-


tomed refer to people much as we would refer to commodities or machines. Even to speak of a "labor force" has this connota- tion. More specifically, consider some examples of employment opportunities advertised in a London newspaper. One sought a salesman "with demonstrated ability in client interface" as if people were computers. Another offered a job requiring "sub- stantial interface with project engineers." In another, someone was wanted with "Personal qualities ... of paramount impor- tance for effective internal interfacing with engineering, sales and contract management and customers" (Hudson, 1983: 70- 71). The author of the book in which I found these examples remarked that the term "internal interfacing" implied not only remarkable "personal qualities" but also "an unusual kind of anatomy."

My source was The Dictionary of Even More Diseased English,6 a delightfully humorous source containing much that ought to be taken seriously. It lists, defines, and discusses words or phrases that have come deliberately or unwittingly to be used with "so serious a lack of precision" that they have lost effectiveness for communication and serve "only to confuse or mislead" (Hudson, 1983: ix). Not surprisingly, many of its entries are from the vocabulary of advertising, but its first specimen reflects the dehumanizing I suggest is a natural con- sequence of modern division of functions-the word "Account," used to mean a customer or commercial client. Again the usage is illustrated with an ad from that London newspaper, in which a firm's representatives must be "experienced in negotiating with Key Accounts."

Calling people "Accounts" is a form of stigmatizing. The label excludes the person or group so labeled from the in-group to which the applier of the label belongs. "Stigma perpetuates itself. It... increases social distance; it isolates people from the main body of society" (Spicker, 1984: 174).

Thus it seems division of labor at the industrial level frag- ments rather than solidifies society in two ways. It fails to find functional niches for everyone. And it fosters thoughtways by which people in a particular niche impute to those in other niches less humanity than they accord themselves.


CONCLUSION

There seem to be at least two kinds of investigation made urgent by the conditions of our time-conditions that put to us that question about the durability of a social order based on intraspecific division of labor achieved through sociocultural differentiation and technological polymorphism. First, we need a thorough mapping out of the unbalancing operations likely to foster predatory relations among humans. Advertising may be just the tip of the iceberg. In any event, research topics galore seem likely to present themselves to anyone who seriously applies Emerson's conceptualization of power-dependence relations to the questions of differentiation, exchange, and cohesion.

Second, we need serious investigation stimulated and guided by a synthesis of several traditions concerned in different ways with dehumaniz ation processes. We ought to bring together the insights of Goffman (1963) and others about stigma, and the views of Marx (1967: 265-282) and others (see, e.g., O'Neill, 1972: 113-136; Mizruchi, 1973) about estrangement and alienation, and combine both with what Sykes and Matza (1957) have told us about techniques of "neutralization"-by which delinquents deny responsibility for the consequences of their acts, or persuade themselves their behavior harms nobody. The analysis by Hewitt and Stokes (1975) of various types of "disclaimers" that repel one's doubts about the acceptability of acts one intends to commit, and work on "victimology" (e.g., Drapkin and Viano, 1974) should be helpful, too.

Nearly equivalent processes seem to operate in the world of socially sanctioned work, in the world of crime, and in warfare ranging from terrorism to genocide. In each of these realms, mechanisms are required for denying (or diminishing) other people's status as human beings. There is abundant evidence of the enormity of our species' capacity for dehumanizing our conspecifics. History includes many horrible instances. Can we avoid asking whether examples we tolerate as normal con- comitants of routine division of labor make the extreme instances easier to fall into? One very learned journalist reported that soldiers in the Vietnam War blocked out the horror of what they were doing to others by saying when asked about it: "I don't


bother with that. I'm just here to do my job" (Schell, 1970: 20). That use of the word "job," I submit, suggests that the military instances ofstigmatization are part of the same phenomenon as instances arising in the Durkheim-Emerson power-dependence relations of peacetime. Vietnamese victims of B-52 bombing runs were unknown (and thus nonhuman) to the bomber crews. One pilot was reported to consider himself basically "a long- distance truck driver" and another crewman spoke of bombing as "delivering the mail" (Bosmajian, 1974: 128).

If military instances of stigmatization (such as the racist labels often used in war to impute subhuman status to the enemy) are in any way connected with practices common to peacetime division of labor in industrial societies, the latter may also be linked to forms of behavior known from studies of the Nazi extermination camps (Phillips, 1969; Bettelheim, 1979; Fein, 1979) or from analysis of the more recent genocidal episode in Cambodia (Shawcross, 1984). We may require basically similar social psychological processes to make it humanly possible to commit acts of genocide (see, e.g., Horo- witz, 1980) as to perform the unbalancing operations that turn normal power-dependence relations in an industrial society into instances of commercial predation.

Consider the case of Minamata, Japan, an industrial town, many residents of which in the 1950s and 1960s fell victim to "Minamata disease" (mercury poisoning), while the corpora- tion that was their principal employer discharged into the bay the industrial effluent that contaminated the seafood by which they were afflicted. It turns out that for decades the company had been disdainful of previous hazards to which it exposed its workers. It also turns out that the victims of Minamata disease have subsequently suffered job discrimination, and gossip has stigmatized as "money mad" those who applied for compensa- tion (Hidaka, 1984: 140-158). Clearly in this instance, no less than in the case of Chrysler and other American corporations saving themselves from collapse by extensive layoffs of employees, and other draconian steps, industry characteris- tically disregards the standard enunciated by Immanuel Kant (1969: 54): "Act so that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in that of another, always as an end and never as a means only."


Surely we in sociology are obliged to study all factors that conceivably may cause or facilitate departures from that standard, all the consequences likely to flow from such departures, and all the ways by which societies might minimize ill-advised departures and harmful consequences.

I believe Durkheim would agree.

NOTES

1. Due to redundant nomenclature, nearly 30,000 job titles were listed. 2. Again there was redundancy, so the increase in titles was over 10,000. 3. In 1975, the U.S. Department of Labor had issued a long list ofjob-title revisions

to eliminate from the Dictionary (in conformity to equal employment legislation) all potentially sex-discriminatory or age-discriminatory distinctions. Shoe Repairman, for example, became Shoe Repairer. Busboy was turned into Dining Room Attendant. Junior Executive was replaced by Executive Trainee. And at least some of the equivalent but formerly male-specified or female-specified roles were given a combined unisex title.

4. The other specialties mentioned were Criminologist, Penologist, Industrial

Sociologist, Rural Sociologist, Urban Sociologist, Medical Sociologist, and the third edition's Social Pathologist had become, in the fourth edition, a Social Problems Specialist. Whatever the reasons for that renaming, I doubt that Durkheim would have endorsed it, for he believed social pathology was a meaningful concept.

5. It is worth noting both that he used the verb "produce" not to refer to making cars but to making sales, and selling was referred to euphemistically as "moving" the cars.

6. Hudson (1983: xiv) explains that his title is intended to have two meanings: (a) Since publication of his earlier Dictionary of Diseased English he has collected additional specimens; (b) many of the new examples are even more "diseased" than the earlier ones, which is another way of saying that our modern ways have further

impaired the device that makes us human-that is, language.

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William R. Catton, Jr., received his Ph.D. from the University of Washington in 1954, has been Professor of Sociology at Washington State University since 1973, and served as President of the Pacific Sociological Association in 1984-1985. He has held faculty appointments at several American colleges and universities, a summer teaching appointment in Canada, and taught for three years in New Zealand. His recent publications have mostly pertained to ecological topics, but he has previously written on sociological theory, mass communication and attitude change, mate selection, wildland recreation, and so on. In recognition of two previous articles in Sociological Perspectives he received the 1985 Distinguished Scholarship Awardfrom the PSA.

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