Living and Learning in the Free School 9780773560574

Table of contents :
Cover
Title
Copyright
Contents
Preface
Introduction
I. Search for a Method
II. The Quest for Community
III. The ASPE School (I)
IV. The Genesis of Social Order
V. The ASPE School (II)
VI. Plain Talk and Social Order
VII. Community and Conventional Education
VIII. A Preliminary Concluding Statement on Life in the Free School
Epilogue
Bibliography of Sources Consulted

Citation preview

Living and Learning in the Free School

Livingand Learning • ^ in the Free School Mark W. Novak 11

T h e C a r le to n L ib r a r y N o . 8 8 M c C le lla n d a n d S te w a r t L im ite d

THE CARLETON LIBRARY A series o f reprints, original works and new collections o f source material relating to Canada, issued under the editorial supervision o f the Institute o f Canadian Studies o f Carleton U niversity, Ottawa. DIRECTOR O F T H E INSTITUTE

Davidson Dunton G E NE R AL EDITOR

M ichael Gnarowski

EXECU TIVE EDITOR

James Marsh EDITORIAL BOARD

B. Carman Bickerton (History) Dennis Forcese

(.Sociology)

David Knight ( Geography)

(Law) (Economics) Derek G . Smith (Anthropology) M ichael S. Whittington (Political Science)

J. G eorge Neuspiel Thom as K . Rym es

C hapter I V is a slightly revised version o f an article entitled “ L ivin g and Learning in the F ree School,” which appeared in

Interchange ,

N o . 2 (1974). It is reprinted by permission o f the publisher.

© McClelland and Stewart Limited. 1975 AL L RIGHTS RESERVED

The Canadian Publishers M cC lelland and Stewart Limited 25 H ollinger Road, Toronto 374. 0-7710-9788-3

Printed and bound in Canada

V ol. 5,

T able of C ontents

P re fa c e I n tr o d u c tio n

I II III IV V VI VII V III

S e a r c h fo r a M e th o d T h e Q u e s t fo r C o m m u n i t y T h e a s p e S c h o o l (I) T h e G e n e s is o f S o c ia l O rd e r T h e a s p e S c h o o l (II) P lain T a l k a n d S o c ia l O rd e r C o m m u n i t y a n d C o n v e n tio n a l E d u c a tio n A P r e lim i n a r y C o n c l u d i n g S ta te m e n t on L ife in th e F r e e S ch o o l

E p ilo g u e B i b lio g r a p h y o f S o u rc e s C o n s u lte d

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11 26 41 49 64 74 87 99

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Preface

In the fall o f 1970, I first visited a s p e (an acronym for A lternative for S tudent Participation in E ducation) at the invitation o f a friend, whose child w as then attending the school. From the start the organization o f this new program fascinated m e. F irst, the school had m any m ore children than I had even im agined a free school could tolerate (nearly one hundred children were enrolled); second, the school seem ed both well equipped and financially stable, it even shared a building with a conventional school. 1 had previously had som e experience with pri­ vately run free schools, in w hich parents paid tuition, but in particular the public status o f a s p e , I felt, m ade this school a unique experim ent w orthy o f careful study. T hus, when a parent asked m e to help plan a craft program for the children— on a purely volunteer basis— 1 im m ediately accepted the opportunity to learn m ore about this school. As a volunteer w orker I spent at least one day per w eek in the school from Septem ber until the C hristm as break, and 1 soon becam e quite friendly with the staff, parents and children. M y fam iliarity with the m em bers gave m e a freedom to com e and go in the school as I pleased, w ithout attracting attention. At this stage o f my care er as a school m em ber, I saw m yself, and I assum e others saw m e, as a volunteer w orker in a w orthw hile organization. In February o f 1971, som e changes in the a s p e organization, in particular the arrival o f a new teach er, suddenly led me to rethink my role in the school. A few w eeks after this new teacher arrived, he asked m e to assist him in a study o f the school’s progress. By this tim e I had begun to think som ew hat seriously about conducting a study o f this school on m y o w n ; how ever, I had not decided definitely w hen I would or could begin. W ith this tea ch e r’s request, I found m yself thrust into the Field, in spite o f m y reflective inertia. As a result o f m y collaboration w ith this teacher, during February, 1971 I conducted and com pleted a w eek-long pilot study o f the school, and this project served as the m odel for the report that follow s. H aving legitim ately entered the field at the request o f a teacher, and with no prescribed political obligations to any individual o r group in the school, I w as recognized as an independent, though sym pathetic, observer. T h u s, inadvertantly, I had solved the field research er’s first problem : how best to e n te r the field. By the follow ing Septem ber (1971), I had arranged through the courtesy o f the H illsborough school b o a rd ’s research division, and the kind perm ission o f Dr. A. V irgin, to begin a full scale, year-long study

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o f free school life. Funded by a C anada C ouncil D octoral Fellow ship, and with the m ore than gracious acceptance o f the a s p e m em bers, I studied this school and participated in a s p e life as a part-tim e volunteer instructor for a full y e a r.1 T hus, the bulk o f this project concerns itself with the a s p e organization during that year (1971-1972). T hrough m y contact with teachers I at least vicariously experienced and cam e to understand their troubles and jo y s. T he long m eetings, endless chatter, crises and stresses o f daily school life, how ever, som etim es made me w onder how I could possibly have survived as a full-tim e teacher in this setting. F urtherm ore, my close contact with parents and their children helped m e to understand the attraction o f this form o f life. T he concern, w onder, fear and anxiety that parents faced, how ever, m ade m e ask m yself w hether I could possibly have survived as a parent in this school. As for m y year in the school, 1 can only say that it w as m ore than a rich and rew arding experience. T he friends I m ade and the experiences I shared w hile a m em ber o f this school, I shall never forget. S urely it is to these people that I ow e m y deepest gratitude and hum blest thanks. Perhaps Jam es A gee says it best w hen he discusses his ow n relation to the people he w rites about: I am liable seriously, and perhaps irretrievably, to obscure what would at best be hard enough to give its appropriate clarity and intensity; and w hat seem s to m e m ost im portant o f all: nam ely that these I will write o f are hum an bein g s, living in this w orld . . . and that they were dw elt am ong, investigated, spied on, revered and loved . . . As it is, though. I’ll do what little I can in w ritin g .2 T hanks, then, to a s p e ' s m em bers, m y “ p e o p le ,” no single one o f w hom I can nam e here for fear that I should forget som eone to w hom I am equally indebted. N ext, I wish to acknow ledge the assistance o f several good friends and colleagues. Professors J. W . M ohr, S. L ee S pray, and Jam es Porter, with w hom I m ust sym pathize. S urely, only the agony o f reading this m anuscript in tw o rough draft versions could com pare with the agony o f w riting them . T o them I w ish a speedy recovery. In addition to these close associates, I ow e a vote o f thanks to a host of fellow graduate students and professors w hose influence upon my intellectual grow th has been inestim able. A m ong these. C huck A xel­ rod, Ken M orrison, M ike L ustigm an, Professor Jack H ew itt, P rofessor John O ’N eill, and Professor G eorge H esslink. Finally, I can only say that I should have starved, o r expired o f som e disease, long ago, w ere it not for the gentle and patient care and assistance o f m y wife, M ona. T o her and m y tw o bo y s, C hristopher and Jonathan, this w ork is dedicated.

PREFACE

3

N otes 'In addition to the Canada C ou ncil’ s generous assistance, a timely grant from the University o f W inn ipeg in the spring o f 1974 made possible the epilogue and final draft o f this study. 2James A g e e and W alker Evans, Let Us N ow P raise F am ous M en (N e w York: Ballantine Books In c.. 1960), pp. 12-13.

Introduction

At the daw n o f sociological h istory, Em ile D urkheim recognized the intim ate relationship betw een the “ m oral o rd e r” o f society and the educational system organized to reproduce that so c ie ty .1 D urkheim recognized the g ro u p 's collective concern for educating new m em bers (usually children), thereby preparing them for adult life in the com m un­ ity. An educational system , o r philosophy, then, represents m ore than a m ethod for im parting inform ation to the young; in addition, an educa­ tional system reflects the concerns, interests and needs o f the com m un­ ity in w hich it is located. T he process o f education o r “ so cialization” prepares the child for a particular, socially m ediated experience o f the w orld. As D urkheim knew , education is clearly a social phenom enon. Yet sociologists have generally undertaken the study o f education from only one particular perspective. T hey have concentrated on the rela­ tionship betw een the educational institution and the society in w hich it exists; and a volum inous literature attests to the success o f their in v estig atio n s.2 W e find, for exam ple, studies o f the relationship betw een educational attainm ent and occupational status, studies o f the relationship betw een educational success and racial, sexual and econom ic variables, and a host o f oth er studies detailing the structural relationship betw een the educational system and the larger societal sy ste m .3 T he avid concern for such structural relationships, how ever, points to a w eakness in the sociological literature, for exam ple, the literature provides few studies o f educational p r a c tic e , as a social phenom enon in its own right. H ow , for instance, does the school practically accom ­ plish this goal o f socialization? O r to further radicalize this question: H ow is the school social w orld organized by m em bers in the course o f everyday affairs? T hus, there is only a scant literature docum enting the w ays in w hich so c iety ’s m em bers actually accom plish o r m ake visible to sociologists (and one another) th is, by now , taken for granted relationship betw een schooling and socialization. U sing D urkheim ’s conception o f e ducation, in w hich the school functions as so c iety ’s handm aiden by producing com petent and “ nor­ m a l" adults, researchers have recognized that educational system s ‘ ‘ fit’ ' the societies they serve. For o u r purposes, how ever, this relatio n ­ ship betw een education and society is not unproblem atic; and the tw o prim ary them es o f this project arise from an attem pt to exam ine this relationship in som e detail. In the free school, as we shall see, the “ so c iety ” w hich the school serves is not precisely given, nor, for that 5

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m atter does the educational “ sy ste m ” stand before us as an unprob­ lem atic ' ‘social fact. ’ R ather, we shall delineate this, as yet im precise, relationship— school-in-society, society-in-the school— by speaking o f a “ quest for c o m m u n ity .” The specific vagueness o f this phrase gives us our task. “ C o m m u n ity ," an indefinite concept at best, holds pregnant within itself a m ultiplicity o f sociological form s; a “ q u e st,” m oreover, im ­ plies a search, but with a hint o f longing and significance. A “ quest for c o m m u n ity ,” then, im plies an active seeking for an, as yet uncertain, social form . Perhaps the only thing certain in this form ulation is the m ovem ent that it im plies. T h u s, our first them e, “ the quest for co m m u n ity ,” gives rise to our second, but not secondary them e, the dialectical m ovem ent at the basis o f social life. If “ q u e st” im plies m ovem ent, then the “ d iale ctic ” im plies som e w ay o f understanding the ever tenuous social reality that arises from and gives rise to this m ovem ent. T he dialectical m ovem ent o f social life addresses the ancient H obbesian problem : H ow is social o rder possible? T hese them es (and we can see them as m erely tw o different form ula­ tions o f the H obbesian question o f order) provide the tw o directions in w hich this w ork will proceed. From the first, we are concerned with the free school particip an t’s relation to the social w orld. T hus, the “ quest for c o m m u n ity " expresses the m em ber’s special “ interest” in school social life, as well as h is/h er perception o f the free school as a “ com ­ m unity” center. O ur substantive interest in m em bers’ actions and interactions is circum scribed and inform ed by their collective interest in the establishm ent o f a com m unity. At the sam e tim e, how ever, we shall also uncover the dialectical m ovem ent betw een individual and com m unity that such an enterprise generates. In this m ovem ent we find the vitality o f free school life. For exam ple, we begin w ith the individual m em bers and observe a m ovem ent tow ard social torm ; we observe a m ovem ent from m em bers’ individual concerns tow ard an “ u s” orientation. Starting with m em ­ bers personal m otives, w e find a m ovem ent tow ard socio-culturally defined “ norm al fo rm s” o f a ctio n .4 B erger and L uckm an call this process “ h a b itu alizatio n .” G enerally, all actions repeated once o r m ore tend to be habitualized to som e degree, ju st as all actions observed by another necessarily involve som e typification on his part. H ow ever, for the kind o f reciprocal typification ju st described to occur there m ust be a continuing social situation in w hich the habitualized actions o f two o r m ore individuals interlock.5

IN TR O D U C T IO N

7

T he rules o f action habitualized in this relationship, as B erger and L uckm an tell us, are readily objectified and available to all m em bers as part o f their com m on sense w orld view . B erger and L uckm an call this process institutionalization. Institutionalization, a further developm ent o f habitualization, im ­ plies a process that reciprocal habitualization does not; "in stitu tio n s further im ply historicity and c o n tr o l." 6 T he free school, as it becam e institutionalized, becam e sedim ented in m em b ers' vocabulary, in their language. " L a n g u a g e objectivates the shared experiences and m akes them available to all w ithin the linguistic com m unity, thus becom ing both the basis and the instrum ent o f the collective stock o f know ledge. " 7 T h u s, over tim e, we discover the grow th o f a free school culture, language and w orld view . As a "c o n tin u in g social situ atio n ,” the free school serves as a focus for m em b ers’ interaction. F urtherm ore, as an arena for an on-going interchange betw een participants it serves as a fount o f new social form s. W hile language and custom tend to routinize and typify m em ­ b ers’ environm ent, they also, how ever, transform the sedim ented structure o f everyday life into a dynam ic social Field. Language “ con­ tain s” the rules for social life, but it also , through m em bers’ speech and interaction, dialectically acts upon the w orld, altering the w orld about w hich m em bers speak. H ere, th en , we observe the “ show ing-hiding” c haracter o f language; it show s us (the observer or interested m em ber) the organization o f the school, it displays social order, but in addition it hides the very interpretive, creative practices through w hich this order takes its shape. L anguage becom es the depository o f a large aggregate o f collective sedim entations, w hich can be acquired m onothetically, that is, as cohesive w holes and w ithout reconstructing th eir original process o f fo rm ulation.8 In other w ords, language “ fo rg ets” its origin as m em bers “ fo rg et” the origin o f social order. O ur task, then, requires an observation o f this sedim entation process in the free sch o o l, and an attentiveness to m em bers’ m ethods for establishing and m aintaining social order. In the course o f this stu d y , in reporting upon o u r experiences in this school, w e both uncover and recover the origin o f free school language once again. And through this practice, we, as so ciologists, participate in a “ living relatio n ” betw een ourselves and the group; thus, a rediscovery o f the sc h o o l’s linguistic ground m ust entail a rediscovery o f o u r own ground as well. “ In d e e d ,” as Sartre says, " th e sociologist and his ‘object’ form a couple, each one

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o f w hich is to be interpreted by the o th er . . . ” 9 A t once we have the m em ber historicizing and interpreting his w orld, while in addition we ourselves interpret and historicize the m em ber, his w ork and our own w orld. Both o f these processes together lend to these “ findings” the factual status o f an historical totalization that researcher and m em ber collectively construct. An outline o f the chapters to follow will guide us on our way. W e shall begin, in C hapter I, by asking how w e can best study this free school; ju st w hat does the phenom enon require o f us, m ethodologically? O ur concern for m em b ers’ interpretations and ac­ tions in the social w orld, as well as our ow n understanding o f the researcher-group “ c o u p le ,” calls for a m ethod that will leave us open both to the totalities and the particulars o f school life. C hapter n represents an attem pt to place this school in its historical setting. The free school, in this context, represents an historical m o­ m ent, at once bound to the conventional school system , yet reaching beyond the boundaries o f that system . As S later w rites, “ A m ericans are preoccupied with issues o f cooperation and com petition; and the free school reflects this overriding concern. Both in their ‘quest for co m m u n ity ’ and through their rejection o f the com petitive basis o f conventional e ducation, free school m em bers illustrate ‘the coopera­ tive underside o f com petitive A m erica’ . . . ” 10 As w e shall se e , this interest in cooperation perm eates free school life, and it becom es significant for our purposes as it guides m em b e rs’ actions in the social w orld. S o , for exam ple, m em b ers’ “ quest for c o m m u n ity ,” and the language with w hich they at first hesitatingly, later m ore definitively discussed their goals, already contains the seeds o f com m unity life. C om m unication, through som e com m on linguistic sch em e, already presupposes som e considerable understanding; and we locate this prior understanding in the m aterial and social ground upon w hich this free school is built. W ith C hapters m and iv w e begin our exposition o f a s p e school culture. T hese chapters discuss the principle organizational problem s that m em bers faced in the first days after a s p e opened. F urtherm ore, they introduce us to the first tentative beginnings o f school social order. Perhaps m ost im portantly, through an exam ination o f som e specific linguistic form ulations, around w hich m em bers constructed a free school curriculum , we w itness the sim ultaneous grow th o f objectivated school social structure. At the core o f these chapters resides a concern for the w ays in which individuals com e together with idealistic goals, and through practical necessity produce som e sensible social w orld. C hapters v through vn elaborate upon the foundation set out in the tw o chapters m entioned above. B ecause these chapters are in

INTR O D U CTIO N

9

chronological o rd e r, the reader can observe the developm ent and grow th o f this organization through tim e. (C hapter v i, for exam ple, further deepens o u r understanding o f free school social structures by observing how “ n o rm a l'’ practices evolved into a full-blow n com plex social o rganization.) T hus the potentiality o f m em bers’ vocabulary, outlined in C h ap ter iv , now confronts the observer as a factual entity already sedim ented through continued use and historical tradition. C hapter v n , the last chapter o f this section, exam ines the " tro u b le s " that beset a m ore " m a tu re ” organization, m ost notably the problem o f external threat, a s p e , in its second year o f o peration, faced com plex problem s o f organizational m aintenance; and m em bers’ w ays ot deal­ ing w ith these problem s inform us m ore precisely about the established a s p e culture and about the practical m echanism s through the use of w hich m em bers contained disruption and preserved social order. In the concluding c h ap ter, we shall place these findings w ithin a sociological fram ew ork that recapitulates the results o f this study. The em pirical study o f this free school, then, serves as an occasion to study education as a social p ra c tic e , and as an opportunity to address theoret­ ical sociological issues. T h u s, w e began w ith, and now return to, the perennial sociological question: H ow is society— in this case free school society— possible?

N otes 'E m ile Durkheim, Education a nd Sociology, trans. Sherwood D. Fox (G len ­ coe, Illinois: Free Press, 1956). 2For exam ple, see Donald A .

Hansen and Joel E. Gerstl, eds. On Education—Sociological Perspectives (N e w Y ork: W ile y and Sons. Inc., 1967), or A . H. Halsey. Jean Floud and C . C . Arnold Anderson, eds..

Education. Economy and Society (N e w York: Free Press o f Glencoe. 1962). 3Basil Bernstein’ s work provides some notable exceptions to this trend. A s he says, “ The so ciology o f education has been reduced to a series o f input-output problem s; the school has been transformed into a com plex organization or people processing institution; the study o f socialization has been trivia lized " (Bernstein. 1971. p. 47). In contrast to this trend he recommends that w e view “ educational knowledge as a m ajor regulator o f the structure o f experience. From this point o f v ie w , one can ask: ‘ H ow are forms o f experience, identity and relation evoked, maintained and changed by the formal transmission o f educa­ tional knowledge and sensitivities?’ " (Bernstein, 1971, p. 47) 3Certainly, this interest in the experience o f individuals within educational structures parallels my own concern with members’ experience at a s p e . In Chapter i v , how ever, I try to demonstrate the point at which Bernstein’ s interest and perspective on social structure differs from my ow n. Whereas Bernstein accepts the facticity o f social structures, m y ow n interest, in this study, centers

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around the interpreted character and mundane organization o f that apparently factual pre-given reality. 4See C icourel’ s usage o f the concept “ normal form s” in his paper "G en e ra ­ tive Semantics and the Structure o f Social Interaction,” presented at the International D ays o f Sociolinguistics, Lu igi Sturzo Institute, Rom e, Italy, September 15-17, 1969. 5Peter L . Berger and Thom as Luckman, The Social Construction o f Reality (Garden C ity, N e w York: Doubleday and Com pany, Inc.. 1966), p. 57. "Ibid.. p. 54. 7Ib id ., p. 68. *lbid., p. 69. 9Jean-Paul Sartre, Search fo r a M ethod, trans. Hazel E. Barnes (N e w York: V intage Books, 1963), p. 72.

3

.

" ’Phillip Slater, The Pursuit o f Loneliness (Boston: Beacon Press, 1970), p.

Chapter I Search for a Method

Tw o P erspectives W e began, in the Introduction, by invoking D urkheim ’s view o f educa­ tion, and we noted that sociological studies o f the school had largely follow ed D urkheim ’s m ethodological and theoretical injunctions. Our ow n project, how ever, takes issue with D urkheim ’s assertion that the school sim ply serves as society’s handm aiden, and we propose that a clo ser look at the school-society relation is needed. F o r this reason we recognize the school itself as a social m ilieu (a society), w herein children and adults actively engage in the construction o f a social reality. W e should now like to exam ine D urkheim ’s view o f the school m ore closely, and clearly ju x tap o se this view w ith a dialectical a p ­ proach to the study o f social life. “ N o w ,” D urkheim w rites, it is not w e as individuals w ho have created the custom s and ideas that determ ine this type (o f education). T hey are the product o f com m on life, and they express its needs. T hey are, m oreover, in large part the w ork o f preceding generations . . . H e (the individual) can act on them only to the extent that he has learned to understand them , to know their nature and the conditions on w hich they depend; and he can understand them only if he studies them , only if he starts by observing them , as the physicist observes inanim ate m atter and the biologist, living b o d ie s .1 In this brief paragraph D urkheim progresses from the theoretical assertion that custom s are “ the product o f com m on life ,” to the m ethodological recom m endation that in order to understand these “ custom s and id eas” w e should treat them as “ inanim ate o b jec ts” — or social facts. E ducation, then, provides an occasion to study these “ o bjects” o r things, in m uch the sam e w ay that suicide provided a sim ilar occasion in one o f D urkheim ’s m ore fam ous w orks. A clo ser look at this statem ent, how ever, illustrates som e o f the com plexities o f D urkheim ’s project. If we each enter society as a “ tabula r a s a ," an "a so c ia l bein g ” that threatens to disrupt social order and convention, and if education serves as so c iety ’s m echanism for " s o c ia liz in g " the child, then the sociologist, a socialized adult him-

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self, finds that the critical study o f education, a disruption o f and departure from convention, itself becom es problem atic. E ducation, it seem s, precludes the very possibility o f analytical sociological study, since no A rchim edian point e xists from w hich a study could be launched. A fter postulating a social w orld w ith “ no e x it” D urkheim is hard pressed to extricate h im self from the reflexive character o f om nipres­ en t. om niscient society. As a rem edy fo r this sociological double bind, D urkheim prophetically suggests a positive, scientific approach to the study of society, as though by an act o f will we could cure ourselv es o f the contam inating influence o f com m on-sense thought. He w rites. We are so little accustom ed to treat social phenom ena scientifi­ cally . . . the im pulses o f com m on-sense are so deeply ingrained in us that it is difficult to eradicate them from sociological discussion . . . O nly long and special training can teach us to avoid i t . . . ; the ways ol thinking to which . . . (w e are) . . . m ost inclined are adverse, rather than favourable, to scientific study o f social phenom ena. U nless, then, sociology attributes to com m on-sense an authority w hich it has not enjoyed for a long tim e in o th er sciences— and it is im possible to see how such authority could be ju stifie d — the scholar m u st resolutely resist being intim idated by the results to w hich his researches lead, dem anding only that they be conducted sc ien tific ally .2 D urkheim , as we know , begins with com m on-sense ideas in his ow n research. H e starts with opinions held in com m on by m ost m en, e .g . “ crim e is b a d ." “ su ic id e is h o rrib le ," and " b o th are im m o ra l;” these he takes as his starting point. D urkheim , ho w ev er, refuses to be " b o u n d ” o r " in tim id a te d ” by com m on-sense dem ands. A ccordingly, he asserts that the sense w hich holds men in com m on bondage and ignorance, the m ortar o f social life, cannot bind the sociological inves­ tigator; nor can the practices o f everyday life serve as a ground fo r a social science. I f inquiry, then, cannot subscribe to the “ authority o f com m on se n se ,” w here can it look for its ground? T his question is fairly easy to answ er, because the R ules o f the S o ciological M eth o d them selves provide the clue to this puzzle. By w riting a set o f rules D urkheim circum scribes the possibility o f sociological inquiry in order to establish a “ right to speak loudly enough to silence passions and p re ju d ice s.” 3 T hrough the establish­ m ent o f a scientific com m unity, collected under the auspices o f the R u le s, D urkheim counters com m on-sense thought with a new , though less com m on, “ a u th o rity .” It is to this com m unity, and to the im pera­

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tives o f this com m unity as o u tlined in th e R u le s , that the researcher m ust be responsible in his speech. T he scientific co llective thus creates a space in the cacaphony o f com m on-sense chatter, a space in which m em bers m ay speak above the din. In o rder to define this new w ay o f looking at the w orld, D urkheim analogizes the sociologist’s work to that o f the physicist o r biologist — the natural sciences, as w e well know , provide a m odel for D urkheim ’s sociological com m unity. F urtherm ore, the search for cau ses, natural sc ien c e ’s p articular p reoccupation, the search for the conditions on w hich things depend now guides sociological inquiry into education (and the social w orld in general). F o r D urkheim , the sociological study o f education resem bles the scientific study o f a “ th in g ,” an “ inanim ate o b ject” o r “ living b o d y .” F o r m ost so ciologists, who have studied educational m ilieu from D urkheim ’s day to the present, this injunction to study the social world as though it w ere a “ th in g ” has gone largely unquestioned. T h e R u le s, then, serve as a re-education com prised o f “ long and special tra in in g " that allow s the researcher to analytically act upon custom s and ideas (and so also upon the educational system ) thereby transcending the control o f com m on social life. D urkheim succeeds in establishing an alternate com m unity, based upon the R u le s, that now treats social life— “ custom s and ideas” — as th in g s, and thereby perm its analysis through the language o f the sociological fraternity. W hile he apparently escapes the coercive influence o f com m on-sense authority — society— w e see that the researcher (thanks to D urkheim ’s R ules) obeys a new sociological, com m unal authority, as coercive as any social “ fa c t.” F inally, it leaves us with sim ply a n e w version o f society w hich succeeds analytically only by ignoring the ever problem atic language and thought o f actual living actors in the social w orld. T his is surely only a single, and then lim ited, alternative to com m on-sense thought. In contrast to D urkheim ’s positive social science, S a rtre's w ork, with its dialectical concern for the specific individual-society relatio n ­ ship, introduces the possibility, n ay , the inevitability o f change, into social life. For exam ple, S artre’s recognition that thoughts and words necessarily “ go beyond” their traditional, accepted m eaning to say m ore than they m ean, opens up a w hole range o f problem atic topics for sociological investigation. No longer can w e content ourselves with D urkheim ’s historical d eterm inism , no longer can w e view the actor as sim ply one w ho responds to the pre-given factuality o f the social w o rld ; instead we need to exam ine the individual and his social environm ent as m utually problem atic facets o f everyday life. W hereas D urkheim d e ­ fined the individual actor out o f sociological inquiry in order to get on

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w ith the w ork o f building a sociological body o f know ledge, we see the need to restore to the actor his significance as prim ary agent o f social organization. As Sartre says, W hat we call freedom is the irreducibility o f the cultural o rd e r to the natural order . . . The existing tools and m ethods o f the natural sciences, o f traditional sociology and anthropology, are not ad eq u a te .4 A ccording to D urkheim , “ custom s and id ea s” condition m an in the w orld and lim it his ability to go beyond traditional form s o f thought; the inanim ate state o f these determ inate “ custom s and ideas” sim ply im pose their will on the individual, as m aterial conditions define the M arxist actor. In contradistinction to this inanim ate d eterm in ism , Sartre reintroduces sociology to the free actor, with the ability to think, speak and interpret the world with respect to these desires, needs and projects. Once we consider the im plications o f this theoretical m etam or­ phosis, we realize that w e require a m ethodological transform ation as well. T he positive, scientific m ethod o f D urkheim ’s/?w/ey, we see, gets underw ay by casting m an as a creature w ho has only a lim ited culturally defined range o f responses to and perspectives on the social w orld. By elim inating the vagaries o f individual thought and action, through the invocation o f so c iety ’s prim acy over the individual, according to Durkheim the sociologist needs m erely to study the “ custom s and ideas” o f a tim e through the scientific study o f social facts, e .g . education. T hat w e can treat m an as sim ply a m anifestation o f the “ G reat B eing” that transcends all m en, and that w e can construct a social science that studies the structural relationships betw een parts o f the social system , w ithout studying m an h im self, the literature in the sociology o f education am ply dem onstrates. W e suggest, ho w ev er, a m ove aw ay from this unidim ensional, positive, structural view o f society through the recognition o f the dialectical relation betw een man as a living, e xperiencing, acting B eing-in-the-w orld and the form s o f social organization produced and objectivated through hum an rela­ tions. For Sartre, this relationship betw een “ praxis and praxis-process” defines the theoretical and m ethodological concerns o f a new social science. In other w ords, the foundation o f anthropology (this term is used broadly to include sociology as well) is m an him self, not as the object o f practical know ledge, but as a practical organism producing

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K now ledge as a m om ent o f its praxis . . . For it (K now ledge) is the developm ent o f p r a x is , and p r a x is is inconceivable w ithout n e e d , tr a n s c e n d e n c e , and the p r o j e c t .5 T hus need, the condition o f scarcity that influences hum an relations at all tim es; transcendence, the ability to “ go beyond” the given, through th ought, speech and action; and the project, the act o f going beyond, defined by the conditions o f need and transcendence, are all of param ount im portance to the sociologist. In the study that follow s, w e begin by recognizing m em bers' praxis as the starting point fo r our w ork. And throughout this account we will observe and delineate the interplay o f need, transcendence, and m em ­ b e rs' projects as they constitute a living reality that we, at first hesitat­ ingly, call the “ free sc h o o l.” W e seek not sim ply an overview o f organizational evolution through tim e, although w e do this too, but a com prehension o f the living relations o f m en that produced, defined and gave m eaning to the school organization. O nly as a practical enterprise, constituted daily through m em bers’ talk and actio n , does the school becom e a topic for o u r study. W hether in the field o f education o r not, the sociologist can ignore the hum an being-in-the-w orld only at the peril o f further hypostatizing social reality and thereby further alienating m an from his social product— society. Each tim e that the enterprise o f a man o r a group o f m en becom es an object for other m en w ho surpass it tow ard their ends and for the w hole o f society, this enterprise guards its finality as its real unity, and it becom es, for the very people who initiated it, an external object w hich tends to dom inate them and to survive th e m .6 T his process w e saw in D urkheim ’s sociological collective, w here m an becom es objectified by the sociologist w ho, in o rder to “ guard its (sociology’s) finality as its real u n ity ,” h im self becom es alienated and dom inated by the R u le s o f th e S o c io lo g ic a l M e th o d . T hus S a rtre ’s proposal frees both the sociologist and his subject from the constraints o f o bjective, positive reportage by positing a social science grounded in dialectical reason. W e now begin to see an alternative to D u rk h e im 's approach. E duca­ tion can successfully be studied as a p r o je c t in w hich individuals — children and adults— collectively engage. A nd only through a view o f the school as a project can w e observe the m any transform ations and perm utations that hum an social interaction undergoes. T he “ sc h o o l,” then, provides a conceptual starting point for an investigation o f the intersubjective praxes and processes that com prise a living hum an

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com m unity. Sartre calls this approach the “ progressive-regressive m eth o d ;” and through this m ethod “ the m ovem ent o f com prehension is sim ultaneously progressive (tow ard the objective result) and regres­ sive (I go back tow ard the original c o n d itio n ).” 7 At o n ce, I c o m ­ prehend the unity o f the “ sch o o l” as a pro-ject, an action o f my fellow m en designed to educate children in a specific w a y ; and sim ultaneously I look for the source o f this actio n , the m otive that has now been unified. T hrough this dialectical m ovem ent we “ c o m p reh en d ” and this com prehension “ is only a m om ent o f our praxis, a w ay o f living — in struggle o r co m plicity— the concrete, hum an relation w hich unites us to him [the m em b e r].” 8 W e cannot escape this m utuality, this dialectical relation w hich unites us as social scientists to those we study. Finally we can no longer escape the responsibility for o u r actions by “ guarding the finality” o f o u r findings through collective protection. T h u s, in this stu d y , we attem pt to reintroduce hum an praxis into the study o f education. A M odeI o f the A cto r Let us begin by locating our actor-m odel in the “ a ctio n ” fram ew ork first discussed by Max W eber. T his fram ew ork, m ost notably W eb er’s concept o f “ v ersteh e n ” provides an alternative to the claustrophobic sociological view o f the actor, w ho is locked w ithin an objectivated, coercive social order. “ In a c tio n ,” W eber w rites, “ is included all hum an behaviour w hen and in so far as the acting individual attaches a subjective m eaning to i t.” F urtherm ore, “ action is social in so far as, by virtue o f the subjective m eaning attached to it by the acting indi­ vidual (o r individuals), it takes account o f the b ehaviour o f others and is thereby oriented in its c o u rse .” 9 W eber asserts here, that w e m ust “ u nderstand” (verstehen ), not sim ply the a c to r’s behaviour in a set­ ting, but the “ subjective m eaning” attached to an action. T h u s, “ su b ­ jec tiv e m ea n in g ,” that “ takes account o f the behaviour o f others and is thereby oriented in its c o u rse ,” rem ains central to W eb er’s argum ent. A s he states, “ the specific task o f sociological analysis o r o f that o f o th er sciences o f actio n , . . . is the interpretation o f action in term s o f its subjective m ea n in g .” 10 F irst, W eber recognizes the a c to r’s ability to attach m eaning to his actions and to the w orld in w hich he is situated. T he a cto r, then, becom es a living participant in the construction o f the w orld in w hich he lives. S econd, but not less significantly, W eber recognizes social action as a phenom enon com prised o f m em bers’ tem poral “ orienta­ tion” to one a n o th e rs’ action. In this w ay interaction hecom es a m utually interpreted, intersubjective event, tem porally ordered by par­ ticipants. Sociological inquiry, as W eber sees it, requires a com prehen­

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sion o f m em bers' m utual interpretations w ithin a tem porally charged setting. F or a m ore specific delineation o f this actor-m odel, how ever, we m ust turn from W eb er’s w riting— w hich m erely opens the d oor to the possibilities and com plexities o f an action fram ew ork— to the w ork o f A lfred Schutz. By draw ing upon the w ritings o f H usserl and B ergson, Schutz recognizes the a cto r as a com plex interpreter and builder o f social realities; the actor is com pletely im m ersed in the w orld in which he lives. L ike W eber. S chutz insists that the " firs t task o f the social sciences is the exploration o f the basic principles by w hich m an o r­ ganizes his experience in everyday l i f e . " 11 In The P henom enology o f th e Social W orld, Schutz sets out to clarify W eb er’s original insights, and three o f his contributions are relevant to o u r view o f the actor: (1) the natural attitude o f m em bers o f the life w orld, (2) the tem poral organization o f social life in everyday life, and (3) the prim ary m otive behind m em bers’ actions. (1) A b rief passage from the beginning o f P henom enology will illustrate S ch u tz’s concept o f the actor and o f the "n a tu ra l a ttitu d e ,” the special w ay in which m em bers view th eir world. T he structure o f the social w orld is m eaningful, not only for those living in that w orld, but for its scientific interpreters as w ell. L iving in the w orld, w e live with others and for o th ers, orienting our lives to them . In experiencing them as o th e rs, as contem poraries and fellow creatu res, as predecessors and successors, by jo ining w ith them in com m on activity and w ork, influencing them and being influenced by them in turn— in doing all these things w e un derstand the be­ haviour o f others assum e that they understand ours. In these acts o f establishing o r interpreting m eanings there is built up for us in varying degrees o f anonym ity, in greater o r lesser intim acy o f experience, in m anifold intersecting perspectives, the structural m eaning o f the social w orld, w hich is as m uch our w orld (strictly speaking, m y w orld) as the w orld o f o th e rs .12 T hus for social scientist and laym an, the w orld has a sensible face, we understand it by "e stab lish in g o r interpreting m e a n in g s" as w e engage actively in social intercourse with our fellow m en. T he w orld, then, w hat S chutz calls the "w o rld o f w o rk in g ,” appears as fam iliar and know able through our ability to act pragm atically with o r against other m en. T his view o f the social w orld and o f the actor, how ever, im m easura­ bly com plicates the social sc ien tist's task. “ H is data . . . are the already constituted m eanings o f active participants in the social w o rld .” 13 T h erefo re, the researcher m ust recognize the preconstituted character

18

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o f the w orld he studies and m ust attem pt, as his prim ary task , to com prehend the rules and procedures that individuals unproblem atically use in their daily affairs. T he study o f m an in his living relation to other m en , then entails an attem pt to com prehend m em b ers’ actions as m eaningful projects in som e “ g a m e .” A sG arfin k el says, we m ust ask, “ W hat is their g a m e ? ” 14 (2) O nce we recognize the actor as an active conscious being, who has constituted his w orld before th e researcher en ters the scene, we m ust look to see how actors achieve this sense o f norm al social life. As we shall see in the follow ing stu d y , and as S chutz recognized, the problem o f m eaning is a tim e pro b lem — not a problem o f physical tim e, w hich is divisible and m easurabble, but a problem o f historical tim e. T he latter is alw ays a passage o f tim e, filled, to be sure, with physical events yet having the nature o f an internal tim e c o nscious­ ness, a consciousness o f o n e ’s o w n duration. It is w ithin this duration that the m eaning o f a persons experience is constituted for him as he lives through the e x p erien c e .15 T h u s, w e shall proceed to exam ine this school over the course o f its tw o year history by m arking o ff the tim e in chapters. H ow ever, m ore significantly, we shall see how m em bers them selves im part a particular tem poral significance to their actions; they sim ultaneously constitute the school setting through references to “ physical tim e” and add to this ground a unique cultural significance. So, for exam ple, we will exam ine the p aren ts’ “ im p a tie n ce ,” their recognition that tim e is passing, coupled with their expectations about som e concrete accom plishm ents; we will also note the organization o f tim e through the “ c u rric u lu m ,’’ thereby m aking tem poral order com ­ m only accessible to all m em bers; furtherm ore, w e will discuss the developm ent o f a culturally sedim ented version o f their sc h o o l’s his­ tory. T he segm entation o f the follow ing report m irrors the m em bers’ ow n sense o f historical periods, each with their ow n special signifi­ cance. Surely the very ju xtaposition o f “ physical tim e” and “ internal tim e c onsciousness” once again show s us the need to ground our understanding in the a c to r’s view o f his w orld. (3) W e have established that the actor acts in consort with other acto rs to produce a visible social reality, and we have seen that this intersubjective construction takes place w ithin a “ m eaningful” (to the actors) tem poral fram ew ork and through tem porally ordered interac­ tion. W e m ust now ask , " W h a t could possibly m otivate this actor in the first p lac e? ” Schutz answ ers, The w hole system o f relevances w hich govern us w ithin the

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natural attitude is founded upon the basic experience o f each o f us: I know that I shall die a n d I fear to die. T his basic experience we suggest calling the fu n d a m e n ta l an xiety . . . From the fundam ental anxiety spring the m any inter-related system s o f hopes and fears . . . chances and risks w hich incite man w ithin the natural attitude to attem pt the m astery o f the w orld, to overcom e obstacles, to draft projects, and to realize th e m .16 T h u s, as Schutz notes, we construct projects, we act in o rder to make the w orld w ork for us; our action can largely be circum scribed w ithin the narrow boundaries o f the pragm atic m otive o f m eans-ends rela­ tions. O ur actor acts and attem pts to change th e w orld, he acts to accom plish specific, prescribed goals and he depends upon his com ­ m on sense know ledge o f the w orld to “ p robably” support his en­ deavour. Y et, here we m ust object to S ch u tz’s parochial view o f the actor, w hich stops short o f recognizing the necessary uncertainty o f any act, how ever well conceived. For o u r purposes the actor exists in a dialecti­ cal relation w ith the w orld, so that the actor— though he m ay act bn the b asis o f the fundam ental anxiety— nevertheless can, and d o e s, say and d o m ore than he intends. T hat is, while the m eans-ends schem e may serve to orient action in the natural attitude, it does not unconditionally lim it that action. A ction, and in particular, thoughts and w ords, con­ tinually go beyond their intended m eaning; they are m ore than sim ple responses to external stim uli. “ Each act of consciousness ten d s tow ard som ething, is a turning o f a person tow ard som ething and has w ithin it, no m atter how latent, som e push tow ard a direction for a c tio n .” 17 T herefore, we w ould em phasize the positive, creative side o f the project as a fundam ental force w hich thrusts the actor into the future, not sim ply out o f fear, but through hope and the love o f life. The P articipant-O bservation M ethod M em bers, then, reside in the “ natural a ttitu d e” o f everyday life, w here the w orld takes on relevance in light o f th eir pragm atic m otives. W hile im m ersed in the life w orld, m em bers know no goals w hich extend beyond this w orld view , indeed they have no idea that there could be others. All their theoretical and practical them es, we can also say , lie alw ays within the normal coherence o f the life-horizon “ w o rld .” 18 T hese m em bers' interests in the w orld, their practical concerns, hopes, dream s and desires, provide us with a starting point for analysis.

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As researchers, how ever, w e com e to this sam e w orld with an alternative system o f relevance characterized by ou r com m itm ent to the description o f m em b ers’ lives. T h u s, our report upon life in the free school, while it begins with the m em bers’ w orld view , nevertheless transcends the pragm atic m otive through w hich m em bers organize their everyday reality. As H annah A rendt perceptively tells us. Action reveals itself only to the storyteller . . . who indeed alw ays know s better w hat it w as all about than the participants. W hat the story teller narrates m ust necessarily be hidden from the actor him ­ se lf . . . because to him the m eaningfulness o f his act is not in the story that follow s . . . it is not the actor but the story-teller who perceives and " m a k e s ” the sto ry .19 T he sociological field researcher, then, finds h im self in a schizoid role. He is neither fully a m em ber— im m ersed in the pre-given natural attitude— nor is he a com pletely disinterested observer. T his split in the researcher’s ego explicitly requires a special com m itm ent, c ir­ cum scribed by his specific research interests. T hus in contrast to the a c to r's unreflective life in the natural attitude, as researchers we require' a unique stance, characterized first by a responsibility to preserve the m em bers’ lives in o u r report, and then by the requirem ents o f the scientific com m unity for whom we w rite. As D urkheim knew , how ever, com m on sense social life apparently absorbs our interest entirely; th erefo re, how can a researcher hope to free h im self from his cu ltu re's hold upon his consciousness? S pecifi­ cally, how can w e distinguish m em b ers’ interests from o u r ow n? H usserl has suggested a specific m ethod by w hich a researcher may suspend conventional interest in the w orld; he calls this m ethod "p h en o m en o lo g ical re d u ctio n .” " T h e phen o m en o lo g ist,” H usserl w rites, establishes h im self as disinterested spectator and changes his practi­ cal aim s . . . W e b egin, then, by questioning w hat w e had previously taken for granted, o r by w ondering at w hat seem s m ost fam iliar. T his involves a change in attitude (E insellung) ; w e m ust look at the world with “ new e y e s .” 20 T herefore, in o u r dual role as m em ber and researcher, we perform the “ re d u c tio n " in o rder to " lo o k at the world with ‘new e y e s .’ ” In this w ay we do not change our b ehaviour in the w orld, w e do not com m it violence upon the reality w e observe, we do not experim ent, o r as B achelard says, w e do not " to rtu re n a tu re ;” we m erely (as if this were not enough) " lo o k at the w orld w ith “ new e y e s .” ' W e transform our

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attention through the reduction and thereby tem porarily relinquish the p articip an t’s pragm atic interests in the m anipulation and organization o f the w orld. W e adopt the attitude o f the observer, and in this way the world beto re the transcendental-phenom enological reduction and the w orld w hich 1 have transform ed into “ m ere pheno m enon’’ do not differ in content, but in the way in w hich I am related to each o f th em .21 T h is reduction, th en , occurs in o u r consciousness. W e perform the epoche, o r the act o f “ brack etin g ’’ the w orld, by suspending our taken for granted acceptance o f the norm al natural life-w orld. W e shift o u r attention and so effect “ a com plete change o f attitude (the epoche) tow ard the thesis o f the ‘w o rld-given-to-m e-as-being-there.’ ” 22 A concrete exam ple will help to illustrate the way in which w e shift o u r intention and so o u r attention through the “ ep o ch e ” . 23 Recall the experience o f playing in a friendly athletic contest, perhaps a softball gam e during a su m m er outing. Even under the protective um brella o f light-hearted play, you often find y o u rself intensely caught up in the action o f the m om ent. Individual perform ances— errors, hits, pitches— take on param ount im portance as do the num ber o f runs each team scores. Y our ow n hoarse voice, as well as the red faces and strained m uscles o f team m em bers attest to the seriousness with which participants play this innocent sport. N ow as lunchtim e approaches and the scent o f cooked food wafts o v er the field, you find that y our attention m ay turn tow ard the picnic tables, tow ard thoughts o f a cold drink and som e shade. S uddenly the gam e becom es “ only a g a m e ” and along with o th er hungry team m ates you begin to look forw ard to the end o f the contest. In light o f this new interest in food, drink and rest you bracket the g am e, treat it as “ only a g a m e ,” suspend serious interest in the outcom e and begin to project y our actions according to an alternative system o f relevance. Instead o f anticipating the next turn at bat, o r yo u r team ’s chances o f success, you begin to consider the com fort aw aiting you at the barbeque. Finally, recall y o u rself and these sam e team m em bers drinking beer and eating ham burgers back at the picnic tables. R em oved from the heat o f the contest m em bers o f both team s coolly rem inisce, recollect, theorize and debate the gam e. T heir new “ a ttitu d e ” tow ard the contest exhibits their ability to “ b ra ck e t" these events in order to turn them into theoretical and critical insights. A s observers now , participants reconstruct the events o f the gam e according to an alternative stance. V iew ed from this “ d ista n c e " the gam e in w hich m om ents ago you found yourself com pletely im m ersed, becom es " o n ly a g a m e ,” and the subject o f s o a a b le discourse.

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O nly by “ b racketing” the reality o f the gam e, by stepping out o f the action— either physically o r through a shift in o n e ’s interests, inten­ tions and so in o n e 's attitude— w hich, as we saw can even occu r during the gam e, does the gam e becom e topical. O nly in this way does the “ p regivenness” o f the gam e, e .g . its rules o r the players abilities, becom e topics o f theoretical interest for m em bers. But even m ore significantly for the researcher, by putting distance betw een h im self and the action he becom es aw are o f his own m ode o f perceiving the g am e; for exam ple, he finds that “ he can focus on the act and m ode o f perceiving as well as on the gam e its e lf.” 24 H u sse rl's contribution to our understanding o f everyday phenom e­ non, then, goes beyond the m ere technique o f bracketing. T he phenom enological m ethod furtherm ore opens up for us the w hole question o f how we attend to the w orld and thereby constitute that w orld through o u r attention. T hus “ w o rld ” becom es “ phenom en on” for the social scientist operating w ithin the phenom enological reduc­ tion, and his constitution o f that w orld responds to specific “ intentiona lity .” T his intentionality, would consist in a transform ation o f the them atic consciousness o f the w orld which breaks through the norm ality o f straightforw ard living . . . Let us now shape this into a new universal interest in the " h o w ” o f the m anners o f givenness and in tht o n t o them selves, not straightforw ardly but rather as objects in respect to their " h o w ” — that is, with our interest exclusively and constantly d i­ rected tow ard h o w . . . the w orld com es into being for us . . . In opposition to all previously designed objective sciences, w hich are sciences on the ground o f the w orld, this w ould be a science o f the universal h o w o r the pregivenness o f the w orld, i.e . o f w hat m akes it a universal ground for any sort o f o b jec tiv ity .25 W e can now begin to see how the phenom enological reduction differs from D u rk h eim ’s positive suspension o f interest in the social w orld. D urkheim . like H usserl, takes a special interest in unreflective m em bers’ pragm atic m otives— both men establish the researcher through an act o f will as an observer o f everyday life. D urkheim , how ever, w ould have us treat the w orld o f everyday life as a thing; he thereby requires that we forego any interest in how o u r data com e to be constituted as they are. For exam ple, he succeeds in launching his own study Suicide by suspending any interest in the ways in w hich these data (w hich are treated as thing-Iike social facts) com e to be collected by m em bers who rem ained im m ersed in the natural a ttitu d e .26 W ithin the phenom enological reduction, on the other hand, the re sea rc h er's attention is im m ediately draw n to the h o w o f his data

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— using suicide as an exam ple, he m ight ask how som e deaths com e to form the class suicide, how m em bers unreflectively construct these categories, how m em bers attend to death so that suicide becom es a topic o f interest in their daily affairs, etc. T he phenom enologist cannot take m em bers’ com m on sense practices for granted in o rder to con­ struct theories about a phenom enon, rather, m em bers’ practices them ­ selves achieve param ount theoretical im portance as phenom ena in their own right. It is these practices, after all, w hich constitute the social w orld that the positivist sociologist, and the naive m em ber, both take for granted and unproblem atically accept as given. But w hat, specifically does this interest in the how o f everyday life m ean for ou r study o f free school culture? It m eans that we m ust view the school, not as an unproblem atic pregiven w orld, as a “ th in g ,” but as a construction, a ph enom enon constituted collectively by m em bers in the natural attitude, through their peculiar intentionality— their in­ terests and projects. O ur param ount interest, then, grow s from the sociological concern par excellence: How is this free school possible? T hrough w hat constitutive practices and intentional transform ations does this school becom e for m em bers, and for the naive observer in the natural attitude, a “ tan g ib le,” historical, accountable, social w orld? In order to answ er this question, w e bracket o u r ow n conception o f “ sc h o o ln ess,” (w hat we com m only m ean w hen w e talk about a school), and thereby share with a reader the w ays in w hich this free school grew from m em bers’ practical and pragm atic co n cern s, into a v isible, reportable social re a lity .27 T hus, upon adopting the “ theoretical” attitude o f the reduction, in our analysis we are com m itted as D ouglas w rites, “ to study the phenom enon o f everyday life on their own term s, or to m ake use only o f m ethods o f observation and analysis that retain the integrity o f the p h en o m en o n .” W e thereby turn conventional m ethodological proce­ dure on its h e ad ; “ instead o f allow ing our m ethods to determ ine our stance tow ard everyday life, w e allow o u r stance to determ ine our m eth o d s.” 28 From the vantage point o f this investigation into the phenom enologi­ cal m ethod and after exam ining the unique “ sta n ce ” it provides the researcher, I believe we can now review o u r sociological understanding o f the participant observation m ethod. In particular we w ant to recon­ sider the traditional, concrete sociological conception o f this m ethod, w hich defines the participant observer by his unique social role— his m arginal relation to the organization he is studying. T he participant observation literature, for exam ple, interm inably and incessantly rum inates upon the problem s o f “ entering the fie ld ,” “ gaining rap­ p o rt,” “ establishing legitim acy in an o rg a n iz atio n ,” etc. N ow clearly these are all pragm atic problem s a field researcher must overcom e (or at

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least attend to), how ever, none o f this discussion actually addresses the deep er epistem ological problem s occasioned by the adoption o f the participant observer m ethod. We began this discussion o f m ethod by recognizing as a fundam ental problem the “ split e g o ” o f the field researcher, that is, the m ultiplicity o f interests and responsibilities that define his field o f praxis. N ow , it is this fundam ental and irreconcilable split in the a u th o r's ego which actually defines the param eters o f field research. T his takes on a graphic clarity if we sim ply hyphenate the w ords participant-observer; for we now see that this m ethod represents and requires a shift not in social roles, but in the w ays in w hich a single author attends to the w orld. O nly an understanding o f this fundam ental intentional shift suffices to explain the actual practice o f the participant-observer, w ho m ust confront this essential duality not as a social (pragm atic) problem , but rather as the param ount phenom enological (epistem ological) problem . T h u s, w hile researchers have traditionally relegated participantobservers to the jo b o f prelim inary exploratory research (for exam ple, often such studies begin with an apologetic preface suggesting that future research w ill take a m ore hard-nosed professional approach), we w ould now be em barrassed to excuse ourselves with prom ises for more “ scientific” work in the future. C learly o u r responsibility to the actor as well as o u r “ theoretic sta n ce ” require a fluid, o p e n , responsive m ethod that through our participation can capture the lived experience o f free school m em bers and can then, as a result o f observation, CGnvey this experience to an interested reader.

N otes 'E m ile Durkheim, Education aiul Sociology, trans., Sherwood D . Fox (G len coe, III. : Free Press, 1956), p. 66. 2Em ile Durkheim, The Rules o f Sociological M ethod, trans. Sarah A . Solovay and John H. M ueller, G eorge E .G . Catlin, ed. (G len coe, Illinois: Free Press, 1962), p. x x x v n . 3Durkheim, The Rules o f Sociological M ethod, p. 146. 4Jean-Paul Sartre, Search fo r a M ethod, Trans. Hazel E. Barnes (N e w York, Vintage Books, 1963), p. vn and ix. 5lh id ., pp. 171 and 179. Praxis here denotes social action, which as Sartre states “ is inconceivable without need, transcendence, and the project . ’ ’ In this work I lay particular stress upon the relation between praxis and the members' project, then unique conception o f what they are doing. blb id ., p. 163. 7I b id ., p. 154. 8lb id ., p. 156.

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9M a x W eber, The Theory o f Social and Econom ic O rganization, trans. A . M . Henderson and Talcott Parsons, ed. Talcott Parsons (N e w York: The Free Press, 1947), p. 88. '°Ib id ., p. 94. " A a r o n V. C icourel, M ethod and M easurement in Sociology (N e w York: The Free Press, 1964), p. 63. 12A lfred Schutz, The Phenomenology o f the Social W orld, trans. G eorge Walsh and Frederick Lennert (Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1967), p. 9. l3Ib id ., p. 10. 14See Harold G arfinkel, Studies in Ethromethodology (E n glew ood C liffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1967), on ‘ ‘ coding gam es.” pp. 20-21. 15Schutz. op. c it., p. 12. lhMauricc Natanson, in A lfred Schutz, Collected P apers, V o l. i (T h e Hague: Martinus N ijh o ff, 1967). Introduction, p. x l i v . l7R o llo M ay, Love and Will (N e w York: Dell Publishing C o., 1969), p. 230. I8Edmund Husserl, The Crisis o f European Sciences and Transcendental Phenom enology, Trans. David Carr (Northwestern U niversity Press, Evanston, 111., 1970), p. 144. 1’ Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Garden C ity, N .Y .: Doubleday Anchor Books Inc., 1959), p. 171. 20Richard Schmitt, “ Husserl's Transcendental Phenom enological Reduc­ tion ,” in P henom enology, ed. Joseph J. Kockelmans (Garden C ity, N .Y .: Anchor Books, Doubleday & C o. In c., 1967), p. 59. 2'//>/