The Territorial Experience: Human Ecology as Symbolic Interaction 9780292772243

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The Territorial Experience

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The Territorial Experience Human Ecology as Symbolic Interaction

By E. Gordon Ericksen Foreword by Herbert Blumer

University of Texas Press Austin and London

Copyright © 1980 by the University of Texas Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Ericksen, Ephraim Gordon, 1917The territorial experience. Bibliography: p. Includes index. 1. Human ecology. 2. Social interaction. 3. Territoriality (Zoology). 4. City planning. I. Title. GF21.E74 304.2 80-14861 ISBN 0-292-78038-9 Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to Permissions, University of Texas Press, Box 7819, Austin, Texas 78712. Jacket photograph by Craig G. Ericksen

To my father, philosopher Ephraim Edward Ericksen, who, as a student of George Mead and John Dewey, first introduced me to the concept of the socialized self.

The things we take for granted are the most important things about us. There used to be a saying before the war that there was a fundamental difference between the British, the Germans, and the French. It was said that in Britain everything was allowed unless it was specifically prohibited; in Germany, everything was prohibited that was not specifically allowed; in France, everything that was prohibited was allowed! This is, of course, a caricature, but it calls attention to the unstated assumptions by which we live and space ourselves. —Louis Wirth University of Chicago, 1945

Contents

ix

Foreword

xvii

Preface

3

1 / Against the Stream The physicalists (macroecologists) - Microecologists and the act - Other polemics and false imputations - Conclusion: our metaphorical heritage 2 / The Language and Validation of Space

23

Human ecology as spatial linguistics - Term-talk as thingtalk - Space causation as metaphor - Lebensraum versus devitalized space - Toward sensitizing concepts 3 / The Power of Place

35

The paradigm - Aspirations: the causal nexus - Suggested problem areas of inquiry - Conclusion 4 / The Principle of Commitment:

Model

The Normative

56

The buildup of commitment - The process of spatial coding: site to situation - Sacred space as social-conscience loading - Structural theory building - Social systems ecology: Walter Firey - Dramaturgical ecology: Erving Goffman 5 / The Sovereignty Neighborhoods

of Function: Regions and

Reference groups - Conclusion

79

6 / The Principle of Insufficiency: The Assertion Model

96

The assertion model - The integrational spectrum Idiomatics and the spatial nexus - Conclusion 7 / The Frontiers of Contact: The Edges of Things

114

The diversity of encounters - Frontiers as collective behavior - Conclusion 8 I What It All Means: Spatial Contingencies in 136 Planning Planning for countervailence: the two axes of applied ecology - The spatial paradox of the retired: trailer towns Planning for disasters - Planning for public nuisances Staking out society: zoning - Malls, crowding, and surrogate homes - Conclusion Notes

165

Bibliography

175

Index

199

Foreword

Professor Ericksen's book, The Territorial Experience: Human Ecology as Symbolic Interaction, is a very thoughtful and serious challenge to a widespread and deeply implanted point of view in present-day social science. The point of view which he questions is that which dominates the field commonly known as "human ecology." Ericksen has spent a lengthy scholarly career in this field— observing carefully what is being done in it, mastering its theories and its knowledge, conducting empirical research of his own in it, and bringing the field into critical examination before generations of young scholars whom he was teaching. With this comprehensive intellectual grasp of the field and with this continuous reflection on the scholarly work in it, Ericksen has been led increasingly to question the basic premises which have directed and sustained human ecology over many decades down to the present. The questions which he raises will have to be faced by all students of human ecology who are serious about their discipline. But Ericksen does more than merely challenge the empirical validity of the picture of human group life which has guided human ecology; he sketches the outlines of the new picture which is to replace the view that he finds to be untenable. Scholars will find this new perspective to be exciting. It opens new approaches to the crucial and legitimate problems in human ecology, and it offers new imaginative possibilities to those practical workers, such as urban and regional planners, who have to deal concretely with the adjustment of human society to land surface. What is the substance of Ericksen's basic criticism of scholarly thought in human ecology, past and present? He does not question the legitimacy or the importance of a field of human ecology. To the contrary, he is acutely aware that humankind cannot escape the inevitable problems that arise from the sheer and unavoidable occupation of the surface of the earth. Human groups have to locate themselves and their institutions on that surface—their domiciles, their workplaces, their gathering places for the performance of diverse interests, their marketplaces, and their specialized in-

χ / Foreword stitutions, such as modern business centers or shopping centers. Indeed, all the material or physical expressions and accouterments of human life get located on the earth's surface. This matter of location has three fundamental features: it is a continuous, active, ongoing process,· it leads to the patterning and the formation of interdependent relations among human beings and among their institutions; and the process and the patterning that take place in location have profound effects on the substantive nature of human group life. It is the awareness of the inevitable presence and operation of these features in human group life that has given rise to a field of human ecology. Trained as he has been in this field and sensitized increasingly to observing this locational process, Ericksen is keenly conscious and appreciative of the powerful role of the ecological process in human group life. Why, then, is he so critical of what has been done and what is being done in the field of human ecology? The answer is that he has found increasingly that the fundamental guiding perspective in human ecology misrepresents what takes place in human society. The prevailing perspective has not been derived from a careful critical examination of the ecological process at work in human society. Instead, Ericksen recognizes that what is declared by human ecologists to be the ecological process in human society is actually the uncritical importation and application of a picture of the ecological process as it is seen in plant communities and subhuman animal societies. As Ericksen shows so convincingly in his discussion, this importation is made in, and disguised by, the trappings of scholarly analogies and metaphors. Let me spell this out a bit. It is easy on the surface to see striking analogies between the ecological process in plant communities and the ecological process in human societies and to conclude that the ecological process is operating in fundamentally the same way in both forms of organic life. Similarly, it is easy to employ the ecological concepts of plant or lower animal life, such as the process of "invasion" or the idea of "natural area," as metaphors to guide analysis in human ecology. It should be borne in mind that plant ecology and animal ecology are venerable scholarly enterprises with extensive compilations of tested observations and rich bodies of carefully developed knowledge. Add to this scholarly venerability the relative ease in perceiving external similarities between plant and animal communities on the one hand and human communities on the other hand; and then throw in the powerful influence of the doctrine of biological evolu-

Foreword / xi tion in lodging the human species in the organic realm of nature! It is no wonder that human ecologists were already primed to pick up and carry over to their field the fundamental intellectual framework that has proved to be so successful in the ecological study of plant and animal communities. On top of this, the employment of this imported framework did seem to be very productive in the pursuit of ecological studies in human society. It certainly called attention to many happenings and problems in human group life which had previously escaped the attention of scholars, and it did seem to yield new lines of interpretation that made a lot of sense. A good reflection of this scholarly satisfaction among human ecologists, this strong sense of being on the right course, was the vigorous ecological study that was being pursued by a group of very able social scientists at the University of Chicago, roughly in the period from 1920 to 1950. This group, headed primarily by Robert E. Park, was responsible for a series of ground-breaking studies in the area of urban community life—studies which are acknowledged to be genuine sociological contributions. Incidentally, Erieksen had his own graduate training in this scholarly context at the University of Chicago. In the face of all these impressive sources of support for the traditional perspective in human ecology, I return to the question of what Ericksen finds wrong in this perspective. The answer, put simply, is that the traditional perspective is grounded on an inaccurate image of human group life and of human beings as participants in human group life. The traditional perspective sees the ecological process as one which has its own inherent organization, moving along in fixed and regularized ways, strictly repetitive in a given class of cases, and functioning as a whole in definite patterned ways. Where are human beings, both individually and collectively, inside this ecological process? Necessarily, they are put in the position of passive units, caught up in the play of the ecological process and exercising no direction over that process. Whatever they do in adjusting to land surface is set by, and explainable by, the ecological process in which they are involved. It is the ecological process that counts, not the group or individual participants in the process. This view, to repeat, is strictly in accordance with what has been found to be workable and verifiable in the analysis of the ecological process in plant and animal communities. It is this view which Ericksen has found necessary to reject. He rejects it not on ethical or philosophical grounds but on empiri-

xii / Foreword cal grounds. He finds that the view just does not represent accurately what goes on in human group life. Human beings, in locating themselves and their institutions on land surfaces, are seen by Ericksen as acting on the basis of their ideas and their feelings. Similarly, the retention of sites and places is viewed by him as arising out of judgments made by people on the basis of their sentiments and assessments. Likewise, seeing, addressing, and handling problems that arise out of the processes of location are for Ericksen human acts undertaken by human beings as they seek to meet their situations, instead of mere consequences of the play of ecological processes. Ericksen sees human beings as self-conscious organisms, acting back on the ecological processes in which they are involved and shaping the lines along which such processes are to move. Human beings are involved in the ecological process not as mere implementers of that process but as exerting direction on that process. The greater part of the discussion in Ericksen's book is a striking, indeed compelling, elucidation of this fundamental position. In the separate chapters, he explains and shows how the ecological process in human society must be seen from the standpoint of the social life of the group instead of the social life of the group being seen as an expression of the ecological process. Ericksen stresses that in their social life human beings are engaged in interaction in which they reach agreements and disagreements with regard to their locationing. The places in which they locate themselves and their institutions are the result of how the people define or give meaning to these places. Further, the people see and act toward the ecological places on the basis of the meaning which the places have been given. For example, what are seen and used as residential areas are identified and acted toward as residential areas. A given area arises as an area of residence not as the terminus of an indifferent ecological process which has human beings in its grip; it arises, instead, because the involved human beings in their interaction define the area as suitable for residence under the given set of conditions which they take into account. Similar processes of definition occur in the location of all the other institutions—the market, the shopping center, the workplace, the site for religious practice, the service center for health, and so forth. When these places are defined or given their respective identities, they then become such and such kinds of meaningful objects; they are approached or acted toward in terms of the meanings that have been

Foreword / xiii given to them. This endowment of locations or places with their specific meanings becomes the central matter in the ecological process as it occurs in human society. From this endowment of meaning, an ecological structure of places or locations comes into being. The processes which maintain, change, or erode that structure depend on the definitions that are being made by people in their social interaction. Such is the picture of the ecological process that Ericksen sees in the case of human society. It is a picture which calls for a radically different scheme of observation and analysis in conducting ecological studies in human society. Instead of seeking to identify and analyze self-operating ecological mechanisms which push people along in set directions and which lead to set outcomes, Ericksen's picture calls for an examination of the process by which locations come to be given their respective meanings. This shifts attention to what happens in the defining process as it takes place in the social interaction between people. Attention must be given to the communication or discussion between people which leads them to see and characterize a given location or place in a certain way. Ericksen's picture also requires that one see human beings as agents who are constructing their ecological world, either intelligently or stupidly, either with determination or with hesitation, either with or without recognition of the consequences of their defining process. To see the ecological process in human society as being shaped by the defining process that takes place between people raises new problems of study for human ecologists. Questions are set by this new perspective as to how one studies the defining process as it pertains to any given ecological action. To illustrate, how does the scholar proceed to study the complicated defining process as it takes place among the varied participants whose acts are responsible for the formation of blighted neighborhoods in our contemporary metropolitan areas? Or, how can we pick out the defining process that is involved in the displacement of one ethnic group by another in a given area? Or, what is the defining process that accounts for strong family control in one urban area, whereas in another area of a similar ecological sort family control is weak? Even more baffling problems arise when one faces the question as to how a given process of definition can be changed to arrest or reverse a given ecological development which is under way. The major theoretical problems, themselves, that are suggested by in-

xiv / Foreword cluding the defining process in the ecological process need to be identified, clarified, and probed. Ericksen has done this, himself, in a preliminary yet penetrating way in various parts of this book, particularly in his discussion in chapter 3, 'The Power of Place." It is obvious that to pursue ecological studies in accordance with the perspective given by Ericksen will raise scholarly problems of a most challenging nature. We should note, also, that Ericksen's view of the ecological process in human society has profound implications for professionals on the practical front—for those who formulate policies to guide locational distribution and to deal with problems arising from the distributional processes. City and regional planners are good examples of those who could be affected, although there are many others, including geopoliticians, who could benefit from Ericksen's perspective. The chief value for these professionals would be a realization that their problems can be approached with a flexibility that is precluded by the traditional perspective. Instead of having to make policy decisions on the basis of assuming that ecological processes are fixed in their operation and in their terminal points, the practicing professionals could address the wider range of possibilities that is opened by the use of the defining process in human group life. For example, city planners could reexamine their almost fatalistic position before such contemporary urban problems as the formation of blighted areas, the emergence of slums, the deterioration of transportation systems, the loss of taxes from declining urban land values, and the disputes and disorganization arising from certain instances of ethnic invasion. City planners could investigate much more thoroughly the possibility of the imaginative and artful use of the defining process in addressing such problems. The task becomes that of using and changing social meanings in place of merely abiding by the supposedly fixed routes of ecological processes. Admittedly, the redirection of the social-defining process may be as difficult as changing the direction of a given ecological process, but the former offers exploratory possibilities whereas the latter offers none. An appreciation of the play of the social-defining process in ecological happenings could change significantly the working attitude of planners of distributional locations. If taken seriously by human ecologists, as the book certainly deserves to be taken, Ericksen's work should have a profound effect and a beneficial effect on human ecology as we see it today. It

Foreword / xv should prompt human ecologists to examine their premises to see whether his criticisms are indeed true. Ericksen's treatment of this matter is so thoughtful and thorough that I think that human ecologists who read his work carefully will be compelled to recognize the need of a new perspective in their field. The development of this new perspective and its application in research will be a difficult but most challenging mission. Ericksen has taken the pioneering steps in this mission. One hopes that many will join him in giving human ecology this new advance. Herbert Blumer University of California Berkeley, California

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Preface

About three decades ago, when enrolled at the University of Chicago in Louis Wirth's course in human ecology, I was struck by his pronouncement, that, at base, the bond of territory is the substantive stuff of our branch of sociology, that such other social bonds as status, ideology, and kinship are the domains of sister subfields. This seemed clear enough. But as the years slip by I have witnessed a kind of credibility gap between what ecologists say they are doing and what they actually study. The field has become so nebulous that homeless authors, including psychologists, when groping for a suitable theoretical base camp, have adopted "ecology" as being safe and have slipped the term into their titles. And safe they have been, for human ecologists do not agree and never have agreed on a definition of their subject. In fact Wirth, disagreeing with Robert Park's claim that the field should be the study of human subsocial relations, coined the term "nonconsensual relations," thus bringing on the "neoclassical" people in our field. While some call their subject presociology, others see it as a reasonable facsimile for demographic reporting on migratory patterns, the working elements being density, technology, and economic circumstances. These factors could or could not be studied in terms of their impact on territorial perceptions, on motivational states and behaviors. Cynics have thus descended upon us, blustering that colleagues who labor in this particular vineyard are merely "doing sociology." And coming in so many shapes and forms we are vulnerable to such indictments. Alongside classical and neoclassical ecologists may be found synecologists, autecologists, social ecologists, micro- and macroecologists, and dramaturgical ecologists, not to overlook the psychological ecologists of the 1950s at the University of Kansas. This once virile field is now moribund, what with all my colleagues riding their theoretical horses off in all directions. Bandwagonism is indicative of how little we know or agree about the subject. Thus, over fifty years after its formal launching at Chicago, it is time to reconstruct, if not reconstitute, the discipline in

xviii / Preface a way that genuinely reflects the realities of territorial life. The passing deference to territory (I call this predisposition platform ecology) is especially misguided. Therefore, I thought it would be of some value, as well as enjoyable, to write a volume imagining what Park, Burgess, Hughes, Wirth, and their Chicago School disciples really meant for human ecology—a license presumably reserved for those of us in the third and final generation of Chicagoism. And in this venture I have benefited profoundly from occasional spirited conversations with two of my illustrious Chicago mentors, Herbert Blumer and Everett C. Hughes. However, while they have encouraged this undertaking, they are not to be held accountable for any brash statements placed in this book by their former student. At least we succeeded in agreeing on one thing: the exhaustion of ecological theory, which leads to the fact that, as the procession breaks up, its tail becomes a headless leader. In my graduate days at 1126 East 59th Street, Chicago, I was perplexed by the two pervading sociological camps, collectively a learned but contentious group, inclined more to talk past one another than to collide and resolve issues. Graduate students aligned themselves either under the Mead-Blumer umbrella or with the Park-Redfield-Burgess-Wirth-Hughes group. (Little could I foresee that the sideshow of William Ogburn would spawn a generation of capable students willing to ignore most of the precepts of the dominant camps.) Laboring in both arenas, I hungered after synthesis. The first group seemed to be saying that the other was overly dramaturgical, descriptive, and weak on explanation, while the second congeries of scholars proclaimed that the Mead-Blumer people were nothing more than psychological reductionists and were therefore ill equipped to examine the group-making process. Each group did its "explaining" during the silence of its opponent, who, in turn, waited for the moment of silence to "explain" the opposing view. The communicative void distressed me. Thus, after some thirty years of pondering the matter, I have mustered the courage to glean the best of the two Chicago schools and order up a revisionist human ecology—a tardy conceptual ground plane or base line for both my social psychological and my community organization professors, long since scattered. Specifically, this book addresses an important issue, namely, the integration of two general theoretical perspectives—symbolic interaction and human ecology. The aim is to posit some guidelines in the construction of a symbolic ecology. Recent empirically

Preface / xix grounded works by Gerald Suttles (The Social Construction of Communities) and Albert Hunter (Symbolic Communities) have hinted at such a development, but they were, by and large, dealing with a more limited and specific set of problems. This undertaking will most assuredly draw controversy from ecological camps. Already I can hear the slogans of the Ogburn "mechanists": "How do you know it; where are your measurements?" This recalls a statement attributed to Georges Bernanos: "All the ideas one sends alone into the world, with their pigtails hanging behind them, and a little basket in their hand like Little Red Riding Hood, are raped on the first street corner they come to by an old slogan in uniform." But I would add: it is a chastening experience to shift away from inductive, data-rooted writing to aphoristic, propositional expositioning. After all, the introduction of a fresh perspective for human ecology requires this kind of style. Hopefully, those who follow me will want to test my propositions through logical-positivistic or Operation verstehen procedures. Certainly the disciples of Emile Durkheim will recoil from this exegesis. Their pet terms, such as "social systems," "social facts," and "pattern variables," will be somewhat slighted. But proponents of Max Weber, Georg Simmel, Herbert Blumer, and Kenneth Burke will be more responsive to my "interpretive" explanations. And the bright youngsters in human ecology who prefer to call themselves the new territorialists have found another advocate. The same goes for my newfound friends in sociolinguistics, a rising clan of social scientists asking exciting questions about the language of people and places. Finally, to all others who try to say something about the reciprocal relations between symbols, people, and places, I am writing in your rich tradition. How I cast the science of territoriality in a symbolic interactionist frame will be meaningful to you, even though old hat. After all, with my analysis repeating the thinking of symbolists who have gone before, I am only trying to create another bench mark in communications theory: how humankind talks in and through its physical places. For an area of interest becomes a scientific problem only when it is put into a conceptual context. And the territorial problem outlined in this book is indeed a function of a particular theoretical context. The context is sociological; the conceptual root is symbolic interaction as found in the works of Burke, Dewey, Cooley, Mead, and Blumer, among others. The thinking of George Mead and Herbert Blumer is especially catalytic. They begin their analyses of human

xx / Preface conduct by noting that people have the ability to view their own behavior from the standpoint of another. And, using their imagination, people can anticipate the action of others, can organize what they do, always anticipating the responses of others. This is the import of "symbolic" in the term "symbolic interaction"—the ability of persons to share meanings. Thus the possibility of collective action arises with reference to those shared meanings. And, as we mesh our physical surroundings with others around us, this kind of participating becomes a major explanation of what we do. It is in this context that I formulate social research into the territoriality of human beings. I owe thanks to my graduate students in sociology at Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University. Through discussions in seminars and classes, in the supervision of masters' and doctoral theses, I have had an opportunity to test my ideas, my sensitizing concepts, and to bring them into their present form. The university has been generous with time and resources. An in-house Hatch Act grant pertaining to the spatial arrangements of mobile home retirees in Arizona made it possible for me to get this book under way. At the University of Texas Press, I had the help of a team of specialists. It has been a pleasure to work with them. EGE Autumn 1980

The Territorial Experience

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1 / Against the Stream

Most of sociology as we know it today is Durkheim. —Zygmunt Bauman To accomplish anything worthwhile in science (and in nearly everything else, for that matter), we have first to persuade ourselves that things may be different from what they seem. This is a most difficult task, for it involves taking on all comers. When someone asked Einstein how he came to discover relativity, he replied: "By challenging an axiom." While I am no Einstein, I have long been dissatisfied with the orthodoxy in human ecology and will devote this book to challenging some of its axioms. These axioms are frequently caught up under such dichotomies as community-society, human-environment, plant-animal, microspace-macrospace. Especially disturbing has been the notion of spatial balance or equilibrium, the idea that human beings crave everlasting communal niches, vils., or nesting areas coupled with a predisposition to defend their turfs. All this seems unrealistic and overly simplistic. I would raise questions about human ecology as the science of the "properties of population,"1 those economic, demographic, and technological components in the spacing of people and their institutions. Positively put, the time is appropriate for the introduction of hypotheses and conceptual tools of analysis which link spatial facts to motivations and meanings. My contribution to human ecology will be original only in the sense of putting old verities into new casings. Our paradigms in the social and behavioral sciences have an odd way of leading back to ourselves, as a rabbit track in snow leads eventually to the rabbit. Essayist Ε. Β. White once said: "It is one of his more endearing qualities that man should think his tracks lead outward toward something else, instead of back around the hill to where he has already been."

4 / Against the Stream THE PHYSICALISTS ( M A C R O E C O L O G I S T S )

Our dictionaries list the word "ecology" as being taken from the Greek term oikos, meaning house. Accordingly human ecology was launched as an adaptation from the biological fields of botany and zoology, a study of the housing of populations with reference to physical and technological forces within the environment. The physicalists became our theologians, feeling that those subjective variables known as motives, opportunities, and life styles are either imponderables or after-the-fact phenomena, hence empirically deficient. They would have human ecologists confine themselves to the distributive nature of human populations in a rather tight neopositivistic manner. I recall Louis Wirth criticizing both his forebears and his contemporaries, saying that "they wanted to study the territoriality of man as though he had no culture," that over the decades they have maximized description, minimized synthesis, stuck close to their figures, and thereby sacrificed highlevel generalization. As a rule of thumb, when an ecologist speaks respectfully of "validity and reliability" in measurements, we may assume that we are in the presence of a physicalist (sometimes dubbed mechanist or logical positivist), who would exhort all human ecologists to shift their interest "from social system to ecosystem."2 With an ecosystem being an aggregation of associated species of plants and animals, together with the physical features of their habitat, 3 the physicalists would rejoin general ecologists and view man as but one of many species in the "natural" community.4 The natural community is presented as a composite of physical resources with species man relating to it in a sustenance mode. Amos Hawley thinks within this framework: The subject of ecological enquiry is therefore the community, the form and development of which are studied with particular reference to the limiting and supporting factors of the environment. Ecology, in other words, is a study of the morphology of collective life in both its static and dynamic aspects. It attempts to determine the nature of community structure in general, the types of communities that appear in different habitats, and the specific sequence of change in community development.5

The Physicalists (Macroecologists)

/5

Likewise, Leo Schnore and Otis Duncan, concerned (as they should be) about ecology contributing to the understanding of social organization, stick to their set of tangibles, those demographic, technological, and environmental pressures as the basic variables in causation: The human ecologist . . . deliberately sets out to account for the forms that social organization assumes in response to varying demographic, technological, and environmental pressures. In this way the ecologist seems to be contributing to the maintenance of a traditional sociologist interest in explaining forms of organization and changes therein.6 To the physicalists, then, land as space is an external, inert thing. And the human beings who dwell upon mother earth are more adaptive to than instigators of the way she calls her tunes. Edward Stephan adds that this kind of ecologizing is more than "what sociologists are already doing" by reason of the focus upon the limiting and supporting factors of the environment. Methodologically (and this is vital to the perspective), "it provides a distinctive method of analysis of social organization—a method which, potentially at least, is far more exact than those which purport to describe social structure in traditional qualitative terms."7 The physicalists of human ecology fly the banner of Emile Durkheim in ordering up their human-environment studies. Facts are not derived from values. The reverse is true. Said Durkheim, only when a true social order is discovered will the human species be on the threshold of guiding human policies toward uniformity of social laws. Foremost in this nomological paradigm is the dogma that the social world has an underlying order describably like the natural order as a system of laws.8 But the corollary assumption is equally vital: society, or social facts, should be viewed as "things" —hard, external, out there—because they constrain human behavior just as moisture and sunlight constrain the behavior of all species. Only the mechanism is different: social facts constrain us because they make us want to be constrained. Societies, then, like organisms, are fundamentally closed systems—much like legal codes; when change occurs it takes place within the social system. And, true to Durkheim, the physicalists suggest that the world is a teleological whole: everything has its place, and in the long run ev-

6 / Against the Stream erything is for the best. The methodology of the natural sciences, of general ecology, is therefore easily applied to the humanenvironment equation. To become a peer of, say, physics, human ecology (as with all of sociology, for that matter) would be placed in the mainstream of logical positivism. The paradigm of Max Weber is the alternative to Durkheimianism. Extracting from his " h e Meaning of Objectivity in the Social Sciences," Weber denounced the Durkheimian naïve faith in the perspective of positivistic science: There is no absolutely "objective" scientific analysis of . . . social phenomena independent of social and one-sided viewpoints according to which—expressly or tacitly—. . . they are organized, selected and analysed for expository purposes.9 Human beings territorialize not with hollow minds but with a felt problem. However, the physicalists persist in their colorless way of looking at the ecology of humans as an aggregate of individuals in time and space—a case of stripping the community of all its meaningful aspects. The discipline is devoid of values, sentiments, and norms as initiators of land use. Thus human and general ecologists are methodologically synecologists, that is, they deal with the physical relations between the organism and its habitat. But in facing up to the empirical world a shift toward autecology is necessary, that is, we need to look upon the habitat as a humanized thing made over by the species. We are engaged in an indirect rather than a direct relationship with nature through the superimposing of physical appurtenances upon the land and the implanting of plans of action into them. In our cities, observe how people are affected daily by human policies and institutions as well as by elevators, parking lots, and other physical properties. Droughts, floods, hot and cold spells are secondary problems by comparison to those contrived by human policy. With people living overwhelmingly in a habitat which they have made by themselves (and are constantly rearranging), a human ecology calls for looking first to the person to discover what has been done with the environment in order to survive and to pursue goals, rather than concentrating upon the geographic habitat alone. While we observe the structure of plants and lower animal life to get at their ecological behavior, we must look between humans to the symbolism carried within their customs, laws, institutions, physical objects,

The Physicalists (Macroecologists)

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and systems of ethics. In short, we must be made aware of the selective predilections of people as they interact with social and physical forces. This is what I mean by the term "autecology." The concepts and methods of plant and lower animal ecology may not be transferred in their entirety to the realm of the human because the differences between the two worlds are as significant as their likenesses. Four readily observable differences may be enumerated. First (and physicalists will concur), there is a low degree of locomotion among plants and lower animals in comparison with humans. Because our locomotion is almost unlimited, we are less dependent upon our immediate habitat. Our technological ingenuity with such innovations as internal-combustion engines and telephones permits a more complex and time-restricted dimension to the territorial world. Note, for example, that less than one-third of the American population die in the vicinity of their birth. Second, in the human species we encounter a dimension of social interaction which does not exist, or is rudimentary, among lower animal forms. Humans are imaginative creatures, indulging in reminiscences of past experiences, speculations about the future. Our technology is therefore not a mere accident but the consequence of our imagination plus a special kind of communication. Being able to form images and symbols, we can form what we call ideals. We are capable of taking the imperfect and remaking it into the near perfect; as such we are creative artists. These activities are foreign to lower forms of life. While plants and lower animals have their relations conditioned by physiological structure or instinct, we have our relations conditioned by understandings. Third, the bond of cohesion among plants and lower animal life resides within the habitat itself rather than within the organismic likenesses. Human beings, on the other hand, have as their bond of cohesion their culture—a force which plays upon spatial organization. Indeed, we live in the struggle for existence but we also live in values, norms, expectations, rights, privileges, and regulations, these altering the struggle. Interestingly, in some relationships we reverse the struggle, proclaiming that only the fittest shall perish in wars while the weak are allowed to remain at home to propagate the race. Likewise, we protect the aged and the mentally handicapped in special places, thus postponing their death. All others must shift for themselves. Fourth, human organisms do not adjust in passive ways to

8 /Against the Stream their surroundings. They do not live in a "natural habitat" in the sense used by plant and animal ecologists. Space and time are translated into cost; the struggle for life becomes a struggle for coming up in the world. Symbiosis or competitive cooperation becomes conflict and/or conscious collaboration to achieve common goals. Competition in the modern scene never takes the form of blind struggle but is carried out by more or less self-conscious groups striving and compromising with one another, not only for economic survival but also for gains on the social ladder in the form of power and prestige. That is, human beings conflict, compete, and collaborate on many levels other than the bioeconomic plane, and this is reflected in their shifting physical location. The extraordinary degree of flexibility of human behavior makes for a complexity and dynamics in the physical community without counterpart elsewhere in the organic world. It is this last observation that sets humanity apart as an object of special inquiry and gives rise to human ecology as being distinct from a general ecology so suitable for the lower forms. Every community not only is symbiotic but also contains consensus, allowing for spontaneous, organized action. As autecologist, the territorialist shifts emphasis from nature to people for the compelling reason that the local community is able to respond to (even rearrange) the local geography as well as sociophysical environments in remote places. The nomology of the physicalists is presented in another way: in the persistent dichotomy made between community and society. By their semantics, the concept "community" should be drawn from general biology, embracing the symbiotic relations, physical structure, the bioeconomic competition of an amoral environment. And the word "society" appropriately stresses symbolic communication, consensus, common norms, the ideational, conscious control of conduct. Unfortunately, these ideal-typical dichotomous aspects of human life have been confused with concrete realities. With classical ecologists Robert Park, Ernest Burgess, and R. D. McKenzie as the promulgators of this distinction, it took Louis Wirth to formulate the neoclassical stance with the observation that every society is a community and every community has some aspects of society. The old dichotomy seemed to be the fundamental difference between the point of view of Herbert Spencer and that of Auguste Comte: "While the former emphasized one aspect of the social complex, namely the division of labor, competition, and interdependence, the latter regarded con-

The Physicalists (Macroecologists)

/9

sensus, i.e., common culture, common experiences, aims, and understandings, as the more fundamental fact in the social cohesion. The emphasis upon one or the other of these dual aspects of human group life reappears persistently in the history of our discipline."10 Wirth was saying that competition among human beings never takes place in a vacuum but is variously regulated and controlled as people struggle for position, security, and status. The territorial underpinning of humans is meaningless without the participation of norms. Put another way, the physicalists are all too inclined to ignore human volitions as interceding in land-use processes. Human aggregations, their spatial arrangements, are everlastingly bound up with sociological phenomena. Thus the contemporary ecologist is to be cautioned to remember that human groups are real and that group life is a vast interpretive process in which people singly and collectively guide themselves by defining the objects, events, and situations which they encounter.11 The definition of property (within ecology), like definitions of infant and mother versus father rights (within demography), may not be ignored as an imponderable, as an externality only incidental to the scientific problem. Ecologists may not merely assume a social structure, they must be aware of action, objects, and conduct in the making. When Ernst Haeckel, in 1896, coined the term "ecology" as the science of the "correlations between all organisms living together in one and the same locality and their adaptations to their surroundings,"12 the human ecologists borrowed this framework because they noted close parallels between human societies and plant and lower animal life. But being prone to natural science they neglected, benignly, people-the-image-builders, we who play with our illusions and delusions, constantly reworking our human-environment linkage. Trapped by their own rhetoric, their nomological expositions abound with such concepts as "balance," "equilibrium," "maladjustment," "function," "path," and "evolution," thus giving a laissez-faire valuation to ecological phenomena. When they speak of the various elements of human life moving teleologically toward balance, there is the implication that an ideal of some sort has to be attained—an ideal in terms of a given common welfare. Thus unwittingly the ecologists become evaluators, formulating their problems in nineteenth-century Spencerianism, proclaiming that we must avoid interfering with the obvious trends of things. But the contradiction in this perspective is that these same people

10 /Against the Stream would try to interfere with those of us who would participate in changing and redefining things. If they are convinced, in their teleology, that through the mechanisms of technology, economics, and biology things will change anyway, then why try to change the changers? If they believed in laissez-faire, which seems implicit in their methodology, they would leave the human changers alone too. With some controlling hand dictating a balance between resources and people, they are caught up in a particularistic fallacy, attributing spatial change to a single cause or to a package of external causes, forgetting that human beings are themselves dynamic participants within the causal order. The external force is thought to call the tune and the human organism to play it. But our species is not, as I shall develop in this volume, a mere agent responding to the stimuli of geography, economics, diet, or machines. These "determinants" become significant only when embraced by the initiative of the conscious agent.13 The laissez-faire point of view has predominated as a theoretical point of departure in human ecology. The danger in this perspective is that valuations are hidden behind preconceptions that are not discussed by or even known to the investigators. The theory is arbitrary because it is not founded upon a definition of relevant interests. Such places as slums, high-density areas, and delinquency areas are relative conditions of existence, yet they are treated as impersonally as income or wages. In a world of variation, change, and human capriciousness, there can be no such thing as ideal indexes or ratios. For, in the final analysis, the weights have always to be chosen on the basis of one's interest in the study. Now, I recognize that this observation sounds trite to any social scientist who is at all aware of personal methodology. Unfortunately, too many ecologists fail to recognize that all territorial choices are valuational. They cannot circumvent valuations by restricting their research to the discovery of"facts."And the very attempt to avoid evaluations in this way involves a valuation. While I recognize that data finding is indispensable for the solution of problems, my complaint is that too much data seeking goes on without a problem. Louis Wirth once remarked: The full statement of a problem, including the decision of scope, direction, hypothesis, classification, principles, and a definition of all terms used, renders explicit evaluations necessary in fact-finding research. The author can, of course, ex-

The Physicalists (Macroecologists) / 11 plicitly disavow any practical interest and declare that he personally finds that the topic and the hypothesis appeal to him aesthetically—or that he has made all his choices at random. If, however, practical usefulness is an aim in science, even the direction of research becomes dependent upon much wider valuations concerning society.14 It seems, then, that we are dealing with complex interactional relations in territorial analysis involving feedback loops, wherein spatial functioning is made to serve as a determinant force. Studies are needed which view territory as being a determinant of other behavioral outcomes, as well as being a resultant itself. Methodological strategies should be not only multivariant but longitudinal and situationally broad as well. And this, in case we forget, includes a concern with the deterioration of territorial arenas. Present-day macroecologists presupposed that a socioterritorial approach is spatial reductionism and, thus, a false start. Preferring to keep human ecology as a simple point-to-point physical distance analysis, these "objective" ecologists have generally ignored the abundant literature on symbolic behavior, implying that the "subjectivist" students of spatial behavior persist in the view that the physical world embodies intrinsic social qualities. Unfortunately, pioneering social ecologist Walter Firey, in 1947, fell to this reasoning: Since its emergence as a definite field of research ecology has developed a number of distinct theories, each of which has tried to bring a conceptual order out of man's relationships with physical space. When these theories are subject to a careful analysis, their differences turn out to be, in large part, variations in a single conception of the society-space relationship. Briefly, this conception ascribes to space a determinant and invariant influence upon the distribution of human activities. The socially relevant qualities of space are thought to reside in the very nature of space itself, and the territorial patterns assumed by social activities are regarded as wholly determined by these qualities.15 Firey's polemic is poorly thought out. Space, as a social construction, can be (and is) made into a compelling force. It is a complex social invention ranging from the culturally patterned to the

12 / Against the Stream idiosyncratic, ignitable by diverse life styles. The physical world, including the turf on which we move—the artificial and natural props—is constantly being embellished, bent, even distorted to suit our intentions. This more relativistic view of the physical environment, advanced by writers from diverse disciplines, embodies variations in emphasis.16 Anthropologist Lévi-Strauss, for example, insisted: "Space and time dimensions are not the same as the analogous ones used by other disciplines but consist of a social 'space' and of a social 'time/ meaning that they have no properties outside those which derive from the properties of the social phenomena which 'furnish' them."17 If Firey embraced this view of reality he failed to make himself clear. Again, Pitirim Sorokin, in 1943, recognized the importance of conceiving space in terms of its meanings as posited by social actors,18 a perspective quite antithetical to those physicalists or macroecologists who have rejected out of hand the utility of subjective territorial facts. Resembling demographic bookkeepers, physicalists would select as their topics large-scale spatial units and order up the "objective" data within. For example, Lawrence Redlinger and Jerry Michel, in an article entitled "Ecological Variation in Heroin Abuse," are concerned not with the conditioning impact of space on heroin addicts in Chicago but, rather, with human associations involving income levels and concentrations of heroin users.19 MICROECOLOGISTS AND THE ACT

When the basic questions for human ecology are posed—What is territory? How does it function? What does it evolve from? What are the key forces which affect its manifestations?—we run amok of microecologists. While in actuality the distinction between micro- and macroecology is reducible to psychological versus demographic studies, the rhetoric clouds the bifurcation. Donald W. Bell, in a scholarly booklet, proclaims as the preserve for microecology the study of spatial intimacy and boundary making: . . . transactions take place in what may be called microspace: that is, the spatial confines within which symbolic exchange between actors so located can take place without

Microecologists and the Act / 13 strain or artificial aid. These boundaries are set by visual, auditory, tactile, and olfactory barriers (especially the first)— e.g., sight restraints, sound levels, inter alia. Such limiting factors include the physiological, such as sensory acuity; the physical-mechanical, walls for instance; the psychological, e.g., cognitive engrossment. . . selective attention, inattention, and perception; and the social, that is the rules that define the parameters of social settings. . . . Along with the participants themselves, these spatial elements combine at the interpersonal level to form a microecological system of actors and audiences located (and moving) in microspace, and provide one of the sources for actors' definitions of self and others. It is the fundamental task of microecology to seek out the functional relationships between microspace, social actors and their space-related conduct and experience within it, and the selves and identities so generated and maintained or altered.20 With Bell as a chief spokesman, microecologists would study small, intimate groups from most any plausible theoretical perspective but with symbolism as the catalyst. Territoriality would be but one facet of their subject matter, with psychic space and social space rounding out the spectrum. The research reports from this group, which tend to funnel into the social psychology journal Sociometry, carry the implication that only this branch of ecology addresses itself to the intimacy of social conduct and symbolic interaction. Probably my old friends and onetime colleagues at the University of Kansas, Roger Barker and Herbert Wright, deserve the distinction for being the key progenitors of microecology. Calling themselves psychological ecologists, they gained distinction in the fifties with their One Boy's Day and Midwest and Its Children.21 When combined with the work of Leon Festinger and his colleagues concerning proximity and frequency of interaction,22 microecology has enjoyed near epidemic popularity, being found under various course titles in sociology, psychology, even geography. And, like their counterparts in macroecology, one could have anticipated a history of careful description and case analyses, coupled with weak or elusive theoretical synthesis. In my own review of this literature, I have found the basic unit to be the act which a person builds up in the course of interacting

14 / Against the Stream with self and others. While the microecologists may allude to how space "speaks," how it is attended to both by actors and by their audiences, the end concern is with personality and small groups. As such, they are not territorialists. Perhaps the romanticism of a nonstructural approach accounts for the elusiveness of a solid conceptual base, especially in symbolic interactionism. They confine their studies to the immediate environment, wherein the interaction around spatial moorings can be readily observed, experimented with, and reported. Personal or body space becomes the platform for studying the act, as illustrated with the following statement by Richard Sykes, Kinley Larntz, and James Fox concerning proximity and interaction among navy recruits: A recruit in an upper bunk must do certain things, for instance, connected with dressing and storing his clothes, in the floor area next to the lower bunk and may, in fact, use the lower bunk to sit or stand on. Thus lower bunks tend to be shared in a way that upper or adjacent bunks are not, and this sharing of an essentially personal space may require the actors to acknowledge one another, and interact in a way not related to physical distance in and of itself. Recruits sitting and putting their shoes on at either end of a bunk are farther apart than those adjacent, but are sharing the personal space of one. More investigation of proximity in terms of specification of the personal meaning of space rather than physical distance alone is necessary. [The italics are mine.] 23 One might accurately infer from this that microecology translates finally into anything that small groups do. But we cannot be sure. In the above-mentioned article, the concern is with the emerging pattern of fellowship, the "interaction obligation," where proximity is not necessarily a synonym for physical distance. This we can be sure of: while these investigators prefer to begin and end their study with the psychic distance associated with the color of skin, age, education, and religion of the recruits, a territorialist would focus first and last on the imagery of the bunks! With a predisposition to sidestep any conceptual interface with macroterritorial conduct, microecologists stick to close-proximity act research in such places as barracks, hospital wards, drugstores, and schools.24 This tendency may be due to a feeling that

Other Polemics and False Imputations / 15 their experimental techniques are not applicable at the macrolevel. In sum, as students of personality, nominalists in the main, they would shy away from the internalization of space as an element in group making. Theirs is a partial approach to human ecology, an abiding focus on territoriality as propinquity, as social space, but always as "out there." If space has a face, somehow its voice, sociolinguistically, is stilled. Dramaturgical at base, the reference to territory is metaphorical. "Location" is less a matter of talking in and through physical things than one of propinquity. That is, microecology is the social psychology of signs. But a word of caution: by reason of the bandwagon contagion of microecology, my portrayal is admittedly forced. The field of study is under constant rearrangement regarding frame of reference and episodes deserving of study. To date, physical space seems to remain a mere external referent, a kind of common denominator at best, a thing to be defended as a habitat. Microecologists confuse signs with symbols. And macroecologists resemble them in this respect.25 When these two versions of ecology settle on the idea that physical space is something more than a prepositional phrase, that it exists intersubjectively with human intentions in the patterning of interaction, in the creation of social and personal options, then the broad discipline will have a foundation for the building of a unifying theory.

OTHER POLEMICS AND FALSE IMPUTATIONS

Amos Hawley has stated that human ecology is the "descriptive study of the adjustment of human population to the conditions of their respective physical environment." This perspective has shed little light on the question of what it is like to be a territorial human being—his is to geographize, cartographize, and sociologically sterilize! For some fifty years, ecologists have been describing the characteristics of community life and plotting their distributions on maps and graphs. And, when Hawley prescribes for ecology a concern with the elemental problems of how growing, multiplying beings maintain themselves in a constantly changing but ever restricted environment, this is a macroorientation in which the elemental interpretive capability of adaptive humans is left out. Borrowing from George Homans, we must "bring men back

16 / Against the Stream in" if human ecology is to be taken seriously as an explanatory science of empirical relations. Psychological ecologist Irwin Altman, speaking of alienated social and behavioral scientists, disenchanted by the provincialism of their parent professions, writes: And there are behavioral scientists who feel that their disciplines have neglected man's unity with his physical environment and the fact that he is shaped by it and shaped it, and that understanding man's behavior requires understanding man-environment linkages. Some talk of a coming unity of the scientist and the practitioner. Others view the future with pessimism as a Tower of Babel which will ultimately lead all back to their disciplinary languages, values and approaches, each viewing the man-environment field from its own narrow perspectives.26 While to explain is to theorize, this calls for deductive analysis. To explain something is to deduce it. Yet the Alihans27 and Fireys28 have done little more than shift the emphasis in the direction of cultural or consensual spatial dynamics, always suggesting the doubtful proposition that association is a function of spatial contiguity. And Shevky and Williams,29 in their measurement of land use or segregation, like zoning practitioners, were fundamentally place-oriented rather than process-oriented, ignoring the allpervading questions, What of land? May it be an elemental and processual force, among others, that arouses and sustains group life? The deductive requisite in explanation was absent or only hinted at. They were doing niche ecology reminiscent of the Chicago School in the thirties. Robert Park conceived of the human community as a mosaic of natural areas, or niches, wherein persons of similar culture are drawn together through the ecological process. With the key words being natural and drawn, subsequent generations of ecologists have struggled with the problem of identifying the rudimental causal forces in the "ecological process." That is, there is general confusion as to the ingredients exciting the impellers. While Park's student Louis Wirth dutifully dignified the above-italicized terminology in his lectures and writings, he seemed troubled by his mentor's causal framework, by the structural-functional tone, and frequently interjected the term "conscious initiative" into his deliberations. He seemed unsettled when he spoke, in true Chicago

Conclusion I 17 tradition, of how natural areas drew people of like propensities together while simultaneously driving to other areas those alien to the setting. He was disposed to add that "interests are forces that generate the ends of practicalactivity,"thereby dignifying the actor as a participant in the joining and unjoining of ecological niches or natural areas. When teaching his course in social planning, Wirth remarked:"Theonly way that men can be free is to make carefully planned choices and follow them through. Studying sociology is of no great value to anyone unless it helps the citizen to think about the community in which he lives and enables him to help in the problem of planning a better world as he sees it."30 CONCLUSION: OUR METAPHORICAL HERITAGE From the foregoing sketch of how human ecologiste have perceived their subject matter, one concludes that their history is one of analogy and metaphorical thinking. Beginning with Park and Burgess and their evolutionary group-making paradigm (competition conflict accommodation assimilation),31 like the life cycle of plants and lower animals, the human group is shown to have a genesis: the crude subsocial, bioeconomic jockeying of actors for gainful positions in space. As individuals find their niche or nest, the group-making sequence is spawned in full vigor, through stages, to cultural maturity. In fact, the maturation of the self runs a basically similar course. The lexicon has relevance to the organic world, to the life cycles of physical organisms, including plants. There, the terms are meaningful in an empirical, if not a literal, sense. But they are hardly literal when applied to social phenomena. They are metaphoric. And this kind of knowledge about the world is the opposite of knowledge that is derived fom cumulative experience, that is, from inductive or deductive observations, meanings contained in propositions. With an analogy being a form of inference in which it is reasoned that, if two or more things agree with one another in one or more respects, they will probably agree in yet other respects, human ecologists established themselves in parallel with what biologists know about species maturation and adaptation. A metaphorical "knowing" was implicit. There was special pride in explaining how our concepts were borrowed from plant and lower animal ecology. Through the use of metaphor, generations of human ecologists have effected instanta-

18 / Against the Stream neous fusion of two separated realms of experience into one encapsulating image. Metaphor, as a way of knowing, serves to bridge the known with the unknown. It is much more than a play on words, a simple grammatical construction, a figure of speech—it is a way of cognition. Wallace Stevens cautions us that the relationship between metaphor and metamorphosis is more than merely etymological, it is embedded in the world of knowledge and meaning.32 Accordingly, when the Chicago School referred to human symbiotic relations as comprising the basic ecological activity, it was speaking metaphorically. If a distinction were to be made between symbiotic and symbioticlike, these scholars preferred not to labor the distinction. After all, through imagination they were positing a sensitizing concept, calling for generations of testing for proof of its soundness. Creative, rich in images and metaphors, the Chicago professors' efforts should not be dismissed as unscientific or nonrational, stooping to a sloppy substitute for the hard analysis that rigorous thought demands. To the contrary, metaphor belongs as much to philosophy and science as it does to poetry and religion, because the act of intensive thought is quite inseparable from metaphor—it is an intuitive reaching for new process, for object explanation. The verification of things fused, intuited, imagined, or observed is the task of those who follow us. Consider, if you will, the natural area as a case in point. Decades of ecologists have tussled with this sensitizing metaphorical concept, trying to ferret out the implications, real or imagined, of the natural. Does the term refer to innate human predispositions (original nature) that cause people to spatially cluster, or does it denote the consequence of territorial experience (human nature)? That the metaphor of growth stands out as perhaps the most encompassing in Occidental thought is familiar to us all. And the Chicago school of ecology, wishing to cast itself as objective, relatively value free, substituted the term "process" for "growth" in addressing itself to the manner in which groups "develop." The term "ecological process" became the sine qua non—it stood for directionality, for the theory that growth, rather than being random in nature, was incipiently, mechanistically longitudinal. With spatial events moving from one point to another on a time scale, human ecology was portrayed as the concern with developmental territorial change. Simple, static, locational observations were nothing more than microcosmic details or pauses in the grander

Conclusion / 19 spatial scheme of things. Accordingly, all those doctoral dissertations at Chicago bore the descriptive-static focus as well as the processual.33 Parenthetically, William Ogburn, while working somewhat outside the pale of the Park tradition, as a Chicago colleague, also dignified ''stages" and "natural histories" in his studies of social trends: . . . a dozen or more monographs sponsored by our Local Community Research Committee on changes in institutions are trend studies, though there are relatively few numerical time series in the volumes. Frazier's The Negro Family in Chicago, Hughes' The Chicago Real Estate Board, Merrill's "The Chicago Stock Exchange," and Palyi's The Chicago Credit Market fall in this category. Robert E. Park has called studies of this type natural histories of institutions, to contrast them with the type of history that is a description of particular events with little attempt to depict stages and to describe general processes, as is done in Miss Pierce's series of volumes on the history of Chicago, sponsored by the same committee.34 Developmental change was something interpreted by the Chicago professors as being quite irreversible, just as is growth in the biological being. Incidentally, over the years, I have haphazardly tested this view of the irreversibility of Park's paradigm, and of ecological processes generally, when encountering other third-generation Chicago graduates. In every instance, the notion of backward flow, of retrogression, was greeted with dismay—as an irreverent perspective. Park and Burgess, they confessed, never even discussed the reversibility of developmental stages. Process was unidirectional and seemed to carry the connotation of built-in purposefulness. As with the Marxian dialectic, in which the purpose of human development was a classless society, with everything that has gone before to be seen as cumulative preparation, so with Park: social assimilation was the culmination of prior unfolding processes, beginning with competitive cooperation. Chicago sociologists, in a spirit of love-hate, enjoyed lecturing on the social Darwinists—on how society building is analogous to the growth of physical species. They complained that these social evolutionists relied too much on concepts borrowed from biology,

20 / Against the Stream that they were weighted down with moral ideas of progress and suffered from an absence of suitable data.35 But they relished the analogy, the growth metaphor.36 This external, structural-functional perspective was compatible with their paradigms on cycles as well. The metaphor of growth is reflected in the invasion-succession cycle, a process terminating in equilibrium, culture, the resolving of differences. If the analogies at Chicago were simply figures of speech, simply florid rhetorical procedures necessary in teaching pedagogy, we could leave it at that. However, a principal argument of this book is that the metaphor of growth, with its supportive biological analogy, was then (and still is today) more than linguistic adornment. At Chicago, a longitudinal-analytical paper always seemed to draw higher praise than a cross-cultural one. The formula for successful term papers was to couch one's observations in origins, stages of growth, proximate causes, and cycles. To employ the biologicaldevelopmental metaphor never seemed to hurt one's grade. Sociologists, when ecologizing their social systems, like anthropologists with their ethnologies, attach equilibrious emphasis to their functionalism. And both disciplines tend to deal with their materials in terms of preconceptions about social change that are drawn from evolutionary theory. Emile Durkheim, whose influence on sociology and anthropology is equally profound, wrote in his Elementary Forms of the Religious Life: Everytime we undertake to explain something human, taken at a given moment in history—be it a religious belief, a moral precept, a legal principle, an esthetic style, or an economic system—it is necessary to go back to its most primitive and simple form, to try to account for the characterization by which it was marked at that time, and then to show how it developed and became complicated little by little, and how it became that which it is at the moment in question. [The italics are mine.]37 To the degree that ecologists have moved beyond description of external events, they have remained steadfastly functionalistic. Whatever causal forces they identify as elements in their ecosystems, these components tend to originate within the "stabilized system" (Talcott Parsons' term). And this kind of theorizing is deemed natural, demonstrating, thereby, that social science may

Conclusion I 21 be made congruent with a natural science of society (the elements of organization and change, that is, are natural or endogenous to the social system). Its elements are as congruent to the social system as growth is within the living organism. This affinity between functionalism and organicism is usually brought forward in metaphorical language. Invoking anthropologist George Murdock: "the phenomenon of linguistic drift exhibits numerous close parallels to the evolution of social organization . . . the search for the sources of change must be shifted from the external factors to the social structure itself."38 In our case, how much longer will the data gatherers in human ecology continue to search for endogenous processes to unite the principles of spatial order and change? If human ecologiste will submit that their subject matter is territory or the spatial relations of human beings, they have yet to validate space, alluding to it only metaphorically. A structuralfunctional approach to their subject does not, by the very restrictions of the method, permit the vitalization of objects. With human conduct in space being episodic, the physical base is cast as a mere stage. The metaphor of territory enters into their deliberations only when histories are felt to be literally confined within a single area. That is to say, there is the presumption that a territorial history may be factored out from histories of art, economy, or technology, denying, thereby, that humans function within many histories, many times, many places. Thus the literature in ecology is reducible to two types—first, the dramaturgical or episodic and second, the boundary-defensive. On some occasions the two perspectives do intertwine, as when Erving Goffman speaks of "front space" dramas and "back space" dramas.39 When encountering contemporary groups exhibiting many territorial times, human ecologists lack the methodological tools with which to understand and interpret this absence or elusiveness of spatial fit. The cognitive distance of the space appears so abstract, so unyielding to quantitative measurement, that the utility of the metaphor is their only out—their only way to bring territory in. Many histories, many times, many areas boggle the minds of those who would study territory by formula or by synthesis. By turning to metaphor, ecologists thereby achieve the impossible and engage in studies about holy lands, political arenas, educational enclaves, landed aristocracies, gang and gay turfs, prostitution, or red-light districts—the list is endless. As logical positivists, they find that abstractions or wholes such as spatial purpose

22 / Against the Stream or destiny are imponderables. There is not much they can do with them in pragmatic or "scientific" terms. When they speak of a place having a trait, the interlocking bond is presented metaphorically, seldom symbolically. The prophetic function of location, as an inalienable part of the human condition, is relegated to description, faith, algebraic formula—but it is always devoid of interpretation. This is called social area analysis. Territorial research of the industrialized West, Dixieland, or southern racial ecology leads to excursions into migratory patterns and is then left at that. Hence, the greater the cognitive distance, the more ecology becomes descriptive demography, dubbed macroecology. When the internalization of space by the actors is central to the study, the territorial metaphor is introduced to handle the kinship. By this procedure, ecologists are not seriously probing the territorial base at all, only by inference. They are abdicating, thereby, the premise of their discipline. Conversely, the smaller the cognitive distance to space, the more ecologists, cum microecologists, avoid metaphor and employ the prepositional phrase—"in space" or "on the land"—as though they were vitally interested in it. As structural-functionalists, human ecologists cannot conceptually cope with vast space, hardly better with proximate space. Priority of fixity remains a prerequisite for studying the "natural," the "normal," the "territorial imperative."

2 / The Language and Validation of Space

. . . as we symbolize nature we make it a scene or stage upon which we enact our drama of social order. Thus, the environment of man is a symbolic environment. He acts in and through symbolization of his physical and biological environment. —Hugh Dalziel Duncan Consider, if you will, the making of human ecology into the sociolinguistics of territory, an inquiry into the physical spacing of people as a symbolic thing. To do so, we must accept the premise that human beings act in and through their physical world much of the time. The person is a selector of stimuli which will supply the responses needed (or believed to be needed) to achieve order in her or his relations. Thus the self can mesh sex, hunger, and aggressions, among other concerns, with location. Significant territorial symbols (after Mead), like spoken symbols, are expressions experienced as a form of address at the same time that the self addresses another. While Emile Durkheim had things in their symbolic form existing outside of an individual, and society constrained the person into using them (as in the use of money or language),1 George Mead internalized objects and things through meanings: "Meaning is that which can be indicated to others while it is by the same process indicated to the indicating individual. In so far as the individual indicated it to himself in the role of the other, he is occupying his perspective, and as he is indicating it to the other from his own perspective, and as that which is so indicated is identical, it must be that which can be in different perspectives. It must therefore be a universal, at least in the identity which belongs to the different perspectives which are organized into the single perspective."2 As we emote in images, think in ideas, and act in social dramas, 3 the mind is developing out of and sustaining itself within an objective phase of experience. This leads us to the proposition that space is made to carry many of our messages. And the names and

24 / The Language and Validation of Space modes of communication assigned to places, together with the supportive props mobilized within and around them, are vital to the building of a universe of discourse (after George Mead) among otherwise disparate individuals. In fact, when we democratize a place, are we not, at the outset, agreeing to disagree—agreeing that here we shall engage in a kind of comic drama of argument, bickering, beseechment, even prayer, electing our leaders out of these heated exchanges, then furiously attacking these same leaders for failing to measure up? Even so, we invariably aspire to the building of spatial dignity—an honorable routinizing of things—this being accomplished through giving respected names to these places and to the regalia we wear when acting out our dramas in these settings. After Weber, such inclinations raise the deportment of the members, provide a kind of providential mission to the place. We act not only in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost but also in the hallowed name of, say, the West, the South, Virginia, the United States. This is to say that people, their expectations, and their places become inextricably intertwined.4 There is, then, more than a verbal tie (after John Dewey) between the words "common," "community," and "communication." And, invoking Malinowski, the knowledge of a name and the correct use of a verb have mysticallike powers which transcend the mere utilitarian convenience of such words in conversation. How we communicate about objects determines what we communicate (and, conversely, what we communicate determines how we communicate). It follows, then, that we are capable of making inanimate objects into animate ones. And increasingly we live in a world of space-object contingencies, a world where "nesting" and "home" territories (remember "natural areas"?) are subject to challenge, rearrangement, and displacement. As we go about reconstituting our settings, we are in the presence of temperocentric people, people who take a hard look at space—as being something to be occupied expedientially. As long as we are achievement-centered, we tend to pass over and through our spaces en route to the Valhalla of successful men and women. We overhear those with the least life chances (recalling W. Lloyd Warner's "down by the canal" people in Yankee City) being admonished, "Don't talk in unfamiliar places"—a case of meshing social-class language modes and values with location. Our day-to-day territorial maxims make us aware of spatial contingencies and feedback loops,· as Basil

Human Ecology as Spatial Linguistics / 25 Bernstein explained: because a form of speech is initially a function of a given social arrangement, it does not mean that the speech form does not in turn modify or even change that social structure which initially evolved the speech form.5 It is not surprising, then, that our intense spatial mobility implants strange people in strange places with ensuing collision of statuses and language fields, a case in point being the sudden emergence of a Jewish state in a Mediterranean Arabic world. Hence, in an advanced technological society, are not we all, to a considerable degree, territorial strangers? H U M A N ECOLOGY AS SPATIAL LINGUISTICS

In perusing the standard texts and theoretical works of linguists, their purpose is clear: to examine and describe the nature of language itself and its internal relationships. It is not to use linguistic facts for the purpose of explaining some other phenomenon, such as mental process or territorial behavior. The linguist is primarily a writer of rules, these rules being presented as descriptive grammars—as accounts of the way a language is used in a speech community.6 Linguists, especially those who call themselves sociolinguists, know their symbolic interactionism. But, by reason of concentrating upon the language itself, the territorial dimension to their research is usually incidental. Nonetheless, we lean upon these scholars for the building of a theoretical territorial discipline. They make us mindful of the following communication subtleties, so profound in gaining an understanding of how we incorporate space into our daily lives. First, we live in a world of idioms and idiomatics, both being ambiguous. An idiom is semantically individual-centered, a grammatical license not analyzable in terms of the particular meaning of morphemes. However, idiomatic speech carries the thrust of group acceptability; it is used in the sense of a casual or ordinary way of speaking. Ecological practitioners, then, are students of spatial idiomatics by reason of their social science assignment: the nature of the group-making process. Second, linguists make a careful distinction (as they should) between pointing, signs, and symbols. This is crucial for our con-

26 / The Language and Validation of Space cern. Pointing occurs when one person directs the attention of another to something through an act which brings the second person's sense perceptions into contact with that which is being perceived. Pointing is the crudest form of communication. Certainly, it does not require words; it is merely a matter of one person intruding upon and initiating the perceptions of another. A sign, however, consists of recognizing the relationship of two or more events in nature. It is learned. The self does not invent the relationship when dark clouds are associated with rain. It is initially "out there" in the world. Finally symbols, like signs, are also learned. But there is an important difference. In symbol making, the relationship between the elements is arbitrarily invented by the self rather than existing "out there" in nature. The association between the events related by a symbol becomes its meaning, and a symbol becomes significant to us as we go about building its meaning. Put another way, a symbol is meaningful when we are able to invest meaning in it as a consequence of learning. All the world, we learn, is made up of things, signs, and symbols. This is the stuff which makes up the real or empirical world.7 And the Meadean symbolic interactionist joins the chorus by adding that the subjective aspect of the self is the actor, the "I" which initiates, plans, and experiences. The objective self is the "me" part of the actor—that which others observe, including such roles as student, parent, or Methodist. The "I" thinks about these roles and acts them out. (The "I" and "me" of human ecology will reappear in later chapters on commitment space and limited-liability space.) What the Greek philosopher Plato said about philosophers and kings may now be transposed for our purposes: when human ecologists become sociolinguists and sociolinguists learn to territorialize, then, and only then, will we have the theoretical base for the understanding and planning of personal and communal life. TERM-TALK AS THING-TALK

I have suggested that human ecology confine itself to the internalization of territory, recognizing that there are also such intangible objects as states and qualities, numbers, attributes, and classes. In short, human beings persist in breaking reality down somehow into a multiplicity of identifiable and discriminable objects, to be

Term-Talk as Thing-Talk / 27 referred to by singular and general terms. We talk so inveterately of objects that to say we do so seems almost to say nothing at all, for how else is there to talk? Even we who grew up together and learned English at the same knee, or adjacent ones, talk alike for no other reason than the fact that society coached us alike in a pattern of verbal associations to observable sensory cues. When we compare theories, points of view, societies, and neighborhoods on the score of what sorts of objects there are said to be, we are comparing them in a respect which itself makes sense only provincially. It makes sense only as far afield as our efforts to translate our domestic idioms and idiomatics of identity and quantification bring encouragement in the way of simple- and natural-looking correspondences. In this manner of doing ecology, when tending to our business, we are unlikely to find a very alien people with a predilection for a very· outlandish universe of discourse, just because the outlandishness of it would detract from the sense of patness of our territorial vernacular. Symbolic interactionists remind us that the maturation or socialization of the self involves acquiring the meaning in a simplistic sense of such objects as "mamma," "water," or "potty," mastering them quite well before comprehending the ins and outs of our adult conceptual scheme of mobile and enduring physical objects, with considerable sameness from time to time and place to place. Children can never fully master an object in its individuated use except as they get on with the scheme of enduring and recurrent physical objects. They could know the necessary and sufficient stimulatory conditions of every possible act of utterance and still not know how to determine what objects the speakers of the local language believe in. The transition from "individual" to "person" means the advent of "proper" notions of objects as spatiotemporal things. The newcomer to a group is prone to confuse signs with observable objects (those pointed out); for example, the distinction between a geographic neighborhood and a social neighborhood may be confused. Invoking E. A. Schegloff,8 locational terms, such as "here" or "there," are a class of things logicians call indexical expressions, terms whose referent varies with the context of their use. For the retrieval of their referent, a name or label is called for. But there are occasions when these terms are used as first references minus names and yet do not cause much difficulty. For example, such statements as "How are things there?" or "Things here are going

28 / The Language and Validation of Space well" do not elicit such responses as "How are things where?" or "What do you mean 'here'?" The point is this: one way in which a "solution" of these terms would be possible is to look to the locational formulation which the speaker supplies directly or by inference as being relevant. Such relational terms as "downstairs," "in front," "across the street" may be uttered. Accordingly, agreements to "meet downstairs" or to "wait in front," insofar as they yield successful meetings, indicate that we customarily relate to one another in an atmosphere of spatial vagaries. These objects are not explicitly formulated. Nonetheless, they are sufficiently relational to invite a comfortable search for them. The built-in shifting referent is not unduly anxiety-producing. For example, the term "home" has a shifting referent. Schegloff states that it is used not only for the house one normally occupies but also as an alternative term to a range of others. One can be glad to be home when one returns to the United States, one's mountain valley, one's house, etc. Indexical expressions, then, may range across the entire communicative spectrum, from pointing to sign making to symbolism. The process of building object attributes is, at the outset, accompanied by no clue as to the circumstances under which attributes may be said to be the same or different. This is perverse, considering that the very use of terms as well as acts of identifying objects are unrecognizable to begin with, except as keyed in with idioms of sameness and difference. What occurs is that at first we learn general patterns of term-talk and thing-talk (your neighborhood versus my neighborhood) with the help of the necessary adjuncts of identity—lawns, curbs, fences, mothers. Afterward we project or immerse these well-learned grammatical forms into the attributes without settling identity for them. We understand the forms as referential just because they are grammatically analogous to ones that we learned earlier, for physical objects, with full dependence on the identity aspect. This building of our language field is clearly provincial in the sense that there is no universal basis for translating it into remote languages—it would never condone defining physical identity in terms of verbal behavior. Even for English, there is insufficient sameness of meanings to allow for identical object-conduct. To the ecological practitioner we say: imagine a field and the things in it. This is a reality. However, the field is not yet space and the things in it are not objects or bona fide props. Things appear as objects only under certain special restrictions as the social logic of

Space Causation as Metaphor / 29 a language. Under these restrictions the things may be and appear as kinds of objects, and the field they appear in may be a kind of space. These are then said to be actual, not simply real. With the mode of awareness being controlled observation, things are actualized as physical objects qualified by observable properties. And concomitantly, with "observable properties" being an interpretive exercise, the determinable field becomes as determined as physical space. Thus the social logic expressing things in this view of them is at base the inductive-hypothetico-deductive logic of science. All objects are in this manner duly accounted for, that is, actualized. Items in the physical environment may not be considered "objects" for any ecological study until the subject-object distinctions are brought forward; they are simply presented in the field for elemental notice. Accordingly, things do not intrinsically bear the properties of self-explanation. (Likewise, it is impossible to say anything that is absolutely particular.) Objects do, however, because they are assigned objectives, "plans of action" in the Meadean vernacular. I am reminded of little girls in Chicago, in the forties, skipping rope and actualizing a famous upper-class department store by the chant: All young ladies With high heels Buy their shoes At Marshall Fields Critically observing things as a special kind of awareness or form of attention is a matter of taking a really good look at real things. A real look at a campus homecoming queen tells a young man that this two-legged thing is not just 90 percent water and 10 percent mineral salts but a sex object. Likewise, being objective about a thing called terrain is, for the human ecologist, an equally complex procedure of observing and imagining. SPACE CAUSATION AS METAPHOR

Over the past five decades, the parade of such conscientious ecologists as Robert Park, Ernest Burgess, Amos Hawley, Walter Firey, Leo Schnore, and Otis Duncan has marched to the tune of Durkheimianism. Places and things are presented as social facts which

30 / The Language and Validation of Space in their symbolic form exist outside of humans—as externalities. These objects do, no doubt, restrain individuals. And, while it is likewise true that these externalities emerge out of collective life, the ecologists have failed to take our physical surroundings seriously as symbolic things constantly implemented through ongoing conversations. If they assert that space influences conduct, then, after Durkheim, this is to speak metaphorically. To avoid conflict, said Durkheim, it is necessary that groups have a determined portion of space assigned to them; that is, it is necessary that "space in general be divided, differentiated, arranged, and that these divisions and arrangements be known to everybody."9 Then, he added, "Consequently things can no longer be contained in the social moulds according to which they were primitively classified; they must be organized according to principles which are their own, so logical organization differentiates itself from the social organization and becomes autonomous" (the italics are mine).10 That mobilized or shared meanings constitute a universe of discourse, that the meaning of places and things is in their use, and finally that the meaning of symbols resides in the responses made to them were not of Durkheim or his "ecologizing" disciples. They are unlikely to respond favorably to the claim that a person is quite capable of transforming the collective dialogue about a place by making crucial unanticipated responses to the symbols that have become conventionally established with respect to it. The interpretive capacity of the individual allowing for unanticipated relationships with space is what contemporary human ecology is (or should be) all about. In the intriguing game of life, individuals as interpreters may wittingly or unwittingly misformulate the conceptual meaning of any spatial symbol. Hence the generalization: in complex places actors can never be certain of their own next action. But, with Durkheim and his contemporary ecologists, communication is either collision or action in parallel. Tied to the Durkheimian paradigm, they have never quite grasped the essence of territoriality as communication, as conversation or transaction. Human ecology would remain concerned with space as a platform for demographic or dramaturgical studies. The turf is only a container for the study of individual human particles. While, indeed, the discipline hints at my ontology, its members only feign to embrace it in their expositions. Theirs is the notion that our ways of positing objects and conceiving nature may be best appreciated for what they are by

Lebensraum versus Devitalized Space / 31 standing off and seeing them as a cosmopolitan background. But the notion comes to nothing. For, as we shall see, patterns of talk and logic tend to be object-directed; the physical stage becomes an integral element of thinking, talking, and group making. LEBENSRAUM VERSUS DEVITALIZED SPACE

Human ecology, when cast as territorial sociolinguistics, demands that practitioners sensitize themselves to the way human beings conceive of territory instrumentally, as malleable by will. It is as if there is an infusion of will into the very act of looking (remember Francis Bacon). Things are experienceable this way. To take a good look at spacing is to see what these spaces are good for, what intention or design they do or might embody, to what end. The data of the ecologist are those object-places as potentials or portents under a plan. The spatial plan and the active will to believe behind it legislate over things as data in the region. We are talking about Lebensraum, the space of vital action, doing well or ill, right or wrong. This kind of space is to be distinguished from the devitalized space studied by those whom I have labeled platform ecologists. The expression of things in Lebensraum has a primary imperative and valuational sense from the ground up, even when employing terms for what counts as a description in that area. And, without a special language and its supportive logic, there is no special distinction between places. (This reminds me of Louis Wirth's favorite axiom: "If it doesn't make any difference, there isn't any difference.") Human ecologists, then, need to be talked and educated into a categorical way of looking. They must learn about that language whose social logic structures the space in which they eventually see the data relevant to that mode of expression. By our platitudes, idiomatics, slogans, and body language, we are pointing a cultural finger. Language, that is, simply lifts out of the territorial process a situation which is logically or implicitly there already. Ecologists, as good listeners, will thus be able to see something as something, under the category of attention. The speaker is conveying the fact that he or she has something special in view. Something is there, in a perfectly good sense of "there," to be shown and seen, even though an observer, however sharp in scientific perception, may not be able to see it with his or her special language and logic. In

32 / The Language and Validation of Space this sense, the ecologist must practice the avoidance of thinking something about places and things. Positively stated, the thinking with its language determines for experience an aspect of the thing. It appears as a physical object. What was simply a determinable real thing is now observed as an actual determinate object, of the categorical kind called physical. And this does not mean that the term "physical" designates an observable and therefore an empirical property. "Physical" and "observable" are not empirical terms but categorical, defining what it is to be empirical. In this context, ecological empiricists (classical, neoclassical, social, autecological, synecological, whatever their bent) need the metempirical term "observation" to ground them in the way special to science. A simple uncontrolled noticing or accounting will not substitute for observing. TOWARD SENSITIZING CONCEPTS

When human ecology moves toward a science of the language of space, it will be necessary to generate a conceptual language field. Recall the self-restricted language field of the Chicago School as it directed the consciousness toward one constellation of standards and purposes: urban peoples and their dramaturgical "niches." Contrary to the plea of psychological ecologists Irwin Altman and Ε. Ε. Lett11 that progress be made toward a generic behavior-criterion language in pursuit of patterns, systems, interchangeable parts, compensatory action, and integration (their terminology), a new territorial ecology cannot achieve its objectives through the promotion of standard terminology. Even the broadest of concepts gradually lose their clear meanings. The once clear distinctions between "concentration and dispersion," on the one hand, and "centralization and decentralization," on the other, are now so muddied that they are tortuous terms in contemporary parlance. In the social sciences, Everett C. Hughes once remarked, you cannot go away and leave a concept for a minute without finding it different when you come back. Building a language field of sensitizing concepts, like the spatial grammar to which they refer, is everlastingly vulnerable to rearrangement and destruction. Territorialists cannot stop communicating about their observations. They are the stuff of life. Like the labeled objects around which people build their personal and collective life styles, so with the concepts of

Toward Sensitizing Concepts / 33 Table 1. Suggestive Sensitizing Concepts and Spatial Idiomatics for a Language Field Spatial Idiomatics Sensitizing Concepts Preference field Expediential space Refracted space Temperocentric space Information space Vested-interest space Limited-liability space Front vs. back space Situational field Nesting place Spatial contingency Cultural islands Charter-member peoples Extraterritoriality

"Consecrate the land" "Well-grounded" "Potbelly stove" "Canal people" "Pill hill" "Hallowed ground" "Place under the sun" "Seat of activity" "Woman's place" "Working space" "Territorial integrity" "Sphere of influence" "Promised land" "Tight little island"

ecology—we all put different degrees of feeling and mood into what we say. Sensitizing concepts are needed, but they will never stay put. Until such language is brought into being, revealing the rolling, reciprocal relations between people and space, the field of human ecology will remain short on explanation and long on spatial historicism. This does not mean that the language field is condemned to eternal vagueness. To the contrary, sensitizing concepts can be tested, improved, and refined through expository writing, the elucidation of real-life territorial experiences.12 Table 1 lists a number of potential sensitizing concepts, "sensitizing" in the sense of being linked to a logic of discovery. The kinds of idiomatics to which these concepts might refer are also listed at random. They are only suggestive in nature. Slogans and epithets are the materials out of which territorial sensitizing concepts are made. When we speak, for example, of yesterday's porches becoming today's decks, an exploratory concept is needed to keep us from falling into the trap of spatial historicism or linguistic reporting about emerging euphemisms in our grammar. The latter is a delightful game but accomplishes little. For example, an anthropological linguist wrote a titillating newspaper article about how coffins have become caskets, an ass is now

34 / The Language and Validation of Space a donkey, a cock a rooster, a funeral parlor a funeral chapel, a privy a restroom.13 But only through sensitizing concepts can the ecologist probe for explanations of our intriguing spatial idiomatics, how they color the depths of human consciousness, dominate our perceptions, organize our categories of thoughts, and incorporate a philosophy of existence. As social scientists, we must, furthermore, aspire to a predictive posture through posing such questions as, Who has the naming power of places and their supporting props? Who can give a name and make it stick? In conclusion, the social-fact paradigm, serving as the theoretical underpinning of human ecology, has failed to answer our basic question: how do people tie themselves to the land? The social-definition paradigm is suggested as a sounder base for the revitalization of the discipline, appropriately linked to the conversation of symbols. Without a perspective that embraces the territorial language field, the shout that human ecologists are merely doing sociology under another name will become louder.

3 / The Power of Place

Different places on the face of the earth have different vital effluence, different vibration, different, chemical exhalation, different polarity with different stars: call it what you like. But the spirit of place is a great reality. —D. H. Lawrence Turning our attention to the direction in which a new ecology must move if it is to overcome the present errors of our thinking, a word of caution is necessary at the outset: my theorizing supplies no quick capsulization, no nutshell summaries, no easy definitions of how territoriality works as a cognitive method. The whole purpose is, to put it bluntly, to jar ecological thinking out of the rutlike grooves in which it moves with least resistance. Fully intending to rub thinking patterns against the grain, I will, no doubt, rub many readers the wrong way as I focus on the problems of the subject, the turf, and the relationship between the two. Please be mindful that mine is not a grand theory. For, in a discussion of space as an emergent thing, I am but supplying a partial approach to or explanation of social organization, with no intent toward territorial reductionism or closure. Closure of a theory means that, within its intended scope of application, all relevant variables are specified, that, since it is a completely closed system, it is not necessary to preface all propositions with "all other things being equal . . ." ' I am only positing the proposition that territoriality has a strength in group making, group solidarity, and embraces both sociological and social psychological dimensions. THE PARADIGM

My paradigm is this. First, the objective, observable act is the focus, clearly and operationally defined. How human beings go about encompassing the spatial world about them becomes the allpervading question.

36 / The Power of Place Second, human acts are explained by linking them to the antecedents or impellers which we call personal motives, attitudes, preferences, and wishes. The assumption here is simple enough: we must honor the initiative of the self on the grounds that, technically speaking, only the person thinks about, imagines, and recalls experiences. And, with everyday experiences being distinctive and unique in character (nonduplicative), each of us is an acknowledged interpreter of our relationships with the environment. Of course, we are each socialized selves, indirectly constrained by the norms of our affiliations. Only in a qualifying sense, therefore, does a self stand above its groups. We act primarily (and I use this word advisedly) out of the dictates of our life organization. Performing within two universes, the social organization and the life organization, we only appear as free spirits as we negotiate our physical surroundings. We are simply acknowledging the enterprising, inquiring nature of the human mind. Nothing more. Therefore, those old arguments about first and proximate causes, as to whether the self or the group is sovereign, are moot or fictitious. I am invoking Charles Cooley: the separate individual is an abstraction unknown to human experience; likewise, the group is an abstraction. Therefore, all debates on nominalism versus realism are spurious, false starts. And certainly Durkheim's admonition that what is social enjoys a higher dignity than what is individual is unconvincing—as absurd as its reciprocal. Conduct is to be explained within a continuum, a two-way street, in which personal and social values reside as mutual influentials, in which each is a product of the other. However, one fact we cannot ignore out of hand: since the self is both an imaginative interpreter and a bearer of group norms, one is compelled to honor the person as an initiator of things and places. Third, my paradigm explains the territorial act by linking it to the sustaining qualities which we variously call shared plans, significant symbols, and images. At this stage, the linking process is accomplished within the perspective and language of some community. That is, the community, in concert with its quasi-autonomous members, directly and indirectly sets limits on possible mental objects. It is the group in the broader sense that reifies and sustains the language of space, making things into objects, signs into symbols; only through language is the self articulated. At this point the meaning of a significant object becomes public ; that is, the lands and the things upon them come to mean what the com-

The Paradigm / 37 munity says they mean. Indeed, the self will persist in thinking about, planning, anticipating, even constructing alternative responses, but it does so within the perspective and language of some group whose definitions and norms it recognizes and is responsive toward. Failing this predisposition, it readily calls into play its own repertoire of things-made-meaningful. Fourth, with an absolute self and an absolute society being metaphysical fictions when operating in isolation, each apart from the other, in our pursuit of an explanation of social organization we address the principle of countervailance as the reconciling, interfacial, accommodative process for the comprehension of territorial behavior and of any other kind of behavior, for that matter. Fifth, my paradigm ascertains the presence or absence of those antecedents and qualities through measurement instruments. The instruments are to be tested for their validity through the judgmental presence or absence of the territorial variable. And, inasmuch as a subjective theory necessitates a subjective methodology, the most compatible and rewarding field techniques will be constructed out of sensitizing concepts geared to Operation verstehen. Now, I have already indicated that not every human act is sufficiently territorial to proclaim that ecology studies everything that people do. Many acts involving status, kinship, and ideology are not so profoundly territorially based that human ecology may be equated with the sum of social science. In other words, if our territorial concept is ambiguous, if our broad theory of which it is a part is of dubious validity (that is, if such territorial stances do not cause or precondition certain kinds of behavior), then it is clear that our sensitizing instrument does not predict the hoped-for consequences. In such an instance, we are obliged to pack up our ecological tool kit and move to new exploratory settings. When our territorial instruments, then, fail to indicate causal congruence with specific social acts—for example, when a back fence fails to predict a spite fence—we are without an ecological problem. Throughout, the field procedure must logically imply the territorial theory of which our sensitizing concepts are a vital part. And all ecologiste must be predisposed to retire to their drawing boards to develop more valid concepts that imply the instrument necessary to indicate territorial causation. When, for example, does the old dictum about physical barriers serving as social barriers fail the test of reality and demand new reflections on boundary making?

38 / The Power of Place Is the paradigm possible? Of course, but not solely through the hit-or-miss device of contriving such inductive field instruments as case histories, interviews, or survey scales. The building of future indicators of territorial behavior must begin by clarifying such old ambiguous concepts as segregation, invasion-succession, centralization-decentralization, and dominance and by introducing new ones. Until our investigative concepts about spatial formation become viable (socially relevant), we must lay aside the temptation to try the sterile techniques currently borrowed from demography and social area analysis in the hope that enduring knowledge about territorialism will emerge. And, while such plausible sensitizing concepts as "preference field," "expediential space," "refracted space," and "temperocentric space" invite amplification and the test of their reliability, the most fundamental, pervasive term is "anticipation." For when we note how people band and disband we may be struck by the situational nature of the collective act, suggesting that group activity goes on under conditions set by the physical world and by the network of sundry forms of collective action in which it is embedded. Whatever the participants in the action may want to do, they are usually constrained to choose among those alternatives deemed achievable by them. Collective action is thus caught up in the matrix of their individual as well as their shared desires plus the perceived conditions under which they would act. And the seriousness with which people define the territorial condition is where the watchful eye of the ecologist comes into focus. By the term "territorial perspective," I mean the coordinated set of ideas and actions which a person or a group uses in dealing with some object-related problem. I am speaking of a person's ordinary way of thinking and feeling about and acting in physically geared situations. These thoughts and actions are coordinated in the sense that conduct flows reasonably within the territorial or object-related perspective. Accordingly, the sociological observer is made aware of a given idea as one of a set of ideas forming the rationale for the person's actions. In turn, one builds one's justification for acting within this appointed place upon this perspective. Territoriality is, then, a compelling ingredient (among others) in social science theory because it refers to experiences (or parts of experiences) in which we have some continuing interest. It is a "causal thing" because this seemingly inanimate stuff carries an interpretive content. Needless to say, it is pure nonsense to con-

The Paradigm / 39 ceive of the land, and the objects upon it, as intrinsically causal forces for human conduct. These things may touch our nerve endings and arouse reflexive responses, but this is not meaningful action. The formula of analysis is, then, that under given territorial conditions, partly socially created, we work out collective modes of action or perspectives. Thus a geographical area is transformed into a sociological problem. For example, what kinds of perspectives or images do retired couples create to cope with their physical and mental health infirmities under conditions known as Arizona planned villages for the aged? To summarize, if we are to face up to the challenge of reconstructing ecological theory, we must go about our work through the building of sensitizing concepts, always mindful that these are mere postulates rather than field-tested propositions. Ours is a dialectic born of the empirical world, not of pure logic. Seeking to build a new ecology deductively is a most hazardous enterprise, because (1) the formulations presented will most assuredly arouse imminent criticisms from those ecologists who would protect their orthodoxic vineyards and (2) the concepts and categories proposed are supplied in a truly scientific spirit of self-destruction. I would follow the scientific spirit of the Chicago School but pronounce their concepts moribund. There, my mentors taught me that concepts, like quicksilver, slip through your fingers just when you try to grab hold, that the field testing of deductively derived concepts will always prove irritating. In fact, it becomes damn maddening. But the exposed contradictions in our concepts, far from being shortcomings, are the marks of their truth, because reality is itself contradictory; and any attempt to simplify them cannot help but do them violence. And I mean this literally, not just figuratively. To be quite blunt, our whole concept of rational thought in human ecology, as the striving for systematized, fixed, and absolutely secure knowledge, is not "natural" but neurotic, an ontological need. Eliminate everything which is "other" or "nonidentical"! This kind of conceptual structuring, which leads to faulty sociologizing, directly parallels the "structure" of society— which is itself faulty to the core. Is it any wonder that sociology, then, generates so much mental discomfort? The mind which refuses to accept contradiction is like the society which condemns nonconformity as deviant behavior,· the theory which cannot tolerate leaving anything outside its grasp is like the society which

40 / The Power of Place coopts protest, the welfare state which obliterates the private sphere. The logical positivists, who now predominate in human ecology, in their search for pure spatial models of humankind, imply an abhorrence of particular content. One speculates as to their willingness to destroy our broad discipline, to resort to genocide, in order to eradicate the nonidentical, our individual differences. We can build a usable theory in human ecology only to the extent to which it connects fruitfully with the empirical world. In fact, with concepts in sociological theory being distressingly vague, we must supply the sense of our concepts by the use of appropriate illustrations, something I have endeavored to do throughout this volume. Caution must be exercised, nonetheless, for fear that our concepts will be taken for granted on the basis of the concrete illustrations. The demise of the Chicago School was the result of this entrapment. Thus we are led to the critical question of whether definitive concepts are suited to a study of the empirically territorial world. The answer is no. Concepts of the past as well as their replacements of today serve us best when they are fundamentally sensitizing instruments. After Herbert Blumer, the empirical world of our discipline is the natural social world of everyday existence. Our concepts are sensitizing because of the distinctive character of the empirical instance. We can only infer the correspondence between concept and empirical instance. Aware of the capriciousness of human action, we must rely on general guides and not on fixed objective traits. Does this mean that this state of affairs condemns us to remain forever in a state of vagueness? No, our sensitizing concepts can be tested, improved, and refined. Their validity can be estimated by selecting relevant features of empirical instances which are found not to be covered by the concept. Sensitizing concepts, says Blumer, can be refined by a "careful and imaginative study of the stubborn world to which such concepts are addressed." They can be formulated and communicated by "exposition which yields a meaningful picture abetted by apt illustrations which enable one to grasp the reference in terms of one's own experience."2

A S P I R A T I O N S : THE CAUSAL NEXUS

Earlier, I indicated how traditional ecological perspectives are no longer adequate tools for the analysis of how we use our land. Eco-

Aspirations I 41 logical processes were based on models of eighteenth-century freeenterprise economics, in the main. Material, economic, and technological forces were felt to be the most compatible to any change, while religious, artistic, ethical, and other nonmaterial forces were judged either antagonistic or indifferent in the spatial equation. I suggest that this kind of presupposition is fallacious on the grounds that there is no a priori consonance between material values as they penetrate a way of life. While some students of land use might point to instances where economic values penetrate first, while for others it is the technological, I assert that several different categories of values enter a scene simultaneously but with varying degrees of impact. This approach is analogous to understanding and managing a symphony orchestra, in terms of simultaneous knowledge of the individual instrument sections as well as of the totally integrated unit.3 The economic activity of a place cannot be meaningfully factored out of the "rights" and "duties" of persons. A term such as "labor economics" becomes a quality of such general sociological concepts as status and expectations. In fact, the entire province of economic productivity within a region yields to the qualitative restrictions of time and place. An "honest day's work" as it involves automobile mechanics must be put to the same test with, say, civil servants. Thus to generalize about locale in such economic terms as "labor," "enterprise," "wealth," and "income" is to overlook the intruding variations in a free-market system by nation and region. Consider the West Indies, for example. The price of sugar is fixed by governmental regulation, island by island. Collectively, the islanders depend upon a controlled economy. And this is compounded (and here is my point) by the phenomenon known as leisure for the present. In Antigua, income aspirations are weak and desires for leisure are strong; thus the economic structure is woven into the matrix of ideologies. One might say that incentives for income as well as for leisure are seldom uniform but ride above and below a median axis. Students of the Lesser Antilles will usually assert that most agricultural workers feel no social stigma in living at or close to subsistence level and are somewhat inclined to offer less labor when income-incentive programs are imposed by their employers.4 Accordingly, any "economic area" is interlaced with the aspirations of those who would prosper by occupying it. The configuration of human hopes and values makes up a territorial mind-set. When shared, these hopes, beliefs, and doctrines come to

42 / The Power of Place be known as ideologies and become weapons of an offensive or a defensive nature, even of escape, and carry a body of principles.5 The shades of difference found among the islands of the West Indies disrupted British efforts at federation, leading to a chaotic conglomeration of tiny island-states. And each island's ideology loses its significance when taken out of its spatial context. One more illustration should suffice. Observe how foreign-service officers are rotated "home" every few years in order to regain their proper slant on things. This is, at base, a refresher course, a matter of maintaining discipline as well as morale. The home office, by programming this rotation, says that the consular officials not only get their bearings but sustain their capacity for collective action within the foreign policy. Social problems such as overpopulation, racial and ethnic crowding, and border disputes between nations, counties, towns, and neighborhoods call for the involvement of a newer breed of ecologists than have been observed over the decades. They would center on the subjective-cognitive, anticipatory factors of spatial struggles and accommodations. With cultural and political frontiers in constant misalignment with established spatial frontiers, ecologists must face up to the broader territorial challenges. Old concerns with spatial models of the "pigeonholed" individual6 must yield to interpretive analyses of the refracted, temperocentric, expediential individual. Descriptive models which place social types of people within concentric zones, sector zones, and social areas represent fine pioneering efforts. Unfortunately, when putting these schemes to work in social predictions, in the reduction of intergroup tensions, we find that they are of little use. This predicament stems from the tendency to relegate the territorial base to a mere deck or context within which a particular kind of demographic or community problem might be investigated. The third step of my paradigm, the spatial context itself, is seldom the object of inquiry. Yet, while ordinary citizens go about developing their space to an almost unbelievable extent, ecologists have been treating the turf as they might treat sex: it is there but they don't talk much about it. Regional ecologists, or macroecologists, may someday team up with other sociologists concerned with matters of race, class, and age grading and together assess the importance of such places as cultural islands, charter-member areas, and ethnicpolitical arenas as exemplified by Israeli Jews, French Canadians, Utah Mormons, South Boston Catholics, and New York Puerto Ricans as they kindle collective action.

Suggested Problem Areas of Inquiry / 43 S U G G E S T E D P R O B L E M A R E A S OF I N Q U I R Y

Prompted by the proposition that without valuations we have no interest, no sense of relevance or of significance, and consequently no object, I suggest six territorial problems for the new territorialists. First, territorialists of the urban scene should gear their studies to the question, What kinds of urban things or places are people territorial about? In 1961, Marc Fried and Peggy Gleicher pointed the way when studying residential satisfactions in a Boston slum: In categorizing the qualitative aspects of responses to two questions which were analyzed together ("How do you feel about living in the West End?") we distinguished three broad differences of emphasis among the positive replies. The three large categories are: (1) integral belonging: sense of exclusive commitment, taking West End for granted as home, thorough familiarity and security; (2) global commitment: sense profound gratification (rather than familiarity), pleasure in West End and enjoyment; and (3) discrete satisfaction: specific satisfying or pleasurable opportunities or atmosphere involving no special commitment to this place. Only a small portion (13 per cent) express their positive feelings in terms of logically irreplaceable ties to people and places. They do so in often stark and fundamental ways: this is my home,· it's all I know; everyone I know is here; I won't leave. A larger group (38 per cent) are less embedded and take the West End less for granted but, nonetheless, express an allencompassing involvement with the area which few areas are likely to provide them again. Their replies point up a less global but poignant sense of loss: it's one big happy family; I'll be sad; we are happy here,· it's so friendly. The largest group (40 per cent) are yet further removed from a total commitment but, in spite of the focused and discrete nature of their satisfaction with the interpersonal atmosphere or the convenience of the area, remain positive in feeling.7 Fried and Gleicher were faithfully reporting the spatial experience both as a general thing and as a collective of specific spaceparts. This kind of research, needless to say, is fundamental in planning for urban needs, this because being social in the course of a normal day plunges urbanites into a series of encounters tied to

44 / The Power of Place ecological props. The basic questions become, How are our physical referents taken into account and given a voice, and how do they comprise our social moorings? How does the vast spectrum of territorial imagery, from suburban developments, house types, street corners, curbs, and gutters to cemeteries, interplay with collective action and life styles? Pedestrian construction of "mental maps" of neighborhoods, towns, and cities is an everyday exercise undertaken by officials of agencies intent on defining problems and planning areas. Marked by shoddy sampling procedures and muddled instructions for citizen-respondents, these efforts comprise the pop symbolic ecology of our day. Consider the case of Los Angeles. In 1975, the Los Angeles City Planning Department, in the course of preparing its first citywide plan, decided that its objectives would be well served by asking citizens to spell out their image of the city. A small group of people was interviewed in each of five neighborhoods located in different communities of the metropolis. The people were asked not only to state their likes and dislikes of neighborhoods and surrounding areas but to trace on paper the boundaries of Los Angeles City. Dutifully, the authors of the study concluded that various territorial groups had widely different images of the city. But, by the time the study reached the public, all those mental maps, those qualified conclusions, were distorted by oversimplification. For example, the map makers of Newsweek led readers to believe that affluent Westwood considered the city and all of southern California to be one and the same—a false imputation (figure 1). One can only speculate as to the impact of this "research" on the eventual citywide plan. Classic axioms promulgated by urban scholars ("All we know about urbanites is their faces and their places"; "The greater the anonymity in the city, the greater the aggressiveness potential toward strangers") call out for documentation within the concept of spatial liquidity, that is, the rolling ties to location. The pursuit of exclusivity in the metropolis often weds security with opportunism, spatial barriers with bridges. Rephrased, doubtful identity is the expected if not the desired concern of vast numbers of urban inhabitants. The ethos of toleration, San Francisco's "culture of civility,"8 translates into ecological permissiveness. That is, turf or border building in the city calls for an accommodative relationship to difference, in which difference is permitted while concomitantly paying some minimal dues to the whole. This is the

Suggested Problem Areas of Inquiry / 45

1. The "mental map" of Los Angeles. norm of reciprocity bred into urban spaces, where territorial groups prize their peace and stability enough to make certain sacrifices which will enable all other groups to have a certain degree of satisfaction. Urban enclaves will take this view only when the accommodation leaves them enough of a share of the good things of life. To be sure, this spatial accommodation invites difficulties. The efforts by the citizens of Petaluma, California, to protect their version of the good things of life centered upon a territorial dilemma: the right to travel versus the right to local self-rule—to choose one's neighbors. This city of 30,000 residents claimed the right to limit its growth to five hundred new homes a year. After

46 / The Power of Place new subdivisions and shopping centers mushroomed growth from 14,000 to 25,000 between 1960 and 1970, the voters overwhelmingly approved a 1972 ballot initiative to check the expansion rate. While the building industry, in its court suit, questioned whether municipalities have the right to deny landowners use of their property, to deny developers investment and profit opportunities, the voters were simply proclaiming a community's right to control its own future. Thus the issue was, For whom does urban space speak, whose ox is to be gored in the pursuit of the good life? The Supreme Court decided in favor of the right to abide and settle, that is, the home-building industry. And the event serves to illustrate the contradictions and dilemmas that attend land-use rights—the holding power of space begins in our minds (the second step of my paradigm). Continuing, observe how such "stateless people" as Puerto Rican immigrants to New York City come to be labeled "displaced persons." The flight to the suburbs of part of the host population is a response to this spatial invasion. But the extraterritorial Puerto Ricans are but one type of stateless people. Consider how that territorial curiosity known as rights of asylum has pinned down small groups of people in urban embassies. These individuals may come to be defined as intruders, as in the case of American Embassy employees in Iran. And if they flaunt the local laws in their guest relationship they will become outlaws to their hosts. Refuge behind embassy walls may not be enough. This business of occupying an island within a metropolis under international law is an anachronism, a routine of living incongruous with one's surroundings. The right to use the local police to protect the movements of an unloved "guest" may be hard on the host population. This concept of diplomatic immunity dates back thousands of years to the practices and customs of the Hittites, the Babylonians, and some of the other earliest people whose records we have been able to read. Its purpose is to protect diplomatic officials and facilitate the conduct of relations between the nations, in the recognition that this works to mutual advantage. Unlike most other nations, the United States grants full immunity from criminal, civil, and administrative jurisdiction to everyone from ambassadors and their families to their private servants, whether on embassy business or on a personal outing. This law, enacted in 1790, was modeled on an English statute of 1708, the first acknowledgment of diplomatic immunity written into

Suggested Problem Areas of Inquiry / 47 Anglo-Saxon law. Unless waived by the embassy or foreign government involved, this immunity shields all embassy personnel from the consequences of acts which, if committed by ordinary citizens, would likely result in arrest, trial, and perhaps punishment. Even when immunity is waived, American citizens are reluctant to sue, and for good reason: anyone who wrongfully sues or criminally prosecutes a diplomat can be fined or sent to jail for as many as three years. Although not subject to United States jurisdiction, foreignembassy personnel are still expected to abide by the laws of the localities in which they reside. Most do. Others, however, take advantage of the special kind of hospitality our country offers in the way of diplomatic immunity. Not to be overlooked, the arrival of refugees from South Vietnam—people with diverse loyalties—into American cities has turned the turf into a preferred reservation of sorts, the immigrants enjoying subsidies often not available to unemployed or deprived natives. While they are stateless people, the shock derives from the realization that it is impossible for them to go home and it is probably impossible to transform them into nationals of the host society without turning them into a fresh racial minority. The second territorial problem, the territoriality of cultural revivals, calls for study. The indigenous North American Indians have a spatial problem that has become traditional. The situation is one of collision between empire-building Europeans and people of a simpler technology, living in small bands, in the main, and independent of great central political bodies. The Indians are a tribal people without cities and with enough grievances to keep their advocates everlastingly busy. Tuberculosis, poor diet, poor soil, illiteracy, racial discrimination on the streets, in industry, in the army, even in cemeteries, make the Indians a territorial problem in the same sense as the slum-dwelling European immigrants were a problem in their green horn days. As a true charter-member minority in spirit as well as by virtue of history, the reservation Indians are faced with how to reconcile the wish for space-defense with the wish for space-accommodation. Unlike the San Franciscans and their logic, Indians demand admission into the mainstream of the American economy without discrimination yet insist upon their right to insulate and isolate—to restore their native social order on their own land (French Canadians are suffering from the same problem). Thus a cultural revival within a complex society such as

48 / The Power of Place ours calls for territorial compromises of an agonizing nature. Hunting grounds and sacred burial grounds must be made compatible with, say, Exxon drilling rights and interstate highways. This is quite different from old history, in which dominant whites protected themselyes from a rebellious minority by defining border rights for a corralled people. Today we are faced with a revivalistic minority insisting that they possess the original rights to land use and its imagery.9 The term "situational territoriality" is a plausible sensitizing concept for the understanding and resolving of this kind of problem. It means nothing more than saying that we shall sidestep the dilemma of seeking simultaneously to build yet destroy borders, this through the device of space collaboration. Tribal revivalism, as a racial problem, must not frustrate class opportunism,· for example, Anglo South Dakotans may oppress local Indians but still establish dozens of schools to help them climb. Thus, in spite of sociospatial segregation in inferior schools, in spite of discrimination in employment, some numbers of Indians may, ultimately, break into middle-class positions. Third, ecologists have done very little with empty space or open space. Unoccupied space frequently serves to separate contiguous but potentially antagonistic land uses or peoples. In 1925, Nicholas Spykman, discussing the sociology of Georg Simmel, wrote: Another spatial expression of specific sociological formation is the use of empty space for the purpose of expressing neutrality. Primitive peoples often laid waste a small strip of land between their territories and agreed that neither of the two groups was to enter that borderland. They relinquished the advantages which such an occupation would have accrued from the non-occupation by the opponent for their own defensive. The empty strip between them was the spatial expression of a relationship of armed peace, which might be formulated in the words: If you do not harm me, I shall not harm you. The neutrality of empty space obtains a different significance if, instead of merely separating the groups, it is used for positive services. Its function can be, not only to separate, but also to unite the groups. Meetings of individuals which cannot take place on the territory of either group may be arranged to take place on a neutral area. The neutral area in

Suggested Problem Areas of Inquiry / 49

2. The city block socially and geographically perceived. primitive times is the uninhabited region between the territories, occupied by the tribes. It is the place where the trading is done and where individuals potentially at war meet under conditions of peace. And the existence of that unoccupied empty space is the most characteristic expression of their peculiar relationship of potential antagonism.10 With unoccupied space capable of being made into either barriers or bridges, we become aware of the voice of the back fences, dark alleys, and thoroughfares that divide ethnic groups. A "slow" city street invites geographic neighbors to converge in a common preference field in contrast to communicating with householders over back fences. Most assuredly, subtle forms of segregation emerge from the way we delineate our blocks and streets (figure 2). From a planning standpoint, we should anticipate greater friction between hostile groups if they look across at one another from adjacent city blocks than if they reside on opposite sides of the same block, divided only by an alley or fence. Countless are the cases where two warring neighborhoods discover themselves in social contact with one another at the moment that an intermediate buffer group, peaceful with both antagonists, withdraws, creating an empty space (figure 3). Better put, it is a battleground. To the uninitiated, then, geographic city blocks may appear as symbolic social blocks, but the reality is decidedly a different configuration. City planners and civic leaders, when recognizing this fact, are faced with the problem of creating meaningful barriers in their efforts to minimize overt conflict between contiguous hostile groups. Three plausible alternatives may be considered: (1) reestablish a new buffer group between the two hostile forces, this

50 / The Power of Place

3. Hypothetical situation showing two hostile groups in conflict upon withdrawal of a buffer group. group acting as an honorable barrier; (2) construct a barrier in the form of a high wall, canal, or parkway, recognizing that partial destruction of the barrier does not destroy the symbolic implication,· (3) permit each hostile group to occupy opposite sides of the vacated space but allow the fronting streets to be "slow," by definition. Because neighborhood conflict is usually the consequence of actual or threatened spatial invasion, city officials should gain prior knowledge of the imagery involved. They must be mindful of the fact that a vacant lot is empty only to the degree that the antagonists concur with and abide by the rules of the game. Fourth, the entire province of territorial labeling begs investigation. There is a great deal in a name. Labels can point with pride. They can also lift the finger of scorn. They may carry a caricature description, emphasizing a given human trait, distorting another. When W. Lloyd Warner, author of the Yankee City Series, spoke of the people "down by the canal," he was conveying the reputation of a group by its low geographic elevation, the debasement associated with dirty waterways. But the folks who occupied "pill hill" were the elevated or enlightened people, the professionals in

Suggested Problem Areas of Inquiry / 51 their midst. Thus, while we may avoid places with bad names, likewise we may shun places with too nice a name ("Daffodil Lane"). Likewise, names for places, like sociological concepts, do wear out when social movements and fads lose their fervor, respectability, and substance. At base, ecologists must be made aware that territorial labels are not mere somethings that happen along with history but are guides in both social and spatial processes. As they record the lexicon of space, they must ask, Who has the naming power? Who can give a name and make it stick? Needless to say, the axes of the naming phenomenon are vital by color, age, sex, elevation, and ethnicity, among other measuring devices by which human beings relate to one another. The game of labeling can be quite subtle, as when condominium developers advertise their project as being situated on Sunset Point Road to convey the fact that they are appealing to couples in retirement. Labeling theorists would remind us that the words we use to identify things are not merely harmless but, in fact, shape and control experience to some degree. The labels that we use carry both denotative and connotative meanings, meanings which are both socially generated and shared and which, therefore, facilitate a common universe of discourse within a particular milieu. To label is to supply an identity. Fifth, the concept of the natural area must be reconstituted to embrace the entire ecological spectrum, from commitment spaces (chapters 4 and 5) to limited-liability places (chapter 6), from socialization to life styles. The one-directional, functional perspective of natural areas, so familiar in delinquency theory, as portrayed below, is defective by reason of its failure to explain the existence of noncomplying behavior: Ecological delinquency area Cultural transmission of delinquent traditions Delinquent behavior Differential association theory11 resolves this defect by acknowledging how the person is exposed to definitions of conduct other than those coercively embedded in a natural area. The determining factor for compliance or noncompliance with the socializing dictates of a natural area resides in the strength of the definitional options encountered by the person. This presence of options within natural areas is well stated by Edwin Sutherland and Donald Cressey: " O n e explanation of the presence of nondelinquents in areas of high delinquency is the limitation on contact with de-

52 / The Power of Place linquency patterns, even in the most delinquent areas. A delinquency area is seldom solidly delinquent; rather, there are certain streets or parts of streets on which at a particular time most delinquents reside, and on other streets the children may associate with each other in relative isolation from the behavior patterns of delinquents." 12 A movement away from the old natural area perspective is not an attempt to challenge the existence of concentrations of certain social behaviors occurring with a given urban area, as the proponents contended. The purpose here is to explain more specific and subtle social behaviors which occur within a particular area through the recognition of alternatives experienced within the self. Human beings are the ultimate designers of their own conduct, not simple reflectors of the physical characteristics of their environment. Even physicalist Amos Hawley acknowledged this fact: ". . . it does not follow, however, that habitat factors are the sole determinants of behavior,· the weight of evidence forces the conclusion that the physical environment exerts but a permissive and limiting influence. And even that influence differs with the extent to which man has advanced his technology/'13 Sixth, any concern with areal analysis leads the ecologist into questions about the edges of things, the frontiers of contact, how, for example, life becomes unnecessarily complicated when administrative borders fail to align themselves with cultural frontiers (chapter 7). As people build their social symbolisms in the areas which they occupy, perimeters of life collide, ranging from cautious, accommodative frontiers to combat zones. For example, in the southern states, whites consciously cross over to black districts to eat cracklins or hominy grits in local restaurants. Thus we tend to grow up cognizant of dietary borders, strange as it may seem. Of course, when two peoples meet, subjectively each may not care initially about the respective assessments, each toward the other; one's identification is completely absorbed in one group. But, with the inevitable probing contacts between strange groups, each way of life ceases to be completely external to the other (recalling Sumner's concept of ethnocentrism). And the first bone of contention is the land—for whom and for what plans of action does it speak? Here is where human ecology and cross-cultural sociology join. We are made aware of ensuing intergroup pressure tactics for the right to define land use. Space, with its natural and

Suggested Problem Areas of Inquiry / 53 artificial appurtenances, takes on "right" connotations with respect to clothes, diet, religion, even notions of thrift and hard work. In sum, when we talk about monopolies of practice in space, we imply those points where rights peter out. In the Israeli-Arab conflict, the world is witnessing a great territorial jump of people—"outsiders" seeking their "rightful place." Armed with technological, industrial, military, and ideological weaponry, the Jews comprise a set of ideas of who they are, what they have a right and calling to do, what God expects of them. They are establishing a cultural frontier, a one-institution province made up of commercial and industrial revolutionaries of sorts within a hostile territory. They are pioneers carrying an industrial economy into a nonindustrial one, all combined with strong religious overtones. Thus the economic competition is but one side of the ecological picture. For, when two peoples meet, not only does their technical knowledge collide but also their beliefs, sentiments, character styles, ways of working together, ambitions, guilts, and anxieties. This is the niche side of regional ecology— the crawling about of peoples on the surface of the earth. The disenfranchised Palestinians are a people removed for decades from their niche but stubbornly laying claim to the land—as charter members. In the Holy Land we are observing a territorial collision between (1) forces for flexibility in the political sphere and (2) forces for rigidity in the religious domain. Within Zionism (which means Jewish nationalism), there has always been tension between the political purpose of securing a homeland and the religious purpose of deepening the ancient traditions of the faith. In 1975, the Likud bloc in government used a religious rationale to bolster its contention that, in a settlement, Israel should not return the West Bank to the Arabs. The religious rationale was simple: God gave those lands, known from biblical times as Judea and Samaria, to the Jews. Ironically, the inflexible Likud bloc supported its territorial position with a religious fervor that aroused the religious, legitimizing posture on the Arab side. The late King Faisal of Saudi Arabia, champion of the Arab claim to repossess East Jerusalem, reportedly said: "The Jews have no Holy Places in Jerusalem. The so-called Temple of Solomon was carried away by the Romans when they conquered Palestine. Thus the Jews have no connection with the Holy City, they have no rights of presence in the city, or of rule there, and their feet should not tread within it."

54 / The Power of Place Frontiers of contact involve contests not only between national and cultural groupings but between institutions as well. Everett Hughes, in 1936, spoke of this: "They are not necessarily mutually exclusive in space, but have separate and observable seats or focal points of activity. The distribution of their adherents may be entwined with that of numerous other institutions. It is, indeed, precisely their seats of activity that meet the eye. The movements of people to and from them and their underlying connections with other institutions have, in each case, to be discovered."14 CONCLUSION

This excursion into new horizons for human ecology is rooted to the principle of countervailance, a theory of causal dynamics, stating that any force will start a chain of action moving in one direction or the other, as the case may be, with a speed depending first upon the complex of the initial push and second upon the interceding causal interrelations within the matrix. Thus the entire change configuration may either turn back on itself or enter an uncharted course. Territoriality is present in the mosaics of countervailing forces. Poverty areas, for example, may interlock with infanticide, which, in turn, may interact with life styles tied to sex, values attached to marriage, infants, masculinity, even sexual license. If the colliding force of any of these elements of change and social solidarity is heavy, its volatility can bend the flow of attention coursing along the mainstream toward the act we call living in poverty. Should a colliding force be an expression in the defense of the sanctity of life, it will blunt the established momentum. That is, the impetus of a poverty area may be lessened by this intervening counterforce. It is in this sense that the impersonal struggle for existence and human values, keyed to location, mutually interact, fuse, even cause each other. In the course of ecological events, we must acknowledge an uncrystallized and changing sociophysical base. Spatial change is both the product and the cause of continuous interforce pressures. The result is that the interacting forces are either moving or, if not moving, are in tenuous accommodation poised to move. When one force, be it felt economic deprivation, sexual interest, or religiosity, moves in one direction it tends to encroach on the course of some

Conclusion I 55 other force, with the result that movement is in the nature of pressure and as such encounters resistance, may be conducive to acceleration or acquiescence, that is, countervailence. Whenever such contacts are initiated, the entire mode of human relations changes. This bare statement merely sketches the fundamental problem for human ecologists—territorial phenomena are almost inherently disposed toward rearrangement. Perceived deprivations and compensations are more plausibly real, more amenable to planned efforts for change, when consigned to a spatial mooring. Clarity, specificity, the imputed authority of our reference models beg visibility of acts in their "expected places." The protocol in the physical anchoring of things and ideas is a key crucible in both group and self-legitimation.

4 / The Principle of Commitment: The Normative Model A man's rootage is more important than his leafage. —Woodrow Wilson We may now move forward from what has been stated earlier— that space is never uniform to the beholders, that the qualitative differences which divide and color it reside in the meaning of the experiences to the participants. Meanings must somehow be communicated from one participant to another and include the beginning and ending of activity within that space. It is a particular kind of relevant space, variously called commitment, expressive, or programmed space, that commands my attention in this chapter and the one that follows. THE BUILDUP OF COMMITMENT

In a credentials society such as ours, lack of territorial credits is often tantamount to nonexistence; at least, it invites some suspicion. A person can make certain claims on society with the proper territorial portfolio. In 1974 Douglas Hallett, aid to White House consultant Charles Colson, wrote in the Washington Post: When Elliot Richardson, a few years out of law school, was considering a job with Secretary of State Dean Acheson, Archibald Cox is reputed to have told him that he should establish himself at home first: "When I was in Washington," Cox said, "I always thought it was important to be from some place." Cox's nemesis, Richard Nixon, preaches a different sermon; Mr. Nixon proudly tells us he lay awake at nights as a boy listening to the trains and dreaming of how he would escape being from where he was. . . . Like many of us, Mr. Nixon has no heritage, religious or otherwise.1

The Buildup of Commitment / 57 The cliché "Home is wherever I hang my hat" still arouses concern, though mild. We like to ask of the stranger, "Where are you from?" because to territorialize another is to convey status distinctions, a legitimation or a footing for gaining entrance into the group.2 Accordingly, if we are to take the bond of territory seriously, as an element in group making, we must pay attention to the way people construct and confirm their spatial moorings and language. I am referring to the expressive model of conduct which emphasizes the gratification gained through actively identifying with the fixed community—the territorial pigeonholing via the normative manipulation of self and others. Self-expression, the acting out in appropriate places, provides the rewarding means for conveying one's feelings of group support. This view of territoriality may be distinguished from the assertion model (chapters 6 and 7), which views the person as a competitive achiever, developing, for a price, her or his own potential through judicious spatial involvement; the price paid is that of being labeled a territorial hybrid, a marginal affiliate, an ephemeral curiosity. There tends to grow up about a place, then, a mastering status, complete with a complex of auxiliary characteristics (age, sex, occupation, income, tenure, etc.) which come to be expected of its incumbents. These places of expression face vital survival problems in a mobile society when encountering newcomers—those neophytes, real and potential, who submit credentials that are not indigenous to it. In short, commitment places (religious shrines, opera houses, college fraternity houses) collide with trespassers and other interlopers who intrude with their self-aggrandizing life styles. The whole province of territorial empathy is an old one. The Chicago School tutored several generations of students in the measurement of the ecological process culminating in natural areas. This was done in a spirit of social discovery. As they sought to identify distinctive spatial microcosms (residential communities, ethnic enclaves), the proponents always had an eye to their eventual undoing and reformulation along new lines. And present-day ecologiste, like their predecessors, seek out "sense data" via questionnaires and surveys, those necessary data gained through talking and gesturing with others, not to overlook reports and documents found in libraries and city halls. Theirs has been a delightful and intriguing enterprise of constructing typologies of expressive

58 / The Principle of Commitment places. And they carry a conceptual heritage: Sorokin's sensateideational cultures, Tönnies' Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft, Riesman's distinction between inner-, other-, and tradition-directed personalities, not to overlook Goffman's distinction between front space and back space. But when we complain of how these models were formulated as pure or ideal types, disallowing contradictions, we conveniently substitute "constructed types" and call them "social areas." 3 In the main, this is a "social systems" approach to land use with slight concern for territoriality per se. The focus is upon social differentiation, positional differences which are denoted by measures of a series of characteristics of population aggregates. Peter Orleans has remarked: "While there is no denying that these population aggregates are located in ecological space and that their location may have consequences for their internal organization as well as their interdependence with the encompassing milieu, the aggregated characteristics of such populations are seen by Shevky and his students as more significant than their spatial location. Hence social area analysts are led to a formulation in which ecological space per se is of minor importance."4 In contrast, Stanford Lyman and Marvin Scott's typology of public territories, home territories, interactional territories, and body territories is a more representative effort at enunciating places of commitment in the true sense of their being carved out of space. Boundary delineation and normative associations are fundamentals: " . . . the opportunities for freedom of action—with respect to normatively discrepant behavior and maintenance of specific identities—are intimately connected with the ability to attach boundaries to space and command access to or exclusion from territories." 5 This construction of territorial systems suggests the impact of Talcott Parsons.6 Commitment ecologists seem to be saying: here is a place. It is a spatial ethos dedicated to curbing the open choice of means in order to sustain the actor's commitment to predefined goals. The commitment is born not of selfish interest for power or idolatry but for the security which accompanies the suppression of self-interest. Identification is emotional, nonrational. Accordingly, with means to ends coming to be ritualized and bureaucratized, the participant is trapped in what Max Weber called the irrationality of rationality: 7 the territorialized group becomes obsessed with protectionism and boundary delineation, a sustaining of commitment through the ritualization of means. But the pitfall of this

The Process of Spatial Coding / 59 view of reality is profound: with the dedication to the building of special histories through the encapsulation of space, the special pleadings to return to Zion, the initiative of the member to meet the vicissitudes of human events is thwarted. This process of territorial encapsulation of conduct is what Joyce Hertzler called the registering of consciousness, where experiencing is a matter of effecting and affecting, recalling, imagining, and reflecting. The product is one of spatial experiencing, the constructing of meaning as a necessary attribute of objects experienced. And, he emphasized, the sharing of abstract elements of things is gained through language.8 Language makes possible the invention of space. Produced in our minds, the spatial environment is a creative construct, an interpretive frame allowing for a wide range of commitment. Through the communicative tool of language we are in a position to share experienced space, modifying it at will. Those of us who have struggled to learn a foreign language fully understand that the activity is more than mere memorizing or translating—it involves gaining the subtle nuances of meanings. The idiomatics of the language often prove our undoing because they convey the peculiar qualifications of the culture in relating to things. The abundance or lack of adverbs indicates the range of territorial shadings. Thus the language we speak is fundamental to the way in which we interpret and commit ourselves to the spatial and temporal world. Objects are made into markers, boundaries, units of measurement, in short, guideposts. This complex business of conceptualizing things by means of symbols, all of our labeling and naming, entails verbalizations. Hence the generalization: language makes possible the controlling of space, the proper contact with it. Through the language of commitment we reveal to our associates where we stand, our degree of involvement. THE PROCESS OF SPATIAL CODING: SITE TO SITUATION

Human beings, in ordering up their everyday lives, code their spaces. Places are made into settings, sites into situations. This building up of meaningful places is not easy to describe because our very language gets in the way. But we do make earnest efforts to obliterate any division between linguistic and social categories.

60 / The Principle of Commitment And communication about space takes on processual characteristics in which the speaker first takes in stimuli (senses something) from the physical environment, then evaluates these stimuli in the light of personal history and cultural background. Our norms, socially and personally derived, determine the speaker's selection of communicative options for encoding intent. The process is not structured or lockstep, disallowing exceptions. As with the descriptive literature on child development, so in describing here the continuum toward territorial commitment I am fully aware of exceptions to the rule; that is, where the situational demands are so great we make compromises with site characteristics. Thus my observations are presented as generalizations and not as immutable laws. The crudest, most simplistic, and most preliminary identification with space is situs coding, the awareness of the intrinsic physical attributes or elements of the environment as best we can discern them. Professional geographers have, until recently, made this their chief stock-in-trade: the physical site is an immutable thing, an externality, toward which all of us must adapt. Thus irregularities in topography dictate crooked streets; a river flowing through a city will invariably congest the traffic at bridge crossings. Industrial and commercial establishments will concentrate on edges of navigable streams. We are reminded that most great cities of the world—Buenos Aires, Ottawa, Berlin, for example— are seaports or are founded on rivers, thereby giving the populace ready access to the sea. Students of urban economics and geography are expected to include Charles Cooley's break-in-transportation theory9 because it shows how great commercial cities grow up around crossroads, beginning as mechanical breaks, followed by commercial breaks. City planners speak of how level stretches in cities invite railroads, airports, and highways, if not factories and office buildings, while the more rugged terrain provides sites for the better residential sections. Thus the amount of level land in and around the city often determines whether the master plan will be cramped or replete with parks and wide streets. Economist Homer Hoyt, in his sector zone theory of urban growth, insisted that the most prosperous homeowners (technically, rentpayers) prefer high ground in order to avoid the threat of floods and stagnant air.10 However, students of situs coding, like the rest of us who live in the physical world, sooner or later come around to the realiza-

The Process of Spatial Coding / 62 tion that this approach is highly preliminary, tentative, and smacks of hollow thinking. Now, this is not to deny that our physical base is a precursor, a forerunner of our predilections. It is only to say that, interpretively, we are disposed to make all sites into situations or settings and that these are forever subject to reformulation. A city site may be selected in the interest of protection from invaders, for military strategy, and only incidentally for commercial purposes. Paris and Copenhagen were situated on islands for this particular purpose. Siena, Pistoia, and Viterbo, old cities of Italy, were situated on hilltops and protected the surrounding territory, which in turn supplied food and raw materials for the urbanites. Yet, as the military function diminished and commercial activity increased, these cities either made adjustments or suffered declines. When two sites are interpreted as having almost equally advantageous situations, the better site can be more advantageously developed. In those instances where a poor site is of a compelling nature in, say, sea transportation, people will divert to some better site for those communal activities deemed normal. The Eritrean cities of Massaua and Asmara, by the Red Sea, are illustrative. Massaua, on the water's edge, has a small population although it is the key port for greater Ethiopia. But, having defined the humid temperature as debilitating, the bulk of the population involved with Massaua's trade resides in the capital city of Asmara, about forty miles inland and high on the Abyssinian plateau, where the altitude of 7,765 feet makes for comfortable living. Transactions between the two cities are conducted by telephone, mail, cable car, and truck, in the main. It is not surprising, therefore, for a family in Massaua to look forward to the time when it may move to the high country. Physical site, then, becomes enmeshed with valuations pertaining to time, cost, convenience, physical comfort, ambition, and success. Although Santos, Brazil, is one of the world's great coffeeexporting ports, workers who can afford to do so live in São Paulo, on the plateau, in a pleasanter climate, and commute to Santos daily. The site, once again, triggers a plan of action with respect to it. The location of resort cities is often determined by some site deemed attractive. Durban, South Africa, is not only an important seaport but also the resort city of South Africa because of its beautiful frontage on the Indian Ocean. Inland Johannesburg, with its great mineral deposits, is called the city of activity and work. The

62 / The Principle of Commitment respective situations of Durban and Johannesburg, each to the other, have made the sites prosperous. In the case of Las Vegas, Nevada ("sin city"), the very remoteness of its position with respect to residential cities may contribute to its prosperity. Interestingly, many cities with excellent situations have grown up despite great site disadvantages. While New Orleans has had to solve serious problems of sewage disposal because much of its land is located below the level of the Mississippi River, Pittsburgh is handicapped from the standpoint of expansion owing to the small area of level land available. Panacean sites are hard to come by. In any case, spatial commitments draw from the attending symbolic meanings, René Dubos calling them hidden forces: Cities, landscapes, regions and places in general also derive their uniqueness from hidden forces. The traveler can instantly perceive the atmosphere of London in a pub, or that of Paris on the terrasse of a cafe. He need only cross the frontier between Italy and Switzerland to be aware that he has moved into another culture. But no simple explanation can account for the origin of the differences between one city or one country and another. There is more to the uniqueness of a place than the geology, topography, and climate of the land, or the genetics, economics and politics of its population.11 When Dubos refers to these hidden forces as the "spirit of place," he is describing the subjective symbolic mechanisms at work shaping our perception of the environment. The world becomes the world as we perceive it to be, not as it really exists. Alfred North Whitehead, in his florid writing style, put it this way: ". . . it can be said that when we praise the rose for its scent, the bird for its song, the sun for its radiance, the moon for its glow, nature gets the credit which should go to ourselves. In reality nature is soundless, scentless, colorless, merely the hurrying of material, endless, meaningless."12 Commitment places, often portrayed by philosophers, poets, and systems sociologists in idealized, almost illusory ways, are, in fact, not nearly as permanent as they seem: they do turn over. A church space given to religious sacraments, including wedding vows and priestly rites, may be a daytime thing, with the evening hours devoted to such voluntary associations as the Boy Scouts. Our shopping malls and town squares, including the village bank,

Sacred Space as Social-Conscience Loading / 63 turn over with the twist of a key the striking of a clock. Age and income groups are made to displace one another, each unit often oblivious to the other's felt proprietary rights. Anthropologists savor their term "tree of knowledge" to refer to a place, such as the potbelly stove in the village drugstore, where elders exchange views and marshal programs of discipline. Likewise, in modern urban malls, elders will routinely seek out their peers for discussions of public affairs, only to be displaced by younger shoppers eager to chat with their own kind, to be displaced once again by adolescent peer groups anxious to play out their various social games. In this respect, the tree of knowledge enjoys rapid turnover of the seasons. I recall the ebb and flow of diverse groups in our central business districts as discussed in the doctoral dissertation of sociologist Gerald Breese.13 He reminded us that life in downtown Chicago at night is strikingly different from that of the daylight hours—different not only in the demographic composition of the occupants but in the qualitative, shared feelings of belonging-in-place. In sum, the situation of space courses along a continuum from the rigidity of sacred places to the segmental range of social relationships, marked by specific statuses and complementary rights and duties on a time scale. SACRED SPACE AS SOCIAL-CONSCIENCE LOADING

Sacred space is, in polar terms, distinguishable from profane space, not only by its sharply defined boundaries but by the quality of expected experience within it. With all meanings as known meanings, vitally interconnected, sacred space connotes a loading of the social conscience. Alfred Schutz tells us: "Meaning . . . is not a quality inherent to certain experiences emerging within our stream of consciousness but the result of an interpretation of a past experience looked at from the present Now with a reflective attitude. As long as I live in my acts, directed toward the object of these acts, the acts do not have any meaning. They become meaningful if I grasp them as well-circumscribed experiences of the past and, therefore, in retrospection. Only experiences which can be recollected beyond their actuality and which can be questioned about their constitution are, therefore, subjectively meaningful."14 Meaning is solidified through acts which have been done. And, acknowledging that the person exists not in a vacuum but

64 / The Principle of Commitment within groups, collective definitions of the reality are vital in the human act. Collective information may be transmitted through stereotyped role definitions or archetypes, And archetypes must always be understood in terms of past experience. There will always be a discrepancy between the ideal acting of the role and the actual performance of that role. However, when entering sacred arenas, the archetypal action is felt to be possible. With action being a repetition of past experience in this setting, it is fully meaningful— the meaning is apparent at the, very time that the action is being performed. Relying once more on Schutz: "We may say that the world within my actual reach belongs essentially to the present tense. The world within my potential reach, however, shows a more complicated time-structure. At least two zones of potentiality have to be distinguished. To the first, which refers to the past, belongs what was formerly within my actual reach and what, so I assume, can be brought back into my actual reach again. . . . The assumption involved is based upon the idealizations, governing all conduct in the natural sphere, namely, that I may continue to act as I have acted so far and that I may again and again recommence the same actions under the same conditions."15 What we learn from Schutz is this: for the same action to be repeated, the conditions must be the same, at least presumed to be so. And this calls for rigid controls, including those pertaining to the physical appurtenances. Mircea Eliade speaks of the entering of the sacred realm as a transcendence of the human condition—a becomingness. And this transcendence is accomplished by acting as did the archetypal ancestors, culture heroes, or gods. By imitating, as best one can, those who have gone before, one is performing, the meaning of which is completely known in relation to all else in the world. By repeating an act again and again in a sacred place, the individual is, then, recreating the meaning of that action.16 By communicating past actions and sets of actions, by reenacting them, past experience need not be only one's own. We turn to myths to pass along information, our cultural heritage, these being meaningful images. While language of any sort is not truly suitable for communicating the experience of the sacred, it must somehow be communicated if it is to be a group experience. Thus symbols, myths, and images all have the properties which convey concepts and relationships that ordinary talk cannot easily convey. Consider, for instance, the grotesquefigureof Kali in Hindu religion (or

Sacred Space as Social-Conscience Loading / 65 any grotesque religious image, for that matter). Among other things, this figure represents terrible beauty, horrible fascination, the contraries of attraction to the sacred and fear of it. Images and myths enable one to comprehend and communicate concepts that are otherwise inexpressible and often contradictory. In sacred places, then, by reenacting the archetypal actions, the world is re-created in totality. Hence myth is inseparable from ritual. Myth is sterile if not acted out in ritual, for the latter is the concrete, dramatic acting out of what the myth presents in an ideal form.17 Places and objects, then, are held in awe not sui generis but as manifest through the object. An object, when it acquires sacred meaning, does not necessarily lose those meanings which it already has. A stone remains a stone, but it also now has a new significance or property. A cross is made into a Christian cross; Indian burial plots are hallowed. Thus those truths for which the sacred object stands are interpreted as being eternal, as everlasting truths. And that which is sacred invariably manifests itself within a certain space. These places always have a center—this being that spot where heaven and earth are said to meet—where the ascension, the new plane of being, becomes possible. It may be a sacred tree, a mountain, a ladder, rope, or temple (the Mormon Temple, from which all streets radiate, is in the center of Salt Lake City). The center of the world, after all, is stable! Sacred spaces tend to emphasize their boundaries. And, not surprisingly, they are either circular or square. Perhaps we prefer square-shaped boundaries because they represent the four directions on the compass. Primitive peoples often viewed the world as being bounded by four sides, each of which had certain attributes and might, in fact, be ruled over by one or more gods. But, then, the four directions might also represent the four seasons. Whatever, with the sacred square made to represent the whole world, persons occupying the space are symbolically at the very center of reality.18 When the boundary is round, one might deduce that the symbolism of the four corners of the world is either absent or is represented by something else within the circle. Probably the major intent of the circle is simply to separate the sacred space from the surrounding profane area. Stonehenge, the frequently found circular ditches around sacred areas, and the witches' circle are good examples of this bounding of space. To the uninitiated, sacred space may not necessarily look any

66 / The Principle of Commitment different from other spaces. But, to the anointed, a space-thing has been made into a space-object; that is, it is different by virtue of the meaning assigned. Cues are present. Erving Goffman's conception of keying comes into play, wherein the participants establish props—sets of conventions by which they relate to one another. Goffman, though heavily dramaturgical in his thrust, does hint at the territorial force in keying: ''Cues will be available for establishing when the transformation is to begin and when it is to end, namely brackets in time, within which and to which the transformation is to be restricted. Similarly, spacial brackets will commonly indicate everywhere within which and nowhere outside of which the keying applies on that occasion."19 Members of a sacred space, by their very awareness of that space and its meanings, will be cued by the space itself as to the appropriate actions and interpretations of events to occur. Any established place (expressive, sacred, manifest, latent, coercive—by whatever mode of expected influence) will have this effect upon those entering it if they are at all aware of the built-in plan of action. In sacred domains, someone who acts inappropriately toward the keys is labeled sacrilegious. Now, Goffman does not explicitly recognize cues from objects other than people-objects. So I am expanding his concept of keying, insisting that objects or physical surroundings speak to people by reason of the specific meanings assigned them, the associations made with them through experience with similar objects of meaning. Thus the transmission of cues may be purposeful, accidental, even performed by rote. That is, the transmission may be quite complete and accurate, misunderstood, completely missed, or received and purposely ignored. In sum, when people communicate the meaning of rituals and objects through myths and images they do so through cues. And certain acts of reverence have been cues throughout history. We remove our shoes (or put them on), remove our hats, circumnavigate a seal in the floor, speak certain ritual words, make certain gestures when entering a sacred place. Clocks and gongs mark the beginning and ending of the territorial episode. The specific form of these cues may change from society to society, from institution to institution, but their purpose is always the same: to set boundaries within which the sacred may operate and to allow people to know the appropriate actions and their meanings within that space. The physical appurtenances around and within these dramas of expres-

Sacred Space as Social-Conscience Loading / 67 sion thus take on social-conscience loading, a strength of the social feelings of right and wrong that attach to the commission or omission of any act. With acts (robbery rape, seduction), so with physical objects—the social-conscience loading will range from higher to lower. A dirty hospital excites anger, often leading to license revocation. Physical cleanliness can have a higher socialconscience loading than tenderness in hospitals. Likewise, doctors have their designated places for privacy, where they can express their feelings freely about nurses, patients, and administrators. Nurses also have their right and wrong places for self-expression. Corridors are where all operatives tend to unlimber their feelings; here is where conflict may ensue off limits. The hospital, then, behind its usually grim façade, builds up a most complex array of sacred and profane places for its vast constituency. Jules Henry speaks of how the social conscience cares less about what low-status personnel in a hospital do with their low-status props (mops, bedpans, laundry) than it does about what high-status personnel do with their props (dressings, medicines, and so on).20 Even in the urban milieu, marked by a high acceptance of change, the periodic need to escape from the profane realm is readily observable. With the heavy bombardment of cues and alternative routes of action, urbanites learn to ignore multitudes of places and objects. That is, they stereotype the irrelevancies of this setting in order to maintain their concentration, their composure, in pursuit of necessary objectives. They may, for example, turn to music and the places that court it in order to experience the sacred. The objects through which music is made are manifest in guitars, violins, pipe organs—these instruments taking on a certain meaning by virtue of the music which is expressed through them. A musical instrument may be said to be worshiped by one who loves the music made by it. Music enables us to transcend mundane existence; by losing ourselves in music we encounter the unchangingness of things. The joining of the music with the setting allows the listener to venture outside of profane places. Thus the person has entered into a situation which is very similar to the sacred. Consider the concert hall. It has a center, namely, that place in which the musicians are located and from which the transcendental experience emanates. It also has boundaries in physical space— the walls of the hall. In an outside "hall" like the Hollywood Bowl, the boundaries are marked by the seats and by the patrons who stand at the perimeter. These boundaries define that area within

68 / The Principle of Commitment which the concert is taking place. Within the time and space in which the concert originates, the quality of the experience is certainly different from that outside. The concern is not with getting something done but with the pure experiencing of that music. (Of course, there will be participants who have as their only goal that of being seen by important others, these being akin to the low-status participants found in hospitals.) The concert hall dictates a mode of conduct. When entering, or at the start of the concert, the theatergoer is expected to stop talking, fidgeting, walking around and to focus on the performers and their supporting physical props. Not to do so is an indication of crudeness, a lack of appreciation for the music. Likewise, proper attire (a prop) is expected. Thus, if one violates the conventions, cues are brought forward—the offender is shushed, glared at, asked to sit down, etc. If these procedures fail to draw compliance, the offender may be thrown out. The concert hall has another aspect of sacredness: the expectation of repeated performances, not once but many times. The rigidity of controls in these repeat performances is necessary to facilitate the exact replication of the event. Now, it is true that every concert is not exactly the same, although students of music will argue about the license of the conductor to depart from the original score—does legitimacy rest with the composer? Yet, while the audience changes in composition, as do the musicians, it is still the same concert, the same rendition, in subsequent seasons. Replication is the fundamental. I have used the concert hall and the hospital to emphasize an important point: sacred dramas and places are vital to urban (profane) experience; certain times, spaces, and actions are set off from others as being special, as comprising settings deemed sacred, intrinsically valid. STRUCTURAL THEORY BUILDING

Human commitment is a fascinating subject matter for scholars, especially those of a Parsonian pattern-variable bent, people who would force conduct into molds and channels. After all, is not commitment an interpretation of similarity or sameness which embraces courses of action? If so (and if commitment of a territorial kind is to be taken seriously), is not the mechanism vital

Structural Theory Building / 69

4. A systems model of commitment. because it allows us to abstract behavior from spatial situations and to gain understanding of cross-situational behavior? My plaint is that ecological functionalists overplay the imprinting mechanism and give lip service to the ingenuity of the actor. The construction and negotiation of alternative social realities must presuppose variations in meanings of course of action within the person. Hence the proposition: even when the systems ecologist respects the actor as both accepter and rejecter of the interpretations he or she encounters, a pigeonholing of spatial dramas is only a partial, if not a fleeting, facet in territorial behavior. Figure 4 illustrates how the language of territorial commitment might well be conceptualized by systems ecologists. The course of action under the consensual approach in figure 4 calls for an actor who is aware of and concurs with the ends of a group to be drawn into membership. (Robert Merton suggests that the consequences of action may be either anticipated by the actor or acknowledged following the event.) Now, within this consensual frame one may identify a manifest course of action, in which both the object and the consequences are known to the actor, and a latent course of action. The latent course is defined by an end and by the associated consequences derived from the observer's hypothetical, descriptive interpretations. The latent function is not rec-

70 / The Principle of Commitment ognized by the actors in that system and needs to be uncovered by analysis. Thus, for example, the manifest function of Mormon genealogical research is to improve a family's knowledge of its heritage; a latent function is to reinforce the solidarity of the extended family to the point of geographically distant kin aspiring to return to Zion. Under the constraining mode of action, the coercive approach to understanding territorial acts signifies a channel set by the constraints imposed by the power elite. Coercion and persuasion may be used to limit alternatives available to the actor. While coercion restricts future alternatives by removing them from the options available to the actor, persuasion limits alternatives by convincing the actor through argument not to choose them. Manipulation, on the other hand, limits the choice of alternatives in either of the above ways, but the actor believes the choice is free and unconstrained. So, when an emotionally disturbed man is persuaded to commit himself to a mental hospital, this means, according to the gatekeepers, that he has given up his unlimited spatial mobility; he has lost the legal right to move about in society unhindered. Unfortunately, and to his dismay, he often discovers following confinement that his incarceration is total, that he was taken in, subtly coerced—in fact, manipulated. But the discovery comes too late. He has been committed by ruse. Because each of these approaches seeks to explain how commitment rather than the character of commitment comes to be, models of this kind accomplish little until the symbolic interaction perspective is brought to bear, that is, until concern with the collision of meanings borne by the actor and by the group is measured. Without this interface, commitment has not taken place. Stated otherwise, an actor's territorial commitment—from a retrospective interpretation of latent consent to one of manipulation or from manipulation to manifest agreement—requires the construction, the building up, the negotiation of those alternatives felt to be social realities. How else can a human being become a True Believer in the service of some cause, end, or place? In sum, the principal difficulty in measuring integration or commitment is that symbolic interactionists, on the one hand, have concentrated unduly on the self, on the social development of the individual; while the functionalists, on the other hand, have centered their efforts on the structure of social systems, to the neglect of the substantive, interpretive stuff within the systems. Is it

Social Systems Ecology / 71 any wonder that we are left with voids of knowledge about conduct? In fact, the comparing of widely and geographically separated "social systems" is still a shaky procedure. Recent studies (leaving the reliability of their procedures aside) have shown less integration in primitive tribes and more integration in metropolitan neighborhoods than might have been expected.21 SOCIAL SYSTEMS ECOLOGY: WALTER FIREY

In 1945, Walter Firey spoke with appropriate disdain of how human ecologists had been channeling their locational studies along economic and rational lines to the neglect of spatial sentiment and symbolism.22 His statement ultimately split the discipline into two camps: rationalistic ecology and social ecology. Firey, as the pioneer of social (symbolic) ecology, did share one perspective with the rationalistic group: the premise that land use must be cast in a Durkheimian framework. (The influence of Parsons and Sorokin was also profound.) But, in contributing the idea of nonrational forces in land use, he never quite grasped the Meadean sense of objects being a human creation, preferring to think of territory as an external social fact with its own social logic or mystique. With historic Boston Common and the "meaning expressions" pertaining to it reduced to systems, cultural and social, one asks: who is the guardian of the social conscience or consciousness to which Firey alludes? He did not say. The common was a symbol, not only serving to "solidarize the person with various social systems but it serves also to integrate him with broader cultural systems. It performs this integrative function in the same way that it performs the solidarizing one: by renewing and revitalizing those ends of the person which link him with the larger system . . ,"23 And Beacon Hill was described as the traditional center of Boston's upper class, drawn by "non-rationalistic forces" that barred commercial interests from locating in this old residential area. Like sacred places, these locales were called fetishistic and emotionally toned: It is only when the members of a social system share certain common and emotionally toned values that the latent tendency of all social systems toward disintegration can be arrested. Most pertinent to our immediate problem, of course, is the symbolization of these values by a tangible place, so

72 / The Principle of Commitment that the sight of that place evokes in people's minds the values which underly [sic] the social system . . .24 Space, to Firey, appeared more as a descriptive adjective than as a transitive verb. His was an ethnology of space with limited value, a concern with the adaptive side of human beings wherein we seek territorial stability, rootedness, and peace of mind. This is sacred, "halo" ecology (his term)—in which we are reminded of how ground may acquire properties quite disassociated from its intrinsic physical qualities. By selecting a historical city such as Boston, Firey demonstrated that social values are real, endowing space with qualities extraneous to it as a physical phenomenon. Thus, the rights of accessibility and inaccessibility, the whole province of defending boundaries, need to be measured. His basic thought was this: social space is a social fact with humans adapting to it. With culture preordaining the course of ecological events, Firey ignored Homo constructeur as he ordered up his spatial surroundings. Like Durkheim, his theoretical tool kit failed him insofar as explaining territorial "integration" was concerned. We are left high and dry with the assertion that people perform in accordance with prescribed systems, outside the membrane of their personal interests. I am positing the proposition that neither objects, words, meanings, nor flows of activity (the social system) enjoy an independent and self-sufficient existence. To gently bend Malinowski, the ethnographic view of space proves the principle of symbolic relativity: the whole world of "things to be expressed" changes with the level of perspective (mental requirements), and consequently the meaning of a thing, place, or word must always be gathered. It is not derived from passive contemplation.25 Upon recognizing how human beings live increasingly in situational space, in a limited range of social relationships within the framework of specific statuses, we are able to comprehend how land acquires complementary distributions of rights and duties. Furthermore, when socially embedded definitions of land use (Firey's orientation) collide with shifting personal tastes about space, we are in the presence of a new mix. I am referring to the ecology of the event, where opportunities and constraints upon interaction respond to the recomposition or turnover of the participants. With the group highly topic-centered, we are made aware of how the routines, with their openings and closings, encounter in-

Social Systems Ecology / 73 terruptions. Imagine, for example, a setting in a county courthouse, a place where government functionaries and citizens transact their business in an officially correct manner. Here, the rules of procedure and etiquette have long been firmly rooted to location. One senses a certain spatial tone in the offices—as Firey would portray it. However, the territorial norms are subject to disruptions, to momentary rearrangements. Upon careful observation, one can spot social arenas where situational switching is taking place. A citizen will ask one of the clerks to step aside for a private chat. While, indeed, the personnel and the locale remain the same, we are witnessing a shift in social event, in norms, even in language. Now, the standard courthouse language is displaced by the free or idiomatic language of the street, where the courthouse is momentarily cast as a mere platform. In fact, most any stage, except hallowed places, perhaps, would have sufficed. In other words, place can be made incidental to the tone of communication. The linguistic forms are made critical features of the switching. Again, consider how bank administrators nowadays go to great lengths to disguise the rigidity of human relations in banking, injecting the street and neighborhood into its spatial ethos. They speak of "family banks," of "your friendly neighborhood bank," in their effort to destroy the old inhibitions which attend customer-banker relationships. Witness the introduction of branch banks into suburban malls, of deposit-withdrawal machines into such strange places as grocery stores. All this is a concerted effort to broaden the client base through switching from a stereotyped, inhibiting setting to one of free association. This is the façade side of territorial commitment. Thus a person must learn when standard language is called for over against the dialect. Incorrect modes of communication may terminate a conversation all of a sudden, even bring about negative sanctions. These are the territorial games that people play, where relations are more event-centered than place-centered. This is the kind of dramaturgical ecology that Erving Goffman finds so intriguing, where homes, workshops, and various public meeting places call out for dialect, for free speech among locals. The dialect is used there. Similarly, a meeting with tourists or strangers often elicits the standard language, at least until the participants' identities become more clearly known and less threatening. Students and professors play this game in college settings. When students leave, say, a physics class for a sociology class, they are now expected to

74 / The Principle of Commitment mix their proper academic language with the more casual talk of the street. An improper mode of talk can even be their undoing, despite sound knowledge of the subject. (And all of us who are enraptured with television sports are aware of the discomfort that sportscaster Howard Cosell, the old sol of solecism, arouses by using academic talk in the wrong places—the boxing arena or the football stadium.) This extension of the W. I. Thomas "situational approach" allows for consideration of both social codes and individual attitudes in territorial behavior without entrapment in either mode. I am simply underscoring the fact that spatial commitment and spatial contiguity are caught up in associational variability. DRAMATURGICAL ECOLOGY: ERVING GOFFMAN

Variability of commitment leads us to the fascinating dramaturgical perspective of Erving Goffman and these underlying questions: is he doing ecology; and, if so, has he contributed anything to an understanding of territorial commitment? The social reality of Erving Goffman is based upon the Shakespearean premise that all the world is a stage and all the people upon it are consciously or unconsciously playing out roles to the best of their advantage. In this dramaturgical view of human interaction, Goffman presents a made-up world of appearances, false images, contrivances, and manipulations of the situation. Alvin Gouldner describes Goffman's view of social reality in this way: "In Goffman's theory the conventional cultural hierarchies are shattered: for example, professional psychiatrists are manipulated by hospital inmates; doubt is cast upon the differences between the cynical and the sincere; the behavior of children becomes a model for understanding adults,· the behavior of criminals becomes a standpoint for understanding respectable people; the theatre's stage becomes a model for understanding life. Here there is no higher and no lower."26 With performances looked upon as manipulative devices, the "setting" is presented as crucial in making the definition of the situation work; it is inherent in social interaction—in all our regions and boundaries. The social "setting" may have an elusive or subtly acknowledged physical base, for example, a front region and a back region.27

Dramaturgical Ecology / 75 Because Goffman perceives of the world as composed of actors and their appearances, the group is obliged to construct places where certain moral standards are maintained. In the front region, actors assemble the proper stage props and scenery to produce a setting, including furniture, decor, physical layout, and other background items. Once supplied, the setting establishes a collective representation whereby the various routines performed become institutionalized and stereotyped.28 Examples include people's homes, doctors' offices, restaurants, mental hospitals, and service stations. Each of these places contains a front region—where performances may be given—and a back region—where one escapes from customers, guests, friends, etc. The back region serves as a place to contradict the impression manufactured by the performance: such devices as the telephone may be hidden so that they may be used privately; certain kinds of social equipment such as liquor or clothes can be blocked from view; and the performers may drop their fronts and relax without fear of censure. Playing upon the old axiom that there is a time and a place for everything, Goffman is simply telling us that settings are places for appropriate interaction, where appearances must be maintained or dropped. This episodic view of things is ecological in the sense that our surrounding objects and spatial distances are meaningful only to the degree that they serve as a base for social identities. Goffman's constant reference to the stage, to props and "fixed signs," portrays a world-as-stage view carried to great metaphorical heights. The landscape and the objects upon it are of only passing concern. People move about on their stages in a manipulatory fashion in order to achieve proper effects. His three types of territory—fixed, situational, and egocentric—are presented not as carrying cognitive meanings but as static externalities in the Durkheimian sense. They are secondary reinforcements in the human drama at best. After all, don't middle-class Americans really operate on the same stage, in the same environment? Territories vary in terms of their organization. Some are "fixed"; they are staked out geographically and attached to one claimant, his claim being supported often by the law and its courts. Fields, yards, and houses are examples. Some are "situational"; they are part of the fixed equipment in the setting (whether publicly or privately owned) but are made available to the populace in the form of claimed goods while

76 / The Principle of Commitment in use. Temporary tenancy is perceived to be involved, measured in seconds, minutes or hours, informally exerted, raising constant questions as to where the claim begins and when it terminates. Park benches and restaurant tables are examples. Finally, there are "egocentric" preserves which move around with the claimant, he being in the center. They are typically (but not necessarily) claimed long term.29 Goffman would view territory in much the same way as do animal territorialists—as "claimant" ecology—in which the person is reduced to a violator, aggressor, or offender: " . . . although there is much here that can be described in traditional Durkheimian terms having to do with ritual delicacy and the maintenance and infraction of normative rulings, it is also the case that similarities to animal activity are very marked; indeed, it is from ethology [the scientific study of animal behavior, especially in relation to habitat] that the basic concepts come."30 With all of us circulating in a world of "preserves," "possessional territory," "markers," "modalities of violation," and "territorial offences," Goffman's microscopic view of the world as stage oversimplifies the complex processes working at a more general societal level. Edward Τ Hall's writings on silent language and proxemics convey my point: Yet one of the first things one discovers in this research is that very similar spatial relationships can have entirely different meanings. What one makes of how others treat him in space is determined by one's ethnic past. This is not a matter, however, of generalizing about Latinos standing closer than North Americans, of moving each space zone up a notch as it were, rather it is a matter of entirely different systems, in which some items are shared but many are not, including the order and selection of transactions that occur in the different distance sets.31 For Goffman, cultural variability does not seem to be very important; his actors seem to be in control, totally aware of their actions and motives, of their use of props as backgrounds for authenticity. Hall, however, assigns meaning, an active voice, to space and distance in the affairs of human beings, emphasizing how it varies from society to society. His ecology faces up to the basic and in-

Dramaturgical Ecology / 77 triguing question: how do we gain knowledge as to the content of the minds of other human beings by means which function outside of sense awareness? These means include those silent cues by which individuals unwittingly convey attitudes, feelings, and judgments about other people. And the meaning of social distance will vary from one area of commitment to another.32 Succinctly put, Goffman's ecology does not approach the issue of how we go about translating the external reality into subjective meanings. There is simply no process at work other than the actors constantly creating illusions and appearances. Symbolic mechanisms, group norms, collective consciousness, and physical constraints are presumably givens within the microcosm, mechanically adhered to as though we were all automatons. Now, all social scientists who know their Operation verstehen are familiar with this axiom: objectivity must necessarily inculcate subjective meanings to avoid misrepresentation of reality. The relativism of meanings is what makes human existence so intriguing. Consider, for example, those world travelers who decide that the slum dweller of America is living in an environment obviously degrading, demoralizing, and beyond hope. Yet these same tourists will report that seemingly identical living conditions in Caracas, Venezuela, are indeed signs of hope and actual improvement of life. In this relativistic view of things, Goffman possesses no feeling for territory. Surrounding objects, the landscape, and such broader territorial referents as nation-states are either ignored or placed under this catchall: "officially accredited values of society."33 As long as his perspective remains dramaturgical, sentiments of commitment toward neighborhood, city, state, or country are to be taken seriously only as gentle external constraints in the strictest Durkheimian sense. I rather doubt that an actor in Goffman's world would ask of a stranger, "Where do you come from?" If the place of commitment incorporates a logic of conduct, caught within a time frame, it is merely an imponderable fact. One need only hear the song "Dixie" at a southern football game to recognize the thrust of spatial symbolism. The "Land of Dixie" not only speaks to the crowd, it is the crowd! On the more positive side, the dramaturgical perspective has potentially redeeming features. If the broad field of social and behavioral science is ever to tie together into one general theoretical schema, it must include Goffman's microecological glimpses of individuals in everyday life and not fall into the trap of grand social

78 / The Principle of Commitment systems thinking. Indeed, Goffman's distinction between front and back regions, his observations about the egocentric usage of space, suggests a long-overdue interface between micro- and macro-oriented ecologists. Perhaps there may never be one general theoretical framework or process in the science of human relations or, for that matter, in human ecology, but the attempt at synthesis could produce a lively debate for decades to come.

5 / The Sovereignty of Function: Regions and Neighborhoods

The neighborhood is a perception that exists only in the mind and can only be designated by 11-year old boys. —Leonard W. Bowden The commitment perspective discussed in the preceding chapter lends itself to the analysis of relatively homogeneous territorial groups—homogeneous with respect to the social position of the person within relatively closed institutions and communities. I am speaking of rooted groups, those responsive to the sentimentality of conventions to the point of reluctance to entertain distasteful options. Unfortunately, human ecologists who labor within these provinces show a predisposition to neglect certain variables. In fact, this is endemic to both observer and participant simply because the commitment perspective is idealized as a possibility, forming the underlying rationale for programs of action. It is a justification for people acting as they do. REFERENCE GROUPS

The controversial theory of reference groups1 is compatible with commitment ecology by reason of its concern with the empathy of the actor toward a social object. It is congenial because it entails a normative scheme arising through the internalization of moral rules in social participation. Unfortunately, commitment ecologists, as they build their typologies of spatial dramas, are disinclined to move beyond the conventional status indicators of age, sex, race, and class. And, when they use the reference group approach, they often fail to consider whose values, beliefs, and norms are being internalized and those conditions under which they occur.2 Upward-mobility aspirations, thwarted or delayed by "structured" opportunities of the membership groups, can encourage persons to seek social substitutes for support and prestige. In

80 / The Sovereignty of Function other words, there is the practical problem of relating to people of diverse statuses, values, and perspectives. Inconsistency, instability, and some anxiety are inevitable consequences of reference group membership and often culminate in adjustments which Robert Merton and Alice Kitt call reduced role performance.3 For, at base, variability in subscribing to reference group norms is tied to (1) the degree of visibility of the reference model, (2) its clarity and specificity, and (3) the imputed authority.4 So those conditions that encourage alternative reference group affiliation also increase the likelihood of differing, if not discordant, perspectives within that segment of the population under observation. But reference group theory, as a derivative of symbolic interaction theory, and despite its fuzziness in the literature, does convey an important message: it suggests that the actor in the group avoids total absorption, that people are neither purely social beings embedded in the collective mosaic of symbols, beliefs, and norms (in Durkheimian talk: externalized symbolic representations), nor are they wholly internally oriented, privatized animals. Commitment or systems ecologiste seem unable to recognize these options within which we act. Also, despite the wide divergence and contradictions between theoretical statements and operational implications, the reference group perspective allows us to catch up with those popularizers of human ecology, people like Alvin Toffler,5 who recognize that in a highly industrial society we create countless seats of activity to suit our own pleasures, securities, and aspirations. While continuity in viewpoint may not be ignored in changing communities, nonetheless, successful integration of values and space must face up to the ravages of time, that is, to the altered definitions of things. Research by ecologiste on neighborhoods and regions reveals a heavy reliance on the notion of monopoly of function, on the fact that significant space means encapsulated space—a way of life territorially bounded. As an ideal-type approach, commitment ecology stands in contrast to the view that spatial conscience often yields to the territorial consciousness of its members, the latter term referring to individual units as masters of action. This individuation in sentimentally bound territorial groups carries, after all, a threat: it reduces spontaneity and increases instrumentality and thus it has the potential to dry up collective fervor, the displacement of social norms by life styles (see chapter 7). Commitment fields yield to preference fields, where marginality becomes

Reference Groups / 81 potentially universal. The Utah region of Mormonism, spilling into adjacent states, is a territorially based social conscience under the eroding forces of mass communication and higher education— where the human intellect is exposed to alternative definitions of ambition and success. Students often avoid courses in Mormon theology upon recognizing that these credit hours in religion will not be honored in their graduate programs in outlying secular universities. Regionalism, from the "southern mentality" of the Deep South to the georeligiosity of western Mormons, offers a naturalistic and empirically verifiable territorial theory for the interpretation of history. As a mode of commitment ecology, it is a counterperspective, a check, on competing self-assertion theories, keeping the investigator's feet comfortably planted on the turf. Thus, I am somewhat hesitant about deflating the idea of regionalism because it has, after all, enjoyed a venerable history and has furnished many insights into the life of human beings sociogeographically. The prevalence of sundry forms of family and community life has been explained by the physical facts of nature—the southern clime, the moral life at the tops of the mountains. While regionalism is a simplistic interpretation of the complexities of social life, it has succeeded as theory if for no other reason than to serve as a self-fulfilling prophecy. With geographers, historians, anthropologists, linguists, economists, sociologists, political scientists, and urban planners contributing to its elaboration and presumably its fulfillment, the difficulty has been more to delineate the boundaries than to pinpoint the centers. The physical geographer prefers the naturemade markers while the social scientist identifies the cultural boundaries by dialect, race, ethnicity—in short, by those traits for homogeneity (anthropologists speak of culture areas and culture traits in this context). Those human ecologists who would focus on the interdependence of forces measure the reach of regions by such indicias as retail trade, newspaper circulation, the influence of a university, a medical center, even the enthusiasm for a football team. Because of the infinite flux of these territorial boundaries, a periodic reexamination of the indicias is imperative for the identification of a region, they insist. But, then, we have the planners who define a region as an ad hoc area measured by the reach of problems: crime, traffic, electricity (TVA). Their perspective is felt to be an improvement over that of those who would encompass our lives within fixed administrative or political borders.

82 / The Sovereignty of Function In any case, this entire business of regionalism, of staking a claim, reflects the intentions of the designers. They may create regions out of sentiment (battles won and lost) or out of the strategy for closing ranks for financial gain. To illustrate the latter perception, in the informal and unofficial race to become the business and financial capital of America's Sun Belt—a vast territory stretching across the Southeast, Middle South, and Southwest—a business news writer insists that the historic city of St. Louis, with its "advanced culture, commerce and transportation," is destined to come out in first place as the hub of this newly discovered region: With decisions being made to locate more industrial plants in the Sun Belt than in any other region, companies will find St. Louis closer to Alabama, Arkansas, Tennessee and Texas than Los Angeles, Chicago or New York. For the country as a whole, St. Louis finds itself virtually at the center, providing managements with the quickest possible access to all business centers.6 Insofar as there is a relationship between territory and social characteristics, the challenge of both the ecologists and the regional front men is to verify the reality of a purported region. The designated space may be tomorrow's Lebensraum as seen by St. Louis' Regional Commerce and Growth Association. Or it may take the form of a social movement pertaining to racial issues and environmental pollution, that is, a coalescence of interests and an identification with the image expressive of these common interests. Whatever, regionalism is not one thing but many things. For some it is a crusade for areal homogeneity more for economic interest but less for cultural or political goals. For others it signifies a degeneration into cultism—an effort to squeeze life into a rigid mold. But in the final analysis it is a determined effort to bring together a portion of the earth's surface with a plan of action. And sometimes it succeeds, providing that the rules of sovereignty run sufficiently deep.7 I have mentioned how social scientists, such as Scott Greer, who design schematic spatial models of pigeonholed people as though they were engaged in areal analysis are not being genuinely territorial in perspective. If their studies moved beyond the level of simplistic typing and classification of land use and tackled the

Reference Groups / 83

5. The Sun Belt behind the St. Louis skyline. Photograph courtesy of the St. Louis Regional Commerce and Growth Association. problem of how commitment groups draw space into their social equation, their investigations would indeed be ecologically relevant. To illustrate, how did the Nazis not only label and delineate their Lebensraum, but, more important, internalize the space idea? After all, when people carve out a space as their very own, this mooring acquires legitimacy or meaning in terms of antecedent, situational, and anticipatory factors. Social needs for status and interpersonal compatibility come to be associated with land use, whether we are speaking of macrospace (regions) or microspace (neighborhoods). Ties to community, nation, or neighborhood are more abstract and diffuse than those among lower animal forms: urban crowding in, say, metropolitan St. Louis cannot be perceived in the same way as crowding among beavers. Human beings are capable of imagining, of ordering up, a battery of alternatives in proclaiming identification with space. They easily distinguish between two kinds of crowding: density and congestion. Witness, for example, how occupants of skyscraper neighborhoods (condominiums) are crowded only in the sense of high density per square foot, these homeowners seldom complaining of the physical arrangement simply because they do not feel congested. Their "close neighborly relations" have been built up through an equation of vertical (high-rise) spacing coupled with an etiquette of discreet situational contact. Thus, after Franklin Giddings, "consciousness

84 / The Sovereignty of Function of kind" (by age, sex, race, and income, among other requisites for membership) translates into spatial density deemed pleasant. W. I. Thomas conceptualized the matter this way: "Preliminary to any self-determined act of behavior there is always a state of examination and deliberation which we may call the definition of the situation. And actually not only concrete acts are dependent upon the definition of the situation, but gradually a whole life-policy and the personality of the individual himself follow from a series of such definitions."8 Willard Waller would require three implicit elements or dimensions in defining a situation: (1) the configuration in which it is perceived, (2) the aspect of the situation toward which the action is directed, and (3) the attitude or activity which comes out of the interaction between individual and situation and the organization of self which the individual effects with regard to the situation. When a situation has once been seen in a particular configuration, he says, it tends to be seen in that configuration ever after; it is difficult to see it in any other way.9 With the predispositions of the self and those of the group in everlasting reciprocal, countervailing interaction, territorial commitment presumes a mutuality of intercourse culminating in agreement concerning shared things—at least sufficient for the members to act collectively. Mutuality of intercourse between "insiders" and "outsiders" implants "right" conduct in a place, thus legitimizing a setting. Consider how a street-corner gang skillfully differentiates between mere passersby and challengers for corner occupancy and identification. Describing the commitment space of corner gangs, how the rules of sovereignty are subject to challenge by misreading the attending language of space, a Time journalist writes: . . . Smokey, aged 19, dressed in a flaming red shirt and matching narrow-brimmed hat, is the runner of the Montgomery corner, and he is expecting trouble from the Norris Avenue corner, whose turf is just across Berks Street. "I keep everybody together, plan any action we might take," he explains coolly. Just then a corner member, who looks to be no more than nine or ten, points a finger and yells: "Three dudes coming up. Looks like warrin' time." As the three enemy youngsters cross into no man's land, twelve of Smokey's gang set off at a run to intercept them. No weapons are visi-

Reference Groups / 85 ble yet, but the mood is ugly. Fortunately, a cruising police car happens by before the two groups collide, and the antagonists melt into studied casual poses. "They know there's gonna be trouble," observes a Montgomery. "Norris is gonna move on us tonight, and the Man's got the word." The Montgomerys and the Norrises are among the estimated 100 or 200 gangs that roam the black neighborhoods of West and North Philadelphia. Most of the gangs have memberships of no more than 30 or 40 teen-agers and in some cases their territory is quite literally no more than a corner or a block at best. The rules of sovereignty—and survival—are strict. The difference between life and death can often depend on whether a boy walks on one side of a street or the other. Forays by an individual or a group into the territory of another gang are a justifiable cause for all out combat. The slightest provocation—a little back talk in a school corridor, a random surreptitious glance at the "sister" of another corner, a taunting gesture from a block's distance—can plunge corners into a war that may last for two or three years. Some gangs, like the Twelfth and Wallace corner and the Twelfth and Poplar, are perpetual enemies simply because they are immediate neighbors. Other gangs "pull with" each other, living in peace side by side and making common cause against more distant gangs. North Philadelphia's Valley gang is in fact a giant entente of corners boasting nearly 1,000 members. . . . . . . A car with two or three gang members might come cruising down a street past a group of rivals and suddenly a shot is fired into the cluster. The car speeds off, leaving a 16year-old lying on the sidewalk. Or a sniper's bullet from a rooftop a block away may have the same result. Plans for revenge are made, and a single assassin is often sent out to get a body in return. Such guerrilla-style warfare is, of course, far more difficult for the police to anticipate and stop than the old-style large-scale rumbles. . . . The city's efforts to ameliorate the brutality of gang life and the gang neighborhoods have had mixed results. Of the nearly 200 Youth Conservation Workers that the city assigns to the gangs, few have been markedly successful in weaning youngsters away from their corners. Civic volunteers have established a leaders' council for settling gang disputes non-

86 / The Sovereignty of Function violently. The meetings, however—scheduled for at least once a week—are so far taking place less than once a month. A North Philadelphia communications center called The Network tries to correct dangerous false rumors and get gang members into job-training programs. 'The problem is solvable," says Mayor Frank Rizzo, "but it won't be done in my life time. I'd like to go out and raze every building out there and rebuild it all—schools, pools, parks, everything. But we don't have the money to do that."10 The neighborhood, like the region, is anything but a simple concept of commitment. And it received only scant attention by social scientists in the 1950s. Perhaps the writings of Lewis Mumford and Chicago School urban ecologists convinced many students of community life that most everything to be said about neighborhoods was already in print.11 But, with the rapid suburbanization of cities, the concept was revitalized in the sixties.12 The vacillation of territorial movement and identification invited reexamination of the term. Great cities, with complex subcenters of control, took on intensified intertribal characteristics. In the 1970s, ethnic enclaves of neighboring and the civil rights movement made Boston the prime laboratory for social scientists and journalists alike. Speaking in 1974 of the tensions in largely Irish American, blue-collar South Boston, Mayor Kevin White proclaimed: "Only a few cities—Chicago, Philadelphia, New York, Boston—have kept the structures built by immigration, have retained the real ethnic blocks that support the whole fabric of those communities. Boston's strengths come from those neighborhoods with roots, tradition, and history. They are also enclaves that resist change." In 1936, Everett Hughes had spotted the collision of residential neighborhoods with trade centers, shrines, and large urban institutions, the latter fixed as to seat but spilling outward in competition with neighborhoods which had traditionally enjoyed a monopoly of function. Seats of learning and worship, with their loose territorial footings, were threatening the family, the anchor agency in the neighborhood.13 After all, a spatial locus had always been basic to familism and neighboring. How, in these times, to neighbor without neighborhoods, how to be familial without a seat of residence, was a discomforting challenge for urbanites. Territorial commitment had always been crucial for institutional survival.

Reference Groups / 87 Boundaries circumscribed human activities, especially when they were internalized, that is, perceived to exist as coercive forces for inward-looking activity.14 Geographer Leonard W. Bowden has defined the neighborhood as an area around home known only by older preadolescent males: it is not necessarily a pleasant or a safe place—only familiar. Eleven-year-old boys "represent a free ranging, diurnally tied, family member with little managerial, sexual or ceremonial restraint or responsibility. They are energetic, adventuresome and open minded—yet are only exploring the forthcoming break from paternal domination. As a result they range and define the neighborhood."15 If Bowden is right about neighborhoods being places known only by eleven-year-old boys, we have a prime example of commitment space. And we may draw the inference that, when the land ranges across age, sex, race, and ethnicity divisions, neighborhood encapsulation is vulnerable to destruction. For an adult, the neighborhood is often only a source of self-esteem, a field for the maintenance of appearances. This suggests that the postadolescent male must be weaned away from the neighborhood umbilical cord lest it deter him from facing "adult problems" (arenas where the bonds are more tenuous). It means that political leaders who reduce racial and educational (including busing) issues to the neighborhood frame are being childish in the sense of residential space enjoying sovereignty over these emotional problems. They are defending the myth of propinquity, idealized by Lewis Mumford: "[Neighborhoods] exist as a fact of nature whether we recognize them or provide for their particular function—neighborhoods are composed of people who by the very fact of birth or chosen residence enter into a common life. Neighbors are people united primarily not by common origins or common purpose but by the proximity of their dwellings in space."16 Implicit in Mumford's conception of the neighborhood is the idea of proximity and delineation of spatial location, of primary group relations, specialized roles, serving a function. This is a case of nostalgia, in which all neighborhoods are sacred places. Sociologist and onetime planner Reginald Isaacs of Harvard questions whether the conception of neighborhood in big cities has any meaning at all: "City people . . . merely reside in residential areas in contrast to living in rural or village neighborhoods as was true in the past. City people are mobile. They can and do pick from the entire city for everything from job, dentist, recreation, friends,

88 / The Sovereignty of Function shops, entertainment, or even in some cases, their children's schools. City people are not stuck with the provincialism of a neighborhood and why should they be? Isn't wide choice and rich opportunity the point of cities?"17 Much of the current dissatisfaction with the neighborhood concept centers around the ''neighborhood unit" construct, given its clearest formulation and greatest impetus by Clarence Perry in 1923 in connection with the New York regional plan. This was defined as a residential area which should provide housing for that population for which one elementary school is ordinarily required, its actual area depending upon its population density. It should include a system of small parks, plus one or more shopping districts, and these should be laid out along the circumference of the unit. The unit should also be provided with a special street system. Demographically, this worked out to about seven thousand people. "Until very recently," said Richard Dewey, "this principle rode unchallenged at the vanguard of planning concepts, sharing the spotlight with the over-emphasized express or limited-access highways."18 The British new towns concept embraced the unit concept. "Neighborhood is a word that has come to sound like a Valentine," wrote Jane Jacobs. "As a sentimental concept, neighborhood is harmful to city planning. It leads to attempts at warping city life into imitations of town or suburban life. . . . The touchstones of success will not be found in nostalgic memories of town life or in high standards of physical facilities. Important as good scholars are, they are totally undependable at rescuing bad neighborhoods and creating good neighborhoods." In her treatment of street neighborhoods, Jacobs was seemingly aware of the impossibility of the task, observing how many such neighborhoods have "no beginning and no end setting them apart as distinct entities. The size even differs for different people from the same spot because some people range farther or hang around more or extend their street acquaintance farther than others." In fact, "successful street neighborhoods are those that begin, turn a corner and then another and attract the person farther and farther because of their diversity."19 Jacobs was anticipating the conclusions of Fried and Gleicher, over a decade later, that urban people select their residential places as a reflection more of class identification than of familism,20 or that of Svend Riemer, who pronounced the neighborhood as a service area:

Reference Groups / 89 It provides a link between territorial-bound activities related to work, residences, school or recreation and activities encompassing the whole network. In certain areas of the city where the nostalgic self-contained concept operates, autonomy is becoming synonymous with deprivation. While it may strengthen the social solidarity and identity for the inhabitants it does not add to their collective standing in the wider city. In this sense, the totality serves as a frame of reference for the locality. The ubiquitousness of change, the fluidity of men in urban places, the search for pleasure and comfort in urban, often anonymous settings all have their roots not in the peculiar mentality of a marginal minority but in the conditions of life of the growing majority.21 Planners, urban ecologists, among other social scientists, have been predisposed to identify neighborhoods by what is immediately visible to them—the land uses, buildings, and institutions. And their attention is diverted from what is hardest to see—people who territorialize their problems and self-concepts. Physical conditions are manifestations of defined socioeconomic conditions. Thus a good neighbor is not necessarily a friendly or a nice person but one who shares your standards of the neighbor role. What a good neighbor should do depends on expressed values and preferences. Friends may live widely apart yet communicate closely; conversely, neighbors may live in close proximity and be worlds apart. I am disposed to share the view of Suzanne Keller that the idea of neighborhood lies somewhere between kin and friend. The former you cannot lose even by ignoring, and the latter you cannot keep if you do.22 A neighborhood may be highly dramaturgical and less territorial or a close wedding of the two. Neighboring in the city is often quite elastic by reason of the constant rearrangement of obligations, cooperation, and shared experiences. Delineation of centers and boundaries will vary, as accountable things, from group to group, from person to person. The physical proximity only established the contact; it is less important in maintaining it. In this version, we make our urban neighborhoods out of problems to be faced. The vital associations of time and proximity are but restricting forces upon which neighborhood meanings are constructed. The neighborhood, the territorial social world of early adolescents, in the widely publicized planned city of Reston, Virginia (at

90 / The Sovereignty of Function the outskirts of Washington, D.C.), was lucidly described by a sometime student of mine, bent on portraying the churning nature of the concept: The Landmarks .-The culture of early adolescents in Reston focuses on the shopping center. Here are the simple artifacts around which the members congregate. Major ones include the temporary prop of candy bar or ice cream cone (an entrance ticket); the magazine rack (social mooring) and the book or magazine itself (a pass to a situational field); the bicycle, the pinball machine, and the "private booth" (all identity pegs); the bicycle rack, tunnel, television shop window, including the observation benches and patio tables (situational fields); the utilitarian props of water fountains and ice cream shop; and the policeman and sharp-eyed store manager as embodiments of authority. The boundaries of this neighborhood of adolescents include their outmoded primary school, the tunnel, hills, and creeks of their ordained route, and the road that separates them from the surrounding community. But all activities face the plaza—where the planners thought everyone would congregate. Not so. The plaza with its tables and pond is essentially a wasteland. Adults do not use a vacant space of this nature; they come to the center on business, attend to it, and go. Young people occasionally sit on the steps and make use of the patio tables, but only rarely congregate at the pond. The physical design of the center is clearly at fault. One problem is the lack of a roof: the entire center is roofed up to the plaza's perimeter, leaving the completely open space with an exposed, unprotected effect which does not invite relaxation. Because there are no shops on the fourth side of the plaza, traffic flows around instead of through it. With the openended design looking onto a wooded area, the center has a pleasant vista but the plaza has no occupants. Only the presence of people can draw others into an unprogrammed space,· and without an incentive to cross the plaza, few people ever enter it. When asked about their habits at the center ("What is the first thing you usually do when you get there?"), the replies fell into a clear pattern: "I go to the Safeway for a drink of water and buy some fruit" or "We go either to Safeway or

Reference Groups / 91 Baskin-Robbins because they have a water fountain" or "I buy an ice-cream cone and get a drink of water at BaskinRobbins." These spaces are not territories where the young people congregate, but instead are utilitarian zones which have become essential starting points in the round of behavior habitually followed at the center. Food and drink play a large role in determining other territorial patterns as well—in fact would seem to be the necessary ticket giving admission to the social milieu found there. For the majority of the group, "going to the center" is equated with eating. A certain status attaches to eating your lunch in the restaurant instead of at home, with mother. Further, purchasing food such as fruit, candy, or ice cream which is consumed while strolling around the center (a) identifies the eater as old enough to be there alone and spend money independently, and (b) provides a social prop which gives the young persons something to do while wandering around in a place where there is essentially not much to be done. It is significant that the one space universally identified as the group's favorite was the restaurant, Big Daddy's. Food is served cafeteria-style, which means the young people with equal ease can purchase a meal, a single slice of pizza, or simply a Coke. Big Daddy's also boasts a juke box and several pinball machines and is decorated in a style that appeals to the younger adolescents. The lighting is low, and in addition to tables, the walls are lined with booths. Big Daddy's is perfectly programmed as an ecological setting for this age group. It plays to their desire for privacy and sophistication, and its music and game machines provide almost the only activity available to the group. The props available in this setting are the most significant of any found at the center. Oh, there are other habitual gathering places as well. The snack bar in Drug Fair, next door to Big Daddy's, is sometimes patronized, but it is located at the front of the store, where most of the traffic passes through, and is brightly lighted. Consequently, the young people usually prefer to purchase a magazine and candy bar in Drug Fair and go outside to sit at the patio table on the plaza to read and eat. The Timetable.-The emerging adolescent is acutely aware of the limitations he faces as compared to the older adolescent; and the time-table of visits to the center brings this

92 / The Sovereignty of Function out. The youngsters interviewed all remarked that they usually went to the center in late morning, if they were going to eat lunch there, or in the afternoon. They noted that by 4:30 most of their age group had gone home and that young adolescents seldom returned in the evening. "At night it's just the freaks, I guess, or maybe some guys our age if their parents don't pay any attention," one 13-year-old male explained. "I have to be home for dinner, and I can't be out on my bike after dark, and neither can the rest of the gang." Asked about what the freaks do at night at the center, they boy replied, "Man, they're evil guys I guess—that's the kind of stuff they do." On a typical weekday, the center belongs exclusively to housewives and young children from 9 to 11 A.M., with a complete mix of occupants between 11 A.M. and 5 P.M. During evening hours, male and female adults and older adolescents are the bulk of the visitors to the center. Thus, for the emerging adolescent, time as well as space circumscribes his territory. And though he is struggling to assert his individual will, he realizes and basically accepts the fact that he will remain under the control of his parents for some indeterminate time longer. Escape is only temporary. Defining the territories .-While the entire center is broadly conceived as "public territory" (with the exception of those "back spaces" sacred to the operation of the individual businesses—such as stockrooms), for the young people in my survey, not all places are public but restricted. "We'd never go in there," they often remarked of places like the bank or the real estate office. "We don't have any business in there" or "They don't want us to come in." Thus the restricted territories are those commercial institutions that are clearly perceived by the young as places one enters only on legitimate business. The next category of territories is that of the so-called "limited-liability" type. There are five such places in the center as seen by the group. One is the hardware store, which they enjoy visiting but know that they cannot linger in after they have conducted their business. Another is the barber shop, which it is permissible to enter but in which loitering is forbidden. A third is a clothing store that caters to young people. The emerging adolescents are aware that they are not

Reference Groups / 93 welcome to browse there ('The clerks really stare at you"). This reflects their status as dependent children whose parents still make their clothing purchases for them. Older adolescents, people who actually spend their own clothing money, feel free to visit the shop though, in fact, they too are subjected to surveillance because of the shoplifting problem. Fourth, the merchandising section of the Drug Fair is also limited-liability territory. The group does feel free to visit the Drug Fair, where they make purchases and inspect the department devoted to scaled model cars. They also spend large blocks of time reading the magazines in that section of the store. But they are always conscious of the eye of the manager and frequently of a policeman as well and seem to understand that they are permitted there on sufferance of good behavior and that there are definite limits on the amount of time they can spend in the store. Fifth, although the young people use the public library at the center, it is not a place that the majority of them consider to be comfortable or enjoyable and accordingly is a limitedliability area. 'The people who work there are really sassy," said one boy. "They're always watching you in the library," said another. The reasons behind these feelings may include a residue of ill will toward school, which carries over to any bookish environment, as well as a protest against the decor of the library, which is basically an unadorned, plate-glassed building with reading tables in full view of both passersby and library staff members. But these children do have their "mooring" places, where an adolescent feels completely relaxed and unthreatened, and about which he harbors feelings of possession. The benches in front of Big Daddy's and Drug Fair are one such territory. Here they are not "hassled" by adults; and from this vantage point they can observe the set of gatekeepers for Big Daddy's restaurant—the older adolescents who have staked out the territory on the walkway immediately in front of the restaurant. The two patio tables, on a lower level (but nestled in the curve of the wall), are also considered private and wholly comfortably spaced by the young adolescents. But the booths along the wall in Big Daddy's are the ultimate designation of the emerging adolescents in search of identity. In reply to my question, "Where do you feel most

94 / The Sovereignty of Function comfortable, most at ease?" the youths unanimously named Big Daddy's: "It is dark and you can sit in the booths at the back to talk—and smoke, when we want to try it." "Well, you can play the game machines and listen to the music and you can talk real privately." "It's just neat to have a place where you can relax,· it's not all bright and full of little kids, and you can mess around after you eat." "You never see any little kids in there unless they're with somebody. It's just a place you get to go to when you're older." So Big Daddy's is a combination identity peg and social mooring. At Reston's center, preadolescents first encounter, and in full review, the antithetical principles of equality and inequality; the quests for security collide with the wishes for self-expression. Like all others, in reconciling these principles, young adolescents like to add the territorial dimensions to their options. CONCLUSION

There are two ways of viewing territorial commitment—the fact that social imputations of meanings include spatial meanings. First, the emphasis placed on the manner in which sovereign social meanings are imposed on the actor resembles the assumptions of Durkheimian functionalism, the idea that there is little a person might gain from resisting group definitions of place, that any effort at convincing our gatekeepers that their precepts may be wrong, or at least subject to reinterpretation, is futile. This view of territoriality, as borne by conventional understandings, runs the risk of becoming a theoretical conviction. A second way of perceiving territorial commitment appears more realistic—in this view, the construction of meanings evolves through a symmetric process, where the participants to a spatial situation work with and against each other in pursuit of a setting. Put another way, ecologists must not slight the distinction between routinized and nonroutinized acts, the latter referring to the negotiable dimension to building consensus.23 Territoriality is a construction process by which diverse groups and individuals arrive at agreements and disagreements about the meaning of place. With the vicissitudes of time rearranging our relations with location, the struggle to build a union with territory—in which there is

Conclusion I 95 an interface between the life organization of the self and the norms of the community—is a constant. After all, every social relationship (after Rousseau) is held together by some kind of coercion—an army, the police, parents, a charismatic leader—by a moral order in which individuals willingly respect both each other and the rules of common law. In a postindustrial, mobile society, territoriality emerges out of stress or pressure relationships, less from structured negotiations. In family places and worship places, among others, all-pervasive identification is attenuated. With the constant exposure to alternative routes of action, human beings are less disposed toward sustained territorial relations with each other. The idea that the sacred is always separate from the profane is less and less confirmed in modern life. With territorial "transgressions'' being displaced by spatial tolerance, the despondent among us cry: "Is there nothing sacred?" The modernists retort with their own canon of conduct: "If you are to possess what you inherited from your fathers, you must first destroy it."24 Acknowledging that commitment to preordained ethics dissolves the particular, the reciprocal is likewise true: the pursuit of self-interest invites the destruction of the moral boundaries of people. In full view of the fact that spatial norms serve as moorings, that when held as intrinsically valid they render tranquility to human existence, nonetheless there are inherent contradictions in each of the above-stated assumptions. An individual does indeed hold to her or his own spatial perspectives (accepting the fact that the person might have been affected by the views of others in some earlier period—a view which George Mead seemed to have had in mind when grappling with the problem of the social formation of the self). I am but honoring the observation that the self is very active in trying to construct the meaning of things. In fact, the relations between meanings imputed by others and the meanings imputed by the self may be quite interdependent, but in the final assessment, if there is to be any feeling of order in territorial behavior, the person must ultimately construct this order by her or his own efforts. The illusion of group absolutism, rooted heavily in Durkheimian thought, hides the superior truth that human beings are condemned to freedom but are likewise constrained by the need to live in society.

6 / The Principle of Insufficiency: The Assertion Model Man's intentionality, his decision to do or become something is a force in its own right, a force that exists under the sun as surely as do wind, biological pressures and social norms. —Sidney M. Jouard Daniel Bell, in his The Cultural Contradictions of Capitalism, speaks of the shifting ideological foundations of our society, of how the American Dream is in transition from a revolution of rising expectations to a "revolution of rising entitlements." 1 The notion of waiting one's turn, of responding to the call of service to and reward from society, is yielding to the belief that personal interests should be the driving forces that generate the ends of practical activity. The surge in demands for basic incomes, education, and health reflects this turn of events. Furthermore, people seem to be rediscovering their "inalienable" property rights. Witness the tempest in Mexico, where the territorially disenfranchised are pressing for the right (not the privilege) to own their fair share of tillable land. And in America we are suddenly made conscious of rights of access to white suburbs, to college campuses, to restricted playgrounds and cemeteries. These outbursts draw forth the subtle distinctions between treating people equally and making them equal. These are trying times for the adjudicators on the benches of our high courts. Bell's observation draws us to the declarations of pioneer sociologist Albion W. Small, who, in 1905, said that interests serve the same purpose in sociology which the notion of atoms has served in physical science, that "interests are the stuff that men are made of." They are the simplest modes of motion which we can trace in the conduct of human beings. "The whole life-process, so far as we know it, whether viewed in its individual or its social phase, is at last the process of developing, adjusting, and satisfying interests." Small called them affinities, latent in persons, pressing for satisfactions whether the persons are conscious of them or not;

The Principle of Insufficiency / 97 they may be classified under health, wealth, sociability, knowledge, beauty, and Tightness.2 While Bell would hardly call our motivations latent, nonetheless this is a tipping of the conceptual scales toward nominalism, the idea that the predilections of the self need not necessarily wait upon the blessing of the community. He explains that, while the character structure of Puritanism and each person's calling were well joined in the preindustrial era, in the industrial and postindustrial periods we witness an ever widening disjunction between collective rights and ends and those of the self. The normative philosophy of the public household and the ideology of self-realization create profound dilemmas within the democratic social experiment. In fact, those who guard the freedom to live as they desire speak of the tyranny of the community even when a majority vote sanctions collective dominance over the self. Thus, according to Bell, the right of privacy implies an undermining of any comforting transcendental ethic. Delayed gratification and temperance as a symbol of respectability yield to the self as the touchstone of cultural judgment. Building upon Bell's thesis, we are made aware of how ascribed spatial privilege is recast as spatial rights—to come and go as one pleases. We see a lack of fit in formerly homogeneous places in the sense of one's personal posture not necessarily meshing with the territorial sentiments (imperatives) carved out of generations of struggle for locational identity. Our "grounded values," then, not only become a problem for the public weal in the metaphorical sense of "grounded" but take on profound territorial dimensions in a symbolic sense. The proper question becomes: with whom, for what, and for what time frame does a location speak? Norms are not so intrinsically wedded to place. The centrality of things and ideals is being reconstituted along more disparate territorial lines. The build-in contradictions within our capitalistic democracy between entitlements and expectations have been caught up under the phrases "the right to be equal" and "the right to be unequal" (figure 6). Amitai Etzioni's ponderous work on the transition of contemporary capitalistic society from the level of conscience to one of consciousness labors with the same observations as Daniel Bell's.3 While Durkheim spoke of "collective conscience" as the "totality of beliefs and sentiments common to average citizens of the same society,"4 Etzioni translates this into shared values, not into personal knowledge or awareness. Conscience is a matter of values

98 / The Principle of Insufficiency

6. Contradictions of capitalistic democracy.

and commitment; where values define its substance, commitment defines its intensity. When, therefore, a society displaces its conscience with a consciousness or rationality (the selection of means to realize its goal), in the broad pursuit of institutional control, the commitment of the member tends to dry up. And this, says Etzioni, can have debilitating dimensions: The reason we expect more active actors not to adhere to more rationalistic decision-making strategies is that these strategies are not rational at all; as the incrementalists correctly stressed, the rationalistic approach does not provide a guidance mechanism for relating means to goals and realizing values. Moreover, rationalistic decision-making hinders effective action because, as we have seen, the prerequisites of the model cannot be met in the real world. A decision-maker who attempts to follow the model . . . will either weaken his

The Assertion Model / 99 own commitments, as his resources and energies are spent trying to apply a model that he cannot satisfy, or will overact and initiate policies that he will assume are rational, only to discover that the policies do not withstand reality-testing and that he knows and controls less than he assumed. In both cases, the actor is expected to be frustrated and relatively inactive.5 With Etzioni explaining how a rationalism-prone member of a group is doomed to inactivity and frustration when working within a social system, the tone is set for this chapter—namely, assertive, frustrated contemporary human beings will be portrayed as probers of spatial moorings. I have in mind the rationalism-prone individual, the striver whose consciousness functions by a logic of reality fraught with many pitfalls. THE ASSERTION MODEL

In these closing decades of the twentieth century, the territorial bond is increasingly rooted to the principle of insufficiency, which translates into a theory of choices. Our socialized species as Homo faber must be conceived as the builder of a preference field or map embracing all possible combinations of wants. Our style of life is geared to an axiom of open-ended continuity,· we are marked by a personal philosophy of future-centeredness. Our preference field bears an element of location and the wished-for satisfactions to be immersed in it. This is choice behavior, the selection between acts whose consequences are not certain. The underlying hypothesis becomes: when faced with the prospect of making sociospatial choices, the actor will choose that alternative for which the expectation of gain is the greatest and for which the expectation of pain, conflict, insecurity, and failure is the least. Prospects for gain in income, security, health, knowledge, and recreation are cast in an equation of profit and loss or "minimax." This privatized American Dream, this principle of insufficiency, is an unstructured perspective geared to the self as a selector of prospects. Choice making is a matter less of horizontal substitutability (one job for another, one house or neighborhood for another) than of displacement of one object-goal for another in a preference hierarchy.6 The actor lives by prospects self-generated out of past experience and

100 / The Principle of Insufficiency imagination. This is a shift from commitment social psychology, the structure-functionalism so tenaciously defended by Emile Durkheim: If this were so [that social solidarity is the mere product of spontaneous consensus generated by individual predilections, with contract making being a natural expression], we could with justice doubt their stability. For if interest relates men, it is never for more than some few moments. It can create only an external link between them. In the fact of exchange, the various agents remain outside of each other, and when the business has been completed, each one retires and is left entirely on his own. Consciences are only superficially in contact; they neither penetrate each other, nor do they adhere. If we look further into the matter, we shall see that his total harmony of interests conceals a latent or deferred conflict. For where interest is the only ruling force each individual finds himself in a state of war with every other since nothing comes to mollify the egos, and any truce in this eternal antagonism would not be of long duration. There is nothing less constant than interest. Today, it unites me to you; tomorrow, it will make me your enemy. Such a cause can only give rise to transient relations and passing associations.7 Obviously, Durkheim distrusted the disposition of the self. Morality, he proclaimed, begins at the same point at which disinterestedness and devotion also begin.8 Stable relations will not endure from a utilitarian, pragmatic, self-seeking human model because the self is incapable of constructing either a socialized self or a community of thought and action. The cross-fertilization of sociocultural norms with personal values is an untenable arrangement in building the bonds of individuals. He writes: . . . how is it that there are no incommensurable secular values? If there are any, they are sacred. . . . That moral phenomena correspond to this definition, that they are incommensurable with other natural phenomena, seems to be incontestable. It is a fact. The public conscience does not admit, and has never admitted, that one would be justified in

The Assertion Model / 101 failing in one's duty for purely utilitarian reasons. If it is forced to tolerate such behavior, it seeks, by means of some casuistry, to hide the contradiction from itself.9 Embracing commitment sociology, Durkheim would probably have reacted with revulsion to the claim by urban sociologists that the secular (profane) community is guided by the following propositions: First, indifference to one's neighbor,· the "live and let live" attitude is geared to the principle of toleration and not to interpersonal conflict. Second, a transitory attitude toward things and ideals makes for the good life. A weak tie to one's occupation and location is a healthy relationship. After Georg Simmel, contemporary individuals are keenly aware that spatial and group membership involves a belongingness in which at the outset they bring qualities into it that are not and cannot be indigenous to it. Between the two factors of nearness and distance, a peculiar tension arises, since the consciousness of having only the absolutely general in common has exactly the effect of putting a special emphasis on that which is not common. Third, ready adjustments to conflicts and catastrophes, economic and social—being events beyond one's control— suggest the necessity of balancing universalism with particularism. Fourth, the conclusion that obligations to others, when segmentalized rather than borne by the complete self, make for more enduring relations. Homogeneity is not the key at all. From Schmalenback: "Toennies (and everyone else) knows that rural neighbors may become mortal enemies when . . . a boundary is disputed, just as brothers may become enemies when an inheritance is challenged."10 Fifth, in a climate of differential association, both in time and space, group needs and values do not determine associations; personal interests do. And, as a corollary proposition (after Max Weber): Places and statuses become so entwined, dilemmas emerge among all parties as to the right and wrong auxiliary traits expected of persons who suddenly break on to

102 / The Principle of Insufficiency the scene. But in an opportunistic world, these ephemeral contradictions and dilemmas of status, the manifold gradations of social rank, comprise a setting for the aspiring individual to "get the breaks." Opportunism is a principle of action which draws people to causes, movements, and the overturn of institutions and territorial rights and duties.11 The assertion model moves beyond the old nominalism-absolutism (realism) dichotomy when we attempt to understand spatial relationships. The term "referential space" is a helpful sensitizing concept in this respect, drawing attention to the subject-object relationship implicit in any motivational system. The object commences as an immediately present thing in the environment, followed by the person's locking into it on a conceptual level. Referential space is that which is molded within the individual's conceptual space, capable of generating a body of perspectives that the self may adopt or reject, by degree, in the construction or realization of its style of life. Contemporary individuals are critically comparative about their spatial anchors, ranking them, remaking them, to serve their own sense of worth or mission. Metaphorically, we are prone to rent our locations in a spirit of inquiry and plausible involvement. In this sense, human beings supply their places and supporting props with a temperature. Rather than using the thermometer of physical science in sensing the climate of things and locations, citizen-ecologists rely upon the responses to questions about them—the talking and gesturing observed in interaction or the reports and documents found in such local institutions as libraries and the daily press. These each person uses as the indicants or the properties of space, the feelings of membership ranging from commitment to arrogant exploitation. The spatial temperature, as the territorial ethos, may be marked by doubtful identity on the part of the occupants, vigilant defensiveness or spatial permissiveness expressed as a "culture of civility."12 The transition from territorial commitment to intentionality is not a rhythmic processional thing involving stages through time. For in the social structure of humankind, as in physical nature at large, these artificial dichotomies do not exist. Each of the paired opposites is embedded, enmeshed, and entwined in the other. Plato's cave is our natural milieu. A speck of light throws shadows on the wall, and a fragment of that which was previously

The Assertion Model / 103 concealed is briefly revealed only to be concealed again. While one may find tempting the disposition to compartmentalize irreconcilable spheres of everyday life, it is far wiser to recognize and accept them in all their actual contrariety. Human beings, as territorial creatures, have no great difficulty operating first on one level and then on another, first in an acquiescent, commitment relationship to dramaturgical space and afterward in a course reflecting the initiatives that attend their contrived life styles. The matrix of simultaneously acting forces or determiners will pull, push, or mold a person's experience and action, but only if that person chooses to be both a catalyst and an object in the world. With a facility for imagining things, for better or for worse, the creative human being uses commitment places to extract from them all the reinforcement they have to give, while mustering his or her own resources to repel available "solutions" planted in the pathway as "proper" alternatives to a self-instigated natural unfolding. Commitment places, then, serve only as generalized others for the self. Knowing that, like a mirror, a person reflects a neighborhood, a town, a nation, a place of work, a home, throughout, the individual is everlastingly threading a course through perceived constellations of generalized others, propelled by his or her own intentions. Some interests, one surmises, may best be served in a setting of relative stasis, yet for others an atmosphere of inordinate turmoil is best. But in the course of normal events the individual expects to act and react in settings of the intermediate types. To pursue the realization of one's self-concept, any considerable disinclination to acquiesce and cooperate within the commitment frame illegitimizes or disestablishes authority and arouses withdrawal. But isolation, on the other hand, carries the element of nonsupport to the point of self-despair and even guilt. We all have a need for both sides of this coin. In the terminology of Mead, the "I" and the "me" are present in us all and, like a moving pendulum, we find self-respect in the fresh freedom of oscillating between the two extremes. The Chicago school of ecology, with its focus on natural or commitment areas, was inclined to view residential groups as the product of congealed sentiments. Thus, since spatial cells were described as being marked by a sense of solidarity and willingness to cooperate, the physical borders were seen not as bridges but as barriers to interlopers. In 1952, Morris Janowitz revised this per-

104 / The Principle of Insufficiency ception with his concept of limited liability.13 His was an emphasis on the intentional, voluntary, in fact partial and differentiated involvement in residential space. A neighborhood may be unevenly developed, as when outside forces (such as a newspaper) enter the scene, defining boundaries, spatial integrity, and responsibilities. In this sense, such outsiders as educational, religious, governmental, and commercial agencies become quasi insiders as they probe, test the homogeneity of the district, and influence its life styles.14 Community or territorial identification, then, is to be conceived as a broad dialogue between ethnic old-timers, commercial franchisers, residential and retail developers, realtors, and city officials, not to overlook persons with rather esoteric life styles. These parties may be quite unsympathetic with the host population's origins, definition of goals, and proclaimed territorial boundaries. Accordingly, says Janowitz, we are in the presence of a two-way street. On the one hand, we see the host population as custodian of a territorial reservation—a limiting condition, a protective stance concerning traditions and routines of life. On the other, we are made aware of a constant dialogue with newcomers on the reformulation of land use—the future dramas to be incorporated within the district. Janowitz' concept of limited liability (in turn reflecting his exposure to the dynamism of Louis Wirth's urban sociology) has, however, a wider pervasiveness than mere urban neighborhoods or enclaves. For example, a newspaper such as the Chicago Tribune, Los Angeles Times, or Washington Post, with a vast regional, even national, constituency, may faithfully yet often inaccurately report ideological themes and life styles and thereby suggest images for those who might migrate, these images being translated into expectations and plans of action. The Washington Post, an East Coast newspaper with broad national readership, portrays the outdoor life style of Californians as the wave of the future, with space being an opportunistic thing rather than a restraining force. The feature writer reports: Lifestyles! One cannot resist the word California; perhaps more than any other, it is what makes San Francisco and Los Angeles, or the campuses of the University of California at Berkeley in the north and Isla Vista in the south, seem part of the same state.

The Assertion Model / 105 What do "lifestyles" mean? Why have we suddenly found that we need the word? Here is the individual, released to be "himself" or "herself" by the bounty of the environment, natural and technological; less bound by social groupings, ethnic or social, than anywhere else in the world; seeking a sense of community in the sharing of lifestyles. This is far more important than the supposition—which seems about to become a convention—that California is the "media state." The media here are not innovators; they reflect the lifestyles of the population. "This is perhaps less a 'media state' than any in the country," John Babcock, a third-generation Californian who is a television producer, said to me, "because people have too many other things to do. For one thing, I suspect that television is watched less here than elsewhere, simply because people are out of doors most of the time." The media reflect the lifestyles that exist independently of them, and carry them east to the rest of the country and the world, most obviously by television and in the movies, but also by the "underground" (now the "alternative") press, which had its real birth here. Lifestyles may be searches for community, but they are as they are meant to be, less permanent than the social or ethnic groups of the past. They are choices of the individual, and they leave him with a perpetual decision as to what he imagines his personality or his identity to be. The sociologist James Q. Wilson, who grew up in Southern California, has put it well: "The social structure did nothing to change the individualistic orientation of life. People had no identities except their personal identities. . . . The absence of such group identities and of neighborhoods associated with those identities may be one reason for the enormous emphasis on 'personality.' . . . Everybody was compared in terms of his or her personality. . . . To be 'popular' and 'sincere' was vital." To take the most obvious and in many ways the most attractive of the lifestyles: If the beach is what Los Angeles is about, then the surf is what the beach of the Pacific is about; and the surf means surfing, and surfboards. Watch a group of surfers carry their boards to the beach: bronzed and blond and blonde, perhaps more unisex (in spite

106 / The Principle of Insufficiency of the more obvious attributes of their sex) than one sees anywhere else, they are like a band of medieval squires entering the lists at a tournament, carrying their surfboards like shields before them, for on the plexiglas are painted their designs, their own heraldry. Nothing in their lifestyles—and surfing is a lifestyle—tells anything permanent about them. One cannot tell where they came from, where they will go, or what they will be. Their lifestyle is a design, like the designs on their surfboards; and as one watches them, one at least realizes that design is what California is about. Design is a substitute for structure. Design which will momentarily order a life which is without the order of any harsh sanctions. Design which has the freedom of outdoors as well as indoors, since the two are confused. . . . I give you, then, the California I see: a new society, in which technology and nature are associated, rather than in rivalry, and neither imposes the more obvious restraints on which our civilization has traditionally been based. A society in which the freedom of the individual, precisely because of its bountiful opportunities, is in the end subject to the severest of inquisitions: who am I, what do I want to be? A society in which one may design one's own life, or retreat into the fondling of Esalen; in which one may design a utopia as easily as a beach shirt, a cult as promptly as a swimming pool; in which it is not the society, but the life of the individual, which is open to design every day. . . . He [Josiah Royce, almost one hundred years ago] found in California "the struggle of society to impress the true dignity and majesty of its claims on wayward and blind individuals, and the struggle of the individual man, meanwhile, to escape, like a fool, from his moral obligations to society." In a pungent phrase, he found in it "a sort of irreligious liberty/'. . . But behind it all lie the attitudes of a people who, thinking that they do not need to be governed much, do not want to be governed much. "Lower your expectations" is the slogan not only of Brown, but of Reagan.15 The implication in the above essay is that California land is not lacking form; it is merely loose. And the purpose of this loose-

The Assertion Model / 107 ness of movement is a persistent exchange between indoors and outdoors, between the person and the landscape. The California place is portrayed as a voluntary association, where sentient men and women may not be reduced to the status of spatial robots.16 We learn, then, from insiders (Californians) and from outsiders (feature writers), and certainly from George Mead, of the great coercive power of significant spatial others. These others are agents of inconsistent generalized others. "They attempt," says Bernard Rosenberg, "to inculcate rules of a game that are freely alterable."17 The concept California bears only the capability of becoming universal to all who witness or aspire to incorporate it. For a concept is not, upon presentation, my concept or your concept but an idea to be built up through the process of experiencing or transacting with others. Thus the symbol of the thing (California) is subject to rearrangement from that presented to you (and to me) by others—be they ordinary tourists, natives, or professional symbol manipulators, for example, free-lance writers for a distant newspaper. The ongoing conversation between the socialized self and the land is always in motion. The relationship is marked by uncertainty or unpredictability, especially among populations where successful efforts are made to carry as many credentials on the person as on the land. Proximate causes for change are an admixture of both interdependent inclinations. In such a transactional setting, individuals, by reason of their interpretive capacities, may misformulate the conceptual meaning of any given symbol. Accordingly, one need not make a choice between instrumental and expressive forces, between consensual (normative) and nonconsensual forces—such would be a false start. William Rosengren and Spencer DeVault, describing the territoriality of an obstetrical hospital, sense the problem: One might say, then, that where there are lacunae in the behavioral expectations among persons acting in a physical setting, the physical setting itself—spatially and symbolically— will provide symbolic cues to fill such lacunae. On the other hand, where the physical setting itself is less than complete in boundaries and barriers, the normative system will define such barriers to conform with itself. Often, however, neither the physical setting nor the normative system is fully adapted one to the other. This is the

208 / The Principle of Insufficiency . . . approach, in which a condition of unstable equilibrium exists between the normative system and the ecology. This may well be the most typical condition not only in our single hospital but in most social establishments. This is merely to say that there is no such thing as a "social psychology of architecture." There are, then, numerous contingencies in the tasks that occur in the hospital in which the normative system is endangered by events that might take place in certain places, and certain aspects of the physical setting that lend a kind of ludicrousness to some aspects of the normative system. It is in the light of such contingencies that interstitial areas become places where the normative system changes, to some extent, and the dominance of "place" becomes less pronounced. The hallways, the community center, and the like appear to be ill-defined areas in which congruities between the physical setting and the normative system are resolved.18 I would add only this to Rosengren and DeVault's observation: the self (actor, patient, whoever) is a viable force interceding and compounding the complex interplay between the normative and the territorial by reason of the fact that the self gives credence to their substance. Persons may, for instance, activate their "mental mobility" (Howard Becker's term)19 to redefine and rearrange their definitions of other persons, releasing them from the restrictions of their specific locations. The actors may conclude that given territories are, in fact, a bluff, a façade, thus refusing to immerse themselves into the place with the expected grimness. For example, a critical individual may define a doctor's office as pseudoterritory, as a spatial kingdom where a physician stakes out a claim with the gods, demanding that all patients and functionaries genuflect. This is the politics of territoriality, based on Mead's notion of the creative, unpredictable "I," on the notion that persons are somewhat freer agents than is allowed in the more usual sociological view—freer not only to find ways to get around norms and territorial rules but also to join others in pulling down the social structures within which they find themselves (witness the difficulty that parents have in controlling their children in the hush-hush of the doctor's waiting room). The ecologist should not succumb to such sponge concepts as normative, stress, and role conflict to explain the idiosyncrasies of territoriality. After Peter

The Integrational Spectrum / 109 Manning, "Non-normative may be used to isolate a segment of behavior, linking to a set of effects or consequences, but the application of that label, like the application of 'deviant,' 'criminal/ and 'crime,' is not isomorphically produced by the behavior, but is a function of situationally relevant variables."20 Individuals can never be considered wholly deviant or "normal" in a setting any more than they can be seen as wholly integrated into the complex sociophysical arenas in which they participate. We are prone to vacillation. The theme of Michel Crozier's The World of the Office Worker underscores this perspective: "Feelings are not the product of circumstance. Rather, the latter are the raw materials that actors use for their own ends. People do not choose to be happy or unhappy, as if they were calculating machines, tabulating the results of a series of converging acts. They complain about or enjoy things in an active way, depending on what may appear as profitable to them in their dealings with the social and physical environment."21 THE INTEGRATIONAL SPECTRUM

We learn from delinquency theory that when persons are caught up in natural areas ("delinquency areas") they are in a position to escape the coercive effects of their environment.22 Under the concept of differential opportunities or social choice, we are made aware that individuals must have access to congenial alternative environments for the realization of life-style models. Given a predisposition to deviate from group norms or definitions of things and ideals, the nature of the response will vary according to the availability of achievable (at least, felt to be achievable) means. And the locality factor, as an influential, may range across the integrational spectrum from commitment to insufficiency. In neighborhoods, for example, where inhabitants neither know nor want to know one another intimately, this internal structuring of social relationships—where "law-abiders" and "offenders" have a mutual predisposition to tolerate each other—this opportunity to explore new modes of conduct, is ever present though not necessarily widely exploited. My point is this: where a person functions will have a major effect on that person's chances of becoming conventional, ambivalent, or rebellious with respect to the social ethos, depending upon the dictates of that individual's life organi-

110 / The Principle of Insufficiency zation, that is, the incentive system. After all, no social area, no norm, is capable of causing sui generis a mode of compliance, except in situations of human debilitation, deceitfulness, and treachery. It is in this sense (by including the role of individual factors as intervening variables) that we dignify the concept of ecological or territorial determinism as a participating force in human and social organization.23 IDIOMATICS AND THE SPATIAL NEXUS

In contrast to a view from commitment ecology that paints a fairly static set of territorial norms and values governing situations (the Parsonian pattern variables or any other resources as they circumscribe meanings and action consequences), I argue for the need to recognize the situational and problematic nature of territorial meanings. While humans are perfectly capable of identifying analytically a dominant "image" of a setting and its workings, the actual procedures by which they take these socialized locations into account, negotiate and establish shared meanings about them, are fragile and almost ephemeral. Our human theaters are constantly being thrown up for recasting, resymbolization. The real or empirical world of personal and group life revolves around territorial intersections—where peoples meet and negotiate. And, with the territorial act as the proper study of human ecology, we are drawn of necessity into the language, the idiomatics, of these places. Nonetheless, as long as symbolic communication remains imperfect, so will be the science of spatial relations. Invoking Rosenberg: Men communicate among themselves just as George Herbert Mead said they do. One of us makes a gesture—and whether he does so without delay or after prolonged consideration does not matter—and then, on that basis, he responds; and his gesture is in turn interpreted, but how fast or how accurately will depend upon the countless variables. Symbols, above all words, give the genus humanum his humanity. It is a long time since Francis Bacon wrote about the "Imperfection of Words," but little has been done and little more can be done to overcome that imperfection. Your vocabulary and mine overlap, and so we reach each other after a fashion.

Idiomatics and the Spatial Nexus / 111 Where our worlds are not the same, although both of us may be expressing ourselves only in English, we are still not speaking the same language. . . . In the empirical world of day-to-day affairs, we have no substitute for natural language with all its inherent fuzziness, vagueness, imprecision and inexactitude.24 From the perspective of the human ecologist, the idea of situational behavior in human affairs has been handled in a most cavalier fashion, cavalier in the sense of its being a time-based episode, a clocked intersection of actors making talk and exhibiting their sociodemographic similarities. Space-talk has been slighted. Situational behavior research has gone little beyond metaphorical description and label making. We must remind ourselves that, in the real world, situational behavior is a time-territorial huddle, an encounter ranging from focused to unfocused interaction. Even if we acknowledge that such propertyless encounters as cross-country television hookups and multiphone conferences do indeed occur, most situational behavior is line of sight and is illustrated by card game places, surgical teams in operation, sexual interaction places, and ballroom couplings. These are territorial encounters where the physical appurtenances are vital to the episode. Persons in a place, or in reasonable proximity to it, in order to legitimize their affiliation, are expected to know the right place-names and when to use them. The sharing of particulars about place lends a sense of identification in a shared setting. The sharing of details, including the labels of objects, proclaims membership; conversely, those who fail to share are self-acknowledged strangers. Thus knowledge of places is fundamentally a locally organized phenomenon, as manifest in the familiar inquiry: 'Oh, you have been there?" Human beings, that is, interact in an environment of episodic places—in a neighborhood, a campus, a part of town, each eliciting "matching talk"—a search for commonalities. These spatial categories are filled by persons who have molded these locales as particular situations. We make them into both landmarks and moorings. While landmarks are in-between places, moorings are commitment spots. A landmark is important as a transitional beacon. Southern Californians, for instance, like to reminisce about the old days when they met at the corner of Hollywood and Vine— a colliding place, a pausing point where people met en route to their mooring places. They would meet at this spot in relative in-

112 / The Principle of Insufficiency dependence of where they might later be going. Now, it seems, "Hollywood and Vine" has been redefined from a "waiting place" to "where the action is," a mooring or wateringhole for marginal social types. "Respectable" people insist that they would never be seen at this location. Moorings, therefore, usually carry a history. People build up subtle as well as blatant linguistic labels about their places. They come to recognize the difference between an "adequate" formulation of a place and a "correct" one, plus the required audience when uttering the labels. Intentional misidentification carries a plan of action, an attitude that cannot always be conveyed by a "correct" formulation. For example, when we say, "Well, back to the salt mines," we are supplying a descriptive twist to our "correct" place of work. Thus a "right" or "adequate" definition is not necessarily drawn from the "correct" definition. But by using the former designation the speaker is signaling a kind of territorial membership, assigning a place-mood dimension which makes unnecessary any elaborate discussion as to degree of affiliation (commitment). Likewise, speakers will wittingly or unwittingly confuse their generalized others with their specified others, depending upon the kind of impression to be made upon the listener. For example, in the 1930s, the term "Hollywood" was a place-name that could convey any combination (and rtiore) of the following: Los Angeles, Westwood, Paramount Pictures, unincorporated Hollywood. To some persons the label was a misnomer, but not to others. The possession of both correct and idiomatic language makes possible the invention of space and the right kind of sharing within it. John Gumperz writes: "Communication is seen as a two step process in which the speaker first takes in stimuli from the outside environment, evaluating and selecting from among them in the light of his own cultural background, personal history, and what he knows about his interlocutors, in order to decide on the social norms that apply to the situation at hand. These norms then determine the speaker's selection from among the communicative options available for encoding his intent."25 With space being only fleetingly "physical" in the external sense of things, it is ultimately an imaginative or creative construction, an interpretive frame or conceptualization. And it is through our language, with all of its nuances for usage, that spatial things become conceivable to us and capable of being embraced, given a voice, and shared with others. The abundance or lack of ad-

Conclusion I 113 verbs is elemental in indicating the range of shadings given to locations. The preciseness or vagueness of our linguistic devices is the measure of our success in interpreting the world of spatial conditions. These are, of course, symbols—which, in the last analysis, means that they must be verbalized. To incorporate space with conduct is one vital facet in social control and self-conception. CONCLUSION

Twentieth-century human beings view space in a twofold sense, as an empathy object and as a disposable object. Philip E. Slater puts it this way: "Between any dynamic structure and its component parts there is potential conflict as well as substantial identity of goals. Otherwise all structures would be tension-free and permanent, and exchange of components would never occur."26 Disposability or spatial liquidity is the newer norm in an achievement society. Accordingly, waiting places tend to bear transitional values while such empty spaces as lawns are interstitial things, subject to encroachment and redefinition. So when we experience things, places, or objects we have more than sensation and the correlative reflexive and instinctive responses. Experiencing arouses interest, imaginings, and reflections culminating in interpretation. This interpretation of things which we observe is a necessary human condition, for without it no experience has existence or reality. The meaning of things is a devising of things, a property of human behavior; it is only secondarily a property of objects or situations. People do shift their spatial allegiances and become their own converts as they move from one microcosm to another. In this sense, commitment spaces are an apparition by reason of the potential presence of pressure relations between forces for social solidarity and those for segmental identification and potential reformulation. The concept of territorial determination takes on meaning only to the extent of understanding human species as self-markers.

7 / The Frontiers of Contact: The Edges of Things

When there is a line which, according to fiction, may not be crossed, the rules require elaboration to take care of those contingencies where human nature breaks out. —Robert E. Park Spatial encounters, those territorial collisions at the edges of things where people are exposed to alternative routes of action, are the subject of this chapter and presume the interplay of both constraint and spontaneity. The underlying principle is this: with conflict a vital component of collective behavior, when in the presence of adversaries, commitment groups will divulge their goals most explicitly, exhibit their means-ends tensions with greatest measurability. Groups with a deep sense of mission are generally crusaders for territorial exclusiveness simply because they are prone to polarize the world. Their anxieties tend to break out at the ridges because of the potential territorial fluidity at these spots. One is made aware of monopolies of practice at one pole (for example, at the Maginot fortifications, the Berlin wall, forbidding institutional moats in the form of formal lawns and gates) to ambiguous and doubtful frontiers of restraint at the other—where collective selfdiscipline can crumble before the sly pressure tactics of outsiders. At the latter pole, encroachment is not only possible; it may, in fact, be encouraged in a spirit of toleration or accommodation, depending upon the resoluteness of the members. Any reasonable interpretation of the rules invites probing, innovation, and social movement. Witness, for example, how residential construction along the flexing frontiers of Israel is accompanied by consternation within all parties as they defend their proprietary stakes. At spatial frontiers the formal organization is tested by the informal, the written constitution by the unwritten, where manifest functions risk displacement by latent ones—in short, where the official code of conduct, the credo that defines tasks, powers, and pro-

The Diversity of Encounters / 115 cedures, wrestles with the value that subjugation to authority must always be voluntary. In this context, social scientists have neglected the ecology of the "mission fields," those arenas where the moral codes are presented in their most exaggerated form by their caretakers for fear that followers at the frontier will be forgetful and mock, even desert, the cause. Under the bombardment of alternative definitions of ambition and success, such special devices as written contracts are brought into play to refresh the memory, to remind individuals that they are organs or functionaries of the larger collective interest.1 THE DIVERSITY OF ENCOUNTERS

Obviously, frontier ecology includes different contextual encounters—a wide range of ideological adherents—from racial groups (black versus white housing rights), generation groups (radical-left crusaders versus parental surrogates on campus), and class-conscious groups (the suburban affluent versus aspiring slum dwellers who have had a few breaks and wish to relocate) to religioethnic groups (Christian enclaves versus Moslem villages at the borders of Lebanon). The list is endless. Suffice it to say that as long as there are individuals there will be groups, and as long as there are groups there will be group differences. But many of these differences are conditioned by their territorial dimensions. Stated otherwise, the brushing together of peoples sets up contrasts, fomenting contests for the "continuance of locality" (Georg Simmel's term).2 By negotiating territorial differences, ideological conflicts are susceptible to amelioration, to reformulation. Consider how in Jerusalem religioethnic groups are capable of working out understandings about the walls that divide them (figure 7). The walls are shared barriers. Variations in territorial accountability can intrude between collective-oriented, violence-prone groups, either mollifying or igniting conflict, depending upon the skills of leadership. Unfortunately, Lewis Coser, an authority on social conflict, tends to overlook the power of the territorial referent when he posits that collective-oriented groups are more prone to violence than self-oriented ones.3 A few concrete instances of border encounters are needed to illustrate the range of subtleties which attend spatial accounta-

116 / The Frontiers of Contact

7. The ancient city of Jerusalem, a holy city for Christians, Jews, and Moslems. bility. And we begin with my old notes from Everett Hughes' lectures on racial and cultural relations. Hughes stated: In recent times, there has come into vogue the notion that the political unit should be a geographic place with a single contiguous territory whose boundaries are clear-cut, an invisible line that you cannot step over in an instant, and within which all the people are of one ethnic stock, one language, one body of custom and tradition, and ideally of one religion. The border between Mexico and the U.S.A. is such a case. Often this ideal state of affairs carries the notion that these

The Diversity of Encounters / 117 people are (or ought to be) some kind of racial unity, that they have (or should have) a common ancestry—even if it is only symbolic. All the people of this stock are forever members of this state and ideally should live in this territory. And to be "naturalized" into citizenship, the theme of adoption is caught up in the ceremony. Now, the group is expected to push for power, numerically, politically, and economically, which means that it must eventually overflow its boundaries. And, when that happens, other peoples must make way so that there will be living space for this expanding group. The result is an odd combination of (a) the "tight little island" idea of the state—the idea of the self-contained nationstate—with (b) imperial expansion and world power. That is, the world mission idea and the nation-state idea become fused. The British had this combination at one time. The Prussians had it. The French, Spanish, and Portuguese had it in a certain form, although obscured by the idea of the Christian mission to convert the world. But you converted some people to the glory of the King of France while others were baptized to the honor of their Catholic Majesties of Spain. This familiar and powerful idea in modern times has never produced a complete correspondence of reality to the national-state idea. Holland and Denmark are close to it, but their boundaries are not clear-cut ethnically, linguistically, vocationally. There is no homogeneity running along the border. In fact, this is generally the case of all the ethnic boundaries in Europe. Furthermore, as in the case of Flemings and Walloons in Belgium, you can encounter states with more than one ethnic group, neither of which has boundaries coinciding with the political. We all know that France has German-speaking people. Great Britain has its remaining Welsh and Scotch in addition to plain old English. In North America, we no longer have the boundary fights as in South America. We set down our political boundaries in their main outline and then the population types filled in afterwards, with one dominant ethnic group in charge of the government. This was not so clear in Canada and is not even yet. The Mormons of Utah and the French Canadians have much in common on this matter of territorial exclusiveness. Mormons, until their more worldly educated progeny began to instruct them otherwise, used the term "Gentile" to mean everybody who is

118 / The Frontiers of Contact non-Mormon. And the borders of Utah were the contact points of believers and nonbelievers. While numerically more Mormons live in California than in Utah, Zion still means Utah, with Salt Lake City its Mecca. Orthodox Utahans have worried over the years about fellow Saints residing in the California Mission Field, suggesting that these are problem people, members who improperly embellish their chapels and wink at the procedural rules and codes of life (specifically the abortion and Equal Rights Amendment issues), at the meanings attached to weddings and the levels of heaven (terrestrial, celestial, and telestial). Indeed, California is highly prized by vacationing Utahans, but this preferential association does not dampen their distress over the manner in which their fellow extraterritorial Saints tinker with sacred matters. Californians are to be admonished that underlying Mormonism is the idea of kin, with genealogical research being a sacred obligation, that church membership translates into bioethnicity, territorially bound. French Canadians also tend to draw their group lines tight and demonstrate distress over constraint problems found at the perimeters. In Montreal and Quebec Province, these citizens conceive of themselves as being over against not English Canadians but English Canadians and everybody else. Since they think of themselves as having the power of definition of the world and of themselves, this power inheres in kin connection. If kin connection ceased to be important in French Canada, the adherents would probably lose their power of exclusive territorial definition. It is within the kin concept that the power of rejection lies, with class, vocational, and language markings being the auxiliary attributes expected of its adherents. Here, the language issue touches a lot more than language alone. The children in the French school system are mainly from the working classes; those in the English schools are decidedly middle-class. There has been heavy immigration into Montreal, particularly from southern Europe, and Italian and Greek immigrants have routinely sent their children to the English-language public schools. This raised deep fears among the French-speaking natives that their majority was being eroded. They responded with a law requiring all children, except those whose native language is English, to enter the schools taught in French. The immigrants, those who have crossed the borders into Quebec Province, resent this law bitterly and in 1976 voted heavily against the liberal government that enacted it. Quebec's voters

The Diversity of Encounters / 119 have now put in power an explicitly and determinedly separatist movement, the Parti Québecois. The language quarrel has now reached a point at which any concession to one tradition immediately becomes an unforgivable insult to the other. This conflict is the kind of luxury in which a country can engage when it is rich, well fed, and safe from foreign threats. It is part of a worldwide pattern of national fragmentation along kin and territorial lines. While the Mormons of Utah tolerate members of non-European heritage, the French Canadians put up with all those German and Irish surnames as long as everybody speaks only French. There is the shared expectation that, with each passing generation, they will forget all those strange foreign characteristics of language, territorial loyalty, and vocation. French Canadians want the status and the economic benefits which attend schooling in business and industrial affairs but sentimentalize over their agricultural preoccupation. Kin and agriculture coalesce and dictate their geopolitical boundaries. In the racial struggles of South Africa, the problem of territorial exclusivity is the key bone of contention. Who in South Africa enjoys the prerogative of defining not only the status rights of the population but the spatial sanctions which go with them? The power, of course, inheres in the white group to say who is native, who is colored, and who is not. And the thousands of citizens whose ancestors migrated from India have always been in a precarious position, wedged between the polarized racial combatants, always fearful of being even more spatially disenfranchised than they are at present. They carefully guard the one advantage they enjoy over the blacks—being assessed in terms of class attributes rather than caste, with the result that their spatial licenses are less restrictive. At this writing, South Africa is in its deepest social and spatial crisis. This is the consequence of a double failure: first, the old liberal multiracial ideal of a common society and, second, the original apartheid notion of expelling blacks territorially. White South Africans, we must remember, have handled their frontiers differently than have their counterparts in the United States. Lacking the population and the adventurous spirit of frontier Americans, the Dutch settlers at the tip of Africa did not kill off the indigenous tribes. By the time gold and diamonds were found, and cheap labor was needed, the settlers lacked any incentive to kill off the blacks. Greater bloodshed and the beginning of serious urban terrorism,

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8. Boundaries embracing overlapping ideological groups in the Middle East

for the first time in sub-Saharan Africa, are likely to occur if radical changes in territorial rights are not forthcoming. And, for any partitioning between blacks and whites in this country to succeed, the boundary making must arise out of negotiation. As long as the land is congealed with a way of life, as long as

The Diversity of Encounters / 121 intricate economic and political ambitions are simplified behind slogans, collapsible into border disputes, feverish encounters are almost inevitable. It is a matter of spatial reductionism. Hence, by rule of thumb, irregular geographic frontiers tend to be clues to overlapping ideological groups, to unresolved conflicts. And the Middle East is a classic example of this (figure 8). Palestinians call home not only the West Bank but towns within Israel that they would expect to visit some day but not to liberate; what they want most of all is the sense of national identity that would arise from statehood. Just as many Jews in the Diaspora were given a new sense of pride and hope by the creation of Israel, so also would the Palestinian refugees escape from the tarnish of being second-class citizens of nowhere if a state of their own were founded. But, wishing to avoid a new confrontation state on their borders, Israeli leaders insist that any West Bank-Gaza entity (where a million Palestinians now live) exist in some kind of political and economic federation with Jordan, an obviously forced spatial design. However, many Palestinians envision a Palestinian state that would become a kind of Middle Eastern Liechtenstein, offering a corporate base at easy tax rates for companies that wanted to operate in the Middle East. They are already involved in tourism, real estate, banking, and engineering elsewhere in the broad Middle East. They assume that wealthy Arab states like Saudi Arabia would underwrite the costs of building a new country. The economic problems, however, are nothing compared to the politico-territorial ones. The Israeli timetable for relinquishing the occupied territories is somewhere between ten and twenty years from now, assuming that the Palestinians demonstrate peaceful intentions. But settlement-oriented Palestinian leaders must contend with those within their midst who are deeply determined to destroy Israel, this being their only solution to the Middle East problem. Aware of this threatening climate, Israelis insist that in any negotiations over the West Bank's future they be allowed to maintain military posts along the Jordan River, which separates Jordan proper from the West Bank. And, as an added protection against the future, they have so far established over sixty settlements in the occupied territories, spotted roughly along the geographic lines that they hope will become Israel's borders in the future. I would posit the thesis that economic and political dimensions to boundary making in the Middle East are manifestations of deeper religiokin bonds. Each time one side invokes religion to bolster its own case, the other side stiffens. If mutually respected

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9. Bangladesh'sBiharioriginally come from India.

perimeters are to be drawn peaceably, this should not happen. But it does. How odd and how difficult to say that the role of religion/kin in the Holy Land must be carefully circumscribed in a spirit of accommodation, and how necessary. Territorial boundaries must be set in the Mideast, with the overriding point being this: a religious, economic, or social boundary cannot be factored out of a spatial boundary. Space, with its edges, is but one pointer to the sensitive ideological issues at hand. Boundary making, following wars, not only separates the victors from the vanquished but invariably reduces innocent bystanders to second-class citizens. I have in mind the hundreds of thousands of Bihari Moslems desperate to go to Pakistan but unwanted there. They face economic privation and starvation in Bangladesh, where they are also unwanted. The Bihari are the rejects of South Asia: not wanted by the country they left a quarter century ago, the country they chose to go to, or the country in which they now find themselves. Since 1973, after Pakistan picked over those Bihari it would admit, some 300,000 frightened Bihari have been

The Diversity of Encounters / 123 stuck in Bangladesh against their will. Most Bihari have no claims left on the eastern Indian state of Bihar (figure 9). As destitutes and as Urdu speakers, they are regarded as fuel for the fires of linguistic politics in Punjabi-dominated Pakistan; as collaborators with and supporters of the Pakistani army, they are detested in Bangladesh. Although the threat of violence against them has subsided since the 1971 Bangladesh war of independence, they are still at the bottom of the barrel for jobs and food. Thus we have an ecological problem: the disposition to be made of individuals who do not clearly belong to one group or the other. In India, Bangladesh, and Pakistan, there has emerged a generation of protocol carriers—those official and self-made authorities on and spokesmen for the sensitivities of adversary groups. These people surface in strange places to block migration for some, to open gates for others. One such person, a Bangladesh rehabilitation minister, said of the Bihari: "We won't push them into the Bay of Bengal, but finding jobs for them is going to be a problem. If we give jobs to Bihari and not to Bengali, there will be an uprising." Yet a Bihari who joined the Pakistani army and fought against the Bengali insurgents during the nine-month civil struggle, upon being released from prison, spoke as though he were speaking for all sincere Bihari as well as Pakistanis: "I have killed for my country and my country wants me. When we were captured by the Indians my commander told us we would come to Pakistan whenever we were freed. If for some reason Pakistan refuses to accept me, I'll try to make my own way there. I'll die trying if I have to." 4 But the presence of "advisers" in official and unofficial places —those favored few Bihari—ultimately influences the destiny of their fellows (after the Civil War, trusted migratory blacks in the North became the carriers of protocol, the gatekeepers, for the would-be migratory blacks in the South). Succinctly put, the redrawing of boundaries can mean the detribalization not only of warring groups but of third parties as well. Professional and industrial workers can be turned into farmhands, even beggars. Unable to rejoin their group in Pakistan, the Bahari cry: "Why should Pakistan set a limit on us? Why should they reject us? Surely they will not." So they are people who are in the course of losing their specific tribal or regional identities and acquiring a general identity. The label "native" is often assigned detribalized people— those who have lost their territorial exclusivity. The term groups people together no matter what their tribal or linguistic origins. As

124 / The Frontiers of Contact people are given this new general identity, they become aware of the very great difference between their new position and that of the people at the top. The Bihari of Bangladesh appear to be headed in this direction—a population at the bottom, without comforting land perimeters. Commanding no priority whatsoever, they remind us of the perennial spatial predicaments of the American Indian. The states of Maine and Arizona, among a few others, have their frontier troubles with American Indians, people struggling to retribalize. In Arizona, with winter snows nourishing the grama grass roots on the land, north and south, with piñon pine knolls and red sandstone mesas comprising the landscape on both sides of Interstate 40, only the boundaries drawn by humans make any difference. To the north lies the Navajo Indian reservation; to the south, on private and leased government land, are sprawling cattle ranches owned by whites. Both Indian and ranchland, however, are in Apache County, with the reservation line cleaving the county almost in half. Now, because of increased Navajo involvement in county government and a Justice Department demand that Navajos be given equal voting rights, whites in the southern half of Apache County want the Navajos split off into a separate county of their own. They point to the fact that reservation Navajos pay no county or state property taxes and, under redistricting, could win county supervisor posts. Their rallying cry is "taxation without representation," and they argue that the best solution is simply to give the Navajos a county of their own. Indian tribal rights and racism are on a collision course as Navajos are elected to high positions. Tax-paying landowners see the Navajos taking over county government, levying higher taxes, and spending recklessly. Interestingly, state legal jurisdiction stops at the reservation line and federal jurisdiction covers only ten major crimes; a Navajo supervisor from the reservation could indeed take bribes or illegally use county property with impunity. Thus, in the contact of cultures, social frontiers are easily transmuted into territorial ones. In sum, when two groups meet they have different skills and wants, in short, different conceptions of what a living is. Between two peoples, then, lies their ambition with the problem of survival uppermost. In the western world we say that other cultures are without our types of ambitions, that they are, in fact, lazy. Hence the generalization: on the negative side, when the distinctive sets of values establish the maladjustments between groups, the ter-

Frontiers as Collective Behavior / 125 ritorializing of these values compounds the encounter. "Territoriality," wrote Gerald Suttles, "seems to occur among individuals where the negative judgmental consequences and the potential of conflict are greatest."5 On the positive side, when the complexes of ambitions become identical in two groups, any territorial differences are susceptible to negotiation. Only the hangover auxiliary attributes remain to keep the respective groups in a self-conscious state. Mere propinquity, however, does not of itself detonate conflict. For example, throughout history two types of cultural economies have been in contact over the world, the native economy characterized by agriculture and barter and the capitalistic or money economy. When the respective supportive groups make contact, are propinquant, the native agricultural economy invariably yields to the money economy simply because the latter can sell goods to the agrarian people and can detach the native people from their economy through bringing them into the industrial culture as wageworkers. At base, this contact involves a transition from the conflictual to the accommodative. And the more readily observable consequences of the contact are fourfold: (1) the vital demographic rates are affected unpredictably; (2) the use of the land responds to the dietary predispositions of the two groups; (3) the contact of skills (technology) interlocks with the sentiments toward the land and familism; and (4) the educational system is a crucial contesting point because in this province the contrasts in ambitions and sentiments are brought forward in indoctrinating the young. The germs of collective behavior, in short, are always at work at the edges of groups. FRONTIERS AS COLLECTIVE BEHAVIOR

At the frontiers of contact, the idiomatics of encroachment come forward and point to unresolved relationships, to the processual side of territoriality. The labels and epithets first used on the frontier often can become later embarrassments. Recall in World War II how those isolated American "relocation camps" carried an unsavory connotation—our territorial response to a felt enemy within our borders. Yet, after three decades, we relabeled them "concentration camps"—American style—conveying thereby our guilt for the way in which we treated our own Japanese Americans. I am saying that in doing territorial research you must know what you

126 / The Frontiers of Contact and your associates are talking about in the here and now. But, unfortunately, the names we give to relationships constantly change in connotation and denotation. The philological, linguistic history of places and things can intrude on an otherwise simplistic interpretation of reality. And this is magnified when strong-willed peoples brush against each other, each with its own idiomatic accountability of things. A social caretaker will acknowledge the confusion of tongues by saying, "These things must be put in their proper perspective," in this way reminding the listener that people insert feelings into their physical surroundings, that we all live in a world of esoteric idiomatics. Thus you can never take an object, whether it be a boundary or an ancient manuscript, at face value. Especially on frontiers do the participants (including those who study them) find it necessary to get behind people's rhetorical masks. People, it seems, can deceive you more with the spoken word than with the written one. And with this truism I inject something kind about Durkheim: his prime contribution to the understanding of the empirical world was not so much in pointing out the importance of the group in forming the mind of the self but, rather, in showing that words are not mere somethings that happen along with the social process but are the essence of the social process. Although he by no means developed this observation quite the way I am doing it in this book, this was the essence of his long discussions about collective symbols and concepts. Words are weapons; they can be poison in the interspatial contacts of people. We not only get labeled and relabeled, as shown in the game of renaming African slaves upon their arrival in America, but the places we occupy undergo constant terminological reformulation. Consider how urban sociologists conveniently rename a "blighted area" a "ghetto" as soon as minority groups with different habits displace a departing white population. Middle-class whites in Reston, Virginia, say with disdain that "rednecks" and "poor white trash" are moving into the outskirts of their new town and making a "slum" out of it. By such talk they seem to be signaling that they are trapped within their own borders. The idiomatics of the frontier are the social indicators of success and failure in building lines around ourselves. Some labels die hard, these expressions living on long after knowledge about the object-meaning has become cloudy (I spoke earlier about those rolling suburbs that carry the derisive epithet "pill hill" long after

Frontiers as Collective Behavior / 127 the doctors have departed to other status-giving districts). The line between epithet and pet name is fine,· there can be affectionate epithets as well as ugly ones ("skunk hollow"). And this leads me to an important generalization: this whole business of building, substituting, and corrupting our epithets about places, and the things upon them, points to the prejudices, the grievances, and the aggressiveness of the users. Individuals and groups do not and perhaps cannot completely accept for all purposes other people's verbal semantics, their systems of names, but must have their own.6 They are their own self/other markers. And it is the job of the ecologist to know how this labeling activity works in fashioning human spaces. Consider how the word "tolerance" is used when persons, families, and communities encounter aliens at their gates. The word may be a façade of magnanimity, an apparent disdain for meanness and revenge behind which a not so subtle strategy is being carried out, based on this axiom: to openly conflict is to honor the integrity of the adversary; to ignore is the ultimate in contemptuousness. Thus, to disguise "race relations" behind "human relations" is to confuse and compromise the enemy at the gates. The human ecologist, then, must know the social rhetoric in order to read the moral documents of territory. The investigator must always pause in his or her spatial analysis and ask, "What do these words mean? Why do I use these words and not those words so current among those I am observing?" The vocabulary of peoples in contact, especially when aligned along the axis of naming, is the nexus to land use in process, to how people would conserve, control, and plan it. To understand land use, the ecologist is inevitably drawn into the subtle associations and reciprocals of such terms as "working space," "high ground," and "private property," and "woman's place." The fusion of the land with its labels sooner or later guides the investigator to those people we call gatekeepers, advocates, moralists, preservers, and caretakers, in short, those who enjoy the naming power. And by the reverse of this the researcher can spot those who challenge the prevailing precepts. In this manner, the ecologist builds a predictive stance with respect to the rearrangement of peoples and life styles, to the way in which diverse and diffused populations may eventually penetrate and fuse their minds and experiences. I conclude my observations about frontiers in the making, the

128 / The Frontiers of Contact fluidity and encroachment in spatial behavior, with two seemingly outlandish and unrelated illustrations: American cemeteries and front porches, topics that call for future investigation. I suggest that the American cemetery is not only, in microcosm, the confirmation of living territorial symbolism but is likewise the window to future social realignments in the egg. As a meeting place of the living and the dead it is the ultimate confirmation of the conflicting, accommodative, and assimilative natures of the generations. In the spatial arrangements of the dead, we find cues or hints to both the detribalization and the retribalization of the living, where the living, in disposing of their dead, would displace the facetious admonition "You can't take it with you" with the more sobering thought that the dead are never really cadavers. Beginning with William Kephart,7 we see in the administering of the dead the status prerogatives of the upper classes, not only via the innovations in hardware brought to the scene and the kinds of bereavement ceremonials deemed proper but in the ecology of interment plots. I recall as a child watching how my Mormon elders fussed and gossiped over the proprietary burial rights of their fathers—those affluent polygynists tapped by Brigham Young to take on two or more wives. Should a plot be reserved at the right side of the interred husband for his still living first wife on the occasion of the premature demise of the second? Even the spacing between the interred caskets was a subject worthy of serious discussion. The spatial alignment in death raised voices among the progeny, pitting family against family, with those "insulted" speaking of scandalous scars that could blunt otherwise friendly association between kin groups—especially at family reunion time. Extending Kephart, I am suggesting that upper-class symbols and procedures ultimately devolve to the lower classes, who must also dispose of their dead. The elite are the symbol manipulators of our cemeteries, the ultimate designers of the sociospatial arrangements of the dead, the folks who make the transition from "hideous" headstones to small bronze plaques, who garner peripheral burial sites on high ground much as they prefer those high elevations in the suburbs. Kephart is alluding to this territoriality when he speaks of the poor, of the potter's field, of the choice location: A pressing fear among many lower class families is the vision of a burial in potter's field. Such families, it was re-

Frontiers as Collective Behavior / 129 ported, will go to almost any length to avoid this kind of burial. If potter's field in Philadelphia can be taken as typical, it would probably be no exaggeration to state that so far as social class is concerned, such fields literally represent the end of the line. Here, generally speaking, lie the social ciphers. Individuals interred at potter's field are stripped of all the symbols which classify them as human beings. They are buried without flowers, without clothes, without graves, and without names.8 Kephart found that in Philadelphia the differences between the upper and lower classes are most striking in the ecology of the cemetery, with the middle-class patterns ranging by degree between the status poles. He speaks of upper-, middle- and lower-class cemeteries, of cemetery managers who "deal with all classes, so long as they are white and Protestant." However, he found class distinctions to be more visible within rather than among cemeteries. But William Pattison's descriptive geography of Chicago's cemeteries is even more enlightening. He explains how the need for burial space, the demand for accessibility, is conditioned most profoundly by the demand for religious and nationality requirements. The impact of fraternal orders on cemetery land use, while present, was secondary. However, he brushes aside the importance of race: "The Negroes of Chicago, generally (though not completely) denied burial space, have turned to five cemeteries of their own."9 But the more important thread running through Pattison's report is that the institution of burial, like other institutions, tends to carry out its service and control functions for somewhat different ends than those which brought the institution into existence: Demand for Religious Distinction. Over one-third of Chicago's cemeteries have been called into existence by a desire for segregation of the dead on religious grounds, although there have been other immediate reasons for the founding of many of these. Interestingly, only the Roman Catholic church, Lutheran churches, Jewish congregations, and one Greek Orthodox congregation have been moved by a confliction of religious difference to establish their own ceme-

230 / The Frontiers of Contact teries. Other denominations have taken no responsibility for burial places, or have purchased small plots in large cemeteries operated by private corporations. Demand for National Distinction. Cemeteries have, especially in earlier decades, served to make a symbolic show of independence and pride on the part of foreign sub-communities within Chicago and this has led to a further multiplication of cemeteries. Bohemian, Lithuanian, Polish, German, and Swedish groups have been active in the founding of separate cemeteries, while Chinese, Japanese, Greek, Syrian, and other groups of relatively small population have had recourse to sub-sections of large business-managed cemeteries.10 The urban emphasis on the immediacy of things constantly erodes the value of permanence and commitment. Old ethnic moorings are thrown up for recasting, and a strong clue to the realignment of loyalties can be found in American cemeteries. This leads to the proposition that as we turn over our societies we turn over our cemeteries. Profit-making cemeteries have moved to the fore, geared less to sentiment and more to efficiency, Pattison reporting: "At one time, responsibility for the care of cemetery land was shared by the cemetery owners and the lot-holders, and families cared for their respective lots as though they were gardens. The general trend for many years, however (due not only to the scattering of families but to a change in attitude), has been toward the purchase of this service. Cemetery care today is financed either by assessments or from the income of a maintenance fund for the entire cemetery, to which contributions are made from the saleprice of lots."11 But the territorial story on cemeteries is unfinished. I would propose that ecologists look beyond the conventional graveyards to the cemeteries of the nouveau riche, including those individuals who aspire to that lofty station. I am talking about the ecological innovators for the dead, about the people who set the trends for aspiring others. Obviously, cemetery burials in public lands have long been passé for the aristocrats—the old rich. Years ago, in the thirties, they contrived their own graveyards, their own Forest Lawns marked by tiny churches, by costly landscaping and sculpturing. Only the uninitiated among them would consent to burial in common earth. Marble mausoleums were constructed for the powerful, with niches properly pressurized with gases to preserve those so entombed. It was a case of enshrinement through use of

Frontiers as Collective Behavior / 131 the sepulcher. But the next best thing was cremation, a mode of disposal which released the dead from the graveyard.12 It was the symbol of the upper middle classes. Ashes could be placed in stately vases and arranged in modest niches in mausoleums, alongside entombed aristocrats, their betters, or scattered over the face of the earth. I am trying to say that the modern cemetery is not always where you think it is; it is beyond the customary edges of the old graveyard. The number of people opting for cremation is flourishing, rising steadily from 67,300 in 1963 to 120,000 in 1972, with California accounting for nearly a quarter of all cremations.13 Those seeking to avoid the association with the masses and the forbidding "deep six" black holes in conventional cemeteries have their ashes spread over places of eternal beauty—bodies of water and mountain forests. This is a symbolic expression of eternal release. It is not surprising, then, that state laws regulating this new frontier of burial appear from time to time. The advocates seem to be saying that recreational places for the living should be separate from those for the dead. And cemetery boards go one step further: refurbish the conventional graveyards along the lines of Forest Lawn, that is, keep the recreation places for the dead discreetly inbounds! Threatened by the movement toward cremation, they embellish their properties with lagoons (including fish) and call them contemplation places. They must have rejoiced at the ground burial of the Kennedy brothers and the adoption of the eternal flame. But they are rather sensitive on the subject of whether these innovations are attracting more clients. They acknowledge the movement toward cremation and away from the graveyard but insist, at least officially, that the practice has not made a noticeable impact on the old methods. When an executive director of Chicago's thirty-seven Catholic cemeteries remarked that "cemeteries are as much for the living as the dead," that "people might as well see them before it involves a funeral," he was not attuned to the emerging ecology for the dead. When the National Funeral Directors Association finds it necessary to mount a countrywide advertising campaign to woo customers, to convince the public that the traditional funeral is the only way to go, they must be threatened by something! The once inviolate realm of ceremony that ends with a headstone in a peaceful cemetery is being resisted by increasing numbers of people opting for cremation, an alternative which is not only economically wise but keeps them respectable in death. A final illustration, the American front porch, rounds out my

132 / The Frontiers of Contact remarks concerning frontiers as collective behavior. When one speaks of how, traditionally, American space begins with a "place" ("He found a place in her heart," "I am tired of this place"), the front porch is at the forefront of nostalgic spots. It ties us to our heritage, where the homeowner is ceremonializing membership in the community. It is the old-style welcome mat constructed at the edge of the house but between the institution and its supportive community. Porches, however, are rapidly becoming relics of an older era. The home connotes another definition of its occupants vis-à-vis those who either stride or stroll on the sidewalk. The porch was our compromise between privacy and sociability. Half-inside, halfoutside, being simultaneously accessible and inaccessible, through the porch we opened ourselves to friends, to acquaintances, and sometimes to a stranger who, in passing, might pause. We still see porches on the American landscape—wraparounds fronting three sides of New England cape and seafront houses, two-siders overlooking quiet midwestern streets, Victorian porches with wondrously carved pillars and railings. But they are all relics of another period or, better put, of another spatial course of action. The American summer evening in the rockers and porch swings has undergone a total metamorphosis. We have exchanged the useful pleasures of dialogue for the rapt fixation of the listener to electronic monologues on television, including a specialized watching stage (bedroom or family room) where summer heat is conquered through air conditioning. After Rod MacLeish, the vanishing porch is part of a larger change, a crumbling of the known, safe perimeters of neighborhood or town before the onslaught of as much of the whole world's fancies and realities as the proprietors of broadcasting companies choose to offer us. In newer homes, the front porch has been pushed around to the inaccessible backside and given a new name: it is now a deck. Minus the welcoming staircase, it seems to shout defiance, detachment, and exclusivity. It is a protective extension of the inner rooms, where steaks can be broiled for a carefully selected clientele. It is on the deck that Americans seek to relearn the forgotten craft of sociability out of view of outsiders. Deck language is riddled with the jargon of people trying too hard to do what their elders once did naturally; they even pretend that this kind of communication is a new art form. Once there was something outside the front door that held us and, at the same time, offered us. Now,

Conclusion I 133 however, our porches are simple slabs of concrete that say: "Ring the bell, state your business, and move on." The porch is now a barrier rather than a bridging place. CONCLUSION

The human concept of space makes use of the edges of things. If there are no physiographic edges to use as social referents, we make them by creating artificial lines (five miles west and two miles north). In the Occidental world, a space is defined as an empty thing; we do not get into it until we draw intersecting lines. Thus propinquity without centers and borders is unenduring. Broadly perceived, Americans have lived through many kinds of edges or frontiers, where social and physical borders converge. We speak sentimentally about our first frontier—the fabled open land to the west, the challenge being to settle a rich but harsh environment. But this first frontier closed at the turn of this century and a second—the industrial or technological frontier—opened to replace it. Here, the challenge became mastery of the environment we had usurped in pursuit of material affluence. The sudden realization that conventional energy sources are limited has kept this challenge alive in the form of anxiety. As our concern for the environment increases and we realize the limits of world resources, we are witnessing—symbolically at least—the closing of this second great frontier. The third frontier is the social psychological one. If we acknowledge that peoples have always been embroiled in intergroup struggles, it is only now, in a shrinking world, that thinking women and men are becoming conscious of the fact that local border disputes carry national and international implications. (Americans worry about racial encounters in South Africa while Africans watch closely our own relations with blacks and Indians.) They are recognizing that the planning of social frontiers now includes, whether we like it or not, the range of exhibited interest as a broad search for models of intergroup relationships. Succinctly put, this is the frontier of the person exploring, in community with others, the next stage of human possibility. It is a frontier of social and individual change, where the territorial dimension is one of many principal axes still unclear but whose rough outline is discernible. With challenges along our past frontiers being external

134 / The Frontiers of Contact in the sense of being "out there," whether we are speaking of mastery of the land or manipulation of technology, the challenge of the third frontier is highly internal—the realizing of our collective human potential. For some, this inward turning is translated into a concern with personal emotional processes, for example, spiritual experience, parapsychological phenomena, a kind of abandonment of the rationalism that supports science. But, for others, the frontier is a concern with the social ethics of intergroup contact, with what might be done when group lines intersect in either dramaturgical or physical space. There is an awareness, it seems, of two interdependent ethical precepts. The first is a self-realization ethic, which asserts that each person's proper goal is the evolutionary development of that person's fullest potential. I touched upon this earlier. This ethic insists that every social environment must be supportive of self-realization, whether caught up under the credo of rightful "expectations" or under "entitlements." The second ethic I shall call the ecological, which, in accepting our earth as limited, recognizes not only the underlying unity of Homo constructeur but the fact that humankind is an integral part of the natural environment. Taken together, these two ethics, as opposite sides of a single coin, leave room for both collaboration and wholesome competition, for sociality and individuality. Each ethic serves as a balance against the possible excesses of the other. And, with the acceptance of these ethics, human ecologists are drawn inextricably into a world view strikingly different from the localized microorientation of years past. They must now examine the very psychosocial roots of the territorial act if they are to contribute anything worthwhile toward bringing this third frontier into focus. Metaphorically, it is as though we circulate in a small, cramped, one-room house, believing that this room is our home in its entirety. Yet, if we are only to become more aware, we would find that our house is a mansion with many room dividers. In short, this third frontier implies a concept of territoriality as unfinished and unfolding—a maturing, if you wish, along both individual and collective axes. As we draw space up and around ourselves we are building a language of self-awareness, of the purposefulness of things. Regrettably, this approach to the boundary relations of human beings has been a most difficult orientation for students of ecology to accept. This is because they look upon the gamut of influences affecting individual behavior as being composed of such

Conclusion I 135 and such a number of discrete items, or variables, each singly affecting behavior. Perhaps because of their self-restricting quantitative techniques, modern ecologists are ill disposed toward recognizing that behavior is composed of interacting influences coming from the individuals themselves, from their reference groups, and from their sociocultural setting: a mutually influencing triad of forces. This is why the study of individual motives and characteristics as discrete objects of examination, or of groups and culture as imprinting mechanisms, is bound to fall short of a rounded and accurate account of territorial behavior—or any other kind of behavior, for that matter. What is needed is (1) a conception of the individual in that individual's group and areal setting and (2) a conception of the group and spatial setting relative to its members.

8 / What It All Means: Spatial Contingencies in Planning Even when we accept the dominant viewpoint in environmental studies that effects of the environment cannot be understood without at the same time studying the associated social and cultural conditions, we are still left with the question: given any group of users, what can the environment do for them? —Robert Gutman With confidence we may now turn to the task of applying our sensitizing concepts to a different level of reality: designing for planning. With theoretical inquiry oriented to cause, and practical inquiry to purpose, the task becomes one of moving from the former into the latter. And my position is this: in recognizing the interplay of personal and social logics, the human ecologist bears some responsibility for showing people how they might best address themselves to the territoriality of human affairs in order that their common goals might be achieved in a more satisfying and efficient manner. We begin with the proposition that the territorial problem is never singular, isolated, or static but carries complex and intertwining characteristics, that thought, desire, and purpose exist in a constant give-and-take of interaction with environing conditions. Variations in material conditions of existence and in ideas, attitudes, and values are involved. And, with such specific problems as privacy, poverty, leisure time, education, housing, and crime inclined to bear spatial dimensions, we arrive at the second proposition: with solutions of spatial problems keyed to solutions of nonspatial problems, we should never be astonished to find the catalytic forces or impellers operating in social settings quite remote from the local predicament. I am one of those social scientists who believes that the main objective of our enterprise is to reach the lay leader. Also, I believe that the eyes of the world are upon the American social experi-

What It All Means / 137 ment—upon how we order up our possibilities and expectations, how we take initiative in living up to them. The urgency is especially great on the way we relate to our physical environment; but the demands for action need not be hysteric, only realistic. While we may be a glass house to the world, we must avoid the kind of parochialism that insists that we are, indeed, the center of the world. Reworking John Dewey, we need only commence by reminding those who lead us and those who watch us that the land not only continues to exist by transmission, by communication, but it may fairly be said to exist in transmission, in communication. In being sensitive to the bond of territory, this enigmatic statement means that, in the very process of passing the land on to others, heritages are thrown up for recasting. The practical territorial problem, I am saying, is not so much learning to live with people who agree with us as learning to live with people who disagree with us, not so much learning to live in an environment of common values as learning to live in diverse places with differing values. Hardheaded realtors seem to be saying all this when they shout their simple ecological axiom: "Location is everything." Likewise, city planners, in their pursuit of some kind of communal order, honor the diversity of their social base with the slogan: "Physical planning, like all planning, is for people." Both practitioners are saying that the big decisions about land use are ultimately made by the people—those symbol manipulators who relate means to ends. When the principle of commitment collides with the principle of personal initiative in problem solving, curious logistic language is encountered. Disciples of commitment are prone to make planning synonymous with regimentation, including the connotations of unnatural interference, corruption, and nepotism. Planning, they feel, ultimately intrudes upon all facets of personal initiative. Strangely enough, what they regard as an individual virtue, namely, foresight—an interest in the future and the use of rational means of achieving objectives—is considered a collective vice. Therefore, the advocates of self-expression counter with their dictum that "planning is for freedom," that if you sincerely believed in the laissez faire of commitment would you not, in good logic, leave the changers alone too?' As in the case of Solomon, planners cannot resolve the issue by arbitrarily defending one of the two polar positions by reason of the fact that each philosophy thrives on the satisfactions inherent in the other.

238 / What It AU Means PLANNING FOR COUNTERVAILENCE: THE TWO AXES OF APPLIED ECOLOGY

Applied ecology involves grappling with the concept of good living, with how spatial references are vital in accomplishing goals. This involves balancing what people don't want with what they do want. And, insofar as land-use planning is involved, the problem is reduced to balancing security (inaccessibility) with liberty (accessibility), community goals with personal choices (the right to plan, even improvise, one's life organization). This is a delicate relationship in a democratic state, requiring the ecological practitioner to be knowledgeable of human motives, of who determines need and the ability to pay. Sociological wisdom dictates that planning be accomplished in the matrix of its best locus. (Airports, for example, require the defining of limits and the working out of joint plans with many local areas within and between cities by means of effective collaboration or the setting up of superauthorities.) One must know when to displace the stratagem of land-use "reforms" (the progressive attack of one abuse after another) with the idea of land-use flexibility as a principle of action, wherein commitment enclaves may flourish alongside territorial free zones. There is the necessity of defending the principle of freedom of movement, of expression, of opinion, and of association as special obligations while crusading for order. The planner must underscore the necessity of guaranteeing the maintenance of the individual capacity for spatial adjustment on the premise that this preserves community vitality and strengthens individual initiative. My complaint is this: when human ecologists function as policy makers they tend, all too often, to acquire a fixation for restraint; their rigid zoning regulations, for example, reflect an ideology of containment. They would proclaim clear-cut territorial differences where only tendencies or barely perceptible patterns are the realities. And this does violence to the empirical world. Theirs is a simplistic view, easy to measure with a tape, to plot on a map—all in defense of the "territorial imperative." Limitedliability places—those city streets, shopping malls, and public parks—are the planners' benign curiosities, either not taken seriously or defined away as "police-problem" areas. Guided by what they see with their eyes, theirs is an inclination to suppress the proposition that every spatial arena displays at every point dissention and conflict and to substitute the myth of spatial regu-

Planning for Countervailence / 139 larism. As applied ecologists, they seem to be saying that planful action can take place only in an atmosphere of anticipated domination or subjugation, as in the ecology of lower animals. They would give lip service to George Mead's dictum that living in a human community is not merely an adaptive, expressive, or responsive activity, a passive fitting of the self to the environment, but an active process with the human being as a participant. Rather than conceiving of the human community as an everlastingly rolling thing, they seem to view the world as a dichotomy between change and order. When they see such groups as cliques, classes, and races tying themselves to spatial referents in a tenuous way, engaging in a constant reconstruction of roles, rules of etiquette, and opportunistic life styles, their orderly profession and supportive science are threatened. The fact that there are people who will suddenly withdraw from a theater of action for most any reason, as well as closet members of groups (people who internalize the values of a setting to which they aspire as members), can prove disruptive in a structure-oriented profession. In sum, those who theorize about and render practical service within the land-use vineyard range themselves across either of two axes of territoriality: (1) the "threat reductionist" axis—the perspective that views spacing as a defense mechanism attuned to our basic conflicting nature, and (2) the axis of accommodation—the fact that human beings dwell in a vast arena of highly negotiable preference fields. The first axis suggests a forbidding world of adversaries jockeying for power and dominance, while the second extols our collaborative virtues, our capability for recognizing dissention as an integral element of group making and group continuity—as a congenial way of clarifying alternatives. The Axis of Threat Reduction The principle underlying threat reduction is claiming behavior, where the group enjoys routine entitlements over the members. And one key claim is territorial obligation, where, in the organization and control of others, there is an implied restriction upon spatial freedoms. This is to say, an abiding authoritarianism calls for spatial commitment as an expression of honor and loyalty toward the group. To "have no place to go" is tantamount to admitting dismembership, a loss of respectability (the phrase "to jerk the rug out from under you" is a supportive idiomatic indicator). Thus accountability and claiming behavior are interrelated and have much

140 / What It AU Means to do with threats to personal and group integrity. A threat-perceiving group may experience a state of encapsulation, a constriction of the range of perceptible action alternatives, a foreshortening of the time and space customarily required to judge its propriety.2 Within this restrictive time-space frame the tactics for reducing the threat are threefold: first, avoidance, the refusal to admit potential defeat by physically withdrawing to new lines of defense; second, acceptance, the submission to the outsider's definition of the situation upon recognition of the high costs of resistance; and third, retaliation, the saving of face, authority, or status after weighing the risks of a frontal encounter.3 Applying this perspective, people have a predisposition to move to the rear, socially and physically, to resolidify their lines of defense if they are to avoid losing their identity. Spacing, then, is conceived as a defensive operation cast in fear. The analogy with lower animal ecology is hardly coincidental. And, as a conspiratorial model of land-use planning, there are vast adherents. I have in mind people who, in a spirit of protectiveness, zone our cities, supply advice to retired couples that leads to disengagement from old neighborhoods and life styles, plan our school districts to preserve certain neighborhoods, propose housing ordinances as disguised restrictive covenants. Depending upon your point of view, when planning for the spatial disenfranchisement of others, this tactic is often labeled dirty tricks ecology. Its advocates see as the social purpose of land-use planning a reduction in the peril, stress, and punishment that would otherwise result from the personal and/or collective drive to fulfill goals. After all, ours is essentially a hostile, natural environment—a territorial battlefield.4 Obviously, the promotion of spatial integration by race, class, or ethnicity is blunted by this perspective. In fact, this conflict or conspiratorial model, this old theology for land-use homogeneity, is vulnerable to the self-fulfilling prophecy of its disciples. In a tone of irony, Serge Chermayeff and Alexander Tzonis exclaimed: "Homogenizing rather than mixing, segregation rather than integration, seem to be the mark of sub-communities within the urban metro-matrix irrespective of income or location. This pattern is the greatest contradiction of them all: while urbanization suggests variety and mix, the reality is actually ghettoization."5 The Axis of Accommodation I would suggest that the above conflict model of land-use planning is being countervailed by the accommodative model of human re-

Planning for Countervailence / 141 lations.6 The fluidity of contact in everyday life is unsympathetic with spatial encapsulation of thought and action. Knowledge, status, and sentiment monopolization is decreasing due to the activities of mass communication and the literacy of the public. Critical inquiry is displacing dutiful commitment, whether we are speaking of institutions or of land use. That is, people on the receiving end of things are becoming varied in the amount of knowledge and expectations which they carry into social and spatial arenas.7 Today, we are living in a world in which every person and every creature are in some measure part of every other. Under these circumstances, our most abstract and impersonal relations with other human beings are likely to be as much territorial as nonterritorial. People are their own spatial converts as they move from one microcosm to another. Ours is a world of inward expediency in which all individuals pursue a life strategy of interdependence and accommodation with their fellows and from which emerges a more articulate division of labor organized on territorial rather than on kin bases. Only those political states with deep ethnic legacies, those populations struggling to retribalize, observe the conflict or adversary model of territoriality. The broader scene is more tolerative, depending less upon technology than upon abstract and formal relationships. And political power succeeds only on those occasions when the state and its cause can inspire personal attachment to the soil. But my point must not be overstated. Technology is not to be slighted. It serves to bring political bodies into contact and set the stage for the adjudication of land-use differences. Is this not the basic raison d'être of the United Nations? Technology, then, while drawing into potential conflict people with contrasting philosophies and territorial empathies, permits communication through discussion. Those who give guidance on land use, whether town planners or such august international bodies as the World Court and the United Nations, must recognize the human dilemma that attends their clients and constituents as they crawl over the physical landscape: is space an empathy object or a disposable object? It is within this vacillating matrix that sensitive decisions must be made. I anticipate that future research on this human predicament will bear out my stance that we are moving inexorably off the horns of the dilemma by using time as the ultimate measure of land use—where one's location in space merely conditions for the moment the values and roles to be recognized, revered, and even-

142 / What It AU Means tually cast aside. One's place becomes, in this sense, a period of time. It is an inseparable element of space. In its intensity and its power to determine one's way of life, time equals the feeling of belonging to and being rooted in a place.8 And the concrete territorial episodes which follow have been arbitrarily selected to develop this perspective. THE SPATIAL PARADOX OF THE RETIRED: TRAILER TOWNS

The strange mix or paradox of temporality and settled life is seen in the case of fixed "mobile home" villages for the aged in Arizona, Texas, California, and Florida. With advice to retired people on matters of housing and relocation advanced only slightly beyond the level of common sense, there is some urgency for studying those life options that may be plausibly rewarding to the aged. Ecological research is needed into this whole business of "social disengagement and reengagement"—in the terminology of gerontologists. Do retired people interpret "living among one's own kind" to mean residential encapsulation by age level, by undifferentiated neighbors, by kin, or what? A plausible two-part research hypothesis comes to mind: retirees who accept membership in restrictive trailer parks for the aged, remote from prior residential moorings, are inclined toward reengagement with the social order—this arrangement being positively associated with sound mental health; retirees who accept membership in mixed-age trailer parks, located in the vicinity of kin and friendship groups, express sentiments of social disengagement—this being negatively associated with measurable mental health characteristics. The results of such an inquiry might help give some sound advice to aged folks of modest income. The aged in American society constitute about double the proportion in our total population that they did a century ago. This has been due to a long-range reduction in fertility and to somewhat reduced death rates for persons in the middle and later years of life. And many of the consequences of this demographic shift were predictable. Stimulation was given to solving medical problems of a chronic nature and to supplying the distinctive services required by the elderly, but little advice was given concerning their locational problems. In a society in which "retirement" has been a rather haphazard affair, at least now it is a formally recognized

The Spatial Paradox of the Retired / 143 stage of life. Accordingly, professionals in gerontology and geriatrics abound. Unfortunately, most of the locational programs for improving the world of the aged are based on educated guesses. Why, for example, do so many mobile home villages for the retired exclude as a matter of policy all pets and children? The roleless role of the aged has been pronounced not only by virtue of increased numbers but by shifts in the welfare values of Americans, increasing demands for the dexterities of youth in production, movements from rural to city living, and many other related trends. Consequently, adjustive efforts at finding a place for the aged have ranged from senior citizens organizations to hobby clubs and retirement villages (mobile home enclaves, condominiums, upper-income residential parks with sophisticated medical centers as found in Sun City, Arizona). In the 1960s, warm weather trailer villages were launched by entrepreneurs in Sun Belt states primarily for the purpose of selling mobile homes. Other initiators were principally real estate developers. By selling easy economics with gentle weather, these enterprising individuals enjoyed a bonanza while showing slight concern with the genuine needs of the Snowbirds—those seasonal migrants who, upon retirement, swing to and fro between northern states and their trailer homes in the South. These mobile home villages, strung along major highways, are modeled after motels, with offices at the entrance and small swimming pools close-by. Body-sensitive oldsters seldom use the pools, preferring to sit on the trailer stoop in much the same fashion as their parents watched the passing cars and strollers from their broad porches. Like their more affluent counterparts in fashionable Sun City (permanent occupants of conventional homes), these people have moved south to enjoy their leisure years. Usually, this proves to be a mistake. Only about 10 percent of the people who pull up stakes and move to a different area when they retire actually remain there. What appears to be a delightful retirement area on a quick visit often turns out to be a dreary, boring place to live. Having moved away from their longtime friends, from their children and grandchildren, they complain of homesickness. They miss the familiar surroundings, friends, and recreation activities they formerly enjoyed. From my 1971 pilot study of retirement villages in Arizona, I concluded that retirees should be renters and not home buyers. At least they should try out the place for a while. Most retirees with whom I spoke preferred towns that were not exclusively retire-

144 / What It All Means ment communities; college towns are often favored because of their good medical facilities and their variety of free or inexpensive entertainment. I found that many retired people felt more secure owning a conventional home or a large trailer rather than renting a place. But, in lengthy interviews, I gained the impression that most had made a mistake; renting an apartment seemed more suitable to their new life style; their homes and trailers that overlooked a golf course should have overlooked a body of water. Many retirees wished they had a spare room for visitors—just in case old friends and kin might pay them a visit. Disengagement is a concept recently introduced into sociological literature to express the decreased interaction of individuals in the social system to which they belong.9 It suggests an origin in Emile Durkheim's "egoist" suicide—the person who rationalizes that old group ties have lost their savor, that the only way out is to withdraw from society. As a concept within structural-functionalism, this may be either individual or collective, addressing itself to the onset of senility symptoms. Elaine Cumming and William Henry feel that disengagement is not only a "normal" transition into the status of death but a necessary process for the continuation of society. My response is this: need the aged withdraw like their tribal ancestors, be given a ceremonial resting place and allowed to perish in a spirit of good-fellowship? Must we assume that ours is, in fact, a triballike society in which our elders are social impediments? May we not opt for the doctrine that you are only as old as you feel and that you are often quite anxious to find a place in the producing scheme of things? Surely hypotheses can be drawn up to test the proposition that spatial rejuvenation or regeneration is as ubiquitous as is withdrawal from meaningful group ties.10 In our age-differentiated society, the integrity of the aged may be enhanced through nonterritorial as well as territorial rearrangements. For some elderly, the dual world of the Snowbirds may be an exciting model for periodic reengagement, but for others it may prove a ticket to despair. Applied sociologists and ecologiste should clarify the options and include our senior citizens when they ask, How old is old? Is there a "place" for the aged? PLANNING FOR DISASTERS

In 1976, when Kai Erikson published his book on the Buffalo Creek flood,11 his most apparent discovery was that survivors of this di-

Planning for Disasters / 145 saster suffered profound, lasting depression due to the change in their environment. They became disoriented because the terrain had changed and because there was no longer a neighborhood for them to live in and rely upon. "We're just strange people in a strange land." There were no familiar, reliable landmarks for the survivors to identify with (even the slag pile, horrible as it was, was one such known object). When the landscape goes, says Erikson, it destroys the past for those who are left: "People have no sense of belonging anywhere." Lost is their old sense of control of their lives, of individual freedom and independence of place and locality, of, therefore, self. Time, kin, and location seem to coalesce in human disasters. In a world threatened by atomic destruction, I recall how the civil defense "experts" had their heyday in the promotion of public and private shelters. Obvious dilemmas and contradictions in their programs led to public cynicism and apathy, reinforced by a special benign logic appropriate for such situations called the normality of anticipation. It is the gambler's logic that disaster will befall the other guy or the other town. This rationalization of personal invulnerability often results in a certain ritualistic theme that dominates planning for disasters. Planning is normally left to "them" and is not considered something which should concern the ordinary individual or family. This is manifest in the decline of fire drills in homes and public institutions. As the lackadaisical way out, we substitute insurance policies, fire extinguishers, and ceiling smoke alarms. With fires normally destroying only one home at a time, floods normally destroying only a limited area, and violent storms affecting only a limited population, the general organization for anticipated disaster, beyond its ritualistic forms, is most difficult. Only those broad-scope disasters such as massive earthquakes, persistent drought, and, of course, war arouse any sort of general disaster organization. The community, it seems, mobilizes to cope with broad disasters only after they have occurred. Preplanning is therefore an unpleasant, disruptive enterprise, most frustrating for those placed in policy-making positions. And this predicament is compounded by the unknowns about how people would territorialize their safety procedures when faced with a life-threatening crisis. On the presumption that death is still a family affair, research on the ecology of disaster relief should begin with the concept of kin, first by exploring those family characteristics which may be of

146 / What It All Means significance in differential kin response to potential or actual disaster and, second, by investigating the more general status-spatial factors of importance in differential response to life-threatening crises. The interrelation between the two-part approach to disaster ecology is profound and is best stated as a question: how can family sentiment (extended as well as nuclear) be made to mesh with space sentiment, leading to easy acceptance of shelter confinement as normal, right, and convenient. The concept of the family shelter developed long before there was any concern with potential nuclear disaster. In very early America, the cabin was the center of defense against Indian attack. In much of midwestern rural America, the storm cave was a family shelter against natural disaster. More contemporarily, the basement is viewed by many families as shelter from the violent vicissitudes of nature. Research evidence seems to indicate that, in times of disaster, Americans still strive to return to the family home and the family circle for security and shelter. Planners have been responsive to these traditional modes of action. However, little is known about these social aspects of family life in American society which might function to enhance the effectiveness of the family shelter or to detract from its effectiveness. If the concept of the family shelter is to supplement the public shelter concept in disaster planning, research needs to ascertain the possibilities and the limitations imposed by family variables as these might affect planning. There are many aspects of family life patterns which may be pertinent to family functioning related to potential disaster situations. Variables commonly used in family research include ethnic and racial background, religion, social and economic status, size of family kinship relations, homeownership, marital happiness, and any number of other factors that distinguish familial differences. But, in policy planning for disaster, the need is for a characterization of family variation that is summary in nature yet retains explanatory power. In other words, any conceptualization of variation in family life patterns must have empirical and theoretical validity if policy makers are to gain useful understanding of how family life routines affect reaction to potential or real disaster. For example, where a family stands in its life cycle is vital to how its members would face up to the threat of nuclear destruction. That is, by employing the theoretical and empirical knowns about the different stages of the family life cycle, it would be possible to explain differences, types of families, and their reaction to

Planning for Disasters / 147 the nuclear disaster situation. Such an explanation is necessary if we are to understand the positive and negative aspects of a program to develop private, quasi-private, or neighborhood shelters. With the ecological parameters of intimacy profoundly involved in disaster prevention, threat-reduction policy making must rely on the social scientist's knowledge of the language and symbolism of space if any success in this province is to be achieved. Research12 has demonstrated that panic (flight where the individual ceases to play any social role whatsoever and merely flees) is rare. To the contrary, dependency on things, places, and people enters the decision-making equation. Policies for luring people into shelters must take into account those docile, impotent individuals who wait childishly for someone to take care of them, where dependency on "big brothers" is understood in advance and built into the program. Research, furthermore, has indicated that intimate relations are both locality-centered and spatially diffuse (that urban residents have local area stability as well as citywide kin ties). Residents in high economic areas tend to be more locality-centered than residents in low economic areas.13 Stated otherwise, persons and families residing in high economic areas tend to localize their intimate relations within neighborhoods, while people residing in low economic areas tend to pursue a greater spatial dispersion of intimate social relationships, especially as they involve extended kin. Michael Young has found that most evacuees prefer to take refuge in the homes of their relatives rather than in official shelters and that the proportion of evacuees from a given district taking refuge with their relatives will vary inversely with the distance to them.14 If this tendency is true, where should shelters be established vis-à-vis kin ties? At what point in space does protectiveness of property supersede familial bonds? The application of the rule "women and children first" can lead to separation of individuals not only from their families but also from their spatial moorings and can undermine morale within the shelter. In sum, while opinions may differ as to how real or probable a nuclear disaster of a general nature may be, few would dispute that such a threat does, in fact, exist. The challenge carries strong territorial overtones, difficult and complex in character. However, it can be said that, the more we know about probable spatial reactions of the public to this kind of attack, the more effective our planning can be. If we know, for example, that the family unit can

148 / What It All Means be used as a core spatial unit around which to plan private, quasiprivate, or neighborhood shelters, and if we know something in advance about how family conditions might bear upon the effectiveness of such a method of protection, public policy can incorporate such knowledge. PLANNING FOR PUBLIC NUISANCES

Policy making to control public nuisances constantly plagues American communities and institutions. New mass communication technologies, new innovations in racket behavior (such as certain massage parlors), the new morality with respect to the accessibility of the sexes, the drive for "adult" entertainment all too frequently place "wrong" behavior in the wrong places and put the protectors of conventional freedoms on the defensive. Observe, for example, how obscenity carries territorial overtones. What is obscene in subway graffiti is less the words than the naked intention of their authors to render shock through mislocation. Almost any work of art of a sexual nature can be given obscene overtones by the spatial context in which it is presented. It is this that proves shocking to people encountering exhibitionists. An adult woman (or man, for that matter) who has had ample opportunity to see and examine the male genitals will nonetheless be shocked by the exhibitionist who exposes himself in a public place. It is the blatant and willful intrusion of this sexual intention into the territorial privacy of our mood that is obscene. Unfortunately for the guardians of our mores, the best they have been able to accomplish in breaking down or rechanneling the buyers and sellers market in nuisance behavior is to declare piecemeal policies undertaken ad hoc. As advocates of threat reduction, their "reforms" that deal now with this abuse and now with that, minus a social goal based upon an inclusive plan, differ entirely from efforts at reforming, in a literal sense, the associational scheme of things. Now, most reasonable people would argue that the American community need not be anarchically one in which a minority is allowed to ride rough-shod over the conventional morality behind the ideal of personal license or one in which our hard-won material and social accomplishments are gained at the price of engendering bitter resentment against "high-handed" elites—people accused of interpreting the Constitution to suit

Planning for Public Nuisances I 149 their own ends. Succinctly put, as new modes of collective behavior collide with old norms, in the resolving of social disputes, the job is to make new routines a vital part of life perspectives as soon as possible. That is, once we recognize that the process of producing changes in our middle-class ethos will always be a gradual one, the tempo of rearranging services and controls can be heightened with skilled effort and we can rise above improvisation. And here is where the applied ecologist can contribute sound insight. The tactic is to build a body of accommodation technology geared not only to those citizens who fail to make any distinction between freedom and laissez faire—who suffer from the delusion of license—but to those socially responsible folks who get their kicks through periodic, contrastive experiences in "abnormal" places. My complaint is that ecologist-planners have been so involved with restrictive policies that they have paid little attention to free zones—to freedom of movement, of expression, of opinion, of association. These, after all, are special obligations which must be met in a planable society. Planners fail to comprehend that in a democratic society the necessity of guaranteeing the maintenance of the individual capacity for adjustment as well as for vacillative explorative frivolity must be built into the planning concept. The surfacing of public nuisances should be looked upon as a by-product of social economic, and scientific development, in the same spirit that residents of college towns condone the springtime hijinks of students following weeks of dormitory and classroom confinement. It is a case of winking at the rules, respecting the principle that one person's frivolity is another's perversity—all kept situationally in bounds. I am saying that the pursuit of individual interests need not immediately or automatically promote the general welfare. Consider the French experiment. There, sex was institutionalized in special places as a civil service. Bordellos were allowed to open so long as women were not treated as slaves. A Gaullist deputy prepared legislation to permit the houses to open with civil servants running them as ordinary places of work. Supervision was given by the local or regional health sanitation authorities. Justifications for this civil service were fourfold: a cutdown in venereal disease, a reduction in sexual crimes, help for men in overcoming sexual complexes, and the servicing of several million foreign laborers. Or take the case of Britain, where an effort is being made to license the streets for brothels and "love tryst" houses. Licensed streets

150 / What It All Means would permit open solicitation without offending anyone or harassing the prostitute. The streets would be posted so those who object could avoid the area. Requiring inspection, licensed brothels would be in areas where they would create least offense. ''Houses of assignation" would involve licensing a series of establishments where soliciting would be permitted. A notice would be posted saying that a bar was a house of assignation, but no advertisement would be allowed. Nuisance control has been fraught with two serious territorial predicaments. First, resources of the criminal justice system are never sufficiently ample to permit vice squads to cover the required vast terrain where commercial and household prostitutes, sellers of pornography, purveyors of debilitating drugs, and customers and operators of "massage" parlors service their consenting counterparts. Second, Americans of small-town heritage (and that includes most of us) often conceive of the metropolis as little more than a difference in density rather than a difference in the quality of relationships. That is, urban space has a different course of action than the village. The metropolitan citizen is expected to negotiate the vast range of spatial acts as routine, as the conception of the good life. Space ranges from the homogeneous—protective, closed enclaves of commitment—to the heterogeneous and exploitative—places of fleeting association as found in busy streets, transients' hotels, and "combat zones." The city is a mosaic of reasonably respected buffer zones, where territoriality is undergoing constant realignment. It is a living arrangement in which the nuisance concept is to be accepted in a spirit of toleration or accommodation. The challenge for planners, therefore, is to avoid excessive misalignment as they pursue their greatest and only power: the power to give advice. The job is to educate in the broader sense of things, controlling for diversity on the premise that urban spaces build up their own special moralities and perimeters. This is what makes the vitality of urbanism, in contrast with provincial "flypaper" ecology wherein all citizens are destined to fixed prelegitimized niches. Spirited contrast coupled with voluntary territorial respect make the metropolis into an environment in which nuisances are placed in the spatial context known as the twilight zone of morality—where citizens may play upon their fantasies within the accommodative rules of the game. The old retaliatory device wherein we bulldozed the street of derelicts and "bum towns" and sent the occupants fleeing into unwanted living space

Staking out Society / 151 was one of our greatest planning errors. I propose the concept of accommodation, where containment is cast within an illusion of license—where compatible life cycles may brush together, where the stranger may imbibe these "questionable" services in a spirit of adventure. There is a certain insidious charm and exoticism in experiencing, through staged illusion, the magic of venturing into forbidden places and untoward happenings that might rarely be accessible or perhaps acceptable in ordinary places. Police the excesses, but no more harassment or dehumanization. Decriminalize those enterprises where victims are absent. But the role of the pimp would require special vigilance. In this manner, we circumvent the unconstitutional vagueness of nuisance behavior. Decriminalization may not eliminate all the insidious aspects of twilight behavior, but it will remove the burden of guilt, fear, exploitation, and oppression and allow the control agencies to focus on the roots of social problems rather than the symptoms. Sanctions through formal zoning, through police control by the book, must yield to place behavior—a kind of territorial unholy alliance of things. Buffer zones in the form of governmental and commercial buildings, parkways, and naturemade abutments may be a vital part of the symbolic dividers between people. The task is one of giving moral status to nuisance areas through quasi legitimacy. Boston is experimenting on this frontier with its combat zone, and its leaders are reporting that old threats to settled spaces have diminished. They speak in defense of the San Francisco mentality, where law enforcement agencies crack down only when things go too far. They seem to be saying that rigid block-by-block controls of urban behavior serve to frustrate citizens and adjudicators alike on those occasions when human nature breaks out.

STAKING OUT SOCIETY: ZONING

When we attempt to state what we know about land-use zoning, we beg the question: what do we know about human organizations and relationships? Since zoning presupposes that there is an organized plan toward a defined goal, the goal in mind is of the utmost consequence. And to gain a consensual relationship between goals and people is to build a community. The reason that zoning is not better than it is at present is that there is no generally understood goal and no consensus of opinion

152 / What It All Means about the goal. This leaves the city planner with an inclination to force personal views idealistically upon the community without bringing the public into the discussion. The model of procedure is based upon the principle that urban land gravitates toward the least desirable land uses. And the classic Los Angeles design for zoning is the planner's stock-in-trade—a rudimentary arrangement wherein sixteen zones are identified: Al: Agricultural zone A2: Agricultural zone RA: Suburban zone Rl: One-family zone R2: Two-family zone R3: Multiple-dwelling zone R4: Multiple-dwelling zone R5: Multiple-dwelling zone CI: Limited commercial zone C2: Commercial zone C3: Commercial zone C4: Commercial zone C5: Business zone Ml: Limited industrial zone M2: Light industrial zone M3: Heavy industrial zone A zoning map identifies all space in the city in terms of the assigned uses designated above with the following two exceptions. (1) Land assigned for any given use may also be used for higher purposes; for example, a block labeled R3 may also be used for R2. Space calling for CI also permits R3, and so on. (2) By application to a board of zoning appeals, exceptions to the rigid uses stated above are granted under a conditional variance clause. For example, a city frequently permits a gasoline service station to be placed on a corner in a block reserved for private dwellings; a permit could be granted to convert a garage to a private dwelling for the occupancy of household help or a newly married couple. The danger in a variance clause rests in the tendency to be lenient with applications for changes in land use, hence a partial abnegation of zoning—a surrender to ambiguity. Boards of adjustment and zoning administrators fall back upon a semantically curious line of defense which reads: "In the effort to protect property through zoning against the damages caused by the intrusions of incompatible uses,

Staking out Society / 153 nothing shall be done in the way of individual acts, the doing of which will openly be a violation of both the spirit and the purpose of zoning." The controversial bare-bones terms are "incompatible uses" and "the spirit and the purpose of zoning." In consequence, zoning under the semiautomatic model is reduced to the politics of preserving one's own special interests. Some cities, such as Houston, Texas, convinced that zoning is unrewarding, have decided that the combination of "natural" economic controls and restrictive covenants on the land is all the protection they need. They see no reason for the city to tell people what they can do with their own land. Here is how it works. When the land is first laid out for homes, the developer records a covenant restricting its use to residential purposes. In a large subdivision, some ground may be set aside for commercial use. Land use is decided by the developer. After the houses or lots are sold, the restrictions can be removed. This, however, requires approval of 100 percent of the owners. Although getting all the homeowners to agree to a change is almost impossible, Houston real estate people insist that their method of land-use control is better than zoning. They point out that in many cities it is easier to turn around three or four people on a zoning board than it is to get 100 percent of the homeowners to allow a controversial change in land use. Houston's boosters insist that neither the city's growth nor its appearance seems to have suffered by the lack of zoning laws. From this plan, land development depends upon the political skills of the developers, with the implication that these citizens know what is best for all others. Implicit throughout the history of American land-use controls is the centrality of ownership, the theory that landowners should have the final right to dictate the future design of cities. These people are the ultimate definers of identification— from the exclusiveness-of-use component to shared use, from use without defense to use with defense. This is planning wherein the renter, the mobile person, is compelled to pursue life goals under the dictum: let the nonowner beware. Recently, in the wake of local taxpayers' revolts and the surge of environmentalism, a quiet revolution in land control has been moving across the nation. Being tested in the courts is a new concept: zoning for nonuse, wherein local communities, most of them suburban, are trying to restrict further development within their borders by banning new construction, setting population limits, or allowing residential development only on very large lots. Although

154 / What It AU Means many of these moves have been couched in environmental rhetoric, they have also been motivated by the desire to keep out "undesirables" and to hold down the upward spiral of the suburban property taxes needed to pay for public services for new residents. Leonard Downie, author of Mortgage on America, wrote in a newspaper article that the old principles of land-use rights are being thrown up for recasting, that the nonuse environmental movement is posing the question: zoning for whom? Several states . . . have acted to limit development in areas of obvious environmental importance, from the wetlands of Delaware to the Pacific coastline of California. The Delaware coastal protection law, however, has failed to stop the spread of second-home trailer park subdivisions along the shoreline, and there has been talk of rescinding it altogether to permit more industrial growth and energy production along the state's coast. California voters approved a referendum that temporarily stopped a development along its Pacific coastline while a string of newly created regional planning authorities studied what should be done in the future. But any plans drawn by those regional authorities must be approved by the state legislature and the voters, and it is likely that real estate interests will work hard to defeat any proposals that would seriously restrict further large-scale coastal development.15 Americans have come a long way from the baronial days of John Jacob Astor, when a married couple could do just about anything with their land except dig it up and dump it on their neighbor's. As the ultimate territorialist, today's ordinary citizen is intruding on traditional land-use notions, asking questions about zoning for what and for whom. And, as for the suburbanite, Richard Babcock writes: "His overriding motivation is less economic than it is social. His wife spends more at the hairdresser in a month than the proposed apartment house will add to her husband's tax bill in a year. What worries both spouses is that the apartment development is a symbol of everything they fled in the city. When they protest that a change in dwelling type will cause a decline in the value of their property, their economic conclusion is based upon a social judgment" (the italics are mine).16 With the use of unprincipled special permit devices, these serious questions must be asked about zoning. As it is currently

Staking out Society / 155 being practiced, is it endangering our democratic institutions? Is it increasingly becoming the rule of humans rather than the rule of laws? When conformity-to-what interlocks with conformity-forwhom, professional planners need a solid background in moral philosophy. Babcock reports on a response by a planner (a city expert witness in a court case) when asked his reason for opposing rezoning for industrial land use: "For police protection. All of us know by reading the papers what goes on many times of people who work in factories, people who have no roots, who are of the rougher type of individuals, and they do not belong in a locality where there are children running around, school children. So from the standpoint of morals and safety, it is dangerous to have an M-2 classification on the subject site."17 In the self-mesmerization of land-use labeling (as in the term "industrial park"), the question must always be posed: how do the label makers equate their terminology with social planning—in the zoning for social barriers and bridges, for security and opportunism? In the manipulation of space, in the politics of land use, citizen-ecologists must be wary of the petitioner for variance who conveniently substitutes "community" for "municipality" in order to gain converts. They must realize that, instead of dealing with laws which treat the municipality as the sole public decision maker, an enterprising industrial developer knows by experience that many of the spin-off issues pertaining to housing, recreation, and transportation are not capable of being resolved in such a fragmented context and will, when necessary, rearrange language to disarm uncritical defenders of regional conditions. Summarizing, one seldom encounters anyone enthusiastic about zoning except the vested property owner. Those nonpeople—like the professionals in Houston—hope it gets lost. Judges and lawyers find zoning both a bore and a nuisance. Planners and developers treat it as a necessary evil, a congenitally deformed member of the planning family about whom the less said the better. Yet, lay leaders and administrators generally regard it as the greatest civic invention since the perfection of public storm sewers. And most certainly the suburban dweller, out at the edges of things, exudes affection for the concept because of its unlimited exclusionary implications. It is truly amazing how suburbanites can segregate the "right" people from the "wrong" simply by introducing minimum house-size regulations, large-acre zoning, and "down zoning."18 Through zoning manipulation, they can wag the

156 / What It All Means social dog.19 It is too bad that their children have no voice in these matters, although these suburbanites have been known to complain (as in the new town of Irvine, California, a community surrounded by miles of open area, where well-spaced houses are aligned in serpentine rows) that the neo-American dream of greenbelts, clean air, and freedom from the social turmoil of urban centers, summarily tailored for the peace of mind of adults, can be suffocating and sterile for children. Two recent milestones in land-use controls should be mentioned: first, the 1977 blue-ribbon commission attacking exclusionary zoning and, second, the Oak Park experiment in planning for minorities. The American Bar Association's 1977 Advisory Commission on Housing and Urban Growth, under a $300,000 grant from the Department of Housing and Urban Development, would prevent the apparent abuse of governmental power inherent in exclusionary zoning throughout the United States. To be published under the title "Housing for All under Law,"20 several of its important conclusions are worth touching upon.21 First, acknowledging the growing challenges to exclusionary housing and land-use constraints in contrast with the "more enlightened anti-exclusionary attitude of important state courts," the commission urges state judiciaries to adopt a doctrine of "the regional general welfare" as their basic constitutional principle in assessing local police-power regulations, particularly zoning ordinances. Second, tracing the evolution of land-use controls from a semiautomatic, rigid system into a "highly discretionary system of administrative control in which applications for development are considered on an ad hoc, case-by-case basis," the commission calls for procedural, adjudicatory due process in local land-use decision making. Asking that changes in zoning be adjudicatory rather than legislative, the commission would thus anticipate greater procedural fairness and predictability. If zoning changes were treated in this fashion, customary administrative procedures would be instituted, such as adequate notice, an opportunity to present and rebut evidence, a record, a statement of findings, this due process not being subject to voter referendum. Third, courts could use broad "fair share" criteria in assessing the legality of local land-use ordinances as they relate to housing, employing tough enforcement strategies when dealing with recalcitrant municipalities. State and federal grants to communities could, for example, be suspended; local laws that obstruct compliance could be held invalid. Finally, a court could

Malls, Crowding, and Surrogate Homes / 157 order municipal services to low- and moderate-income housing projects. In brief, the commission's report is a challenge to our judges and courts to become more aggressive in forcing suburban communities to open their doors to a wider spectrum of residents by defining minimum standards which local zoning laws must attain. By rigorous and constant examination of local growth-management action, the judiciary can "invite" appropriate political responses from elected officials—such as the creation of larger numbers of regional planning agencies. Lower-income groups, adversely affected by parochial exclusionary decisions, seem to have a very small voice in either formulating or overturning policies pertaining to residential opportunities. An innovative, if not controversial, social experiment has been taking place since 1960 in Oak Park, Illinois—a suburb of Chicago. Noting the spatial invasion of blacks into the community, the white residents (94 percent of the inhabitants) set up an unusual system of managed integration. They wanted to avoid the shock syndrome that most communities undergo when experiencing racial change. Under their program, "For Rent" and "For Sale" signs were banned. Building codes were stiffened to guard against deterioration, and low-interest loans for home or apartment building improvements were made available from the village government. Real estate agents were prohibited from going door to door to ask residents if they wanted to sell out. A private housing referral agency was created to encourage prospective black and white residents to disperse throughout the community rather than form enclaves. And a reporting system was devised to permit village officials to keep tabs on the racial makeup of neighborhoods and apartment buildings. While some of the policies designed to smooth integration come close to infringing upon constitutionally protected rights and freedoms, the Oak Park experiment is an illustration of how the axis of accommodation can be brought forward as planful behavior. MALLS, CROWDING, AND SURROGATE HOMES

More than a mere dramaturgical phenomenon, the shopping mall is an intriguing exercise in territorial innovation—a focal point for the cultural, recreational, and social as well as the commercial life

158 / What It All Means of the suburbs. No longer the shopping center of yesterday where we took the laundry bought the milk, and collected a few other basic needs, today's mall parlays neighborhood convenience and free parking into a slice of the downtown retail dollar. Yesterday's nuisance people are translated into valuable investments. I refer to the loiterers of any age, race, or sex. Amid the fountains and rubber plants dally the teenagers; on the polished oak benches are the dawdlers of more advanced age. Suburbanites often park their aged relatives on the fountainside benches for the day to watch people and to visit with each other. Here, retired men speak of how they "sit and talk while our wives shop." All the greenery artificial or not, suggests a Florida setting, with most patrons happily accepting these contrived stage props. All the conveniences and trappings bring forward the symbolism of leisure. The problem facing the owners of these places is to encourage these loiterers not to overdo their leisure but to spend more time buying things. These owners worry about the mall in Alexandria, Virginia, that assists church ministries in establishing interfaith chapels on the premises and about the people at Smithaven Mall on Long Island who encourage everything from arts and crafts programs to counseling services and housing referrals. All this suggests that the mall concept is still evolving. It is a temperocentric place where the definitions of space can change by the minute. While the mall is designed by its architects to be a mousetrap—where shoppers will be commercially encapsulated—its patrons seem anxious to get into the act, seeking to add new activities to the merchandising function. It is an observation post, a regional eclectic center where customers can mix the pleasures of shopping, dining, and admiring cultural artifacts in an unhurried manner. And the proprietors, caught up in this intriguing spatial encounter, are not sure whether they want to imitate, on a horizontal plane, the prestigious downtown department stores (like Tokyo's big Mitsukoshi's, New York's Bloomingdale's, and Paris' Printemps) for fear of alienating the loiterers with money in their pockets. The momentum of things does not seem to rest exclusively with the proprietors, however; the success of this business palace rides upon the compatibleness of alternative definitions in process. Will the mall as a glamorized potbelly stove (the tree of knowledge) undermine profits? The owners could lose control of the ethos should this marketplace take on Middle East bazaar qualities, where snake charmers and trinket peddlers would be displaced by PTA cake sales, student tee-

Malls, Crowding, and Surrogate Homes / 159 ter-totter marathons, and Boy Scout displays. A spirit of "anything goes" can counter the proprietors' goal of "sincerity for sale" as exemplified in downtown banks and department stores. A "natural" environment (miniature trees, fountains, courtyards, and roof-high aviaries) coupling with an appeal to family-style relaxation, translates into a strange marriage with business efficiency. One of the great status symbols of our time is residence coupled with location. In general, unless very rich or very poor, Americans tend to live in fear that the character of their neighborhood (however defined) will be unsettled by people from a lower class moving in. Middle-income families who still live in older centralcity areas or in industrial satellite neighborhoods are chronically dissatisfied with their housing, particularly with its setting. Likewise, the ruling ideal among white working-class men and women is a home of their own in an all-white neighborhood where they can have peace of mind—where "we can leave the house and not worry about it." The formula becomes: when you move outward you move upward. As long as the geographic boundaries are firmly fixed and rigidly maintained symbolically, the lineal distance between whites and blacks is not too important. Working-class blacks have a decided territorial problem, wishing to move away from the slums yet desiring to maintain identification with their kin. In short, whether we are speaking of blacks, Italian Americans, or Puerto Ricans, the profound sensitivity to kin dictates high preference for inner-city location. But, as this kin commitment erodes, the flight to residential developments in the suburbs and the more distant hinterland may be expected to accelerate and compound the survival problems of inner cities. And, when government-subsidized housing accelerates at the outskirts, the dispersion increases as long as the movers feel relatively convinced that their ethnicity is not being unduly disturbed. Obviously, a city designed for human purposes provides good housing among pleasant neighbors with the option of living near work, walking to the store, having recreation nearby, and reducing the unnecessary travel that results from the inconvenience of having things located in the wrong places. Those who prefer perpetual motion have the option of generating extra mileage if they want. If we assume, by contrast, that most unplanned urban areas deny people those choices, then the challenge rests with the applied ecologist to gain an understanding of how we order up our battery of alternatives and preferences with respect to crowding. The vital

160 / What It All Means question becomes: is the space within and between houses too intimate or forbiddingly cold? The issue is less how humans adapt to a shelter, as Steven Zlutnick and Irwin Altman seem to insist,22 but how they build up a comfortable spacing image through reflection and projection. Crowding is not "out there," something to make peace with, but a conception generated within the mind of the actor. It is not the same as density. Thus, overpopulation and crowding are never potentially personal or social problems until they are internalized and made into real threats. Only in this view of things can there be too many people in too little space. Given the same number of occupants, a high-rise dwelling, such as a three-level town house, can prove smothering to one family and liberating to another. By the same token, a ranch-style house of equal square footage can arouse the reverse response. With crowding, kin, and ethnicity mutually interlocked with housing, location is as vital as house type in the promotion of peace of mind. And the surrogate home has become the modus operandi for Americans as they play one kind of status against another in pursuit of the good life. With millions of American home "owners" purchasing shelters with a down payment of 20 percent or more, they are actually no more than stand-in owners for banks and other lending institutions. For those families, the monthly mortgage check to the bank is no different from the rent check to the landlord. Their ownership is essentially metaphorical in the sense that they lack both a strong financial stake in their property and a strong social-psychological commitment to location. Younger generations, less committed to inner-city ethnic groups, want to get out of the old moorings as soon as possible. The housing market in middle-class areas profoundly reflects this restless mood. These are the people most ready to act upon location dissatisfaction. When conditions of personal prosperity permit it or when residential symbolism shifts downward, housing turnover commences. The American quick credit atmosphere encourages residential mobility with the result that renting has yielded to surrogate ownership. If we recognize the pitfalls and abuses of a credit-giving society, the advantages of housing on credit outweigh the drawbacks: materially, in the form of better-constructed shelters; socially, in the form of enjoying wider locational choices; psychologically, in the ability to satisfy impulses and indulge expansive moods. Hedonistic though it is, our credit society still reserves its greatest rewards for those who practice the most puritan virtue: self-discipline.

Mails, Crowding, and Surrogate Homes / 161

10. Modernized nineteenth-century town houses. The rediscovery and renewal of nineteenth-century houses and neighborhoods serve not only the ends of restless, hedonistic Americans but the goals of those who would preserve the urbanity, the human dimension, of our cities. I refer to the town house (figure 10) or row house, with its potential for being the most direct symbolic expression of village neighboring devised so far. It might be said that the town house depends on some semblance of neighboring by reason of the crowded circumstances that press against it. The city street must be safe and welcoming. The occupants of the row houses must build an arrangement whereby they might walk to most of their daily pursuits and, residually, meet and nod or perhaps stop and exchange a few words. On balmy evenings, residents might sit on the stoops to catch the breeze and exchange pleasantries with the people across or next door or even with strangers passing by. I am suggesting that community life in row houses is enhanced by the very fact that the houses are architecturally as alike as their inhabitants are sociologically alike. But both are somewhat differently dressed. And, since these structures are not big or otherwise immodest, aspiring young families can afford them, can save on transportation costs by reason of proximity to supportive places, and can depart easily without loss of invest-

162 / What It AU Means ment. Charles Lockwood, in his Bricks and Brownstone,23 in observing how urban renewers, developers, builders, and architects are now again building town houses in central cities, in their new communities, and even way out on the edges of the urban sprawl, confirms my view that designers of shelters are anxious to learn about the relationship between architectural style, life style, the territorial base, and the integrity of all three. If they are to learn from the successful symbolism of the past, they will not fake the historic trappings—giving dwellers gaslights that don't light, shutters that don't shut, and door knockers that don't knock. The life style that attends town house living calls for a clear and gracious distinction between community and privacy combined with the psychological comforts of multilevel living. The acceptance of these distinctions helps make urban life urbane. In the confinement of the city, with time, cost, and convenience pressures at work, we are obliged to use our "air rights" as a pleasant substitute for the "ground rights" found in surburban and village life. In the inner city, we have the chance to step up into our houses. Symbolically, as we walk up the front stoop, we are elevated to the private lives of our own families and away from the spontaneity of life on the street. The privacy of our houses and their walled backyards can be much greater than that of detached family dwellings, as the statisticians call them. Detachment, after all, can invoke the most delicate of human relations, in which one's open space merges with everyone else's, inviting marauding children and pets. In the wide open spaces of Kansas, I vividly recall thorny instances where neighbors built restraining walls for privacy only to have their neighbors label them spite fences. You learn quickly in Kansas that all physical barriers must be subtly designed and socially negotiated to prevent giving offense to onlookers. Inside the town house, there is often more privacy than there is in a home where all the various activities of the family take place on the same level. You descend from the entrance hall to adjoining parlors, down again into the half-basement kitchen and dining room, and out into a very private backyard. At the end of the day you can withdraw from togetherness by retiring upstairs. You disengage both actually and symbolically above your social activities. And, incidentally, in telling a daughter to go upstairs, you are physically and pedagogically elevating her as you get rid of her. I am suggesting that the staircase, like the suburban fence, is a sen-

Conclusion I 163 sitive barometer in the delineation of human rights and opportunities and calls for judicial use of the language of space. CONCLUSION

Both in ecological research and in practical land-use planning, the underlying question becomes, In whose image is space created? In an ancient, holy city, the organization of space was a symbolic recreation of the cosmic order—it carried an ideological objective. Likewise, in the modern community we have our created spaces as reflections of life styles, sentiments, values held dear. Space need not always be an ethnic domain but an integral part of an intricate sign process, giving direction and purpose to daily life. Writes David Harvey: "We fashion our sensibilities, extract our sense of wants and needs, and locate our aspirations with respect to a geographical environment that is in large part created."24 Now, I seriously doubt whether social and behavioral scientists, in colleagueship with practical men and women of affairs, will ever fully understand all the subtle intuitions and expectations which we mold into our spaces to convey social messages. But through the symbolic interaction approach to the spatial world we can go a long way toward appreciating human beings as the creative artists that they are, as constructors and redesigners of spatial language in the furtherance of shared experience. The aim here has been to try to emphasize the cognitive state of the socialized self as it moves within its self-constructed web of spatial relationships, this in full recognition that there is a substantial portion of the human process which operates quite independent of spatial formulations.

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Notes

1 / Against the Stream 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18.

See Kenneth D. Bailey and Patrick Mulcahy, "Sociocultural versus Neoclassical Ecology: A Contribution to the Problem of Scope in Sociology," Sociological Quarterly 13, no. 1 (Winter 1972): 41. Otis D. Duncan, "From Social System to Ecosystem," Sociological Inquiry 31 (Spring 1961): 140-149. See Lee R. Dice, Man's Nature and Nature's Man. See Paul Shepard and Daniel McKinley, The Subversive Science. Amos H. Hawley, Human Ecology., p. 67. Otis D. Duncan and Leo F. Schnore, "Cultural, Behavioral and Ecological Perspectives in the Study of Social Organization," American Journal of Sociology 65 (September 1959): 144. G. Edward Stephan, "The Concept of Community in Human Ecology," Pacific Sociological Review 13, no. 4 (Fall 1970): 224. I rely to some degree on Lawrence W. Sherman for this perspective. See his "Uses of the Masters," American Sociologist 9, no. 4 (November 1974): 176-181. Max Weber, "The Meaning of Objectivity in the Social Sciences," in E. Shills and H. Finch (trans, and ed.), The Methodology of the Social Sciences, p. 72. Louis Wirth, "The Scope and Problems of the Community," Publications of the American Sociological Society 27, no. 2 (May 1932): 61. See Herbert Blumer, "Sociological Analysis and the 'Variable,' " American Sociological Review 21, no. 6 (December 1956): 686. Ernst Haeckel, The History of Creation, 2: 354. See E. Gordon Ericksen, The West Indies Population Problem. In Gunnar Myrdal, An American Dilemma, p. 1058. Walter Firey, Land Use in Central Boston, p. 3. Also, see his "Sentiment and Symbolism as Ecological Variables," American Sociological Review 10, no. 2 (April 1945): 140-148. See Ernst Mach, Space and Geometry: Ernst Cassirer, Philosophy of Symbolic Forms, vol. 1: Language, as well as vol. 3: The Phenomenology of Knowledge: Robert Hertz, Death and the Right Hand-, Claude Lévi-Strauss, Structural Anthropology, trans. Claire jacobson and Brooke Grundfest Schoepf. Lévi-Strauss, Structural Anthropology, p. 289. Pitirim Sorokin, Sociocultural Causality, Space, Time.

166 / Notes 19. Lawrence J. Redlinger and Jerry B. Michel, "Ecological Variation in Heroin Abuse," Sociological Quarterly 11, no. 2 (Spring 1970): 219229. For similar demographic reporting dubbed ecological, see David M. Heer, "The Attractiveness of the South to Whites and Nonwhites: An Ecological Study," American Sociological Review 28, no. 1 (February 1963): 101-107. 20. Donald W. Bell, Microecology, p. 8 21. Roger G. Barker and Herbert F. Wright, One Boy's Day. Also, see their Midwest and Its Children. 22. L. Festinger, S. Schacter, and K. W. Back, Social Pressure in Informal Groups. 23. Richard E. Sykes, Kinley Larntz, and fames C. Fox, "Proximity and Similarity Effects on Frequency of Interaction in a Class of Naval Recruits," Sociometry 39, no. 3 (September 1976): 268. 24. The vast range of subjects and concepts caught up under microecology is suggested by the following titles from Sociometry: Robert Sommer, "Further Studies of Small Group Ecology," 28, no. 4 (December 1965): 337-348; Donald T. Campbell, William H. Kruskal, and William P. Wallace, "Seating Segregation as an Index of Attitude," 29, no. 1 (March 1966): 1-15; William Erbe, "Accessibility and Informal Social Relationships among American Graduate Students," 29, no. 3 (September 1966): 251-264; Gordon N. Goldberg, Charles A. Kiesler, and Barry E. Collins, "Visual Behavior and Face-to-Face Distance during Interaction," 32, no. 1 (February 1969): 43-53. 25. See, for example, Christen T. Jonassen, "Relationship of Attitudes and Behavior in Ecological Mobility," Social Forces 34, no. 1 (October 1955): 64-67. 26. Irwin Altman, "Some Perspectives on the Study of Man-Environment Phenomena," Representative Research in Social Psychology 4 (1975): 109. 27. See Milla A. Alihan, Social Ecology. 28. See Firey, Land Use in Central Boston. 29. Eshref Shevky and Marilyn Williams, The Social Areas of Los Angeles. 30. This perspective runs throughout Wirth's nine addresses, published in Louis Wirth, Ernest R. Hilgard, and I. James Quilen (eds.), Community Planning for Peacetime Living. 31. Robert E. Park and Ernest W Burgess, Introduction to the Science of Sociology. 32. In Philip Wheelwright, Metaphor and Reality, p. 71. 33. See, for example, Harvey Zorbaugh, The Gold Coast and the Slum: Frederick L. Thrasher, The Gang; Louis Wirth, The Ghetto-, Walter C. Reckless, Vice in Chicago-, Ernest R. Mowrer, Family Disorganization-, Paul G. Cressey, The Taxi-Dance Hall-, Robert E. L. Faris and H. Warren Dunham, Mental Disorders in Urban Areas-, Clifford R. Shaw et al., Delinquency Areas-, Ruth Shonle Cavan, Suicide.

Notes I 167 34. William F. Ogburn, "Social Trends," in Louis Wirth (ed)., Eleven Twenty-Six, p. 65. 35. Paraphrased from ibid., p. 64. 36. Meadean social psychology curiously suffered somewhat from the growth metaphor in describing the social development of the child, from "individual" to "person" via the nurturing stage, the play stage, and finally the game stage. 37. Emile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, trans. Joseph Ward Swain, p. 3. 38. George Murdock, Social Structure, p. 198. 39. Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, pp. 106140. 2 / The Language and Validation of Space 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

Durkheim, Elementary Forms of the Religious Life. George Herbert Mead, Mind, Self, and Society, p. 89. See Hugh D. Duncan, Symbols in Society, p. 155. Max Weber, From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, translated, edited, and with an introduction by H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills, pp. 189-190. Basil Bernstein (ed.), Class, Codes and Control, vol. 2: Applied Studies toward a Sociology of Language, p. 174. See Franklin C. Southworth and Chander J. Daswani, Foundations of Linguistics. In Kenneth Burke's works, notably in A Grammar of Motives and A Rhetoric of Motives, we find a synthesis of many views concerning symbolic behavior. Burke held that, while symbols are part of a communicative context which is not wholly symbolic, they do have a nature of their own. E. A. Schegloff, "The First Five Seconds: The Order of Conversational Openings," Ph.D. dissertation, University of California at Berkeley, 1967. Durkheim, Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, p. 492. Ibid., p. 493. Irwin Altman and Ε. Ε. Lett, "The Ecology of Interpersonal Relationships: A Classification System and Conceptual Model," in }. E. McGrath (ed.), Social and Psychological Aspects of Stress, pp. 177-201. See Herbert Blumer, Symbolic Interactionism, pp. 143-150. Peter Farb, "Language Game," Washington Post, January 27, 1974.

3 / The Power of Place 1.

See Murray Webster, Jr., "Psychological Reductionism, Methodological Individualism, and Large-Scale Problems," American Sociological Review 38, no. 2 (April 1973): 258-273.

168 / Notes 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

7.

8. 9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

Blumer, Symbolic Interactionism, pp. 143-150. From Altman, "Some Perspectives on the Study of Man-Environment Phenomena," p. 124. Nora M. Siffleet, "National Income and National Accounts," Social and Economic Studies 1, no. 3 (July 1953): 5-135. Louis Wirth, "Ideological Aspects of Social Disorganization," American Sociological Review 5, no. 4 (August 1940): 477. By the "pigeonholed individual" I mean a fixed, territorial, commitment individual. For example, basic Catholic parishes in Canada are locales wherein a member is expected to be baptized, married, and buried—where her or his family lives. Marc Fried and Peggy Gleicher, "Some Sources of Residential Satisfaction in an Urban Slum," Journal of the American Institute of Planners 17 (November 1961): 303-315. Quoted from Sandor Halebsky (ed.), The Sociology of the City, p. 399. Howard Becker and Irving Louis Horowitz, "The Culture of Civility," Trans-Action 7, no. 6 (April 1970): 12-19. Louis Wirth traced similar oscillation in the territorial history of the Jews, from forced segregation to voluntary segregation and back again. Hannah Arendt traced the history of the Jews as a people very difficult to territorialize by reason of being a peculiar society deviating from expected territorial norms on boundary making. See Wirth, The Ghetto-, Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism, p. 277. Nicholas J. Spykman, The Social Theory of Georg Simmel, pp. 161162. See Edwin H. Sutherland and Donald R. Cressey, Criminology. Ibid., p. 186. Hawley, Human Ecology, p. 90. Everett C. Hughes, "The Ecological Aspect of Institutions," American Sociological Review 1, no. 2 (April 1936): 184.

4 / The Principle of Commitment: 1. 2.

3. 4.

The Normative

Model

Douglas Hallett, "The President's Men: Mis-shapen Identities," Washington Post, June 23,1974, p. 34. Not to be confused with "special strangers"—people who do the dirty work on the premises. These strangers carry all the right metal keys to doors but not the social keys. They often wear uniforms as credentials but have limited power over the spaces that the physical keys open and shut. See, for example, Eshref Shevky and Wendell Bell, Social Area Analysis, and Shevky and Williams, Social Areas of Los Angeles. Peter Orleans, "Robert Park and Social Area Analysis: A Convergence of Traditions in Urban Sociology," Urban Affairs Quarterly (June 1966): 5.

Notes I 169 5. 6.

7. 8. 9. 10.

11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

Stanford M. Lyman and Marvin Β. Scott, "Territoriality: A Neglected Sociological Dimension," Social Problems 15, no. 2 (Fall 1967): 237. Talcott Parsons, The Social System. For in-depth statements on ideal versus constructed types, see Max Weber, Methodology of the Social Sciences-, John C. McKinney, Constructive Typology and Social Theory. Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. Talcott Parsons, pp. 180-182. Joyce O. Hertzler, A Sociology of Language, p. 25. Charles Horton Cooley, "The Theory of Transportation," in R. C. Angel (ed.), Sociological Theory and Social Research, pp. 75-83. Summarized in E. Gordon Ericksen, Urban Behavior, pp.129-134. Homer Hoyt, "The Structure and Growth of Residential Neighborhoods in American Cities," Federal Housing Administration 4 (1939): 116-122. See also his "The Structure of American Cities in the Postwar Era," American Journal of Sociology 48 (January 1943): 475-492. René Dubos, A God Within, p. 5. As quoted in Russell Brain, Some Reflections on Genius, p. 165. Gerald W. Breese, The Daytime Population of the Central Business District of Chicago. Alfred Schutz, "On Multiple Realities," in his Collected Papers, ed. Maurice Natanson, p. 342. Ibid., p. 346. Mircea Eliade, Images and Symbols, trans. Philip Mairet. See Jan de Vries, The Study of Religion, trans. Kees W. Bolle, pp. 210212. See Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, trans. Rosemary Sheed, p. 374. Erving Goffman, Frame Analysis, p. 45. Jules Henry, Culture against Man. In chapter 10, Henry compares a public institution with private and expensive ones. The first point is illustrated by Oscar Lewis, Life in a Mexican Village; the second is illustrated by Herbert J. Gans, The Urban Villagers. Firey, "Sentiment and Symbolism as Ecological Variables." Firey, Land Use in Central Boston, p. 143. Ibid., p. 142. See Malinowski in C. K. Ogden and I. A. Richards, The Meaning of Meaning, pp. 306-309. Alvin W. Gouldner, The Coming Crisis of Western Sociology, p. 379. See Goffman, Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, pp. 106-140. Ibid., pp. 22-27. Erving Goffman, Relations in Public, p. 29. Ibid., pp. 58-59. Edward T. Hall, "Silent Assumptions in Social Communication,"

170 / Notes Communication 42 (1964), in Robert Gutman (ed.), People and Buildings, p. 149. 32. Gutman (ed.), People and Buildings, p. 135. 33. Goffman, Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, p. 35. 5 / The Sovereignty 1.

of Function: Regions and

Neighborhoods

See Robert K. Merton and Alice S. Kitt, "Contributions to the Theory of Reference Group Behavior," in Continuities in Social Research, ed. Robert K. Merton and Paul F. Lazarsfeld. The late Manford Kuhn, disturbed by the term "reference group," asked: "Does it signify groups, categories or both? Does it refer to relationships or derivative orientations? Does it refer to empirically identifiable attitudes, expectations and norms of existent others, or is it limited to these matters only when they have been 'transmuted to the images in the imagination of the actors themselves'?" ("Major Trends in Symbolic Interaction Theory in the Past Twenty-Five Years," Sociological Quarterly 5, no. 1 [Winter 1964]: 64-65). 2. After Peter K. Manning, "Existential Sociology," Sociological Quarterly 14 (1973): 200-226. 3. Merton and Kitt, "Contributions to the Theory of Reference Group Behavior." 4. Ibid., pp. 338-352. 5. Alvin Toffler, Future Shock. 6. William H. Jones, Washington Post, 1976. 7. For perhaps the best statement on the complexities of regionalism, see Merrill Jensen (ed.), Regionalism in America. 8. W I. Thomas, The Unadjusted Girl, p. 42. 9. Willard Waller, in Gregory P. Stone and Harvey A. Farberman, Social Psychology through Symbolic Interaction, p. 164. 10. Time, July 23, 1973, pp. 31-32. 11. See Lewis Mumford, The Urban Prospect. Also see Svend Riemer, "Villages in Metropolis," British Journal of Sociology 2, no. 1 (March 1951): 31-43; David Riesman, "The Suburban Sadness," in William M. Dobriner (ed.), The Suburban Community-, Frank L. Sweetser, Jr., Neighborhood Acquaintances and Association; Henry D. McKay, "The Neighborhood and Child Conduct," in Paul K. Hatt and Albert J. Reiss (eds.), Cities and Society-, Richard Dewey, "The Neighborhood, Urban Ecology, and City Planners," American Sociological Review 15, no. 4 (August 1950): 502-508; Henry Cohen, "Social Surveys as Planning Instruments for Housing," Journal of Social Issues 7, no. 2 (1951): 35-46. 12. See Fried and Gleicher, "Some Sources of Residential Satisfaction in an Urban Slum," in Halebsky (ed.), Sociology of the City, pp. 395414; Herbert J. Gans, "Planning and Social Life," Journal of the Ameri-

Notes / 171

13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

can Institute of Planners 27, no. 2 (May 1961): 134-140; Suzanne Keller, The Urban Neighborhood; Sommer, "Further Studies of Small Group Ecology"; Robert Sommer and F. D. Becker, "Territorial Defense and the Good Neighbor," Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 11 (February 1969): 85-92; Duncan W. G. Timms, The Urban Mosaic, pp. 9-15, 16-26, 34-35. Hughes, "Ecological Aspect of Institutions." See Joel Smith and George L. Maddox, "The Spatial Location and Use of Selected Facilities in a Middle-Sized City," Social Forces 38, no. 2 (December 1959): 121-128. Leonard W. Bowden, "How to Define Neighborhood," Professional Geographer 24, no. 3 (August 1972): 228. Mumford, Urban Prospect, p. 58. Reginald Isaacs, "The Neighborhood Theory," Journal of the American Institute of Planners 14, no. 2 (Spring 1948): 18. Dewey, "The Neighborhood, Urban Ecology, and City Planners," p. 786. Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, chapter 6, p. 112. Fried and Gleicher, "Some Sources of Residential Satisfaction in an Urban Slum," in Halebsky (ed.), Sociology of the City, pp. 406-414. Riemer, "Villages in Metropolis," p. 42. Keller, The Urban Neighborhood, p. 23. See Norman K. Denzin, "Symbolic Interactionism and Ethnomethodology: A Convergence of Perspective?" in Jack D. Douglas (ed.), Understanding Everyday Life. See "Futurist Manifesto," in Joshua Taylor (ed.), Futurism.

6 / The Principle of Insufficiency: 1.

The Assertion

Model

Daniel Bell, The Cultural Contradictions of Capitalism, pp. 232233. 2. Albion W. Small, General Sociology, pp.425-436. 3. Amitai Etzioni, The Active Society, p. 244. 4. Emile Durkheim, The Division of Labor in Society, trans. G. Simpson, p. 79. 5. Etzioni, Active Society, pp. 304-305. 6. For an application of this theory of choices to another culture, see Ericksen, West Indies Population Problem, p. 127. 7. Durkheim, Division of Labor in Society, pp. 203-204. 8. Ibid., p. 52. 9. Ibid., p. 71. 10. Herman Schmalenback, "The Sociological Category of Communion," in Talcott Parsons (ed.), Theories of Society, p. 11. 11. Adapted from Ericksen, Urban Behavior, pp. 307-308.

112 / Notes 12. See Becker and Horowitz, "Culture of Civility." 13. Morris Janowitz, The Community Press in an Urban Setting. 14. For a conceptualization of this process, see Julian H. Steward, Theory of Cultural Change; Gerald D. Suttles, The Social Order of the Slum and The Social Construction of Communities. 15. Excerpted from the Washington Post, June 6, 1976, p. C3. 16. Ibid., p. C4. 17. Bernard Rosenberg, The Province of Sociology, p. 90. 18. William R. Rosengren and Spencer DeVault, "The Sociology of Time and Space in an Obstetrical Hospital," in Elliot Freidson (ed.), The Hospital in Modern Society, p. 289. 19. Howard Becker, Man in Reciprocity, p. 396. 20. Peter K. Manning, "On Deviance," Contemporary Sociology 2, no. 2 (March 1973): 126. 21. Michel Crozier, The World of the Office Worker, p. 101. 22. See Cloward and Ohlin in M. E. Wolfgang, L. Savitz, and N. Johnston (eds.), The Sociology of Crime and Delinquency, p. 256. 23. For a typology of spatial types, see Thomas R. Dye, "The Local-Cosmopolitan Dimension and the Study of Urban Politics," Social Forces 41, no. 3 (March 1963): 239-246. Also see Daniel J. Elazer and Douglas St. Angelo, "Cosmopolitans and Locals in Contemporary Politics," Proceedings of the Minnesota Academy of Science 31 (1964): 171-178. 24. Rosenberg, Province of Sociology, p. 167. 25. John J. Gumperz, Language in Social Groups, p. 224. 26. Philip E. Slater, "Social Bases of Personality," in Neil J. Smelser (ed.), Sociology, pp. 557-558. 7 / The Frontiers of Contact: The Edges of Things 1.

The delicate problem of controlling individuals living on extraterritorial frontiers is discussed at length in my Africa Company Town, chapter 3, "Paternalism by Contract." 2. Georg Simmel, "Social Interaction as the Definition of the Group in Time and Space," translated from Simmel's Soziologie by Albion W. Small, American Journal of Sociology 15 (1909): 296-298. Reproduced in Park and Burgess, Introduction to the Science of Sociology, pp. 348-356. 3. Lewis Coser, "Some Sociological Aspects of Conflict," in Gary T. Marx (ed.), Racial Conflict, p. 17. 4. Washington Post, December 16, 1973, p. C5. 5. Suttles, Social Construction of Communities, p. 182. 6. After Everett C. Hughes and Helen M. Hughes, Where Peoples Meet, p. 144. 7. William M. Kephart, "Status after Death," American Sociological Review 15, no. 5 (October 1950): 635-643. 8. Ibid., p. 643.

Notes I 173 9. 10. 11. 12. 13.

William D. Pattison, "The Cemeteries of Chicago: A Phase of Land Utilization," Annals of the Association of American Geographers 45, no. 3 (September 1955): 251. Ibid., p. 251. Ibid., pp. 247-248. In 1949, I was first struck with innovations for the dead in writing my master's thesis, "A Sociological Study of Funeral Customs and Legal Burial Requirements in Utah," University of Utah. Washington Post, May 27, 1973, p. L5.

8 / What It All Means: Spatial Contingencies 1. 2. 3. 4.

5. 6. 7.

8.

•

9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

in Planning

See Herman Finer, The Road to Reaction-, Margaret Wooton, Freedom under Planning-, Friedrich A. Hayek, The Road to Serfdom. After John Lofland, Deviance and Identity. See John R. Hepburn, "Violent Behavior in Interpersonal Relationships," Sociological Quarterly 14, no. 3 (Summer 1973): 423-424. See J. M. Fitch, "The Aesthetics of Function," in Gutman (ed.), People and Buildings, pp. 4-16; C. Alexander et al., A Pattern Language Which Generates Multi-Service Centers. Also see C. Alexander, Notes on the Synthesis of Form. Serge Chermayeff and Alexander Tzonis, Shape of Community, p. 138. For a brilliant essay on conflict methodology, see Robert M. Christie, "Comment on Conflict Methodology: Protagonist Position," Sociological Quarterly 17, no. 4 (Autumn 1976): 513-519. This was the theme of Helena Lopata's presidential address before the Midwest Sociological Society in 1976, printed in the Sociological Quarterly under the title "Expertization of Everyone and the Revolt of the Client," 17, no. 4 (Autumn 1976): 435-447. After Julie Meyer, "The Stranger and the City" American Journal of Sociology 56 (March 1951): 477. See Elaine Cumming and William E. Henry, Growing Old-, Aaron Lipman and Kenneth J. Smith, "Structural Disengagement and Old Age," paper read at the Southern Sociological Society meeting, 1966. See Harold L. Wilensky, "Life Cycle, Work Situation and Participation in Formal Association," in Clark Tibbitts and Wilma Donahue (eds.), Social and Psychological Aspects of Aging, pp. 919-930. Kai T. Erikson, Everything in Its Path. Consult Enrico L. Quarantelli, "Images of Withdrawal Behavior in Disasters: Some Basic Misconceptions," Social Problems 8, no. 1 (Summer 1960): 68-79. See Joel Smith, William H. Form, and Gregory P. Stone, "Local Intimacy in a Middle-Sized City," American Journal of Sociology 60, no. 3 (November 1954): 276-284. Michael Young, "The Role of the Extended Family in a Disaster," Human Relations 7, no. 3 (1954): 383-391.

174 / Notes 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

Washington Post, March 10,1974, p. B3. Richard F. Babcock, The Zoning Game, p. 31. Ibid., pp. 57-58. "Down zoning" involves moving land from one zoning category to a lower zoning category, usually lowering the number of persons who can live there. Walter Blucher, "Is Zoning Wagging the Dog?" Planning (selected papers from the Annual Planning Conference of the American Society of Planning Officials, 1955), p. 96. A publication forthcoming from Ballinger Publishing Company. From the Washington Post, February 26, 1977, p. D7. Steven Zlutnick and Irwin Altman, "Crowding and Human Behavior," in J. P. Wohlwill and D. H. Carson (eds.), Environment and the Social Sciences, pp. 44-50. Charles Lockwood, Bricks and Brownstone. David Harvey, Social Justice and the City, p. 310.

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Index

Acheson, Dean, 56 Africa, sub-Saharan, 120 airports, planning for, 138 Alexandria, Virginia, 158 Alihan, Milla Α., 16 Altman, Irwin, 16, 32 American Bar Association (Commission on Housing and Urban Growth), 156-157 American Dream, 99 analogies, 17. See also metaphorical knowing anthropologists, 63, 81 applied ecology, 138, 149 areas, delinquency, 10 Arizona, 124 Asmara, Eritrea, 61 assertion model, 57 Astor, John Jacob, 154 autecology, 6, 8 axioms, ecological, 3 Babcock, Richard, 154-155 Bacon, Francis, 31 Bangladesh, 122-124 Barker, Roger G., 13 Bauman, Zygmunt, 3 Beacon Hill, 71 Becker, Howard, 108 Bell, Daniel, 96-97 Bell, Donald W., 12-13 Berlin, 60, 114 Bernstein, Basil, 24-25 Bihari Moslems, 122 blacks, 147, 159 Blumer, Herbert, 40 body language, 31 space, 14, 58 bordellos, French, 149-150 Boston combat zones, 151 Common, 71 slum, 43 Bowden, Leonard W., 78, 87

break-in-transportation theory, 60 Breese, Gerald W., 63 Buenos Aires, 60 buffer groups, 49-50 Burgess, Ernest W., 8, 17, 29 California life-style, 104-106 capitalism, cultural contradictions of, 96,98 Caracas, Venezuela, 77 cemeteries, 128-132 charter-member minorities, 33, 47, 53 Chermayeff, Serge, 140 Chicago cemeteries, 129 heroin addicts in, 12 school of ecology, 39-40, 57, 86, 103 Tribune, 104 University of, 16, 18-20 Christian enclaves, 115 city blocks, 49 planners, 60, 137 civil rights movement, 86 claiming behavior, 139-140 classical ecologists, 8 coercive action, 70 college towns, 144 Colson, Charles, 56 commitment space, as generalized other, 103 community as aggregation, 6 as consensus, 8 natural, 4 trailer, 142-144 competition, 8, 9 Comte, Auguste, 8 concert hall, 67 constraining action, 70 "continuance of locality" (Georg Simmel), 115 Cooley, Charles, 36, 60 Copenhagen, 61 Cosell, Howard, 74

200 / Index Coser, Lewis, 115 countervailence, 54-55 Cox, Archibald, 56 Cressey, Donald R., 51 crowding, 159-160 Crozier, Michel, 109 cues, 66 cultural areas, 81 frontiers, 53, 125-126 islands, 33 revivals, 47 culture of civility, 102 Cumming, Elaine, 144 Darwinists, social, 19 decriminalization, 151 definition of the situation, 84 delinquency areas, 52 theory, 109 demography, descriptive, 22 Denmark, 117 detribalization, 123 DeVault, Spencer, 107-108 devitalized space, 31 Dewey, John, 24, 137 Dewey, Richard, 88 dietary borders, 52 differential association theory, 51 diplomatic immunity 46 disengagement, social, 142, 144 division of labor, 8 Dixieland, 22, 77 Downie, Leonard, 154 dramaturgical ecology, 15, 74-78 drugstores, 14 Dubos, René, 62 Duncan, Hugh D., 23 Duncan, Otis D., 5, 29 Durban, South Africa, 61-62 Durkheim, Emile, 5, 20, 23, 29-30 and "collective conscience," 97 and distrust of the self, 100 on egoistic suicide, 144 and group absolutism, 95 on public conscience, 100-101 ecology applied, 138 boundary-defensive, 21 definitions of, 4, 9, 15 dramaturgical, 21 event, 72

"flypaper," 150 frontier, 115 general, 6 lower animal, 140 processual, 16,18-19 economic areas, 41 economists, 81 ecosystem, 4 egocentric territory, 75, 78 Einstein, Albert, 3 Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, 20 Eliade, Mircea, 64 empty space, 48 English Canadians, 118 equilibrium, 9 Erikson, Kai, 144-145 ethnology, spatial, 72 Etzioni, Amitai, 97-99 evolution, 9 expediential space, 33 expressive space, 56-57 extraterritoriality, 33 facts, spatial, 3 fallacy, particularistic, 10 familism, 86 family shelters, 146-148 feedback loops, 24-25 fences, 162 Festinger, Leon, 13 Firey, Walter, 11-12, 16, 29, 71-74 fixed territory, 75 Fox, James, 14 France, 117 Frazier, E. Franklin, 19 French Canadians, 4-7, 117-119 Fried, Marc, 43, 88 frontiers of contact, 52-54 gatekeepers and advocates at, 127 idiomatics of encroachment, 125-126 front porches versus decks, 131-133 front space versus back space, 33 functionalism, 94 functions, manifest and latent, 114-115 gangs, street-corner, 84-86 Gaza, 121 generalized others, 103 geographers, 10, 60, 81 Giddings, Franklin, 83-84 Gleicher, Peggy, 43, 88 Goffman, Erving, 21, 58, 66, 73-78

Index I Gouldner, Alvin, 74 graffiti, 148 Great Britain, 117 Greer, Scott, 82 grounded values, 97 Gumperz, John, 112 Gutman, Robert, 136

Jacobs, Jane, 88 Janowitz, Morris, 103-104 Japanese Americans, 125 Jerusalem, 53,116 Jews, 121 Johannesburg, S. Africa, 61-62 Jouard, Sidney M., 96

habitat, natural, 8 Haeckel, Ernst, 9 Hall, Edward T., 76 Hallett, Douglas, 56 Harvey, David, 163 Hawley, Amos, 4,15, 29, 52 Henry, Jules, 67 Henry, William, 144 Hertzler, Joyce, 59 high ground, 127 Hinduism, 64 historians, 81 Holland, 117 Hollywood, California, 112 Hollywood and Vine, 111-112. See also moorings Hollywood Bowl, 67 Holy Land, 122 Homans, George, 15-16 home territory, 24, 28, 58 Homo constructeur, 72,134 hospitals, 64, 67, 107-108 housing retirement, 142 surrogate, 160 town houses, 161-163 Houston, Texas, 153,155 Hoyt, Homer, 60 Hughes, Everett, 19, 32, 86, 116-117 humans as self-markers, 113

Kansas, 162 Keller, Suzanne, 89 Kephart, William, 128 keying, 66 kin and disasters, 145-147 Kitt, Alice, 80

"I" and the "me," 26, 103 ideal types, 58 idiomatics, 25 idioms, 25 India, 119 Indians, North American, 47 industrial park, 155 information space, 33 interactional territories, 58 interests, human, 17 interpretive capacity, 30 intersections, 133 Irvine, California, 156 Isaacs, Reginald, 87 Israel, 53,114, 121

McKenzie, R. D., 8 MacLeish, Rod, 132 Maine, 124 markers, 76 males, preadolescent, 87 Malinowski, Bronislaw, 72 malls, shopping, 62-63 manifest action, 69 Manning, Peter, 109 maps, mental, 44 Marxian dialectic, 19 massage parlors, 148-151 Massaua, Eritrea, 61 Mead, George H., 23-26, 139 formation of self, 95

labeling, 32-33, 50-51 laissez-faire, 9-10 landmarks, 111-112. See also moorings language field, 28, 32-34 Larntz, Kinley, 14 latent action, 69-70 Lawrence, D. H., 35 Lebanon, 115 Lebensraum, 82-83 Lett, Ε. Ε., 32 Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 12 life styles California, 104-107 town house, 162 limited-liability space, 33,104, 138 linguistics, spatial, 25-29 linguists, 81 Lockwood, Charles, 162 logical positivism, 21 logical positivists, 40 Long Island, 158 Los Angeles, 44-45, 152 Lyman, Stanford M., 58

202 / Index "I" and "me," 103 significant others, 107 mental maps, 44 Merton, Robert, 69, 80 metaphorical knowing, 17-22 Mexico, 96, 116 Michel, Jerry, 12 microecology, 12-15 Middle East, 120-124 Midwest and Its Children, 13 minorities, 48 mission fields, 115 mobile home villages, 143 monopoly of function, 80 Montreal, 118 moorings, spatial, 14, 55, 111-112 Mormon genealogy, 70 Moslem Bihari, 122 villages, 115 Mumford, Lewis, 86, 87 Murdock, George, 21 music, 67 myths, 64, 87 National Funeral Directors Association, 131 nation-states, 117 natural areas, 17, 18, 51-52. See also niche ecology natural histories, 19 Navajo Indians, 124 neighborhoods, 71, 88, 159 nesting place, 33 New Orleans, 62 New York, 86, 88 niche ecology, 16, 17, 53. See also natural areas Nixon, Richard, 56 nominalism-absolutism, 102 norms, 60, 97 Oak Park, Illinois, 157 objects, 36 observation, 32 Ogburn, William R, 19 One Boy's Day, 13 open space, 48 Operation verstehen, 37,77 Orleans, Peter, 58 Ottawa, Canada, 60 Pakistan, 122-123 Palestinians, 53, 121

paradigm, 35-40 Paris, 61 Park, Robert E., 8, 16-17, 19, 29, 114 paradigm of, 19-20 Parsons, Talcott, 20, 58, 71 Pattison, William, 129 Perry, Clarence, 88 Petaluma, California, 45 Philadelphia, 84-86, 129 physicalists, 4-12. See also logical positivism, logical positivists Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 62 planners, 149 plans of action, 29 plants and lower animals, 6-7, 17 platform ecology, 30-31 Plato, 102-103 pointing, 26, 31 political scientists, 81 possessional territory, 76 potter's field, 129 preference field, 33, 80, 99 primitive peoples, 65 private property, 127 propinquity, 15, 87, 125 proximity, 14, 87 public territories, 58 Puerto Ricans, 46 Puritanism, 97 Quebec, 118 realtors, 153, 157 recreation, 155 Redlinger, Lawrence, 12 reductionism, spatial, 11 reference models, 55 referential space, 102 refracted space, 33 regionalism, 81-82 regions, front and back, 74-75 registering of consciousness, 59 Reston, Virginia, 89-94, 126 retirement, 142-144 Richardson, Elliot, 56 Riemer, Svend, 88-89 Riesman, David, 58 Rosenberg, Bernard, 107, 110-111 Rosengren, William, 107-108 Royce, Josiah, 106 sacred space, 63-68 neighborhoods as, 87 Saint Louis, Missouri, 82-83

Index / 203 Salt Lake City, Utah, 65 San Francisco, 44, 151 Santos, Brazil, 61 Saudi Arabia, 121 Schegloff, Ε. Α., 27-28 Schmalenback, Herman, 101 Schnore, Leo, 5, 29 schools, 14 Schutz, Alfred, 63-64 Scott, Marvin, 58 seats of learning, 86 sector zone theory, 60 secular community, 101 segregation, 49 self, as catalyst and object, 103 sense data, 57 sensitizing concepts, 18, 32-34, 39-40 settings, 59 shelters, family, 146-148 Shevky, Eshref, 16, 58 signs, 25-26, 36 psychology of, 15 versus symbols, 15 Simmel, Georg, 48, 101 on continuance of locality, 115 situation, 59, 63 situational field, 33 research as metaphoric, 111 switching, 73 territoriality 48, 75 situs coding, 60 Slater, Philip E., 113 slums, 10, 77 Small, Albion W., 96-97 small groups, 14 Snowbirds, 143 social area analysis, 22, 38, 82 social-conscience loading, 63-68 sociolinguistics, 23, 31 sociologists, 81 Sociometry, 13 Sorokin, Pitirim, 12, 58, 71 South Africa and apartheid, 119 South Dakotans, 48 southern Californians, 104-107, 111-112 southern states, 52 space disenfranchisement, 140 disposability, 113 as encounter place, 114 ethnology, 72 as fleetingly "physical," 112

as social construction, 11 spatial contingency, 33 liquidity, 44 privilege versus right, 97 regularism, 138-139 Spencer, Herbert, 8, 9 Spykman, Nicholas, 48 stateless people, 46 Stephan G. Edward, 5 Stonehenge, 65 structural-functionalism, 21 structure, social, 9 suicide, 144 Sumner, William G., 52 Sun Belt, 82-83, 143 Sun City, Arizona, 143 Sutherland, Edwin, 51 Suttles, Gerald, 125 switching, situational, 73 Sykes, Richard, 14 symbiosis, 8 symbols, 25-26 synecologists, 6 systems, social, 4, 58 systems model, 69 technology, 7, 134, 141, 149 temperocentric space, 24, 33 territorial hybrid, 57 imperative, 22 intersections, 110 perspective, 38 territoriality axis of accommodation, 140-142 axis of threat reduction, 139-140 as conflict, adversary model, 141 as construction process, 94 transgressions in, 95 territory and kinship, 119 as "rental" space, 102 variations in accountability, 115lló things versus objects, 28-29, 32, 36 Thomas, W. I., 74, 84 threat reduction, 139-140 Toffler, Alvin, 80 Tònnies, Ferdinand, 58 topography, 60 trailer towns, 142-144 "tree of knowledge," 63 types, ideal, 8

204 / Index typologies, 57 Tzonis, Alexander, 140 United Nations, 141 University of Kansas, 13 urban planners, 81 Utah, 81 Utah Mormons, 81, 117-118 valuations, 10 vested-interest space, 33 Vietnam refugees, 47 Waller, Willard, 84 Warner, W. Lloyd, 24, 50 Washington Post, 56, 104 Weber, Max, 6, 58 on place-status dilemmas, 101 West Indies, 41 White, E.B., 3

Whitehead, Alfred North, 62 Williams, Marilyn, 16 Wilson, James Q., 105 Wilson, Woodrow, 56 Wirth, Louis, 4, 10, 31 as neoclassical ecologist, 8-9, 16 on planning, 17 woman's place, 127 working space, 127 World Court, 141 Wright, Herbert, 13 Young, Brigham, 128 Young, Michael, 147 Zionism, 53 Zlutnick, Steven, 160 zoning, 151-157 as constraint ideology, 138