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How Themes in Literature Can Inform Sociological Theory, Research, and

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Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411
DOI 10.1007/s12108-014-9221-1

How Themes in Literature Can Inform Sociological

Theory, Research, and Teaching

Michael J. Carter & Steven Carter

Published online: 27 May 2014

# Springer Science+Business Media New York 2014

Abstract In this article we revisit the strategy of using literature to inform sociology. We
address a central question: what literary themes are generally ignored by sociologists,
and how can sociology as a discipline benefit by incorporating such themes in theories of
social processes? We identify ten themes that are common in literature but not common
in sociological analyses: optimism, pessimism, ambition, indolence, betrayal, revenge,
curiosity, apathy, doubt, and certainty. We first provide examples of how each theme is
addressed in classic literature e.g., in works of fiction, poetry, religious texts, etc. and
discuss their importance in understanding facets of the human condition. We then discuss
how considering each theme can benefit theory and research in sociology. We conclude
with a discussion of what changes must occur within the discipline of sociology to
encourage sociologists to look beyond common themes and toward new areas of inquiry.

Keywords Sociological theory and practice . Sociology through literature . Literary

themes in sociology . Person-centered sociology

Introduction

Half a century ago American sociologist Lewis Coser (1972) edited an anthology
entitled Sociology through Literature, a collection of writings organized around com-
mon themes in sociology. Twenty themes were presented: culture, social control,
socialization, youth, self and other, status and role, sex roles, stratification, power and
authority, bureaucracy, total institutions, politics, urban sociology, poverty, the family,
religion, race, collective behavior, deviance, and anomie. The writings illustrated the
themes in a novel way—through fiction. Coser’s anthology provided a method to teach

M. J. Carter (*)
Sociology Department, California State University, Northridge, 18111 Nordhoff Street, Northridge, CA
91330-8318, USA
e-mail: michael.carter@csun.edu

S. Carter
English Department, California State University, Bakersfield, 9001 Stockdale Highway, Bakersfield, CA
93311, USA
e-mail: steven.carter1@yahoo.com
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 389

and comprehend all things sociological, even though it lacked a presentation of abstract
theory or empirical observations commonly found in sociological monographs. The
characters and settings of classic literature were presented to illuminate ordinary
sociological themes in a powerful way. For Coser, literature was more than fiction—
literature was “social evidence and testimony…a continuous commentary on manners
and morals” (1972:xv).
Regardless of one’s familiarity with English and world literature, contemporary
sociologists would recognize many of the authors, philosophers, and poets included
in Sociology through Literature. William Shakespeare, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Leo
Tolstoy, George Orwell, James Joyce, Jean-Jacque Rousseau, William Butler Yeats—
all are included in Coser’s anthology. Writings by Herman Melville and F. Scott
Fitzgerald comment on the nature of culture: Melville’s Domestic Manners on the
Marquesas provides an ethnographic description of island life in Polynesia; an excerpt
from Fitzgerald’s The Crack-Up illustrates jazz age culture in early twentieth century
America. Mark Twain’s Life on the Mississippi illustrates the basic sociological process
of anticipatory socialization and learning a trade. Marcel Proust’s The Art of Making
Distances reveals how roles and behavioral expectations differ for members of different
social class backgrounds. Anton Chekhov’s A Chameleon shows how individuals
behave toward others based on perceived status positions. Virginia Woolf’s A Room
of One’s Own addresses gender inequality and the difficulties modern women face in
gaining opportunities. Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Grand Inquisitor debates the nature of
social control and deviance, structure versus agency, and the philosophical question of
free will. William Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust illustrates the nascent stages of crowd
behavior in its descriptions of a gathering lynch mob. Oscar Wilde’s poem “The Ballad
of Reading Gaol” conveys the harshness and estrangement one experiences as a
prisoner in a total institution. Richard Wright’s Black Boy addresses racial dynamics
with a poignant portrayal of the treatment of Blacks in the American south in the early
twentieth century.
While many of the writings Coser selected are revered as masterpieces, their efficacy
toward illuminating sociological insight sheds new light on their genius. The characters
in each story may be idiosyncratic and unique, but they also reveal much about greater
society—they resonate beyond their specific context and setting. These stories provide
more than a glimpse into the human condition; they inform and illustrate the sociolog-
ical imagination. Coser was astute in his recognition of the potential of literature as a
tool to understanding sociology.
In this article we revisit the strategy of using literature to inform sociology. However,
we do not simply update Coser’s Sociology through Literature by citing work that
applies to common sociological topics—we move beyond Coser’s strategy and address
the central question, “what literary themes are generally ignored by sociologists, and
how can sociology as a discipline benefit by incorporating such themes in theories of
social processes?”
We examine ten overall themes, organized as a set of five semantic differentials:
optimism/pessimism, ambition/indolence, betrayal/revenge, curiosity/apathy, and
doubt/certainty. We first discuss each theme and cite relevant literature that addresses
it, focusing on how the examples of literature relate to a general understanding of social
behavior or societal processes. For our purposes, we define literature broadly. Most of
the “literary” work we discuss in this article takes the form of fiction (such as novels,
390 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

short stories, and plays), but autobiographies, religious texts, poetry, historical narra-
tives, and philosophical treatises also can be considered works of “literature.” Basically,
any form of writing that does not resemble traditional, scientific scholarship (i.e.
sociological monographs, research articles, academic books, etc.) can be classified as
an example of literature. After discussing each theme and how it appears in works of
literature, we discuss its importance for sociology per se. We begin with a short
discussion of the efficacy of using literature to inform sociology.

The Efficacy of Using Literature to Inform Sociology

What is the efficacy of using literature as a complement to scientific knowledge of

human behavior? While sociology is generally conceived as an analytic and construc-
tive activity, literature and art are largely concerned with the discovery and elaboration
of images and meanings. Because of these differences, some condemn literature and
works of fiction as useful tools for gleaning sociological knowledge, claiming that the
average novel “does not achieve the purity or coherence of structure which permits the
sociologist to observe its homologous relation to the structure of the possible con-
sciousness of the social group whose tendencies it expresses” (Goldmann 1975; Noble
1976:215).
Coser commented on such critiques:

Sociologists have but rarely utilized works of literature in their investigations.

And yet it would appear obvious that the trained sensibilities of a novelist or poet
may provide a richer source of social insight than, say, the impressions of
untrained informants on which so much sociological research currently rests…
Why then should not sociology harness to its use, for the understanding of man
and his society, those untapped sources in the rich accumulation of literature?
(Coser 1972:xv-xvi).

Coser’s endorsement of using literature in sociology was not presented to the

discipline without doubt. His introduction to Sociology through Literature reveals his
skepticism: “This book is frankly experimental; only its use in the classroom will show
whether the teaching of sociology through literature can indeed enrich and enliven the
subject, whether the literary imagination can stimulate the sociological imagination”
(Coser 1972:xix).
Coser’s doubts were unfounded. The success of the first edition of Sociology
through Literature led him to realize that using literature in the classroom to teach
sociology was indeed efficacious. For the neophyte, learning sociology can be difficult
and tedious; “social structure,” “anomie,” and “alienation” are abstract constructs that
often seem disconnected from the experience of everyday life. Coser believed that
using classic literature to illustrate themes in sociology focuses sociology’s abstractions
within a rich context; the colorful characters found in the world’s great writings bring
sociological themes to life.
Coser’s anthology is now out of print, and so far no one has published a similar
anthology that features literature as a tool to understand sociology. There are many
reasons why this is so, but perhaps the most obvious one is that literature largely
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 391

involves subjective interpretation while sociology strives to be an objective science.

Knowledge of human behavior as portrayed by characters in literature doesn’t easily
translate to the social sciences. However, Coser saw the benefit of using literature in
sociology, and so do we. Below we show how themes common in literature are
important to consider in general sociological inquiry.

Ten Literary Themes and Their Importance in Sociology

While contemporary sociologists might note a few important omissions regarding the
themes included in Sociology through Literature (such as sexuality, globalization, or
the life-course), Coser’s themes generally represent the most common areas studied in
sociology today. In the following discussion we expand Coser’s list of literary themes
by identifying themes not commonly addressed in sociology. While the themes we
present may seem to represent micro-level, intra-individual processes that are more
psychological than sociological, we show how an understanding of each theme reveals
much about the operation of macro-level social forces. And for those themes that
indeed represent small-scale phenomena, one should keep in mind that micro-level
processes are equally as important to consider as are macro-level processes in sociology
because of the embedded nature of all social forces and the reflexive nature of self and
society (Cooley 1998; Mead 1934; Turner 2010). After a brief introduction to each
theme, examples of how the themes appear in literature are provided, followed by a
discussion of why sociologists should consider the themes in sociological explanations
of social phenomena.

Optimism/Pessimism

The term “optimism” refers to any view which supposes the ultimate predominance of
good over evil in the universe, or the inclination to take a favorable view of circum-
stances and to hope for the best (Simpson and Weiner 1989). “Pessimism” is the
tendency or disposition to look at the worst aspect of things, or the habit of taking
the gloomiest view of circumstances.

Optimism and pessimism in literature The best-known analysis in Western literature of

“cockeyed optimism” is Voltaire’s Candide, with its anti-Leibnitz doctrine of a practi-
cal, clear-eyed, and evenhanded approach to life. An equally insightful satire on
optimism and its effects on society is Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, which reveals
how the societal consequences of jingoistic optimism may also lead to madness in
individuals. In Book I Gulliver is willing to attempt to destroy the civilization of
Blesfescu at the behest of the vicious Lulliputians, whose society strikes him
as utopian. But it is Gulliver’s faith in the pure rationality of horses in Part IV—
a society so redolent of Nazism, including its proposed Final Solution to the
Yahoo problem—which costs Swift’s hero his sanity. Optimism shattered, and
turning away from the world of men, he begins behaving like a horse, disavows
his own family, and moves into a stable.
A century before Swift and Voltaire, in King Lear William Shakespeare
illuminates the dangers of runaway optimism to individuals and society. The
392 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

key player in this scenario is Albany, whose blind faith in human goodness and
poetic justice enables the murder of the innocent, saintly Cordelia, followed hard
upon by the death of the king, her father. Orchestrated by the arch-pessimist
Edmund, these deaths mark the end of Lear’s kingdom. In King Lear, the
scheming Edmund reveals that pessimism—a mask for his own individual
hypocrisy—may also be a corrosive agent eating away the humanity of a
nation—even a species. In Act V, when Edmund gives the order to kill Cordelia,
the Captain replies, “If it be man’s work, I’ll do it.”
In literature, jingoistic pessimism in society can also lead to madness in
individuals. In modern works especially, but also in Shakespeare, the negative
effects of pessimism on society are manifest. George Orwell’s 1984 and Arthur
Koestler’s Darkness at Noon demonstrate how a fascist “reading” of the human
psyche may have dire consequences for nations, a phenomenon which has been
borne out more than once in the 20th century. In 1984, the root of what might
be called mega-pessimism is the insane Thought Policeman O’Brien’s faith in
the credo, “Power for the sake of power.” Protagonist Winston Smith’s tragic
descent into madness is mirrored in the novel’s final words, “He loved Big
Brother.”
Equally well-known in the modern dystopian canon is Aldous Huxley’s Brave New
World. Here, as with Orwell, the conduits of pessimism between individuals and a
totalitarian society flow in both directions. It would seem that the “individuals” of
Huxley’s World State are anything but pessimistic. This is true—as long as they limit
their world-view to their own Alpha or Beta castes. Attitudes toward lower castes,
however, are throwbacks to 20th century racist, ethnic, and class distrust—even
hatred—of anyone “below” themselves. In Brave New World there is little hope for
“Savages” like John to survive the dark societal outlook of Alphas and Betas and the
rulers of Huxley’s World State. Not surprisingly, he commits suicide.
The nature of optimism and pessimism is also examined in other literary classics,
including Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Charles Dickens’ A
Christmas Carol, and the poems of William Wordsworth. As we have seen, optimism
and pessimism are resonant themes in a wide variety of literature produced over the
past centuries.

How an understanding of optimism and pessimism informs sociology Sociologists

often claim that a main goal of sociology is to understand the causes and consequences
of human behavior. A survey of the research on microsociological processes reveals
that “behavior” or “social action” is often a main dependent variable in explanatory
models. For example, sociologists have revealed that self and identity processes—i.e.,
internal states of being—are strong motivators of behavior (Burke and Stets 2009;
Heise 1979; Stryker 1980). Sociologists have been interested in intra-individual pro-
cesses such as self and identity for decades, but they rarely address attitude states such
as optimism and pessimism in their theories. One’s outlook on life in terms of being
optimistic or pessimistic is likely a strong motivator—or inhibitor—of behavior; the
inclusion of optimism/pessimism as independent variables in microsociological analy-
sis could expand our understanding of why individuals choose specific courses of
action. For example, sociologists have recognized the importance of self-esteem in
motivating behavior (Cast and Burke 2002). Thus, it seems one’s disposition of being
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 393

optimistic or pessimistic would also be an important variable to examine in predictive

models of behavior.
Outside sociology, in the general social sciences, research on optimism and pessi-
mism is mostly found in psychology (Chang 2001; Hazlett, Molden, and Sackett 2011;
Schueller et al. 2008). Psychological research on optimism and pessimism commonly
addresses outcomes of being optimistic or pessimistic, such as their effect on motiva-
tion, depression, and psychological well-being. Differing levels of optimism and
pessimism are understood as personal dispositions, or internal personality traits. While
psychologists have revealed much about the effects of being optimistic or pessimistic,
they generally have not considered how social structural forces may predict variance in
either.
It makes sense that one’s level of optimism or pessimism would greatly be
affected by environment, experience, and life-chances. These notions have been
supported by research that reveals how an individual’s sense of optimism or
pessimism is influenced by contextual surroundings (Ek, Remes, and Sovio
2004), but most research correlates optimism and pessimism to traits such as
neuroticism and not social context. Research in this vein conceives individual
variance in optimism and pessimism a-contextually without considering the
influence of social forces that might influence individuals’ orientation to things
in their environment. In other words, causal agents that predict variance in
individuals’ levels of optimism and pessimism are not addressed. Sociology
seems well suited for such an investigation. Let us examine how.
Patricia Hill Collins’ (1991) work on the experience of marginalized groups is
useful in conceiving how a sociological framework can be used to predict indi-
viduals’ levels of optimism and pessimism. Collins revealed that an individual’s
intersecting characteristics that reveal one to be part of subordinate groups
(concerning race, class, gender, sexual orientation, disabilities, etc.) act as a
“matrix of oppression.” People who experience multiple types of oppression find
it more difficult to assimilate and succeed against the dominant status structure in
society. It makes sense that those with more complex intersections of oppressive
forces would be less optimistic and more pessimistic about their efficacy to
acquire resources and find opportunities in greater society. This is an empirical
question—one sociologists could answer, and one that would reveal much about
how macro level structural forces (oppressive forces in the social structure) impact
micro level, individual processes (one’s level of optimism/pessimism).
A sociological understanding of individuals’ variance in optimism/pessimism
would reveal much about why some individuals are more motivated and
persevere through adversity. Optimism and pessimism could also be understood
at different levels of analysis, even though each ultimately defines an individ-
ual’s attitude or state of being. For example, individuals may be optimistic
about their chances in gaining employment (a micro-level concern), but pessi-
mistic about the national health care system (a macro-level concern). The point
is that many forms of sociological analysis would benefit by considering how
optimism and pessimism influence processes within social systems. In literature
each is a common theme; both could be in sociology as well if sociologists
thought outside the box and appreciated less traditional—though important—
themes that are not commonly addressed in the discipline.
394 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

Ambition/Indolence

“Ambition” as a concept has been defined in different ways over time. David Hume
defined it as the desire for power (Hume, David. 2003, 1888 [1888]); Alexis de
Tocqueville saw it as a yearning desire to improve (de Tocqueville, Alexis. 1969,
1835 [1835]). The common contemporary definition incorporates both elements:
ambition is the ardent desire to achieve a high position, or to attain rank, influence,
distinction, or other preferment (Simpson and Weiner 1989). “Indolence,” an antonym
of ambition, is the disposition to avoid trouble; the love of ease; laziness; slothfulness;
sluggishness (1989).

Ambition and indolence in literature Ambition and indolence as themes in literature

appear in various forms, as both virtues and vices, and they are often juxtaposed in the
same work. In both Tom Sawyer and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, the ambitious
schemes of wheeler-dealer Tom are contrasted with Huck’s “laid back” nature and
lifestyle. But there’s a serious side to Huck’s refusal to bend his will to society’s
specifications. He is staunchly opposed by the societal institutions of church, education,
and slavery, which perceive him as the enemy of God, of the ethic of American upward
mobility, and of mid-19th century race prejudice. All three pillars of society attempt to
mold Huck’s moral identity. These attempts ultimately fail. In the novel’s final passage
Huck announces his plans to “light out for the territory” because he “can’t stand” being
civilized. The territory, of course, is the American West, where one is free to carve out
one’s own future self.
Three centuries earlier, Shakespeare created Sir John Falstaff to personify the threat
indolence poses to a monarchical society. Ironically, it is Prince Hal, his “playmate” of
a riotous youth, who, in assuming the mantle of King, comes to represent the very
society he and Falstaff scorned in the drinking and whoring orgies of Henry IV, Parts I
and II. By the time of the Battle of Agincourt, an ambitious, serious-minded Hal—
“every inch a king”—has disavowed Falstaff, who never outgrows his indolent habits.
Shakespeare also addresses ambition and indolence in Macbeth and Julius Caesar.
As is the case with optimism and pessimism, clashes between ambition and indo-
lence against the backdrop of society are prime fodder for satire. The classic American
depiction of the Puritan work ethic versus “laziness”—i.e., non-conforming individu-
alism—may be found in Washington Irving’s short story Rip Van Winkle. Like Huck
Finn, Rip isn’t merely a ne’er do well—he is a threat to the institutions of society.
Represented by his nagging wife and fellow villagers, the fledgling American ethics of
hard work and industriousness for its own sake conspire to shape Rip’s moral identi-
ty—and fail. In turning the morality of society upside down, Irving makes of the
indolent Rip a hero—the opposite of the hard-working, “proper” Ichabod Crane who
becomes the fall guy, even the villain, of Irving’s other great satire, The Legend of
Sleepy Hollow.
Indolence, Rip’s termagant wife warns, will be Rip’s damnation. Instead it is his
salvation, as he escapes the village’s intentions of “re-educating” his moral identity by
getting drunk, passing out, and falling out of mainstream society for twenty years. On
waking, he discovers he must start from scratch—not only socially, but ontologically:
“I don’t know who I am!” No matter. His wife is long dead, the American Revolution
has taken place, and Rip lives happily ever after in the care of his daughter.
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 395

In so doing Rip also becomes the avatar of other American “heroes of indolence”—
societal dropouts like Thoreau, who titles a chapter of his Essays “Sauntering;” and
Walt Whitman, who in his 1855 masterpiece Song of Myself proclaims his desire to
“loaf and invite my soul….”
There are many other examples in literature where ambition is a salient theme.
William Faulkner examined ambition in the Snopes Trilogy of novels. It also is treated
in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row, Arthur
Miller’s Death of a Salesman, Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, Theodore Dreiser’s
An American Tragedy, and Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure. Ambition is addressed
in ancient philosophy, most notably by Plato in The Republic and by Aristophanes in
The Frogs. Ambition also resonates in the book of Genesis in the Old Testament.
“Indolence” as a theme is also found in many other classics. Indolence greatly
defines the behavior of Stephen Dedalus, James Joyce’s autobiographical character in
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. It also is a resonant theme in Aldous Huxley’s
Crome Yellow, John Kennedy Toole’s A Confederacy of Dunces, Bertrand Russell’s In
Praise of Idleness, and in Dante’s Inferno.

How an understanding of ambition and indolence informs sociology An extensive

research program in sociology and the general social sciences that examines ambition
or indolence is lacking. This dearth of research has not gone without notice; scholars
have noted that ambition and indolence are neglected topics in philosophy and the
social sciences (Pettigrove 2007). Much of the existing work is found in psychology,
with past scholars examining forms of “achievement motivation” (Inkeles 1977;
McClelland 1951, 1987) and recent work examining the causes and consequences of
being ambitious (Judge and Kammeyer-Mueller 2012). Even in these recent studies
scholars maintain that ambition “is a commonly mentioned but poorly understood
concept in social science research” (2012:758).
Of the existing work on ambition or indolence, some is sociological in nature. For
instance, Fels (2004) addressed the question of why women tend to be less ambitious
than men, a crucial area of inquiry that is relevant to all who study gender dynamics in
the family and in formal organizations, or in any social system where men and women
compete for scarce resources. In other work of interest to sociologists, some scholars
have examined how ambition predicts voting behavior (Berman and Johnson 2000).
Others have examined ambition as a correlate of social class, examining how individ-
uals define success and goals differently depending on cultural desirability and one’s
social class position (Hyman 1953). This work posited that certain beliefs and values of
the lower class accounted for a lack of upward social mobility. Others later challenged
this notion, revealing that individuals from lower classes were defined by intense
success strivings as well (Keller and Zavalloni 1964). This research noted that ambition
cannot be treated as a constant in predicting the likelihood of success since socially
desirable goals are not equally accessible to different social classes. Other studies
examined variance in ambition as a function of relative deprivation (Stouffer et al.
1949). So, there has been some research on ambition that is sociological in nature,
though it is mostly ignored as a variable of interest in mainstream sociology.
The best example of a pure sociological examination of ambition was attempted by
Chase (1987) in a doctoral dissertation, where ambition was examined theoretically as a
characteristic that is embedded in the social structure rather than existing solely within
396 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

an individual. For Chase, since ambition manifests in general, conventional forms it can
be conceived as a system of Weberian ideal types.1 Ideal types of ambition include the
“social climber,” the “self-made man,” the artist who “desires immortality,” or the
“feminist who desires social change” (Chase 1987:v). In attempting to create a general
theory of ambition, Chase directly noted and emphasized its sociological nature:
ambition is not simply the desire to rise or improve in isolation; it is the desire to
cultivate others’ recognitions of achievements. Unfortunately, work on ambition has
not attracted much attention from other sociologists and a cumulative research program
has not developed to test Chase’s theoretical claims which were conceived over a
quarter of a century ago.
“Indolence”—or laziness—is also poorly represented in sociological research. Clas-
sic perspectives on laziness as a social problem are found in studies of management and
formal organizations, where laziness was addressed as a threat to innovation and
productivity. Research in these areas sought to understand how to maximize worker
productivity, and address problems of “loafing” and “soldiering” on the job (McGregor
2005; Taylor 1911). A few have addressed forms of ambition and indolence more
recently (Net 1997), but much of the work is philosophical rather than scientific
(Corbin 2005). Of the work that is recent, laziness is a label often attributed improperly
to individuals who have internal cognitive and emotional problems (Gilmore and
Boulton-Lewis 2009).
Whether philosophical or psychological, these studies mostly ignore social process-
es that might influence how indolent attitudes and behavior are generated in popula-
tions. For example, a symbolic interactionist conception of “laziness” might examine
how it is socially constructed in encounters—i.e., how being seen as “lazy” is a
negotiated label that emerges over time during repeated interactions. Individuals who
believe others see them as lazy would be likely to internalize this label as a component
of the self, and hence “act lazy” among others in adherence with the internalized label.
Laziness from this perspective thus operates in individuals as a self-fulfilling prophecy;
if one believes they are labeled as lazy, they will act in ways that verify and maintain
this label, both to self and other.
A more structural, conflict-based sociological treatment of laziness might address
how a society’s dominant class defines laziness as a deviation from dominant class
norms, and how the dominant class attributes those definitions to those in lower class
positions. These strategies would understand ambition/laziness not as objectively
defined concepts only found in individuals, but as subjective, relational entities that
are embedded in the social structure.
What is interesting about ambition and laziness is that each is a more sensible, direct
predictor of success than macro-level variables like social class. Sociologists often cite
structural variables like socioeconomic status as key predictors of life chances or
likelihood of success, but class and status themselves have no direct effect on achieve-
ment or success. SES and social class variables are predictive of outcomes because of
their correlations with other variables, such as motivation, tenacity, resilience, and
ambition. It makes sense that individuals with greater life chances would be more
ambitious and that those with severe constraints toward success might be labeled as

1
Max Weber conceived an “ideal type” (or “pure type”) as a conceptual/comparative tool that represents the
abstract, essential features of some phenomenon.
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 397

“lazy.” Motivational states such as ambition and indolence are thus sometimes taken for
granted in sociological analysis, but they should not be. As with optimism and
pessimism, a consideration of ambition and indolence in common sociological analysis
offers much.

Betrayal/Revenge

“Betrayal” is a violation of trust or confidence, or the abandonment of something

committed to one’s charge (Simpson and Weiner 1989). “Revenge” is the act of doing
hurt or harm to another in return for wrong or injury suffered, or satisfaction obtained
by repayment of injuries (1989).

Betrayal and revenge in literature In literature the interrelated psychologies of betrayal

and revenge apply to both small-scale tableaux of individuals and large-scale tableaux
of societies. Examples of literature that address “betrayal” include Katherine Anne
Porter’s Pale Horse, Pale Rider, Franz Kafka’s The Country Doctor, Henry James’ The
Portrait of a Lady, Graham Greene’s The End of the Affair, and Edith Wharton’s The
Age of Innocence. Harold Pinter directly examined the nature of betrayal in his play,
Betrayal. “Revenge” as a theme in literature appears in Alexander Dumas’ Count of
Monte Cristo, Edgar Allan Poe’s The Cask of Amontillado, Emily Bronte’s Wuthering
Heights, Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities, and John Milton’s Paradise Lost.
Revenge has also been examined in philosophy (e.g., Francis Bacon’s essay, “Of
Revenge…”) and in Greek mythology (e.g., the story of Medea).
The symbiotic relationship between betrayal and revenge was famously articulated
by the English novelist E.M. Forster: “If I had to choose between betraying my friend
and betraying my country, I hope I’d have the guts to betray my country.” What Forster
didn’t indicate, but what we often find in literature, is that one may do both—and
simultaneously.
In Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, the conspirators articulate this doubling by betraying
their society even as they betray their personal cohort, Caesar. In literature as in life,
there’s double irony involved in political betrayal. On an individual level, by killing the
alleged tyrant, Caesar, Brutus risks becoming the very thing he despises: a tyrant. In so
doing, he also “becomes” the Roman state, usurping that perceived role from Caesar. In
the end, his usurpation proves disastrous for Brutus and, in the short run, for Rome
itself, which is swept into a civil war culminating in the battle of Philippi.
This twin psychology also lies at the heart of 20th century Irish drama and fiction:
notably Liam O’Flaherty’s masterpiece The Informer. Gypo Nolan, a laborer desper-
ately in need of money, betrays his rebel friend Frankie to the police—only to find
himself in the crosshairs of the entire Revolutionary Organization (Irish Republican
Army). A spokesman for this underground society tells Gypo that it’s impossible to
betray one of them without betraying them all. Thus, in playing the double role of
Judas, Nolan turns his life into a tragedy.
As a form of self-betrayal the literary “ethic” of revenge also embraces societies—
and even, as in the case of Hamlet, the world. Keeping pace with the self-
destructiveness of revenge on the part of Claudius is the destruction of the Kingdom
of Elsinore, itself a metaphor for the Fall of Man. Shakespeare dramatizes the com-
plexity of this psychology as a series of concentric circles, beginning with the world at
398 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

large (references to “the primal curse” and “the serpent that did sting thy father’s life”);
to wars between nations (Denmark vs. Norway); to civil wars (Denmark vs. Denmark);
to clashes between individuals (Hamlet vs. Claudius); finally to the endless wars within
the self (Hamlet vs. Hamlet). What connects these “circles” is, of course the never-
ending cycle of revenge, which literally poisons Claudius, Gertrude, and Hamlet,
leaving the society of Elsinore in ruins.
In American literature, the quintessential fable of revenge is Melville’s Moby Dick.
It may seem that the novel has little to do with society, and that the hunt for the white
whale occurs far from the “world of men.” In fact Melville’s whaler is a microcosm of
American society, manned by thirty sailors “federated along one keel.” Add to this 1)
the historical fact that in 1851, the year Moby Dick was published, there were thirty
states in the Union; and 2) Captain Ahab’s description of the ship: “Its wood could only
be American!” On an even broader scale, Melville’s description of the ship in his novel
White-Jacket also applies to the whaler: “A world in a man-of-war.” While the
destructive psychology of revenge certainly applies here, it is configured differently.
Ahab’s hatred is directed, not at men, but at nature—symbolized by the white whale
which cost Ahab his leg. Ahab’s lust for revenge has the same terrible results as it had
for Hamlet: Ahab perishes, but not before taking the symbolic society of the whaling
ship with him.

How an understanding of betrayal and revenge informs sociology Of all themes we

cover, betrayal and revenge are perhaps the least addressed in sociology and the general
social sciences. Work outside sociology has cited various causal mechanisms that
predict when and why actors betray others, for example due to self-interest (Lewicki
1983; Trevino and Youngblood 1990), group attachment or pro-social interests (Dozier
and Miceli 1985), and role conflict that emerges between actors (Grover 1993). So,
betrayal is a concept that has drawn some attention in areas beyond the classic literature
we discussed previously. Some academics have examined it scientifically, though not
sociologists per se. Work that addresses betrayal is often psychological, and com-
monly examines outcomes of betrayal or betrayal in relationships (Jones and Burdette
1994). For example, Finkel et al. (2002) examined betrayal in close relationships and
the forgiveness process, finding that individuals’ self-oriented reactions to betrayal are
antithetical to forgiveness, and are highly motivational toward holding grudges and
seeking vengeance. Forgiveness is best predicted when a strong commitment to the
relationship has been established in advance.
Of the past work on betrayal that is scientific, the most sociological tends to examine
how betrayal occurs within organizations. Work in this vein is often published in
leadership and management journals. For example, Elangovan and Shapiro (1998)
attempted to forge a general theory of betrayal, classifying it in different forms (e.g.,
accidental, premeditated, and opportunistic betrayal), and predicting what type is most
likely to occur in the workplace (opportunistic). From their perspective, the potential
for betrayal is a function of motivational force (i.e., gains) vs. the probability/severity of
a penalty (i.e., losses). This basic predictive model is predicated by intrapersonal
characteristics (one’s core principles), interpersonal characteristics (the nature of one’s
relationships with others), and organizational characteristics (cultures and practices that
are diffuse throughout the organization and act to promote or hinder opportunities for
betrayal). One can label this work as sociological in that it proposes that betrayal
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 399

behaviors are influenced by social forces at different levels of analysis, with micro-
(intrapersonal and interpersonal factors) and meso- (organizational characteristics)
forces both factoring as potential sources of motivation. But in this research, organiza-
tions are understood as static, rational entities. Sociologists have developed different
ways of classifying and understanding organizations as more than simply rational
systems; they also can be conceived as “human” and “open systems” (Handel 2003).
So, the nature of betrayal might be better understood within organizations if one
considers the different qualitative dimensions of meaning that define people and their
experience within organizations.
The closest area in sociology proper that addresses elements of betrayal is found in
Erving Goffman’s (1969) work and in social psychological theory and research on trust,
which is mostly found in the literature on social exchange (Chesire, Gerbasi, and Cook
2010; Cook, Levi, and Hardin 2009). Goffman, in his seminal text The Presentation of
Self in Everyday Life (1959) discusses the issue that members of performance teams
can always “give away the show” and betray other members unless “dramaturgical
discipline” is followed (i.e., by avoiding slips of the tongue and maintaining self-
control). In Asylums (1961), Goffman discusses how a “funnel of betrayal” operates to
relocate individuals from normal society into total institutions. Concerning social
psychological investigations on trust and betrayal, the literature on trust examines the
effect of trust on social exchange relationships, but deals more with variables such as
“uncertainty” and “cooperation” rather than betrayal per se. Similar to social psycho-
logical treatment of trust in social exchange, work in economics has examined the
relationship among trust, risk, and betrayal, focusing on how trust and the fear of
betrayal motivate actors in economic exchange (Bohnet and Zeckhauser 2004).
Most of the scholarly work on revenge is found in similar areas as those that have
examined betrayal. Area-specific investigations have appeared in anthropology
(Boehm 1984), philosophy (Govier 2002), psychology (Stuckless and Goranson
1992), ethics (Elster 1990), and organizational studies (Aquino, Tripp, and Bies
2006; Bies and Tripp 1996). Few sociologists have turned their attention toward
understanding revenge. Thomas Scheff is one such sociologist however. Scheff has
written about the nature of prolonged conflict and revenge-violence between groups,
focusing on how the emotion of shame permeates and influences social life at different
levels of analysis (Scheff 1994). For example, Scheff shows how couples experience
disruptions in communication, cycling through shame, humiliation, and insult-revenge.
Shame is understood as a master emotion that, left to fester, often becomes the ultimate
salient feature that defines individuals, groups, or even nations. Shame is thus a crucial
determinant and predictor in revenge.
Scheff’s work on revenge as an outcome of perpetual shame is only one way
betrayal and revenge can be examined sociologically. It is surprising that criminological
theories have not addressed betrayal and revenge more in their examinations of
deviance. It seems that an understanding of motivations toward revenge would inform
many areas of crime research, from identifying the causes of recidivism to explanations
for irrational behavior.
In classic sociological theory, elements of betrayal and revenge can even be seen in
Karl Marx’s theories and writings on the nature of capital. For example, both are latent
themes in The Communist Manifesto. In the Manifesto, Marx and Frederick Engels
frame the proletariat experience as something improper and immoral, i.e., a betrayal of
400 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

the working class at the hands of the bourgeoisie. The answer to this betrayal?
Revenge, in the form of a revolution that with the unification of the world’s workers
will make the “ruling classes tremble” (Marx and Engels 1988 [1888]:243).
It seems there is much more for sociologists to learn about the nature of betrayal and
revenge. In literature both have been addressed often; as we have seen from the
examples above, they are themes that appear in many of the world’s masterpieces.
But in what contexts are actors most likely to betray? In what contexts are they most
likely to consider—and enact—revenge? Apart from Elangovan and Shapiro’s work on
betrayal in organizations described above, no general theory of either betrayal or
revenge exists. It seems that sociologists with their understanding of the individual in
society would be capable of forging such theories. At the very least, an attempt to
understand how betrayal and revenge emerge in social systems seems a worthwhile
endeavor in the quest for understanding the human condition.

Curiosity/Apathy

“Curiosity” is the desire or inclination to know or learn about anything, especially what
is novel or strange, or a feeling of interest leading one to inquire about anything
(Simpson and Weiner 1989). “Apathy” refers to indolence of mind, or the indifference
to what is calculated to move the feelings or excite interest of action (1989).

Curiosity and apathy in literature Disinterest and apathy are common themes that
appear in classic literature (McCracken 2013). Against the backdrop of society, curi-
osity and apathy, its putative opposite, often receive “bad press” in fiction and drama.
The classic critique of curiosity run amok is Christopher Marlowe’s Jacobean tragedy
Dr. Faustus, followed more than a century later by Goethe’s Faust. In both, the Faust
character sells his soul to the devil in exchange for “pure” knowledge of no benefit to
mankind which ultimately leads to self-destruction. While the immediate effects on
society are minimal in these archetypal works and in 19th century “spin-offs” like
Robert Louis Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein—
their latter-day descendants do confront the societal consequences of scientific curiosity
for its own sake.
Fictional works like Pearl Buck’s Command the Morning, Dexter Masters’s The
Secret, and Michael Knight’s The Typist all deal with the “Faustian bargain” struck by
Manhattan Project atomic scientists at Los Alamos, New Mexico. Even when assured by
the U. S. government that Germany’s nuclear program was headed nowhere, these men
continued with atomic bomb research “simply because,” as one commentator put it, “they
could.” This, of course, resulted in Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the near-destruction of
Japanese society. The best-known portrayal of the effects on American society stemming
from Manhattan Project research is Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, which features a mad
Los Alamos scientist, Dr. Felix Hoenikker, who actually transcends nuclear technology in
inventing a substance, Ice-nine, capable of destroying all mankind in one stroke.
Apathy also poses a direct threat to society, but for different reasons. In Franz
Kafka’s The Trial, the protagonist Joseph K. is arrested for no apparent legal reason.
There is, however, another, more profound reason which K. isn’t conscious of: he is
guilty of cold indifference to the community—especially women. K. spends the entire
novel looking for the “why” of his transgressions—searching everywhere but within.
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 401

Kafka’s protagonist/antagonist dies bewildered and alone, in a prison created not by

legal authorities but by K. himself.
In 20th century American fiction, the military provides a prime societal backdrop for
the consequences of individual apathy. In novels like Norman Mailer’s The Naked and
the Dead, Thomas Heggen’s Mr. Roberts, and Joseph Heller’s Catch-22, it is indiffer-
ence to “the mission” which poses the real threat to America’s “society within society”:
the armed forces. Mr. Roberts takes place on a cargo vessel nicknamed “The Bucket.”
This rusty, forlorn ship sails between the islands of Tedium and Apathy in a cycle of
ennui experienced most profoundly by Lt. Douglas Roberts himself. In the end he
manages to obtain a transfer to an aircraft carrier, only to be killed in a Kamikaze attack.
Like the islands of Tedium and Apathy, the Hobson’s choice given to the novel’s hero
(and by extension all military personnel) is between death-in-life and physical
annihilation.
In the absurd universe of Catch-22, characters actually cultivate apathy as a way of
prolonging time and therefore their lives, threatened on a regular basis by German anti-
aircraft fire. Dunbar, for instance, makes a fine art of doing nothing, spending hours
lying on his bunk staring at the ceiling. In this he and other soldiers, nothing if not
indifferent to the war effort, challenge the military chain of command wielding the
power of life and death over them all.
The aforementioned literature represents only a few treatments of curiosity and
apathy. The consequences of being curious are illustrated in classic fairytales such as
Hansel and Gretel and Jack and the Beanstalk. Curiosity is also a resonant theme in
George Eliot’s Middlemarch, Louis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, and Marcel Proust’s
Remembrance of Things Past. Apathy and indifference are addressed in Albert
Camus’s The Stranger, and J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye.

How an understanding of curiosity and apathy informs sociology Of the scientific

work that addresses human curiosity, most is found in psychology (Berlyne 1954;
Collins, Litman, and Spielberger 2004; Loewenstein 1994; Zuss 2012). Other scholars
have addressed the historical evolution of curiosity, focusing on how curiosity has
evolved over time and how it is understood in different cultures (Daston 1995; Harrison
2001). Benedict (2001) addressed how curiosity as a trait has changed over time,
showing how the value and acceptance of curiosity is more variable than constant
across human history, depending on culture and epoch. Not always a positive trait,
being curious once raised suspicions from others that the curious person was danger-
ously ambitious and a threat to social order. While in contemporary western society a
curious individual is often embraced, historically, the curious were often labeled as
deviants. For example, in the 17th century curious females were often accused of being
witches or malcontents who threatened the status quo. Being curious could mean
paying the ultimate price—death.
Beyond the sociology of curiosity as a cultural trait of virtue or vice, one facet of
curiosity that is particularly pertinent to sociological insight regards innovation. Ad-
vancements in thought, technology, and other forms occur for various reasons; they are
often inspired by necessity or desire. While innovations can be the result of accidental
discovery, many are spawned by an initial curiosity about things unknown. Curiosity is
a main element in the process of discovery and innovation; it thus should be examined
as a distinct concept to understand more about the nature of progress and change.
402 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

Let us further examine the relationship between curiosity and innovation. Of interest
to the sociologist are a society’s structural conditions that promote or hinder curiosity,
and hence encourage or obstruct innovation. A few sociologists have addressed
curiosity in this manner. Robert Merton (1973) addressed the structural conditions that
impacted innovation in his work on the development of science in England. Others
have noted that innovations in a society result as a function of many things, including
the amount of information a society possesses, a society’s population size, and a crucial
factor—a society’s attitude toward innovations (Nolan and Lenski 2011). If a society is
defined by ideological commitments or resistance toward innovations, it will stagnate.
This has been known to occur, especially in societies defined by dictatorships or
societies with strong religious or ideological leaders who resist progressive change.
Galileo’s discovery that the earth was round and not flat was met with swift resistance
by the Catholic Church. Galileo’s curiosity seemed to motivate him more than the fear
of being labeled a heretic; but how many of his peers would share his bravery? In
Galileo’s time, curiosity was quelled by the authority if the nature of one’s curiousness
went against what was believed to be true. Curiosity as a trait was thus devalued
because it posed a threat to the status quo. So, curiosity as a variable has great interest
for a sociological understanding of macro-level change, if one considers exactly how
important it is in innovations and discoveries.
“Apathy” has been addressed in philosophy and in both the behavioral and life
sciences, but as with curiosity, sociological research on it is scarce. In psychology,
apathy has been examined in various forms, such as how boredom correlates with
depression and anger (Da Ponte et al. 2010; Mercer-Lynn, Hunter, and Eastwood
2013). In philosophy, Kant and Derrida both addressed one facet of apathy—the nature
of indifference (Gaston 2005)—an area of inquiry that is also addressed by economists
in predictive models of consumer behavior and the exchange of resources (Alcantud
2002). Apathy has also been conceived as a syndrome by neuroscientists who have
linked motivation loss in individuals to neuropsychiatric disorders (Marin 1991). Work
in geriatrics has noted apathy as a key recognizable change in the elderly (Brodaty et al.
2010) and in patients with Alzheimer’s Disease (Landes et al. 2001). Work in political
science has examined how Americans seem to be less and less concerned with political
issues over time (Eliasoph, Nina. 2003, 1998 [1998]).
Hardly any of the scholarly research on apathy has addressed its social nature or how
it manifests differently in populations based on social structural forces that constrain
actors. But there are many ways the sociologist could understand apathy as an
important component in social processes. A sociological examination of apathy as a
variable might examine the relationship between apathy and life-chances, and how
one’s degree of apathy toward self and others impacts one’s potential for success. If one
is limited in their life-chances, it seems reasonable that they would develop more
apathetic orientations toward themselves and their motivations toward achievement.
Other sociological understandings of apathy might examine how changes in society
promote changes in levels of concern for others. Classic sociological theorists wrote
about changing emotional attachments to others as societies shift from small, intimate-
based cohesion systems (gemeinschaft/mechanical solidarity systems) to large, imper-
sonal systems based on an expansive division of labor (gesellschaft/organic solidarity
systems) (Durkheim, Emile. 1984 [1933]; Tonnies, Ferdinand. 2005 [1887]). The
nature of attachment and social cohesion among individuals in a population changes
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 403

as the size and complexity of a society changes. If the nature of integrative forces can
change in a society, the nature of apathy might change as well. Indeed, past sociologists
have identified forms of apathy as salient facets of life that have emerged in industrial
societies. Georg Simmel (1971 [1903]) wrote about the necessity for individuals to
adopt a sense of apathy—a “blasé attitude”—in urban life as a way to survive the brutal
realities of the modern city. C. Wright Mills (1956) wrote of increasing apathy in the
masses that acts as an enabling force, allowing a “power elite” to emerge and usurp the
pluralistic power structure in American society.
The previous examples are only a few of the ways sociologists could examine curiosity
and apathy. As with the other themes we have addressed so far, a better understanding of
curiosity and apathy in common sociological analysis would serve the discipline well.

Doubt/Certainty

“Doubt” is the (subjective) state of uncertainty with regard to the truth or reality of
anything, or the undecidedness of belief or opinion (Simpson and Weiner 1989).
“Certainty” is established as a truth or fact to be absolutely received, depended, or
relied upon. To be certain is to not to be doubted, disputed, or called into question—it is
to be indubitable and sure (1989).

Doubt and certainty in literature The clash between doubt and certainty within and
without society is a staple of the last four centuries of Western literature. Texts ranging
from Jean-Paul Sartre’s No Exit to Albert Camus’s The Stranger to J.F. Powers’s stories
of troubled American priests constitute tips of an iceberg which, in both American
fiction and non-fiction, reaches back in time to the Puritan communities of New
England. The Journals of John Winthrop—perhaps the earliest masterpiece in Amer-
ican letters—recount an anecdote of a Puritan woman who murdered her child. When
asked why, she said, “At least now I know I’m damned.” In the works of Nathaniel
Hawthorne such deep-seated doubts and the passionate need for certainty haunt entire
communities, and by extension society itself. A case in point is Hawthorne’s story “The
Minister’s Black Veil,” wherein the Puritan village of Milford is plunged into doubt
when Reverend Hooper appears behind the pulpit wearing a black veil. Is he mad?
What are his motives? Do they pose a threat to the community—to the very souls of its
citizens? Has the parson “gone over” to Satan? Characteristically, Hawthorne never
answers these questions, leaving the microcosmic society of Milford and the reader in a
terrible limbo between doubt and certainty. Hawthorne revisits his favorite theme in
The Scarlet Letter, in which Arthur and Hester are torn between the certainties of life in
Boston and the doubts—but also the freedom—of life in the wilderness. In the end, the
two are parted forever, and it is the city of Boston’s turn to be plunged into doubt, that
is, about the “truth” of Hester and her deceased lover.
Equally suspicious of certainty is Hawthorne’s friend Herman Melville. As we have
seen, Moby Dick’s whaling ship is a floating America—crossing the Pacific Ocean
which Ishmael compares to the American prairie; carrying sand from Nantucket and
New England spring water in its hold; chasing a whale Ishmael likens to Daniel Boone.
But what is this arch-foe of America’s whaling industry dubbed Moby Dick? Each
crew member is certain that he knows: for Starbuck, the white whale is “a dumb beast;”
for Ishmael, a “spirit-spout;” for Flask, the strange incarnation of a mountain in New
404 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

Hampshire; for Captain Ahab, the Devil. In the spirit of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Melville
never resolves these doubts.
In Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, we are confronted with a)
society in microcosm (the monastery), and b) society writ large (pre-revolutionary
Russia). Even chapter-titles may speak to the theme of doubt vs. certainty: “For a
Moment the Lie Becomes Truth.” In the main, Dostoyevsky’s great novel raises, but
doesn’t resolve, fundamental questions about the relationship of individuals to society:
How to balance individual integrity with community responsibility? When does a child
have the right to rebel against the father—and by extension paternalistic Czarist society
of the 1870’s? What can the individual do about the suffering of children in the world?
Is freedom—both individual and collective—a curse? Did Christ ask too much of man?
And finally—what is the nature of love as a tie between individuals and as the tie which
binds society together? Like his American contemporaries, Dostoyevsky eschews
definitive answers, preferring to leave these seminal societal issues in doubt.

How an understanding of doubt and certainty informs sociology Research on doubt

and certainty is varied. “Certainty” has been examined both in scholarly (Hampshire
and Hart 1958) and popular psychology (Burton 2008). Psychologists address certainty
in a multitude of ways; for example, certainty in choice behavior has been understood
using the “sure-thing principle” (STP). The STP states that if prospect x is preferred to
y knowing that Event A occurred, and if x is preferred to y knowing that A did not
occur, then x should be preferred to y even when is not known whether A occurred
(Savage 1954; Tversky and Shafir 1992). Here, certainty is understood as a rational,
calculated process of logical determination. Other psychologists have addressed out-
comes of being certain or uncertain. For example, past research has shown that a lack of
certainty causes anxiety and distress (Wolff 1955). And of course, work in psychology
on the “groupthink” phenomenon has addressed doubt and certainty in the decision-
making process, specifically in situations where task-oriented group members seek
consensus on important issues under a time constraint (Janis 1982).
“Doubt” as an area of inquiry is also underrepresented in sociology. In the social
sciences, some research has examined how doubt influences the process of scientific
discovery (Locke, Golden-Biddle, and Feldman 2008). Other work examines skepti-
cism in the legal field (Chambers 1998). Contemporary “theories” of doubt and
certainty often take the form of philosophical debates (Firth 1967; Russell 1948;
Wolgast 1987). For example, Wittgenstein (1972) debated the nature of certainty in
his work On Certainty. Work on doubt in philosophy often takes the form of debates on
“skepticism.” Sinnott-Armstrong (2006) has addressed moral skepticism; Leach (2013)
wrote on the nature of Pyrrhonian and Cartesian skepticism. Of all the scholarly work
on doubt or certainty, the most sociological addresses religious belief—specifically
atheism and agnosticism (Sherkat 2008).
As with the other themes discussed previously, doubt and certainty seem on their
face to be strictly intra-individual processes. But, as with the previously discussed
themes, an individual’s degree of each may be determined—or greatly influenced—by
outside forces. Actors with more resources and prestige may be more certain in their
chosen courses of action. Actors in positions of authority may feel more certainty than
subordinates because of their elevated position of power. Sociological social psychol-
ogists have examined how similar processes occur in group situations, focusing on how
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 405

status influences decision making in task-oriented groups (Berger, Conner, and Fisek
1974), but this literature does not directly address decision making in terms of one’s
tendency toward being doubtful or certain in such contexts. It seems that one’s degree
of certainty or doubt would be a function of various sociological status characteristics,
such as age, race, and social class. One could posit that those in higher status positions
are more likely to feel a sense of certainty among lower status others. We know that
people will present themselves as certain even in situations where such certainty is
objectively false. Solomon Asch (1951) and his colleagues revealed this in their famous
experiments on group conformity. There hasn’t been much research that has examined
much how status characteristics influence feelings of certainty or doubt however.
One facet of doubt and certainty that is important to consider in sociology, and
across all sciences really, regards epistemology. More than other disciplines, doubt
seems to plague sociology. While many of the natural sciences have laws, sociology
has ideas, sometimes labeled as “theories.” But many sociological theories are not
formalized, deductive models of prediction, they are clusters of ideas based in common
sense, sometimes logic, and supported by empirical “evidence.” Pitirim Sorokin (1957)
addressed these issues in his writings, specifically in his discussion of deterministic vs.
indeterministic “mentalities.” In this discussion Sorokin noted that scientific causal
explanations vary greatly, and that not all scientific theories operate with the same
degree of certainty in their deductive statements.
Because of the variance in epistemological strategies, there seem to be more
competing perspectives than agreements in sociology. The discipline bickers over
whether societies are defined by “function” or “conflict,” or whether one should
examine society from “top-down” (i.e., a macro-level perspective) or from “bottom-
up” (i.e., a micro-level perspective). There also is no consensus on the nature of the
individual. Some believe actors are rationally motivated status maximizers; others
believe that actors are defined as much by irrationality and altruism.
Sociologists even have doubts about the process by which knowledge is created,
some believing that qualitative work is inferior to more “objective” quantitative
research. In sum, “doubt” very much defines the realm of sociology more than other
sciences (though any given sociologist may claim certainty about a particular explana-
tion of social life). More scholarly examinations of certainty and doubt can only
improve our general understanding of social processes, and ironically, the manner in
which sociological knowledge is produced and recognized in the first place.

Discussion

We had two goals in addressing our research question, “What literary themes are
generally ignored by sociologists, and how can sociology as a discipline benefit by
incorporating such themes in theories of social processes?” The first goal was multi-
faceted: to resurrect Lewis Coser’s interest in using literature to understand themes in
sociology, to introduce this strategy to the new generation of sociologists, and to defend
the efficacy of using literature to understand phenomena that are mostly examined
using scientific methods. The second goal was to cite and discuss a few important areas
of inquiry found in literature that are commonly neglected by sociologists—themes that
would be beneficial to consider in future sociological theory and research.
406 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

While we have shown how themes in literature can benefit sociologists in their
research, we see two main issues that arise as implications of our analyses. The first
issue regards how the current training of sociologists in graduate programs would need
to change in order for future scholars to be motivated to pursue the approach we
advocate (i.e., incorporating additional themes in future sociological studies). The
second issue regards structural changes that would need to occur within the profession
of sociology—changes that would encourage junior sociologists to pursue the type of
research we advocate, and changes that would legitimize such research. These are not
easy issues to contend with, as pedagogical strategies, normative structures, and areas
of inquiry within the discipline have become greatly institutionalized and relatively
rigid over time. Indeed, the common sociological “themes” that interest sociologists
today do not extend far beyond those mentioned in Coser’s Sociology through Liter-
ature. However, with changes in teaching strategies and the structure of the profession,
common sociological themes could become more inclusive. Let us examine a few ways
to address these issues and encourage a change in the discipline.
If future sociologists are to be encouraged to investigate different areas of inquiry, a
new way of training must be implemented into graduate sociology programs. One way
to encourage a broader scope of interest is to make graduate students take courses
outside sociology departments. This would expose students to other areas and expand
their knowledge base for what is practiced across academia. As students were once
commonly required to learn one or more foreign languages as part of their doctoral
training, it also was common in the past for graduate students to take courses in other
academic departments outside sociology. Some universities still require students to do
so (e.g., the graduate program at the University of Texas at Austin requires six credit
hours outside the sociology department), but this is far from de rigueur across graduate
programs in America today.
Another way to promote new ideas and encourage students of sociology to inves-
tigate uncommon themes is to require them to choose research projects that depart from
the work of their mentors. Many graduate students’ thesis and doctoral dissertation
topics are similar (or identical) to their mentors’ areas of interest, or directly aligned
with their mentors’ research programs. There is nothing wrong with this per se, and it
very commonly occurs, but the practice can stifle creativity and hinder new investiga-
tions of unexamined social phenomena. If graduate students were required to investi-
gate alternative topics in their research designs they would likely develop a broader
knowledge base, and therefore may be more likely to seek out new areas of inquiry in
future research endeavors. While admittedly controversial, such an approach would
likely encourage students of sociology to broaden their scope of interest.
For the existing profession of sociology to accept non-traditional themes as
legitimate areas of sociological inquiry, a few structural changes would likely need
to occur. The first change regards research topics that are deemed “acceptable
scholarship” by the top journals in the field. More and more, the highest ranked
sociology journals seem to cover topics that “fit” into traditional categories. A perusal
of recent articles in the highest ranked sociology journals—i.e., American Journal of
Sociology and American Sociological Review—shows that race, gender, and crime
are prevalent, common themes addressed by contemporary sociologists. This is to be
expected and is not surprising; race, gender, and crime are today and have long been
central areas of sociological analysis. However, what if the top journals made a call
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 407

for research that bucked the current trends of the discipline? What if these journals
purposively reserved space for articles that presented unorthodox ideas or covered
unique or underdeveloped themes, such as those discussed in this article? Research
that explores non-traditional areas of inquiry could even be published in special
editions of such journals. Or, a new journal that embraces the examination of new
areas of inquiry could be developed. There are ways to change the structure of the
discipline of sociology so that more value would be placed on investigating uncom-
mon themes. Of course such changes would need to come from those who hold the
prestige positions in the discipline, i.e., the editors and editorial boards of the top
journals. But if these entities embraced such a change it would greatly increase the
development and acceptance of new areas of inquiry across the discipline. Those
themes that are now uncommonly addressed by sociologists could become main-
stream interests over time.
Another structural change that would likely promote interest in studying different
social processes regards the current system of tenure in universities. Most universities
that are oriented toward scholarship demand that professors publish to secure retention,
promotion, and tenure. Whether formally stated or otherwise, professors are often
encouraged—and sometimes required—to establish a “pattern” of scholarship on their
curriculum vitae. Publishing is only part of the challenge; what is published is also a
criterion by which one is often judged. Research that focuses on a common theme,
follows a linear trajectory, and builds upon itself is often valued over research that is
scattered across many subject areas. For example, a professor who publishes five
articles on completely different, unrelated subjects might be less received than one
who publishes five articles on the same subject, within a main “area of expertise” (even
if the articles on different subjects were evidence of quality scholarship). Of course
there is great scientific value in the development of cumulative theory and extending
research programs, but the pressure to “stay within academic lines” can also promote
stagnation in research endeavors. Scholars—sociologists included—sometimes choose
the normative, “safe” research project they believe will be accepted by others (i.e.,
colleagues, department chairs, deans, and tenure committees) and shy away from
projects they may find intriguing but too risky to engage. The bottom line is that until
the structure of the sociologist’s “job” changes to allow for more flexibility in research
endeavors, scientific studies on themes such as those we present in this article are
unlikely to increase in prevalence. But such a change is possible, especially if the end
result promises to benefit the discipline in the long run.

Conclusion

Sociology as a discipline has continued to drift from the humanities toward the natural
sciences, which in many ways is understandable. But with this shift has come a cost—a
lack of a complete stock of knowledge. It is important to conceive sociology and the
general social sciences as incorporating strengths from both the natural sciences and the
humanities. A combined approach is a more holistic approach, and seeks to be
integrative rather than divisive. In simple terms, a combined approach offers the best
of both worlds. Strategies such as using literature to inform sociological theory,
research, and teaching bring the humanities back into sociological inquiry.
408 Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411

The themes we examine here—optimism, pessimism, ambition, indolence,

betrayal, revenge, curiosity, apathy, doubt, and certainty—are only a few areas
that are of potential interest and benefit to sociologists. And, we have by no
means exhausted the list of literature that could be of use to sociologists. The
Hindu Vedas, stories of the Buddha, and many of the Jewish scriptures such as
the Book of Esther and the Book of Ruth are further examples of texts that
potentially offer much for sociologists, as does the extensive body of Islamic
literature about the Prophet and his companions. There certainly are thousands
of literary sources sociologists could benefit from if they chose to examine
them closely.
Beyond the examples of literature we provide in this article, a consideration
of other literary themes could also illuminate sociologists in their journey
toward understanding the dynamics of human behavior. Desire, fulfillment,
vanity, fealty, duty, greed, hope, innocence, loyalty, manipulation, perseverance,
pride, and temptation—all are often addressed in literature and all are of
potential interest in sociology. A main point we wish to convey is that theory
and research in sociology has, to a great extent, become routine and predict-
able; often the same concepts and variables are identified over and over again
in sociological analysis. But sociology is the quest for understanding all facets
of human societies and behavior. The discipline needs to “think outside the
box” and develop new perspectives and areas of interest.
There is evidence that the climate is changing in sociology and becoming more
receptive to alternative strategies such as those we present here. For example, over
the past few decades a literature has emerged that addresses “society as text”
(Brown 1987). In addition, some have addressed the narrative turn in sociology
(Maines 1993), and a literature has developed that discusses the value of storytell-
ing in sociology (Berger and Quinney 2004). The common interest in these areas
shows that many indeed see the value in non-traditional forms of sociological
knowledge.
Coupled with these developments, many are now stressing the importance of
employing a more person-centered approach in sociological inquiry (Nichols
2012; Smith 2010). In sociology, the person is often ignored as a significant
entity. In the heavily quantitative analyses that dominate the top journals, persons
are often reduced to abstract variables. And in the heavily political analyses that
dominate many books and journals, persons are often reduced to stereotypes such
as “the white heterosexual male” or “the religious Right.” George Homans once
argued in an American Sociological Association presidential address that sociol-
ogists should strive to “bring persons back in” to their analyses. We also believe
that more personalistic strategies are important for sociology moving forward, and
that the use of literature in sociological analyses would do much to promote this
objective.
While some may question the efficacy of using literature to inform sociology, we
believe we have shown how it can act as a complement to traditional scientific inquiry.
At the very least, themes in literature can spark an interest in other areas of social life
that may assist in whetting the sociological imagination. Lewis Coser saw this poten-
tial, as do we. Voltaire (1879) once stated that “fable is the elder sister of history.” If this
is so, perhaps literature is at least a second cousin of sociology.
Am Soc (2014) 45:388–411 409

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