Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Merton
Author(s): Caroline Hodges Persell and Robert K. Merton
Reviewed work(s):
Source: Teaching Sociology, Vol. 11, No. 4 (Jul., 1984), pp. 355-386
Published by: American Sociological Association
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1317796 .
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Teaching Sociology.
http://www.jstor.org
Robert K. Merton is one of sociology's outstanding scholar-teachers. In this interview he
explores how his teaching ideas and practices developed, his views on teaching strategies
and approaches, how he combined scholarship with heavy teaching loads in his early
years, and the personal and institutional rewardsfor teaching.
355
356 TEACHING SOCIOLOGY / JULY 1984
INTERVIEW
I don't know if you have ever run across the deep aphorism
which the English novelist, E. M. Forster attributes to his
mythic "Old Lady":"How do I know what I think till I see what
I say?" Incidentally, Wittgenstein has a far less satisfactory
version: "One often makes a remark and only later sees how
true it is." Perhaps I prefer the Forster dictum because I found
myself writing an uninhibited 15,000-word Shandean letter
about it.2 Anyway, note that Forster has her remark "till I see
what I say," not, mind you, "till I hear what I say." We are
being directed to a deep psychological and cognitive truth.
Creative cognition is an ongoing process. It's very different
from having a routinized, carefully scripted, linear mode of
analysis. That's a quite different kind of cognition. When one is
thinking anew, the essential is to discover what one is thinking
as it moves along. It's a process and not a conclusion. Thinking
is not a thought; it is an activity giving rise to thoughts,
presumably governed by tacit and explicit norms of what
makes for consistency and coherence. The creative thought is
registered by one's being surprised by what one says. It is quite
another kind of enterprise to discover whether that thought is
truth or nonsense.
INTERVIEWER: So teaching is a kind of creation, that is,
something new is occurring while you do it.
MERTON: You may rememberthat years ago, when you were in
my class, I prepared every lecture with great care. I did so even
when I had ostensibly lectured on that "same" subject many
times before. But, of course, it was never twice the same. Not
for me and I liked to think, not for the class. The intensive
preparation involved new ideas, new aspects of old problems,
new materials developed since the preceding version. My
carefully organized notes incorporated a considered version of
new thoughts developed in the interim. This required elabor-
ation of some parts, condensation of others, deletion of still
others. It was seldom, very seldom, that I walked into a
classroom in the same state in which I walked into the seminar
today, having spent 15 minutes or so glancing at this great,
unorganized accumulation of notes.
Still, whether it's a "lecture class" or a "seminar," when I
come away saying, "now that was a good session" or "that was
Persell / INTERVIEW WITH MERTON 361
only most rarely does one move directly from oral publication
to printed publication. I once estimated that modally 11 or 12
years intervened between the time I frist began to work on an
idea and the time it appeared in print. (Of course, this estimate
precludes those very early publications.) Oral publication
allows you to make your ideas available to a local and limited
public while those ideas are being developed and subjected to
critical appraisal. Coming back to one's ideas year after year
but doing so in developing ways essentially amounts to new
editions of a still unprinted paper. For some of us, teaching is a
form of scholarship. The effort to think a problem through
carefully in advance of a lecture is often capped by the
spontaneous emergence of new ideas about the problem in the
course of presenting the lecture. That has been the peak
experience in teaching. It has been a source of pleasure; even
more, of joy.
INTERVIEWER: It also helps to explain one of the questions I
had, which was how do you see teaching and research as
strengthening each other and how you think they detract from
each other in your own experience? This is a beautiful example
of how they fed each other. Your lectures were better because
of the commitment you put into them, and yet you didn't have
to set aside your own work; this was your own work. There was
no separation. Your intellectual concerns were carried on in
both arenas.
MERTON: I don't think there is much to be gained by becoming
even more specific. But we could go through Mary Miles'
compilation of my bibliography to identify the published
articles which had long incubations during the phase of oral
publication before I ever thought of putting them into print.
That, of course, is even more the case with seminars than with
lectures.
You're right that at times the curriculum requirements and
personnel resourcesof a departmentrequireseparationbetween
teaching and research, for example in the phenomenon of the
basic required course. We know that. In those ancient days
when 15 hours of teaching a week was the norm in many
universities, that meant' you were giving five courses each
Persell / INTERVIEW WITH MERTON 365
not grow directly out of that seminar. For the most part, they
came later. Alvin Gouldner's dissertation work was reported in
two monographs, Wildcat Strike and Patterns of Industrial
Bureaucracy, both published in 1954. Peter Blau's Dynamics
of Bureaucracy appeared a year later.
INTERVIEWER: What about Union Democracy?
MERTON: That didn't emerge from the seminar, although
Marty Lipset had of course been trhough the "Columbia
tradition" as Paul Lazarsfeld liked to call it. Phil Selznick had
done his field work in the early 1940s but, owing to the war and
other less notable derailments, TVA and the Grass Roots
didn't appear until 1949 or so. It too was in the tradition of
examining unanticiapted consequences of action, as his splen-
did concluding chapter makes clear.
But to return to the seminar. I surely learned a great deal
from it. There are indications that it had a lasting influence on
at least some other members of the group. This particular
seminar involved both teaching and research. We could not
distinguished the two.
INTERVIEWER: When students would go on field projects with
you, it might be just a few students, but you are teaching them
as you are going out there.
MERTON: That gets into quite a different mode of teaching and
learning: apprenticeship. I distinguish that first from lectures,
which as I say, have always taken first place with me, and
second, from research seminars. (The latter I often gave in
collaboration: early on with Paul Lazarsfeld on a variety of
subjects and, more recently, with Harriet Zuckerman in the
sociology of science. I have always found these joint seminars
instructive.) A fourth mode of teaching is the tutorial, a one-to-
one relationship between teacher and student. That I learned at
Harvard which had a very highly developed tutorial system for
undergraduates back then. It vaguely resembled the system
that obtains in the Oxbridge tradition. The tutee writes an
essay, at its best, based on careful inquiry which becomes the
basis for intensive discussion. I still have personal ties with
some of my tutees from the 1930s. I take pleasure in hearing
368 TEACHING SOCIOLOGY / JULY 1984
turned to the waiter and said, most casually: "Oh, I don't know.
I suppose Ill have a Scotch-straight." There was a long pause,
and then the president said: "And I'll have tomato juice." I
understand that that story is still being told, some 40 years
later. But what is not realized is that my interpretation of the
president's question was the by-product of my thorough
ethnographical research on the New Orleans subculture. A bit
too much knowledge can be a dangerous thing. However, as I
discovered after arriving there, the ethnographic data had it
pretty straight.
I never regretted my decision. Not because I was at once
leapfrogged to an associate professorship and the next year,
professor and chairman of that tiny, full-scale department of
three. But because of the collegial atmosphere, especially
among the cohort of young and largely untenuredfaculty in the
social sciences and biology. Those were two happy years:
enjoyable and productive, in both research and teaching. In
those days, the standard teaching schedule was 15 hours a
week, a stint we took for granted since it was even larger
elsewhere. Classes were reasonably small, about 20 or 25
students. Most students there were not deeply motivated to
learn; many went to college because it was the thing to do. It
became a challenge to engage their attention.
I recall my first session in an introductory course at Sophie
Newcomb, then the women's adjunct of Tulane. As I entered
the room, fully equipped with notes for a more-or-less
standard overview of the course, I was startled to find that at
least half the class were busily knitting away. In the time I took
to reach the podium I made an instant decision: I would see to it
that they stopped knitting and not because I would tell them to
cease and desist. And so, I scrapped my planned lecture and
having introduced myself, announced the subject for this first
session: a repot on some research I was doing at the time
designed to give them an idea of how some sociologists went
about their research. The research subject: patterns of Negro-
white intermarriagein the United States. This, mind you, was
1939 and the place was New Orleans. The knitting stopped. A
collective sense of numbed disbelief took over. In all fairness, I
Persell / INTERVIEW WITH MERTON 379
took all the core sociology courses but, looking back, I'd say
that most of my education was outside the field of sociology,
narrowly conceived. Along with registering for a course in
economic history (with Gay) and for a research and reading
course in the history of science (with Sarton), I audited courses
in philosophy (A. N. Whitehead), economics (Joseph Schum-
peter), constitutionalism (Charles Mcllwain), biology (William
M. Wheeler), comparative religion (Arthur Nock), and anthro-
pology (Earnest Hooton and Alfred Tozzer), and English
Literature. With no exceptions, the basis of my selection was
the quality of the professor. In English Literature,for example,
it was the world-famous Shakespearean scholar.
INTERVIEWER: Was that Kittredge?
MERTON: Yes, George Lyman kittredge. (Incidental to our
conversation, it was said of him that he "slighted research for
tasks which others could have done or which could have been
left undone [this refers to his passion for classroom teaching
and the meticulouscare he lavished on the substance and style of
dissertations he directed], but he would not have agreed, since
for him a teacher'smonument was in his students ratherthan in
his own writings.")
In the history of science, as I've said, it was George Sarton
[pointing to his inscribed picture on the wall of the study]. You
would know his name as the virtual founder of the history of
science but over there [pointing to another photograph on the
study wall], is one you wouldn't know because he never
published much scholarly work, an economic historian named
E. F. Gay. His large graduate course had an immense influence
on me; indirectly, it led me to begin my work in the history of
science and from there, I moved toward a sociology of science.
Gay was an extraordinary man. He had studied at Berlin under
the influential Gustav Schmoller who had founded the new
German Historical School. Lacking all business experience, he
became the first Dean of the Harvard Business School (in 1980)
and introduced the case method of instruction which, with
obvious changes, continues there to this day. After World War
I, when he did yeoman service for President Wilson, he became
Persell / INTERVIEW WITH MERTON 381
editor of the New York Evening Post (the great newspaper, not
the garbagy rag which you know as the New York Post). The
point is that he was one of the great teachers, who, though he
himself published only a few articles, was the source of much
scholarship by his students.
I could ramble through a long list of such teachers who
meant much to me. L. J. Henderson and his Pareto seminar,
the American historian Arthur Schlesinger (not young Arthur
S. Jr. who wsjust coming of age at the time), the consequential
philosopher, A. N. Whitehead, who was then nearing retire-
ment in his 75th year; Edwin B. Wilson, the mathematician-
physicist-statistician (the student of Willard Gibbs, who, at age
22, codified the great physicist's lectures on vector analysis),
and the others I've mentioned.3
INTERVIEWER: There certainly was a quality of people and
some exposure to other disciplines that seems to have been
helpful to your teaching.
MERTON: The exposure to major people in these various fields
was surely helpful. The Harvard system was then flexible
enough so that you could audit as many courses as you liked.
Some of us did so intensively. Very intensively. It's a long story;
I can't begin to tell you how it was that the years 1931 to 1935,
at Harvard, achieved a density of variously talented instruction
for some of us budding sociologists that could not occur again.
Those were truly "golden years." To put it in a nutshell, it all
grew out of the fact that the president of Harvard back then, a
complicated fellow named Abbott Lawrence Lowell, who had
behaved so badly in the Sacco and Vanzetti case, had made two
university decisions that were almost unimaginable. The first
decision was to eliminate a highly successful Department of
Social Ethics, as having outlived its usefulness, though it was
presided over by a Cabot (who to complicate things furtherhad
married into the Lowell family). The second decision was to
replace that Brahmin department, which had a world-wide
reputation, with a newfangled department in what Harvard
disdainfully regardedas the plebian discipline called sociology.
What's more, to replace the Bostonian Cabot with a white
382 TEACHING SOCIOLOGY / JULY 1984
APPENDIX
RobertK. Merton
BreveCurriculumVitae
NOTES
REFERENCES