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Figuring out grammar : features and practices of explicating normative order Heap, James L. 1975

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FIGURING OUT GRAMMAR: FEATURES AND PRACTICES OF EXPLICATING NORMATIVE ORDER by JAMES LOUIS HEAP II B.A., Univ e r s i t y of C a l i f o r n i a , Santa Barbara, 1968 M.A., Univ e r s i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia, 1971 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE " REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY i n the Department of Anthropology and Sociology We accept t h i s thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA May, 1975 In presenting this thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the University of British Columbia, I agree that the Library shall make it freely available for reference and study. I further agree that permission for extensive copying of this thesis for scholarly purposes may be granted by the Head of my Department or by his representatives. It is understood that copying or publication of this thesis for financial gain shall not be allowed without my written permission. Department of Anthropology and Sociology The University of British Columbia Vancouver 8, Canada -fi i i ABSTRACT FIGURING OUT GRAMMAR: FEATURES AND PRACTICES OF EXPLICATING NORMATIVE ORDER by James Louis Heap II This study reports on some of the features and practices of sense making involved in the work of explicating the normative order of language use. The normative order of interest i s (what Wittgenstein would call) the grammar of the concept j u s t i f i c a t i o n . The data consists in the author's mundane work of figuring out in what context some type of talk would count as "doing justifying." The warrant for this enterprise issues from ethnomethodology's concern with sense making, or practical reasoning. While ethnomethodologists have addressed accounting and interpretive practices, the phenomenon under investigation here is of a different, previously unexplored gype: "figuring out." In order to prepare for the analysis consideration is given in Part One to three questions: What.are the "features and practices of sense making?" What analytic status must such features and practices have in order to be of ethnomethodological interest? How can the features and practices of figuring out grammar be best studied? Ordinary language philosophy i s drawn on to answer the f i r s t two questions. A distinction is made between natural and social science in terms of the source of, and constraints on their concept formation and use. This distinction provides for seeing why i t is that natural science can have a technical language while social science only can make technical use of ordinary language. That technical use is argued to depend for i t s i i i s ensibility cm the indexical limits of ordinary use. Features and practices of sense making thus turn out to be whatever members sanctlonably can c a l l features and practices of sense making. Some claims i n ethnomethodology are found not to meet this indexical criterion. The answer to the second question has been that invariant or formal properties are of interest. Different versions of invariance are located i n the literature. Using Wittgenstein's argument against essentialism the search for universal invariance is rendered questionable. Instead, particular invariance and type-invariance are claimed to be discoverable and warrantable within the limits of ordinary language. In addition the argument is put forward that (repeatable) contingent practices deserve attention. The third question is answered by considering and comparing a third person and a f i r s t person approach to studying figuring out. In terms of contingent practices i t i s found that a third person approach faces a problem of indexicality, whereas a f i r s t person approach does not, or i f i t does, i t can survive i t . Methods of ethnomethodological reduction and eidetic variation are discussed. In Part Two the concepts of meaning, force and grammar are introduced and explicated. These concepts are then used in presenting the normative order that governs the use of the concept of j u s t i f i c a t i o n . Consideration i s then given to how the generation of that normative order (grammar) is to be viewed analytically. Using a f i r s t person approach in Part Three, the author's own work of figuring out the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n becomes the topic of study. That study i s written and furnished as a "journey": the iv analysis of each practice i s developed i n response to the properties of the phenomena, and each analysis draws and builds on the prior one. Four contingent practices are analyzed: calling, f i l l i n g , grounding, and answering-seeking. As well, three features are found to be essential to figuring out: pre-reflective knowing, pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing and orienting-to-grammaticality. Together these seven properties reveal that figuring out has a structure fundamentally different from accounting and interpreting. Through a consideration of these seven properties and other features an argument is provided in Part Four against using the Weber-Schutz version of social action as a resource for defining ethnomethodology' domain. Instead, i t i s argued that ethnomethodology's domain and phenomena are coextensive: the social i s sense making. • { V TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstrac t i i Acknowledgements v i Part I : Prepara t ion Chapter One: In t roduct ion 2 Chapter Two: Making Sense of Sense Making 13 Chapter Three: Methodology and Methods 57 Part I I : B r i e f i n g s Chapter Four : Meaning, Force and Grammar 104 Chapter F i v e : Grammar of J u s t i f i c a t i o n 118 Chapter S i x : Beginning 127 Part I I I : Journey Chapter Seven: C a l l i n g 136 Chapter E i g h t : F i l l i n g 156 Chapter N i n e : O r i e n t i n g - t o - G r a m m a t i c a l i t y 168 Chapter Ten: Grounding 182 Chapter E l e v e n : Answer-Seeking 200 Part IV: R e c o l l e c t i o n s Chapter Twelve: Summary and Conclusions 217 L i t e r a t u r e C i t e d 2 6 1 v i ACKNOWLEDGEMENT In untold and unrecoverable ways th i s monograph i s the outgrowth of seminars, l e c t u r e s , papers, discussions and conversations throughout the past f i v e years with Dorothy Smith. She i s responsible f o r i n t r o -ducing me to the i n c r e d i b l y r i c h work of A l f r e d Schutz and Harold Ga r f i n k e l , and more p a r t i c u l a r l y f o r making v i s i b l e the world and domain of i n t e r p r e t i v e procedures. My debt to her can never be repaid i n f u l l . Read t h i s as an installment on a debt that w i l l not be obvious i n the reading. Roy Turner must be thanked f o r s t e a d f a s t l y refusing to be impressed by phenomenology. Our discussions l e d me to read and (attempt) to come to terms with the work of Ludwig Wittgenstein and J.L. Austin. No doubt my terms are too loose and s e l e c t i v e , but they express a beginning, perhaps a promise. Thomas Wilson must be thanked for c l e a r l y perceiving and expressing fundamental issues in sociology and ethnomethodology. His work i s both a source of support and an object of w e l l meant c r i t i c i s m i n t h i s monograph. A host of others must be acknowledged f o r t h e i r d i r e c t and i n d i r e c t contributions: Robert Boese, Howard Boughey, P h i l l i p Roth, Ronald S i l v e r s , Kenneth Stoddart, E l v i Whittaker, and Richard Zaner. Of course they are not responsible f o r what appears here. Mary Paul deserves a non-alphabetical thank you for typing the f i n a l d r a f t . F i n a l l y , I must o f f e r thanks where thank you could never be enough. T r i c i a Ann, my wife, l i s t e n e d to endless s o l i l o q u i e s , made them dialogues and typed the f i r s t d r a f t s . This project s t o l e hours from our l i v e s . Only an e g o l o g i c a l convention allows "me" to c a l l t h i s work "mine." - 1 -PART I: PREPARATION Chapter One INTRODUCTION 1) What you are doing now could be characterized as figuring out what I am doing now. Figuring out covers a ubiquitous but rarely examined collection of daily a c t i v i t i e s . That collection gets glossed as reasoning, puzzling, pondering, reflecting, meditating, analyzing, discovering, determining, interpreting, calculating, deliberating, etc. Even a larger collection of things can be said to be figured out, from bus schedules and transoceanic voyages to motives, men and women. Out of a l l the things that can be figured out, I have an interest in figuring out what Wittgenstein calls the grammar of a concept. He had ways of figuring out grammar, which have become part of the bundle of techniques employed by ordinary language philosophers. Those ways are my prime con-cern, but they are not of interest here as only or mainly the methodical ways of Oxford/Cambridge philosophers. Those ways are of interest as members' ways, members' methods. They are of interest, as i s grammar, from the standpoint of ethnomethodology. Figuring out grammar is worthy of attention as an instance of a previously unexplored type of sense making. The enterprise proposed here i s to describe and analyze some of the sense making practices and features involved in the work of figuring out the grammar of a concept. The concept i s jus t i f i c a t i o n , and the data consists in my mundane work of figuring out i n what context some type of talk would count as "doing justifying." 2) The concept of ju s t i f i c a t i o n and the normative order which guides i t s use are part of what has come to be known as members' - 3 -knowledge. While members' knowledge has been a t o p i c of i n t e r e s t to ethnomethodologists , the p r a c t i c e s of " f i g u r i n g out " have not been of i n t e r e s t . That they have not i s perhaps t i e d to the o b j e c t i o n that might be r a i s e d to the research proposed here . That o b j e c t i o n rece ives i t s auspices from Weber's d e f i n i t i o n of s o c i a l a c t i o n . The a c t i v i t i e s of " f i g u r i n g o u t " i n t u i t i v e l y do not seem to i n v o l v e an o r i e n t a t i o n to an Other , nor to an O t h e r ' s b e h a v i o r . Rather, such a c t i v i t i e s would seem to be i n the domain of the p r i v a t e , and therefore would be the t o p i c of psychology. While the r a d i c a l quest ion could be r a i s e d as to why a concern w i t h sense making should be l i m i t e d to "the s o c i a l , " the approach taken here i s open. In that the quest ion of what i s ; ; " s o c i a l " i s a con-ceptual problem (cf . Winch, 1958), the approach taken here i s open to the p o s s i b i l i t y that by l o o k i n g beyond the bounds of what counts ( for some renowned members) as s o c i a l , we may make d i s c o v e r i e s which are re levant t o , or even c a l l f o r the r e f o r m u l a t i o n of " s o c i a l . " At best i t would seem i n a p p r o p r i a t e f o r ethnomethodology to merely t reat " s o c i a l " as an unexpl ica ted resource f o r c i r c u m s c r i b i n g and warranting i t s work. (Here I am reminded of the drunk who l o s t h i s key i n the dark, but i s l o o k i n g f o r i t under a s t reet lamp, because i t ' s e a s i e r to see there . Perhaps our key i s i n the dark, too . So, i t i s there where I wish to shed some l i g h t . ) 3) The e n t e r p r i s e i t s e l f , as proposed, requires that two a d d i t i o n a l t o p i c s be addressed. I f the e n t e r p r i s e i n understood as a journey, then the two topics can be understood as the prepara t ion f o r that journey. In that the journey seeks to recover p r o p e r t i e s of sense making, we must - 4 -f i r s t get clear on what counts as sense making and what counts as i t s properties. Having completed that stage the second topic can be considered. As with any journey there is always a question of the best method of travel. In that a f i r s t person analysis of the analyst's own doings is not usually the way science reaches i t s destination, serious consideration i s given to possible methods of travel. (a) Anyone who is asked to take a journey has a right to know a b i t more about the preparations for i t . Chapter two furnishes an account of ethnomethodology and i t s relation to sociology. By drawing on the wo rk of ordinary language philosophers a distinction is drawn between natural and social science in terms of the source of, and constraints on, their concept formation and use. This allows us to see why i t is that natural science can have a technical language while social science only can make technical use of ordinary language. That technical use i s argued to depend for i t s sensibility on the indexical limits of ordinary use. The limits of ordinary use, as indefinite as they may be, furnish limits on the concepts admissable to ethnomethodology's analytic apparatus. The recognition of this normative constraint as an accountable constraint furnishes an answer to the question: what could be features and practices of sense making? They are whatever can be called, sanctionably, features and practices of sense making. When the claimed and accumulated "invariant interpretive procedures" of ethnomethodology are examined, i t turns out that they do not a l l meet this indexical criterion. From their examination, two structural types of sense making are found to furnish two categories of practices: interpretive and accounting. While clarifying some of the conceptual confusion within the discipline, the exercise serves the more - 5 -important purpose of opening up p o s s i b i l i t i e s regarding what we can under-stand as sense making and i t s practices. These pos s i b i l i t i e s furnish the warrant for attention in the analysis to certain types of practices and features. A second question is addressed in chapter two. What analytic or "ontological" status must the practices and features of sense making have in order to be of ethnomethodological interest? The repeated answer available in the literature i s "invariant," or "formal." Different versions of invariance, put forward by different practitioners, are con-sidered. Wittgenstein's argument against essentialism is drawn on. It shows the inappropriateness of universal invariance as an analytic criterion for deciding interesting properties of mundanely conceived phenomena, i.e., phenomena correlative to ordinary concepts. Particular-invariance and type-invariance are argued to be discoverable as well as compatible with the character of ordinary con-cepts. While both these types of invariance, especially type-invariance, are found in the analysis, they receive less attention than properties having a "contingent" analytic status. Contingent properties are argued to be worthy of attention to the degree that we are in fact interested in sense making rather than "invariance" i t s e l f . It should be added, however, that the contingent i s not con-ceived as the merely unique. Contingent practices are understood as repeatable, thus having their own type-invariant (essential) and contingent properties. Contingent practices and their essential properties receive the bulk of attention in the analysis. While constituting a divergence from the formulated programmes of ethnomethodology, i t should be noted - 6 -that the search for contingent practice is prevalent within reported research. (b) In the third chapter the best method of travel i s considered. A talking-out-loud procedure is sketched and found troublesome. The trouble i s that of indexicality. Given an interest in practices which depend for their sense on the context of action in which they are observed, i.e., contingent practices, there arises a problem deciding practices from the talking-out-loud of the philosopher who would be our subject. Recovering the philosopher's practices of figuring out, insofar as they could be recovered from his/her talking-out-loud, would thus face the same interpretive problems faced by traditional sociologists. An alternative method i s proposed which either would not face the problem of indexicality or could "survive" i t . To render i n t e l l i g i b l e the possibility of non-indexical action we return to the original formu-lation of indexicality in Bar-Hillel's classic paper (1954). Then, the extension of the concept to cover action is discussed in terms of the formal grounds for extension provided by Garfinkel (1963). Indexicality i s shown to have a triadic structure of sign-referent-context, or behavior-action-context. Non-indexical action i s action lacking this structure. For the actor, his/her own action is non-indexical, for he/she does not depend upon his/her observable behavior to decide the meaning of his/her action. Action is indexical, then, for the observer. Action can be indexical for the actor, however, when he/she must pass through objectifications of his/her action to recover i t s sense. Such is the case in reading documents whose original production i s no longer given in what Husserl (1964, 1970a) calls primary remembrance, or - 7 -retention. Yet, in a peculiar, but conventional way, indexicality in this type of situation can be survived. Survival i s made possible by the convention (fact?) that actors are authoritative with regard to the meaning of their actions. If they can recover the meaning of their action i.e., the motive that animated their behavior, no observer can find them wrong. Thus, the analyst who seeks to recover (the meaning of) his/her own action i s in the position, in principle, to resolve the indexicality of that action. On the other hand, the mere observer of action, in principle, faces indexicality irremediably. Only the actor-analyst, then, has the possibility of surviving indexicality. Based on the possibility of surviving indexicality a do-it-yourself method is opted for. The analyst becomes the philosopher and studies his/her own work of figuring out grammar. This requires, obviously, that the analyst be reasonably familiar with what counts, for philosophers, as figuring out grammar. In that the concern i s with members' methods for figuring out, the philosophers' special methods ( i f they can be conceived as having any) would not be of interest. That i s , ordinary language philosophizing i s of interest only as a theatre which makes clearly visible what could be found in the streets: figuring out. 4) Preparation for the journey continues up u n t i l the point of departure. In order to get to that point, three briefings are furnished. The f i r s t is a short course on the concepts of grammar and illocutionary force, as these are understood by ordinary language philosophers. Deciding grammar i s the problem of deciding what should be said when, where, how, to and by whom. Illocutionary force may be understood as what one means in using language in certain conventional ways. The concept - 8 -of ju s t i f i c a t i o n is of interest in terms of the grammar of use that allows "ju s t i f i c a t i o n " to be the illocutionary force of utterances. For those who are not at a l l familiar with these concepts, in particular, grammar, this briefing (chapter four) perhaps should be turned to upon completion of this chapter. The second briefing consists in the results of generating the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n . Those results are formulated i n terms of a formula for illocutionary acts devised by an ordinary language philosopher, John Searle (1969). That formula simply states that in some context some type of talk w i l l count as a certain type of illocutionary act, e.g., jus t i f i c a t i o n . This briefing (chapter five) i s nothing more than a briefing. Read i t as a brochure of findings from a different type of journey. That journey i s of interest somewhat in the way that Hannibal's crossing of the Alps during the Second Punic War is of interest to military historians who traverse his route. Their concern i s not where he was going, but how he got there. Our concern i s not with the grammar of j u s t i f i c a t i o n as formulated in chapter five, for that i s merely the culmination of a different type of journey. Instead, our concern i s with (some of) the features and practices of sense making involved in generating that grammar. The third briefing furnishes a short history of generating grammar (on the level of Hannibal's journey). It then makes clear how our journey differs from the type of approach taken by natural historians (and their military relatives). Mundane notions of the natural history of generating grammar are of use on our journey only for the ways that, in the words of Trent Eglin (cf. Schwartz, 1973:29), they put us in the - 9 -presence of phenomena of analytic interest: sense making. The point of our journey, then, is not to attend to the unique doings of some Hannibal. We w i l l not be concerned and constrained to recover a supposedly complete-in-itself sequence of events and decisions. Our destination i s not Hannibal's. Hannibal's journey is merely the occasion to discover and recover methods of sense making that anyone of us could have used, or can use. 5) There are really two journeys. One that I have taken and des-cribed. And one that you (hopefully) w i l l take by reading. It Is a miracle of membership that two journeys can appear as one, i n the reading. I seek to make that miracle happen by acting as a guide rather than as a reporter who would herald a l l the news in the f i r s t paragraph. Be fore-warned, though, i t is not an easy journey. We shall have to take i t one step at a time. Fortunately, you have the freedom of the reader to stop and retrace your steps. While I am both "Hannibal" and the guide, the notion i s misin-formed that the original journey i s past, such that the reader can realize only a faded version of i t . Accounts reflexively posit and constitute their referent. As such, what i s important is what i s realized in and through the account. Language allows the recovery of the past as re-liveable in i t s typicality, and as revealing a world of human po s s i b i l i t i e s . Lived and taken-as-past events are of interest in and to the journey, the analysis, merely as examples of human po s s i b i l i t i e s . It i s as examples that they are taken up, varied and analyzed (see chapter three, subsection 4.c, numbers 3 and 4). It i s as examples that they render visible the properties of sense making. - 10 -6) An analytic summary of the journey, such as i s provided in chapter twelve, would make l i t t l e sense here. It presupposes the experience and recollection of the journey i t s e l f . Instead, i t may be useful to provide for analytic deja vu. We w i l l arrive at our destination having discovered a set of four contingent practices, identified as calling, f i l l i n g , grounding and answer-seeking. They can be called Invoker practices. Each evidenced two components, an invoker and an invoked. The use of the Invoker practices involved three essential features, identified as pre-reflective knowing, pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing and orienting-to-grammaticality. These seven properties furnish the points of interest for our journey. They aided me in figuring out what I already knew, the grammar of jus t i f i c a t i o n . They should aid you in seeing another type of sense making. As w i l l become apparent, this third type of sense making has a structure fundamentally different from both interpreting and accounting. On that ground alone i t deserves our attention. 7) Before turning to inspect the preparations for our journey, you might be interested in knowing the guide's prejudices, though they soon shall become glaringly apparent. In line with Merleau-Ponty (1964) and Winch (1958) I am of the opinion that the connection between sociology and philosophy i s and must be close. We move in the same world and touch upon each other's interests. We have much to say to each other, which may surprise philosophers, especially those who seek to rule science from the position of underlabourers in our halls. Being concerned to display my prejudices rather than defend them, only brief remarks are in order. In terms of ethnomethodology, but also as regards interpretive sociology, I see phenomenology and ordinary - 11 -language philosophy as useful i n two ways, for their therapy and for their guidance. The therapy they furnish i s for our analytic apparatuses. The adequacy of the latter i s decidable only with reference to the world they address. That world i s the life-world (cf. Husserl, 1970b): the world of ordinary language (cf. TeHennepe, 1965). It i s the structure and d r i f t of that world which both philosophies address, i n their own ways and in terms of their own topics. Our analyses presuppose and depend on that structure and d r i f t . Thus in the next chapter ordinary language philosophy is called upon to render therapeutic service. In chapter three, phenomenology receives the c a l l . Both serve in the f i n a l chapter. For the reasons they are able to provide therapy, the two philo-sophies are able to provide guidance, at least to ethnomethodology. Their extensive and exhaustive analyses of the structures of consciousness and the structures of language stand for us as maps. They are drawn from different interests than ours, but they seek to chart similar territories. As such, they furnish study aids, helpful hints, suggestions, clues, and the l i k e . Thus in chapters seven through eleven, the journey, they are drawn on i n endless implicit ways. There are differences within each school of philosophy, as between Wittgenstein, Austin, and Ryle in ordinary language and Husserl, Merleau-Ponty and Heidegger in phenomenology. As well, there are even more apparent differences between the two philosophies (cf. Natanson, 1962:34-43). The history of philosophy is of no particular interest here. That there are grounds for rapprochement between the schools (cf. Roche, 1973) becomes of interest in the ways that i t serves to legitimate the intuitive rapprochement effected here, for our journey and i t s preparation. - 12 -Clearly that rapprochement i s of import to ethnomethodology, for contrary therapies are more a hindrance than a help. Rapprochement w i l l not be considered here. We have a journey to take, and preparations to make. * 13 -Chapter Two MAKING SENSE OF SENSE MAKING 1) The enterprise undertaken here receives i t s warrant and sense from the sociological discipline of ethnomethodology. That discipline, however, must be interrogated and opened up, extended, in order to accommodate the proposed enterprise. This i s not to say that ethnomethodo-logy (let us c a l l i t EM) must be turned, twisted and deformed. Rather, i t must be reformed at points, to give i t an i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y that (some) formulations of i t lack. It is from this (moderate) reformation that my proposed enterprise receives i t s warrant and sense. The task taken on in this chapter i s to provide a capsule account of EM and i t s relation to sociology. Then, by drawing on the work of Wittgenstein, we shall interrogate and critique particular features of EM with a concern for clearing the way for the proposed enterprise. That enterprise w i l l then be i n t e l l i g i b l e and sensible as an instance of (reformed) EM analysis. 2) There seem to be as many ethnomethodologies as there are ethno-methodologists. Long ago the term "ethnomethodology" was recognized as a shibboleth, having a l i f e of i t s own apart from the work and exhortations of the man who coined the term, Harold Garfinkel. This, of course, is not an unusual situation in sociology. The same can be said of Marxism, symbolic interactionism, and Parsonian functionalism. Yet i t i s s t i l l accountable and sensible to speak of symbolic interactionism or EM as distinct approaches (cf. Zimmerman and Wieder, 1970). It is of course a constructivist enterprise (cf. Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970) to try and show the rational grounds for such accountable/sensible talk. We have no choice, - 14 -however, i f we wish to examine EM rather than do EM a n a l y s i s . While much sometimes passes as EM, here I am concerned only with the programmatic statements and work of G a r f i n k e l , h i s prominent students (Bittner, Zimmerman, Wieder, Schwartz), t h e i r prominent student ( P o l l n e r ) , t h e i r colleague (Wilson) and Garfinkel's prominent colleague ( C i c o u r e l ) . Out of t h i s group we can f i n d at l e a s t four leading versions of EM. The Berkeley version (Sacks, Turner, Schegloff and Sudnow), known as conver-s a t i o n a l a n a l y s i s , i s s u f f i c i e n t l y d i f f e r e n t and o r i g i n a l that i n t h i s work i t w i l l not be included as EM, though i t s p r a c t i t i o n e r s have made noteworthy contributions to EM (Sudnow, 1967; Sacks, 1972; Turner, 1970). Where relevant, those contributions w i l l be drawn on. For our purposes a d e t a i l e d examination of each version (and i t s genesis) i s not required. What holds the versions together, at l e a s t at the l e v e l of programmatics, i s a concern with the phenomenon of sense making. Widely interpreted, the concern i s with how sense i s made, accounted f o r , explained, seen, shown and/or described (cf. Zimmerman & Wieder, 1970:289). G a r f i n k e l (1967:1-34) formulates t h i s as a concern with how p r a c t i c a l reasoning operates on and with the r a t i o n a l properties of i n d e x i c a l expressions and actions. D. Lawrence Wieder and Don Zimmerman (1971) narrow the focus as a concern with the phenomenon of accounting. More recently Wieder (1974:224) has formulated the concern i n terms of a focus on accounts-of-social-action. A d i f f e r e n t focus and formulation i s provided by Wilson and C i c o u r e l . Thomas Wilson (1970:77-9) conceives t EM as the study of the operation of i n t e r p r e t i v e processes. C i c o u r e l (1970a:145; 1970b:24) understands EM as the study of i n t e r p r e t i v e pro-cedures and surface rules (norms) i n everyday s o c i a l p r a c t i c e s and s c i e n t i f i c a c t i v i t i e s . Significantly, Cicourel understands interpretive procedures as "invariant properties of everyday practical reasoning" (1970a:146). It i s Cicourel who furnishes us with "sense making" as the gloss for EM's focus (1970a:136). These formulations reveal dual concerns. Each i s represented in the work of Garfinkel, but his students and colleagues dif f e r as to which phenomenon is to receive the primary focus. While Zimmerman and Wieder focus on accounting, Cicourel and Wilson focus on interpreting. The difference i s l i n g u i s t i c a l l y available in our accountable ways of talking about making sense. The difference i s structural. In the case of interpreting, we speak of making sense o_f something. In the case of accounting we speak of making sense to_ someone about something. Surprisingly, these differences have not been made thematic in the literature. We shall have occasion to return to them below. 3) Given the focus in EM on sense making or practical reasoning one can wonder how EM is a part of, or even related to sociology. After a l l , EM does not try to explain social behavior in terms of general laws. It does not seek an interpretive understanding of social action, though i t s practitioners depend upon such an understanding at a common sense level, (cf. Schutz, 1962:57). The answer i s a radical one. We might say that EM and sociology share the same problem but have different problematics. The problem i s the Hobbesian problem of order. Order, specifically social order, i s the common concern. The problematics, however, that arise from this problem d i f f e r and receive their sense by being based on different sets of assumptions about the character of real i t y , and thus about the - 16 -character of meaning and truth. For those such as Parsons (1937) who buy into the ever-popular correspondence theory of truth, the problem of order is the problematic of explaining the occurrence and maintenance of de facto patterned activity (order) in the world. Parsons' solution to the permanence of social structure was to invoke a normative order shared and internalized by rational actors in an intersubjective world. Social order, under this solution, i s possible through actors' sanctioned compliance with a normative order. While Parsons' solution i s rightly identified with what Wilson (1970) has termed the normative paradigm, adherents to the interpretive paradigm share the same problematic and even the basic form of Parsons' solution. That i s , as Zimmerman and Wieder (1970) have clearly shown, those working within the interpretive paradigm invoke the notion of a shared normative order (culture) to account for social structure. The key difference between the two paradigms, as Wilson has argued, is that within the interpretive paradigm the actors are viewed as negotiating which rule (element of the normative order) is to apply in any situation. Stated in terms of role theory, actors are seen as devising roles in and through interaction. Under the normative paradigm, however, actors are seen as taking and enacting pre-existent, prescribed roles. In the former case, we might say that behavior i s viewed as rule guided. In the latter case, i t i s viewed as rule governed. Within the problematic of how order is produced there are the constituent problems of intersubjectivity and object constancy;; The former i s the problem of how for any actor there are others and how a l l actors share a world in common. Within that problem i s the problem of - 17 -object constancy: how any object i s perceived as identical and persisting through time. Tied to the problem of recognizing identity i s the pro-blem of recognizing difference. A solution to these problems is essential to the possibility of explaining the permanence and change of social structures. Another problematic arises, however, when we cease to presuppose the independent existence of order-in-the-world. This alternative pro-blematic is rooted in the phenomenological work of Alfred Schutz (1962, 1967). Garfinkel (1952:90-151) has formulated Schutz' alternative to correspondence theory as "congruence theory" (or, an adequate coherence theory, cf. Rescher, 1973). Under this theory of meaning and truth the problem of order becomes the problematic of the essential conditions for de facto action, and of the actorls make-up, that reflexively maintain those self-same conditions (cf. Garfinkel, 1952:150-1). The genius of Garfinkel l i e s in his transformation of this Schutzian problematic from the realm of the essential, the a p r i o r i , to the realm of the contingently actual. By this move Garfinkel brought forth an alternative to Parsons' problematic that focuses on the empirical. One reconstruction of the genesis of EM's problematic takes us back to Garfinkel's doctoral thesis at Harvard (1952). There he explicated the Hobbesian problem of order and compared the solutions of Parsons and Schutz. The key issue (and critique of Parsons) involved rationality. Hobbes' actor is rational man, out to maximimize his interests in a struggle for limited resources. Rationality, in such a situation, as formulated by Parsons (1937:58) was a question of the empirical adequacy of means to ends. In response to this notion of rationality Garfinkel - 18 -counterposed Schutz' work, "The Problem of Rationality in the Social World" (1964:64-88) (written in 1942). That piece was written as a critique of Parsons. The critique consisted in showing the inappropriateness of Parsons' norm of empirical adequacy as the form of rationality in everyday l i f e . Under Parsons' formulation, rationality was to be seen as an unbroken continuum from everyday l i f e to s c i e n t i f i c theorizing. The difference between the two poles was one of degree: everyday actors were taken to have less c l a r i f i e d knowledge of the conditions of action, the universe of means (their a v a i l a b i l i t y and efficacy), the step by step consequences of their application, and the universe of ends (in relation to each other and to the values for which they were chosen and sought). At the other pole, scientists were taken to have such c l a r i f i e d knowledge. Schutz responded by analyzing "the various equivocal implications which are hidden in the term 'rationality' as i t i s applied to the level of everyday experience" (1964:74). He analyzed six categories of account-able use of "rationality." These findings were then coupled with a c l a r i -fication of the difference between the attitude of actors i n daily l i f e and in s c i e n t i f i c theorizing. In Schutz' later a r t i c l e , "On Multiple Realities" (1962:207-59) (written in 1944), the difference and contrast was formulated in terms of differing cognitive styles constitutive of different f i n i t e provinces of meanings ("worlds"). The essential difference has to do with the pragmatic motives of the actor in daily l i f e being set aside in s c i e n t i f i c theorizing. The actor in daily l i f e i s governed by his/her relevance structure of projects and l i f e plans. For - 19 -him/her the concern for rationality i s always to act rationally, for a l l practical purposes. This pragmatic attitude i s what gives rise to the multiple senses of "rational" i n daily l i f e . On the other hand, the scientist must bracket his/her embodied existence governed by pragmatic motives. Instead, his/her science furnishes the structure of relevant questions and concerns. More importantly, i t decides rationality in terms of i t s procedures and canons _ of evidence. Thus rationality cannot and should not be understood as a continuum ascending from the fog of daily l i f e to the pristine c l a r i t y of s c i e n t i f i c theorizing. Instead, the two "poles" are enclosed in different realms, or worlds, having their own types of accountable, sanctionable rationality. This critique can be seen as the basis and warrant for Garfinkel's concern with common sense rationalities. (Note his paper, based on Schutz, which compares common sense and sc i e n t i f i c rationalities as empirical properties of conduct (1967:262-83)). A concern with common sense rationalities, or "rational practices," could have taken the direction of exploring how such practices are employed in deciding which rules (elements of normative order) apply in any actual situation from the point of view of actors. This would have been a move into the mainstream of the interpretive paradigm. This move was not taken, I believe, because of Garfinkel's familiarity and agreement with the work of Husserl and Gurwitsch (cf. Garfinkel, 1967:ix). The phenomenological doctrine of consciousness as intentional (cf. Gurwitsch, 1967) makes observable the essential corre-l a t i v i t y of objects and the acts through which they are grasped (intended). - 20 -This correlativity, as a transcendental condition for the possibility of anything whatsoever,^ reveals that order of any kind (factual or normative) i s an intentional correlate of acts of consciousness which make that order i n t e l l i g i b l e and/or observable. Order i s not granted a presupposed independent, i n - i t s e l f existence. It's existence is always for-us (cf. Husserl, 1970a:59-62). In terms of the Hobbesian problem, the relevant acts are the rational practices of common sense. They are practical reasoning, sense making. The independent existence of order (factual or normative) i s a mere hypothesis, while every attempt to verify i t s objective/intersubjective existence depends on the practices through which order can be seen, described and explained. As opposed to the hypothesis which underlies (undermines?) correspondence theories Garfinkel opts for the self-evident certainty (cf. Husserl, 1969: 202-19, 2 277-90) of the correlativity of acts and object. Thus, rather than a concern with how a presupposed factual order i s produced, the EM problematic is "how members of society go about the task of seeing, describing and explaining order in the world in which they l i v e " (Zimmerman and Wieder, 1970:289). Under this problematic the concern i s not.rhow social structure i s produced, but how members accomplish a sense of social structure or normative order, for the seeing and for the t e l l i n g . Likewise with the constituent problems df intersubjectivity and object constancy. The focus becomes how a sense of intersubjectivity and object constancy i s achieved by and for members. From this concern with the accomplished coherence and sensibility of the social world comes an interest which warrants undertaking the proposed enterprise. That interest i s in "inquiries of every imaginable - 21 -kind" (Garfinkel, 1967:32), understood as courses of sense making aimed at establishing (a sense of) order. In that I propose to focus on "figuring out the grammar of a concept," as a course of (philosophical) inquiry, i.e., sense making, one of Garfinkel's research policies i s worth noting at length. No inquiries can be excluded no matter where or when they occur, no matter how vast or t r i v i a l their scope, organization, cost, duration, consequences, whatever their successes, what-ever their repute, their practitioners, their claims, their philosophies or philosophers. Procedures and results of water witching, divination, mathematics, sociology - whether done by lay persons or professionals - are addressed according to the policy that every feature of sense, of fact, of method, for every particular case of inquiry without exception, is the managed accomplishment of organized settings of practical actions, and that particular determinations in members' practices of consistency, planfulness, relevance, or repro-ducibility of their practices and results - from witchcraft to topology - are acquired and assured only through particular, located organizations of artful practices. (1967:32). My concern w i l l be to describe and analyze the a r t f u l practices and features of sense making involved in explicating a normative order: the grammar of the concept of ju s t i f i c a t i o n . 4) In order to clear the way for my enterprise a number of issues must be addressed. What are the "practices and features of sense making," and what can they be? What analytic or "ontological" status must the practices and features of practical reasoning have in order to be of EM interest? The answers to these questions provide a warrant for my attention in the analysis (in Part III) to certain types of practices and features having different analytic statuses. Let us turn to the f i r s t question. (a) One way to discover and decide what "practices and features of sense making" are is to the types of things already discovered and described by ethnomethodologists as practices and features of sense making. - 22 -To my knowledge, no l i s t has been drawn up of a l l the practices and features so far discovered. As well, a l l practitioners of EM do not sub-scribe to the same set of terms. Some prefer "procedures". Some prefer "methods". Features are often spoken of as "properties". The use of adjectival modifiers further complicates such a task, for we can read of "a r t f u l , " "methodical," "rational," "orderly," "socially organized," "invariant," "formal," "interpretive," "cognitive," "accounting"... practices and/or procedures. Fortunately, an exhaustive l i s t i s not required to gain a sense of what i s meant by practices/procedures and features/properties of sense-making/practical-reasoning. A partial l i s t w i l l do for our purposes. That l i s t i s provided by Cicourel (1970a:147-53). However, what the l i s t i s a l i s t of, i s not immediately clear. If we pay close attention to what he has written we f i r s t read that "interpretive procedures are invariant properties of everyday practical reasoning" (1970a:146). A half page later he writes of the "properties of interpretive procedures" (1970a: 147). In the next sentences he writes "Our present knowledge of the nature of interpretive procedures i s sparse. I do not want to suggest or claim the existence of a "complete" l i s t (or of any ' l i s t ' ) but w i l l simply des-cribe a few properties to f a c i l i t a t e further discussion" (1970a:147). Under the auspices of the question being addressed here, I find Cicourel to be somewhat confusing. Interpretive procedures are properties (of everyday practical reasoning) and interpretive procedures have their own properties. Are these properties of the properties of everyday practical reasoning? In prefacing his non-list, i t i s unclear whether the six pro-perties l i s t e d are of practical reasoning or of interpretive procedures. - 23 -If they are of interpretive procedures, we are given no hint as to what the procedures are, of which these six are properties. Since the tech-nic a l question of "properties of properties" i s nowhere addressed, or raised in Cicourel's other writings (1968, 1973, 1974), nor in the work that serves as a resource for Cicourel (Garfinkel, 1967), l e t us presume that the l i s t of six are interpretive procedures rather than properties of them. (1) The six interpretive procedures are for the most part quite familiar to those working in the f i e l d of EM. I shall assume some fami-l i a r i t y with them on the reader's part. Cicourel l i s t s them as 1) The Reciprocity of Perspectives, 2) The Et Cetera Assumption, 3) Normal Forms, 4) Retrospective-Prospective Sense of Occurrence, 5) Talk Itself as Reflexive, and 6) Descriptive Vocabularies as Indexical Expressions. Given this l i s t we can ask, What i s i t that makes these things listable as the same type of thing? That i s , what do they a l l share in common? The answer creates some trouble, either for EM or for the question "What do they a l l share i n common?" Cicourel claims that both speakers and hearers use these procedures (invariably and invariantly). If so, one wonders why he would c a l l the properties interpretive procedures. It i s sensible to speak of hearers interpreting, but speakers would seem to be primarily engaged in accounting, i.e., making sense to hearers about some-3 thing. If we look at his l i s t in terms of the distinction between interpreting and accounting they do not line up uniformly. It makes sense to say that both speaker and hearer assume a reciprocity of perspectives such that they assume that each could have had typically the same experiences were they to' have switched places - 24 -(cf. Schutz, 1962:11-13, 315-16). As well, we can conceive of talk as being reflexive for both speaker and hearer, providing them both with a sense that " a l l i s well" in the interaction. And "descriptive vocabularies" would be indexical for a l l parties to the interaction; the sense and referents of the talk would depend on the available context (cf. Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970). With two of the other procedures i t i s not clear that they are shared and used in the same sense by speaker and hearer. If we trace the et cetera assumption back to i t s discovery in Garfinkel's work, we find i t referred to as a discovered, contingent property of the rules of every game which Garfinkel had examined (1963:199). The rules as a set seemed to include an unstated f i n a l rule that players must agree to act i n accordance with the set of rules. In a problematic situation, the et cetera clause gives a player the (unstated) right to quest-ion the appropriateness of another player's move, with reference to the basic rules of the game. Garfinkel, with his customary zeal for disruption, writes of chess games where, before his move, he would change pieces around on the board so that, although the over-all positions were not changed, different pieces occupied the squares, e.g., black rooks traded places. On the several occasions in which I did this, my opponents were disconcerted, tried to stop me, demanded an explanation of what I was up to, were uncertain about the legality (but wanted to assert i t s i l l e g a l i t y nevertheless), made i t clear to me that I was spoiling the game for them, and at the next round of play made me promise that I would not "do anything this time" (1963:199). The et cetera clause was invoked by Garfinkel's opponents as furnishing the rational grounds for their umbrage. Thus the et cetera clause was introduced into interaction as an accounting practice. This status i s - 25 -reiterated in later work (Garfinkel, 1967:3, 20-3, 73-5). Cicourel has attempted to expand the notion of et cetera beyond an accounting practice. He understands the et cetera clause as the "interpretive procedure" by and through which "speaker and hearer ' f i l l - i n ' or assume the existence of common understandings or relevances of what i s being said on occasions when the descriptive accounts are seen as 'obvious' and even when they are not immediately obvious" (1970a:148). If we allow this extension, and there are reasonable grounds for doing so, we can ask whether i t i s useful. That i s , does i t serve EM's analytic purposes? I think not, for i t lumps together structurally distinct types of sense making. As an accounting practice, the et cetera clause i s something speakers can and do invoke. Hearers do not have this choice. Rather they must orient to and recognize i t s invocation (otherwise accounts would not be hearable for their possible sense). Without even raising the hoary question of whether a l l recognized et cetera clauses are actually invoked, or whether a l l invoked et cetera clauses are actually recognized, i t seems obvious that "the et cetera assumption" has different operational structures, depending on whether i t i s invoked or recognized, spoken or heard. In that the clause i s invoked and recognized, i t would seem to be more and different than an "assumption." Let us leave the question of what i t i s in abeyance for the moment. A similar problem arises with regards to the procedure t i t l e d "normal form." Cicourel speaks of "certain normal forms of acceptable talk and appearances upon which members rely for assigning sense to their environments" (1970a:148). Normal form would seem to be a property of - 26 -talk (or writing). Thus, in so far as i t i s i n t e l l i g i b l e to speak of i t as a "procedure," i t would seem to be a speaker's procedure, an accounting practice. Yet, in a later writing the procedure i s cast as a hearer's practice; "The interpretive procedures enable the researcher and member to recognize 'appropriate' settings, talk, and ac t i v i t i e s , thus providing an orientation to their environment." He then goes on to make "appropriate" synonymous with "normal" form (1974:20). Under this formulation, the pro-cedure would consist of orienting to and recognizing normal, forms as a way to make sense of talk and ac t i v i t i e s . Again, we can ask i f a l l recognized normal forms are invoked or i f a l l invoked normal forms are recognized. This i s to suggest that invoking and recognizing, speaking and hearing "normal forms" are perhaps different in their operational structures. We would seem to have two distinct, but related practices: invoking and using normal forms in accounting; and orienting to and recognizing normal forms in interpreting. The f i n a l interpretive procedure i s formulated i n a way that i s d i f f i c u l t to unpack as a "procedure". Cicourel calls i t "Retrospective-Prospective Sense of Occurrence." How are we to understand a "sense of occurrence" as a "procedure"? In opening the discussion Cicourel states Routine conversation depends upon speakers and hearers waiting for later utterances in order to decide what was intended. Speakers and hearers both assume that what each says to the other has, or w i l l have at some subsequent moment, the effect of clarifying a presently ambiguous utterance or a descriptive account with promisory overtones" (1970a:149). Clearly, i t i s strange to read that speakers wait for later utterances in order to decide what they intended. From the second sentence i t would seem that the "procedure" consists in the assumption that " i t may a l l - 27 -make sense to me later." Does It make sense, though, to say this i s an assumption of speakers? In so far as the speaker i s to be conceived as trying to make sense to the hearer (accounting) then, presumably, the assumption would enter his/her sense making in another way. The speaker would assume that the hearer was using the " i t may a l l make sense to me later" assumption as a way of hearing the speaker's talk. How-ever, i t would not be coherent to claim that the speaker him/herself was using this practice. While the speaker depends on i t s use by hearers, there would seem to be no form in which "Retrospective-Prospective Sense of Occurrence" could be employed directly by a speaker as an "interpretive 4 procedure", i.e., accounting practice. The procedure i s a hearer's (or reader's) practice, i.e., an interpretive practice. This conclusion i s supported i f we go back to Cicourel's source. In Garfinkel's study of lay and professional fact finding (1967:76-103) he details the features of (what he formulates as) the documentary method of interpretation. An essential feature was found to be the active retrospective-prospective search by subjects for the "actual sense" of yes/no answers they received from a "counselor." Each answer set off a retrospective chain of sense making wherein the subject attempted to realize the actual sense of prior answers in light of the present one. Then, further questions were posed, which prospectively aimed at recovering information which would illumine further the actual sense of past answers. As Garfinkel put i t , "By waiting to see what w i l l have happened he learns what i t was that he previously saw" (1967:77). Under the original formulation, then, retrospective-prospective sense making was an inter-pretive practice. While i t s use involved a host of assumptions, the - 28 -practice i t s e l f i s not usefully categorizable as an "assumption." It would seem to be something hearers do, rather than assume. (2) As a f i r s t move in finding out what the six procedures have in common we have seen that they are not uniform. One i s primarily an accounting practice (et cetera clause). Another i s solely an inter-pretive practice (retrospective-prospective sense making). In the case of "normal forms" the procedure would seem to have two different opera-tional structures, one for accounting and another for interpreting. With reflexivity and indexicality we have properties of talk that are present for both speakers and hearers (though i t is not clear how these properties of talk are "procedures"). Finally we have the reciprocity of perspec-tives. In that i t i s a reciprocity, i t would seem to be the same assumption/procedure whether held/used by speaker or hearer. (b) As a second move in finding out what the practices have in common, we can consider the procedures in terms of what they are or what they can be called. The reciprocity of perspectives i s identified by Schutz (1962:12) as a "general thesis." While he does not define the terms, i f we trace them back in the history of philosophy we find in Aristotle's logic that a thesis was an undemonstrated proposition used as a premise in a syllogism (Runes, 1958:317). Indexicality and reflexivity are properties of talk, though others (Garfinkel, 1967; Wilson, 1970) identify them as also properties of action. The "et cetera assumption" i s obviously an assumption, under Cicourel's formulation. As we tiave seen, however, the "et cetera clause" as researched by Garfinkel does not seem to have the character of an assumption. It i s an unstated property of any set of rules. In sense - 29 -making i t enters in as the accountable grounds upon which one party can question the action of other parties, or even justify one's own actions. Normal forms would seem to be a property of talk, action and act i v i t i e s . As i t would enter accounting we might speak of i t as "normal forming." In interpreting we might speak of "orienting-to-normal-forms." In both cases the procedure would seem to consist in some form of cog-nitive activity, something persons can be said to do. In that such activity would be bound up inextricably with other, more familiar and obvious ac t i v i t i e s , such as talking and listening, i t could also be said that forming and orienting were features of sense making. When "retrospective-prospective sense of occurrence" i s rendered i n t e l l i g i b l e as a procedure we have "retrospective-prospective sense making", as an interpretive practice. This practice involves cognitive activity in the sense of an active search, of "looking back and ahead." The search is not a constituent feature of some common sense activity. While we can speak of orienting-to-normal-forms as a feature of listening, retrospective-prospective sense making is something that ( i t makes sense to say) i s done while listening, or as one listens, or during the course of listening. In a common sense fashion, this "interpretive procedure" and perhaps "doing et cetera" seem the most i n t e l l i g i b l e as "practices" or "procedures." From Cicourel's l i s t we have a number of things which have been called procedures or practices: a (general) thesis, an assumption, pro-perties of talk and action, and cognitive a c t i v i t i e s . Had I chosen another search procedure, e.g., a systematic gleaning of practices from a l l extant (and "authentic") EM literature, more and different practices - 30 -would have been uncovered, such as reflexive coupling (Schwartz, 1971, 1973), ad hoeing (Garfinkel, 1967:20-3), the documentary method of interpretation (Garfinkel, 1967:77; Wieder, 1974), an incongruity procedure (Sacks, 1972:283), a contrasting procedure (Smith, 1971), ideological practices (Smith, 1974), glossing practices (Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970), cutting off (Cicourel, 1968:168), practices of document production and use (Zimmerman, 1969), particularization of knowledge, and reduction of the relevance of culpability (Bittner, 1967), ironicizing (Pollner, 1972). The problem of doing a systematic gleaning is partly a problem of deciding what can count as EM. More significantly, i t is a problem of deciding what counts as a "practice" for the purposes of gleaning. Ethnomethodo-logists do not usually attach the label of "practice" to their various findings. (c) Even i f we restric t ourselves to the "procedures" Cicourel l i s t s , i t seems clear that "interpretive procedures" have no common features, except that they are used in sense making. To say that i s almost the same thing as to say that they are a l l interpretive procedures, which i s of l i t t l e help. We have a number of choices at this juncture. We can con-tinue to believe i n the existence of practices having a common set of defining features. Under this option we might decide that Cicourel's l i s t i s defective, that i t contains things which actually are not practices. Clearly there are grounds for choosing this option: indexicality and reflexivity (and perhaps "normal forms") would seem to be properties of talk and action. A second option would be to decide that the notion of "sense making practices" i s unintelligible, senseless. The grounds for this choice also l i e in the character of Cicourel's l i s t : having no - 31 -common, defining feature they are merely the fanciful product of imagi-native research, loose talk, and looser thinking. This option, however, rests for i t s sense on the complete u n i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y of Cicourel's talk about interpretive procedures. Another option, which seems preferable, cuts between the other two. This option views the notion of "sense making practices" as i n t e l l i g i b l e , i f on no other grounds than that some of the literature on sense making, practical reasoning, accounting and interpreting does make sense, i s coherent. Some talk, though, is incoherent, as we have seen. In these cases we would simply say that those things are not sense making practices, though i t may be possible to reformulate them as practices."* This was done with "retrospective-prospective sense of occurrence." As well, there seems to be no reason not to reformulate some things as 'features of sense making" or "properties of practical reasoning." If the interest i s sense making there are no a p r i o r i grounds for only addressing and being interested in (things called) "practices." (1) The most important feature of this third option is that i t does not share with the other two options the presupposition that sense making practices (or features) do or must have a common set of defining features. This view derives from the work of Ludwig Wittgenstein (1958, 1967, 1969), particularly his notes on games. Wittgenstein addresses the issue of common features that define or characterize a phenomenon through recourse to games and their properties. His argument i s worth quoting at length. 66. Consider for example the proceedings that we c a l l "games." I mean board-games, card-games, ball-games, Olympic games, and so on. What i s common to them all ? -Don't say: "There must be something common, or they would not be called 'games'" - but look and see whether there i s anything common to a l l . - For i f you look at them you w i l l - 32 -not see something that i s common to a l l , but similar i t i e s , relationships, and a whole series of them at that. To repeat: don't think, but look! - Look for example at board-games, with their multifarious relationships. Now pass to card-games; here you find many correspondences with the f i r s t group, but many common features drop out, and others appear. When we pass next to ball-games, much that i s common i s retained, but much is lost. - Are they a l l 'amusing'? Compare chess with noughts and crosses. Or i s there always winning and losing, or competition between players? Think of patience. In b a l l games there is winning and losing: but when a child throws his b a l l at the wall and catches i t again, this feature has disappeared. Look at the parts played by s k i l l in chess and s k i l l in tennis. Think now of games like ring-a-ring-a-roses; here i s the element of amusement, but how many other characteristics have disappeared! And we can go through the many, many other groups of games in the same way; can see how simi-l a r i t i e s crop up and disappear. And the result of this examination i s : we see a compli-cated network of similarities overlapping and c r i s s -crossing: sometimes overall simil a r i t i e s , sometimes simi-l a r i t i e s of detail. 67. I can think of no better expression to characterize these similarities than "family resemblances"; for the various resemblances between members of a family: build, features, colour of eyes, gait, temperament, etc., etc., overlap and criss-cross in the same way. - And I shall say: 'games' form a family. (1958:31-2) Under this option then, we would take i t that "practices" could have properties that overlap and criss-cross. Practices could form a family, as could features (of sense making). Note that I have said that practices "could have properties...," that they "could form a family," where Wittgenstein makes no such reservations about games. The f i r s t point to make i s that the option as I have formulated i t leaves open the possi b i l i t y that games may form a family. It also i s open to the possibility that after careful scrutiny they may turn out after a l l to have common, essential features. Once we are able to break away from the essentialist position that presupposes - 33 -common features, we are free to choose a position, either position, based on further research. (2) Aside from the freedom from presumptive understanding gained from this option, there are other logical issues that argue against a strong (Wittgensteinian) position at this point. The admonition "look and see" i s admirable and sensible when the things to be seen are "games". Games abound in our culture. We learn a multitude of them as children, and mature into playing others. But how i s i t with "sense making practices"? Children cannot t e l l us about them. There are no television shows devoted to them. People do not (knowingly) devote their lives to them. For ethnomethodologists they abound, but they are not part of the familiar furniture of everyday l i f e . In fact, the so-called "natural attitude" of daily l i f e (cf. Husserl, 1962:106) prevents such practices from becoming visible from within daily l i f e . A shift of attitude ("cognitive style", cf. Schutz 1962:230) is required to render them thematic. This would seem to be an important difference given Wittgenstein's later theory of language. That theory views language as consisting i n conventions of language built up by communities of language users since the dawn of c i v i l i z a t i o n . Language, as a set of conventions, is molded and formed pragmatically, to get work done, to bring out (and thus to constitute) life-relevant distinctions (cf. Fann, 1969:72-81; Pitkin, 1972: 24-49). Thus games have varied features because they have come into being at different times and places. As such, one can "look and see" to learn about them. However, i f we set aside the long history of hermeneutics (cf. Palmer, 1969), i t seems that a concern with "sense making practices" i s rather new and of interest only to a patient few. - 34 -These few would seem to have i t i n t h e i r hands to mold and form what "sense making p r a c t i c e s " could be , based on t h e i r own t h e o r i z i n g and research . A f t e r a l l , i t would be only a matter of agreeing on a set of conventions f o r language use . What i s more, others have done the same. P h y s i c i s t s have decided the conventions f o r atoms and neutrons. Chemists have gotten i t s t r a i g h t as to what w i l l count as s t ront ium 90. B i o l o g i s t s are u n e r r i n g i n t h e i r agreement as to what w i l l pass as m i t o s i s . And so on. A l l " r e a l " sc iences have t h e i r t e c h n i c a l language, i n v a r i a b l y heard as jargon by the uninformed. Cannot EM j o i n such i l l u s t r i o u s company, even though i t i s concerned with s o c i a l ra ther than n a t u r a l order? (3) An answer of yes would achieve i t s apparent reasonableness from the f a c t that the d e c i s i o n about language use would be based upon the d i s t i n g u i s h i n g features of the phenomenon of i n t e r e s t . Under t h i s view the p r o p e r t i e s of m i t o s i s and of sense making p r a c t i c e s are the things which guarantee the p o s s i b i l i t y of cor rec t usage of " m i t o s i s " and "sense making p r a c t i c e s " . There i s , though, an important d i f f e r e n c e between these two " t e c h n i c a l languages . " That " m i t o s i s " ra ther than " c y c l i s " was chosen as the term to i d e n t i f y a process , needs no j u s t i f i c a t i o n . ^ Nei ther term had a p r i o r usage and the process had not been given a name b e f o r e . The choice of terms, then, d i d not i n t e r f e r e wi th the i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y of any epis temic claims made about the process . Given that "sense making p r a c t i c e s " do not have a h i s t o r y of usage, l i k e the word "game," i t might seem that the generation of a t e c h n i c a l vocabulary i n EM would face no unusual o b s t a c l e s . This i s not so . What i f the e l e c t i o n had been to c a l l sense making p r a c t i c e s - 35 -"constructive d r i l l s , " or "tri-color c o l l i e s " or "collolectories"? The latter term, like terms in the natural sciences, i s "made up". Could we point to the phenomenon of "sense making practices" with and through the term "collolectories"? Certainly, one person could, as could anyone else who understood what the term (could be used to) refer to. But how would these others learn the connection between the name and object? Ostensive definition? Perhaps, but you just could not point at a sense making practice. You would have to do some talk, li k e "When someone thinks back to what happened before and uses that to see what i s meant in the present case, I c a l l that a type of collolectory." If you had a genuine interest in the other person learning to see what you are talking about, you might employ other formulations, one of which might be "a collolectory i s like a method or procedure someone can and does use to make sense of something." Thus the technical term would become i n t e l l i g i b l e through the use of ordinary language. If you could provide a set of ordinary terms that did the work of the technical term, then "collolectory" would become redundant. "Sense making practices" would be preferable be-cause i t (its use?) would be more easily understood. What about calling the phenomenon "tri-color collie"? The objection here is more obvious. "Tri-color c o l l i e " already has a use, to identify a certain type of dog, whose coat i s black, sable and white. One could c a l l sense making practices "tri-color c o l l i e s , " but, unlike the case of mitosis, i t would require j u s t i f i c a t i o n . An adequate defense would take the form that tri-color collies shared some relevant features with the phenomenon of interest. But they do not, at least not for the looking. Well, what about "constructive d r i l l s " ? Well, "construction" - 36 -is an ordinary concept, having multiple ordinary uses. We can speak of someone "constructing what happened." This has similarities with "making sense of what happened." However, "reconstructing what happened" is closer. And there i s a problem in talking about "constructing something" as meaning the same as "making sense of something." The case i s similar with " d r i l l " . We can speak of "running through a d r i l l " and "running through a practice." A d r i l l can be a preparation for something, e.g., a f i r e - d r i l l . Practice has a similar use, as when one practices hook shots in basketball. One also can practice f i r e - d r i l l s , but not d r i l l f i r e practices. In the case of sense making practices, practices i s used in a particular sense. Not the sense of preparation as i n "practice your five stroke r o l l , " but the sense of some standardized behavior, as in "religious practices," "sales practices," "teaching practices." Here i t makes different sense to speak of "religious d r i l l s , " "sales d r i l l s , " "teaching d r i l l s . " D r i l l does not have such a use. Thus i f we want to talk of sense making practices, and be heard as talking sense, then the road to success would be one that has been traveled and can be followed, most easily. "Constructive d r i l l s " does not offer an easy path. (4)Before drawing from this exercise the moral of our story, perhaps a point should be made, or c l a r i f i e d . For each choice I have employed immediate or intuitive i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y as a criterion. Why make this move? The answer l i e s in the very character of (what can count as) the epistemic claims of science. As Zaner (1970a:23) has shown in his research on the phenomenology of epistemic claims, a claim to know, "which is expressed in some language not only asserts some claim about 'things' but as well supposes that the language used i s shared or shareable by others and thus - 37 -is i n t e l l i g i b l e to them." On this account, an epistemic claim in a private language, such as the language of A. J. Ayer's Robinson Crusoe (1968), i s senseless. It lacks the possibility of "verification" (in a non-reductionist sense) by others, or even by a Crusoe himself (cf. Wittgenstein, 1958:92-7). Zaner locates the possibility of verification as a feature essential to any epistemic claim. ...for to articulate a claim about things i s not only to presuppose that the person judging can repeatedly judge them, but also that others can do so (which i s not to say either that others must judge them, nor that they w i l l do so, but only that they can, in principle). ...This crucial presupposition may be designated as the co-subjective accessibility of the things judged-about (1970:30).8 It i s precisely the i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y of the claim that provides for co-subjective accessibility. Within the normative order of Western science, to which EM i s answerable, i t i s required that epistemic claims be given the most i n t e l l i g i b l e formulation possible. Not to do so i s to engage in an occult science (cf. T. Eglin, 1974), a science not open to Anyman. (5) Now, to return to our story, and thus to i t s moral: EM cannot have a technical language, nor can any social science. This i s so because the terms of that "language" are drawn from ordinary language in order to speak about our social world. The terms have enjoyed prior use and enter into a manifold of grammatical relations with other terms -relations that decide what can be sensibly said in manifold contexts. EM does not have a technical language; rather, i t makes technical use of ordinary concepts. The i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y of that use i s only guaranteed by the tie to ordinary use. We might say that the i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y (and thus - 38 -the truth-possibility) of any epistemic claim which makes "technical use" of an ordinary, concept, depends on that use being within the limits of 9 ordinary use. If i t transgresses ordinary use, i t becomes senseless. In that "the limits of ordinary use" are irremediably indexical, that i s , open to and dependent upon context, "the limits" w i l l be and can only be decided case by case in situations where use i s encountered or conceivable. The decision i s a member's decision, which i s to say that the success of social sciences (and of phenomenologies ) in their epistemic claims depends upon the mastery of natural language as an essential resource for treating any topic. Social sciences are irremediably in and about the world they address, through language. (6) Having addressed the difference between natural science and EM in terms of technical language and technical use, we are now able to return-to the issue of common features. Drawing on Wittgenstein we saw that there are no a p r i o r i grounds for assuming that games would share a defi-nite set of common features. This was because the concept game had a history of ordinary usage. It was thought that i t might be different for "sense making practices," that i t might make sense to speak of common features in their case because they were a newly found "analytic" phenomenon. In seeing whether i t would be efficient and i n t e l l i g i b l e to c a l l them some-thing else, we saw that thoughc'the phenomenon might be new, the concepts of "making sense" and "practices" were not new. Those concepts are and have been part of the coin of our mundane realm. In that EM seeks to make technical use of them, what "sense making practices" could be, technically, turns upon what they could be said to be, ordinarily. It i s here that we arrive back at the issue of common features. - 39 -The limits of ordinary use, and therefore the limits of any i n t e l l i g i b l e technical use, are indexical. We thus have no a p r i o r i guarantee that we w i l l not encounter situations where i t makes sense to talk of, and point out, "sense making practices", but where those practices w i l l not share the (presupposed) set of common features. Only by having considered every possible use of the concept of sense making practices would we be able to decide whether there i s a common set of features. Yet, the very character of language use, as indexical, leaves "every possible use" as an idealized set that can never be collected. "Every possible use" i s an open set. In such a situation one i s guided by his/her mastery of natural language (i.e., membership, cf. Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970:342-5) and not by a reflective formulation of the presupposed common features of "sense making practices". Clearly i t was such mastery which allowed me to c r i t i c i z e Cicourel's talk of interpretive procedures. It was your mastery that rendered my talk sensibe. On the other hand, while i t appears highly unlikely, there i s no a p r i o r i guarantee that, through artful usage, i t might not be made i n t e l l i g i b l e that every practice that i s found shares in a common set of features. It would seem that Wittgenstein's stance of openness towards the possibility of family resemblances would also require that he (and we) be open to the possibility of (empirical) universals (common features). It is this stance Nof openness which is definitive of the third option suggested above (sub-rsection c). (7) In pursuing the question of what are the practices and features of sense making we have come to an open stance. No definition in terms of common features or properties i s sensible. Rather, the answer is that the - 40 -practices and features of sense making are only whatever can be called "practices and features of sense making." Within this domain of ordinary use EM i s free to carve i t s technical use.^ If i t actually has an interest, though, in "practices and features of sense making" or in "practical reasoning" i t must be attentive to the po s s i b i l i t i e s of ordinary use. That use decides what accountably can count as practices, features and reasoning. Not to be attentive to ordinary use i s to be interested in something else, something, at best, mis-named, at worst senseless. In terms of my enterprise, then, I shall address those things that I discover which can be i n t e l l i g i b l y rendered through ordinary usage as "practices and features of sense making," and which are of EM interest. 5) A second question, which must be addressed so as to open the way for my enterprise, i s this. What analytic or "ontological" status must the practices and features of sense making have in order to be of EM interest? From the literature we can c u l l these answers: the practices and features must be invariant or formal. It turns out, though, that there i s not unanimity with regard to what i s meant by these terms. Also, there i s a difference with regard to scope. Cicourel has written that "interpretive procedures are invariant properties of everyday practical reasoning..." (1970a:146). Later in the same art i c l e he c l a r i f i e s their analytic status. I assume that the properties making up interpretive pro-cedures are analogous to claims about linguistic uni-versals, acquired early in l i f e and fused with the acquisition of language. I have tried to separate the acquisition of interpretive procedures from their develop-ment in a particular culture in order to stress their analytic status as paralleling the existence of linguistic universals independently of the learning of a particular language. (1970a:166) - 41 -Let us c a l l this a formulation of "universal invariance." Zimmerman and Wilson (1973) also display an interest in uni-versal invariance (as "universal empirical laws", 1973:11). Yet in dis-cussing invariance they invoke another type, what could be called "particular invariance." In an earlier paper Wilson (1971:14) provides a concise statement of this invariance criterion. ^ ...any statement of ethnomethodological fact based on a particular concrete display (e.g., transcript, video or audiotape, etc.) must be the same for a l l possible sub-stantive interpretations of the display. In their more recent a r t i c l e Zimmerman and Wilson (1973:14) discuss this criterion and c l a r i f y i t through an example. That i s , we seek to identify and describe structures that remain intact regardless of whether such a display i s designated as "a man drinking water" or "an alcoholic guzzling gin" or an actor simulating either, or whatever else might be assigned as an account of the display. The authors understand this criterion as securing practices which "are not situated and occasioned in the same sense that the meaningful product of their use i s situated and occasioned" (1973:14). That i s , they under-stand the above criterion as capable of establishing the presence of trans-situational practices. Such practices would have the character of "universal empirical laws" (1973:11). It should be noted that the authors do hot recognize that they are putting forth two different types of invariance. Rather, they are involved in confusion over what the practices are invariant to. In their stated criterion the concern is with practices that are Invariant either to the situation of sense making or to the substantive sense that i s made in that situation. When they write of transsituational practices as - 42 -universally empirical laws, however, their concern i s with practices that are invariant either to any situation of sense making or to any substantive sense that i s made i n any situation. Now, while universally invariant practices would be present and invariant in particular situations, p a r t i -cular invariant practices would not necessarily be present i n any or a l l particular situations. Thus the criterion for particular invariance can be of no guaranteed help in locating universally invariant practices. Since the authors do not recognize that they invoke two different notions of invariant practices, they do not address the question of their relation-ship. As i t stands, they simply take i t that in finding particular i n -variance they have found universal invariance. Garfinkel is also d i f f i c u l t to interpret on this issue. He writes of "essential features" (1967:253) where a sense of particular invariance i s intended. More often he espouses a concern with "formal properties of common sense a c t i v i t i e s " (1967:viii) or the "formal struc-ture of practical action" (Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970). The latter is at least similar to universal invariance i n that i t refers to phenomena having "properties of uniformity, reproducibility, repetitiveness, standardization, typicality, and so on" which are "independant of particular production cohorts" (1970:346). It i s unlikely, though, that Garfinkel would claim a status for the properties of practical reasoning that would parallel the notion of linguistic universals (which i s Cicourel's claim). (a) In terms of the extended discussion in section five (above) about common features, a problem arises with regard to universal invariance and the ethnomethodological programme. The problem i s this. How could you know that some practice or feature was universally invariant? - 43 -We can get at the point and importance of this question by f i r s t noting two features of Cicourel's position. He claims to have presented some (six) invariant sense making practices. Presupposed in that claim i s the further claim that there are procedures of practical reasoning or sense making which are universally invariant to any instance of practical reasoning or sense making. It i s this latter, implicit claim that is troublesome. It is troublesome because of an ontological presupposi-tion that the phenomenon of interest has a "monological" structure. Under this presupposition, what is found to be particularly invariant to a few instances 1 of the phenomenon i s taken to be universally invariant to a l l possible instances of the phenomenon."^ Zimmerman and Wilson share this views-Given that Cicourel's interest i s i n practical reasoning, or sense making, the presupposition of monological structure i s unwarranted. As "practical reasoning" and "making sense" are ordinary concepts, whose ordinary use limits their technical use, there is absolutely no a p r i o r i guarantee that every and a l l instances of sense making or practical reasoning w i l l share a definite set of common features. That some l i n g u i s t i -cally pre-constituted phenomenon has a monological structure of common/ invariant features cannot be presupposed; i t can only be discovered. Its discovery, however, requires considering and investigating every actual and conceivable instance of (something that accountably can be called) sense making or practical reasoning. Such an investigation, though, would be endless in that accountable usage i s indexical and reflexive to the context of usage. You would and could never know when to stop the investi-gation. - 44 -If one were interested in universal invariance the task, of course, would be endless. Universal invariance, then, would always carry the subscript "until further evidence." A l l universally invariant prac-tices would thus be understood as "candidate universally-invariant-practices." One instance that could be called sense making, but which did not evidence a candidate practice, would furnish adequate grounds for rejecting i t s candidacy. There would be no successful candidates, only hopefuls. If there is to be hope for Cicourel's l i s t , a l l six must be formulatable as sense making practices or features. Practices and features, of course, would have to be kept and investigated separately, presupposing a l l along that any particular phenomenon of sense making could be classified i n only one way. This presupposition i s i t s e l f dubious because of the indexicality of proper usage of "practice" and "feature." Under one conception, and in some contexts i t would be sensible to speak of orienting-to-normal-form as a practice. In other contexts, where e.g., "active" practices lik e retrospective-prospective sense making are present, i t might seem more sensible to speak of orienting-to-normal-form as a feature of sense making. The problem here i s , again, that the concepts used for c l a s s i -fying are thoroughly ordinary, and thus cannot be presupposed to have common features that w i l l produce non-indexical (objective) classifications. A further problem, of the same type, would be faced in separating practices and features into "interpretive" and "accounting" categories. Since a mono-logical structure cannot be presupposed whenever the concepts are drawn from everyday l i f e , the enterprise of searching for and classifying candidate - 45 -universal invariants would be hazardously presumptive. Of course, figuring out how to carry out the enterprise would provide the enterprise with no end of data, but we are not wanting for data. One further, though less powerful argument can be made against searching solely for universal invariance. The findings, being universal, would hold for any instance of sense making. This i s their glory, but i t Is also their fault. The search produces knowledge that makes irrelevant the type and instance of sense making addressed. The latter are mere background, which cannot be brought forward by (this type of) EM analysis. A l l types and instances of sense making become interchangeable as mere occasions to formulate (worship?) the universal. This leads to the situation where i t can be remarked of EM that there is only one EM study, but everybody keeps doing i t . True, i t i s an important study, but no longer a source of news, or Interest. (b) The alternative which Zimmerman and Wilson (unknowingly) present us i s to seek out and locate the particular invariant. Indeed, this must be done anyway as a step to the universal (assuming we can get there). If the same practices and features continuously and consistently show up as particular invariants, we would seem to have discovered strong candi-dates for universal invariance. Obviously the probability of discovering particular invariants would be greater. If they were found, while they could not be taken as universally invariant to a l l and any sense making, there would seem to be a possibility of their having more than particular invariance. That i s , while the Wittgensteinian argument throws the pro-bability of universals into question, i t leaves open the poss i b i l i t y that there could be invariance within types of games, or sense making. It - 46 -might be that board games do have a set of common features, as might different types of interpreting and accounting. It would be a conceptual-empirical question as to what would count as a type. It would be concep-tual in that the designation of the type would be normatively constrained by proper ordinary usage. It would be empirical, though, in that the con-struction of the type would be from an instance of a particular invariant. That practice or feature would be treated as a paradigm, a guide for dis-covering other instances having the same structure, i.e., being of the same (yet-to-be-formulated), type. The move that I am suggesting i s the same move that Zimmerman and Wilson presuppose, but with one important difference. They treat a particular invariant as an example of and evidence for a universal variant. I am suggesting that we cannot move so far. The particular i n -variant should be treated as an example of and evidence for a conceptual-empirical type. We would then have type invariance standing somewhere between particular and universal invariance. The "where" of that somewhere would be an empirical question, to be decided for each type. This i s to say that every instance of particular invariance i s the grounds and occasion to search for a type, of which i t i s the paradigm, the essence. The choice of the term "essence" i s deliberate, for i t i s tied into a method which answers an important question. In response to the c a l l for universal invariance I raised a question which must be addressed to particular and type invariance: How could you know that some practice or feature had particular/type invariance? Wilson's statement (1971:14) of the (particular) invariance criterion implies the answer: conceive and apply different substantive interpretations to the display. In the process - 47 -of variation, the particular invariant w i l l become vis i b l e . With simply a twist the method opens the way to type invariance. The particular display is treated as an example of a type. That example i s used as a model to c a l l to mind other possible examples of the same type. (This part of the method involves a "calling practice," whose structure i s discussed in chapter seven as i t entered into figuring out grammar). By freely varying these and any conceivable examples the type-invariant becomes vi s i b l e . In so far as both actual and possible examples are used, the method has conceptual grounds, i.e., the mastery of natural language allows the recognition and phantasizing of any and a l l examples as an "example of this type." This method of variation is well known in phenomenology, under the t i t l e of free-phantasy variation or imaginative variation (cf. Zaner, 1973a, 1973b). In that the method i s more generally known as a procedure for d i s t i l l i n g the "essence" of a phenomenon, I shall adopt the convention of identifying type invariant practices by the term essential practices 12 (or, essential features). My use of essence differs from Husserl's (1962) in at least one important dimension. He claimed various differences between type and essence, I do not. In terms of the phenomena of interest to EM, I view essence as circumscribed (empirically and conceptually) by type. Schutz (1966:92-115) has argued that, in fact, Husserl's own position in his later work (1970b, 1973) comes close to the position taken here. Schutz concludes that "there Is indeed merely a difference of degree between type 13 and eidos" (essence)(1966:115). Unlike Husserl, and Schutz, I take typification to be i n t r i n s i c a l l y l i n g u i s t i c , i.e., conceptual. As such, my notion of "essence", and my use of the eidetic method, necessarily involve - 48 -reference to the conceptual. (c) With the introduction of type invariance we then have two types of invariance to seek: particular and essential. If we have a true interest in sense making, however, this i s not enough, indeed i t i s strange. It i s strange in that i f one had found that members have methods to render the world sensible, why would one limit oneself to only seeking invariant practices? To say that there are invariant practices of sense making i s also to say that there are non-invariant practices. Why would they not be of interest as well? After a l l , knowledge of them would also be knowledge of how sense i s made. One can only speculate, but i t appears that the programmatic neglect of the contingent i s tied to a fixation on a particular version of science. That version i s a leading one in both the natural and social sciences. We can c a l l i t the natural science version, the hypothetico-deductive model furnished by logical empiricism (Kaufman, 1958; Nagel, 1961). While i t looked as i f EM (through i t s critique of conventional sociology) might loosen allegiance to this model in sociology, the model has retained i t s leading status by being touted as a model for EM (Wilson, 1971). Rather than merely overthrowing the logical empiricist model in conven-tional sociology, this version of EM i s in competition with conventional sociology for "most successful use" of the model. What destroys conventional sociology, within the normative paradigm (Wilson, 1970), is what saves EM. That i s , the former does not have stable phenomena which can be l i t e r a l l y described (Wilson, 1970). EM has such phenomena (Wilson, 1971). Only EM can locate invariant phenomena. In that the possibility of l i t e r a l description i s required - 49 -for the success of deductive explanation, only EM has the chance of becoming a (what?) real/hard science. The considerable success of natural science makes this option attractive. It does not, however, furnish the auspices for choosing this option. If we agree that the mode of explanation ought to be appropriate to the phenomena (cf. Louch, 1966) or that the mode of inquiry should be adequate to that which i t addresses (Schutz, 1962:3-66), then the auspices for our choice would reside in the character of the phenomena of interest. In light of the lengthy arguments put forward in this chapter, our interest in sense making i s not served by presupposing or searching for universally invariant practices and features. The possibility of particular and type invariance, on the other hand, is to be granted. L i t e r a l description ( i f i t i s possible at a l l ) would seem to be possible in terms of these types of invariance. But are we interested in invariance or in sense making? If the latter, then the former is of interest solely for what i t reveals about sense making. If the interest i s sense making, then contingent practices and features should be of interest as well, and for the same reason: what they reveal about sense making. If the interest i s sense making, then a focus on the invariant does not rule out a focus on the contingent. Perhaps this is d i f f i c u l t to accept. A l l the programmatic talk about invariance may have us mesmerized, such that we cannot conceive of what contingent practices and features would be lik e . The answer can be found by looking at the actual work done in EM, while ignoring programmatic rhetoric. If one formulates a l i s t of findings, as was done partially above (cf. section 4.b), i t quickly becomes apparent that most of the - 50 -practices and finding can not pass Wilson's (particular) invariance criterion (1971:14)(e.g., consider one of Garfinkel's l i s t s of findings, 1967:89-94). They are contingent: dependent on substantive interpre-tations of the actions within which the practices and features are embedded. They can only be interpretively described, rather than l i t e r a l l y described. A change in interpretation of the action-in-its-setting can produce and require a change in description of the sense-making-in-its-setting. A programmatic c a l l , then, to search out contingent sense making phenomena would not lead to any major change in the actual practice of EM. Instead, i t would align programme and practice. It would make programme and practice i n t e l l i g i b l e , again, within the framework of the interpretive paradigm (cf. Wilson, 1970). As Wilson (1970) himself has argued, being within the interpretive paradigm does not make an enterprise less s c i e n t i f i c . It makes i t into another type of science (cf. Kaplan, 1964:363-67), in Weber's original sense of science (Wissenschaft) as rational intellectual 14 discipline or scholarship (Weber, 1968). Thus EM i s not cast into the cold (the humanities?) by formulating i t s actual practice as i t s true pro-gramme. It retains i t character as a science of sense making. My practice, hopefully, w i l l reflect this programme. As particular invariance i s of interest in terms of the possibility of generalizing to type invariance, my practice w i l l be to seek out and describe essential features and practices of sense making. Contingent practices, in that I find them to be more numerous, w i l l receive primary attention. As well, i f a candidate for universal invariance is encountered i t w i l l be duly noted. In that my concern i s to analyze sense making, I shall also interrogate - 51 -each practice and feature for its: essential and contingent properties. Such an accounting i s required i f others are to recognize these features and practices - or their relatives - in the course of their own research. Such an accounting is required i f this science i s to be cumulative (within i t s 'paradigm', cf. Kuhn, 1962). - 52 -FOOTNOTES 1. In that my purpose here i s not to generate a warrant for EM I have chosen not to provide an explication of the Intentional theory of consciousness. Others have done that most adequately (Gurwitsch, 1964, 1967; Kockelmans, 1967:169-200). Since the notion of correlativity i s so central, however, i t may prove useful to quote Gurwitsch (1964:221) at length. Material things and the real world at large prove correlates of acts and processes of consciousness. They are identical units experienced as such through multiplicities of harmonious acts and convergent processes. These unities may be said to 'depend' upon consciousness in that they are what they are experienced to be through systematic groupings of acts. They exist with that specific sense with which they present themselves through, or which is bestowed upon them by, these groups and systems of acts. Conditions which acts and systems of acts must f u l f i l l in order to be possible experiences of material things and the real world ,at large are necessary conditions of the possibility of the real world, that i s transcendental conditions. ( ( i t a l i c s removed)) 2. This reconstruction i s not meant as h i s t o r i c a l . Garfinkel has already provided such a reconstruction (1974) in his story about work done with Saul Mendlovitz in 1945 on a jury project. My reconstruction is offered, rather, as a l i k e l y story about possible logical connections that could have been made between the work of theorists in the l i f e of one theorist. My story vlsn6t incompatible with Garfinkel's own, for I take i t that not anyone who joined Fred Strodfebefek's jury project in 1945 would have come up with ethnomethodology. What i s central (accountable) in my story Is not whether Garfinkel really made those connections in that.way, but whether those connections can be made in that way. If they can, that i s where EM's warrant l i e s : not in the daily l i f e of i t s founder. At this point in the l i f e of EM the germane1 issue i s not EM's logical warrant, but th& news i t has and can bring to our attention. If the issue of i t s warrant i s to be raised, i t w i l l be most profitably raised from within the very work of doing EM. That way i t w i l l not be a question asked to prevent work from being done, but w i l l be asked in order to permit work to go on. 3. While speakers are primarily engaged in accounting they are also involved in interpreting their own talk for i t s own apparent and conceivable sense. That i s , "things can come out wrong" in the talk such that a speaker w i l l orient to how the talk could have been heard, given present circumstances and hearers. This reveals the peculiar autonomy of expressions as a feature of talk and writing oriented to by members. - 53 -4. Cicourel's claim that both speakers and hearers use this interpretive procedure rests for i t s apparent cogency on confusion of roles and persons. Speakers and hearers i n a conversation do use the interpretive procedure, but only because speakers become hearers in conversational tum^taking. That i s , a person who periodically takes the speaker role ("is a speaker") does use the practice, but only in his/her role as hearer. 5. We should note here the loose sense i n which "reformulate" is used. It i s not that one phenomenon exists, but i s inaccurately portrayed such that i t becomes necessary to devise an adequate formulation, a reformulation of i t . Rather, as in the case of "reformulating" Cicourel's l i s t , a practice i s used which achieves a s p l i t between the intended referent, "what he's really trying to talk about," and the "actual referent" provided by his choice of iden t i f i e r . Using this practice I conceive Cicourel as really wanting to talk about "retrospective-prospective sense making" when he instead talks about "retrospective-prospective sense of occurrence." The two things become "the same" under the auspices of the practice whereby Cicourel i s conceived as analytically competent, but concretely in error. While the referent of the two formulations i s different, the practice makes i t i n t e l l i g i b l e to say that "sense making" is a "reformulation" of "sense of occurrence." Now, this i s an accounting practice (though i t may not show in my account). It can be used in interpreting. However, the form the practice took in my numerous re-readings of Cicourel over the past four years was somewhat different. In that I already "knew" what he was: talking about, from having read Garfinkel (1967), I repeatedly read "retrospective-prospective sense of occurrence" as intendedly and actually refering to (the referent of) "retrospective-prospective sense making." Only upon a "close reading" did I take his talk "ser-fcously," thereby achieving the accountable sense that his intended and actual referents were different, i.e., that he was in error. That i s , the "close reading" employed the practice in i t s f i r s t form, as i n i t i a l l y described i n this footnote. For a preliminary, and not wholly satisfactory approach to reading and reading practices see Heap (1974a). 6. While hermeneutics displays interesting parallels to EM, most notably in i t s concern with the "hermeneutical c i r c l e " of under-standing (Palmer, 1969:87"B8), i t has been continuously concerned with issues of substantive sense making. In i t s psychologistic form, as in the work of Dilthey, the concern i s with "what the author really meant." In i t s more modernyphenomenological form, as developed by Heidegger, Gadamer and Ricoeur, the concern i s "what the text can mean." It i s the philosophical hermeneutics of Gadamer that parallels EM most closely, as the ontological structures of understanding are revealed. However, Gadamer, with his emphasis on procuring the right question with which to address the text, retains an interest in substantive sense making. - 54 -Nonetheless the publication in translation of his major work (Truth  and Method) and his collected papers should prove of great interest to EM. 7. I am aware of the fact, especially evident in the l i f e sciences, that the choice of names requires ju s t i f i c a t i o n on etymological grounds, as terms are coined from Greek and Latin morphemes in accord with prior classificatory schemes. The relevant point for my argument is that the choice of morphemes is not answerable to the current grammar of ordinary usage of words consisting (in part) i n those morphemes. That the choice, nonetheless, has to be j u s t i f i a b l e on etymological grounds means that the type of argument being leveled at social science's "technical language" may have application (in a modified form) to other technical languages. 8. It should be noted that Zaner takes as an essential presupposition of epistemic claims that "the things being judged-about are accessible  by others independent of the judger's claim and i t s linguistic  expression" (1970a:30). This would hold only for those who assumed a theory of language as correspondence. In view of the close relation-ship between concepts and phenomena shown by Wittgenstein, Austin, Ryle and others, and in view of post-Husserlian understandings of language (Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty, Gadamer) what Zaner takes to be an essential presupposition cannot be essential, ,for the claims of Wittgenstein et al. do not carry this presupposition. Rather, language is the avenue of access to phenomena, i t furnishes co-subjective access. 9. This i s the point at which a critique could be developed of the logico-empiricist formulation of EM (Wilson, 1971; Zimmerman and Wilson, 1973). Proponents of this view claim that the success of (logico-empiricism in) natural science is guaranteed by the possibility of s t r i c t separation of topic and resource. As Zimmerman and Pollner (1970) have argued, such a separation i s not possible in conventional sociology. However, the argument i s made that EM can attain this separation because the phenomenon of interest are without int r i n s i c meaning. The answer to this position begins from seeing that EM makes technical use of ordinary concepts, while natural sciences have technical languages (vocabularies). EM has no way of talking that does not turn for i t s i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y on the ordinary uses of ordinary concepts. So, while the claim can be made that i t s phenomenon is not i n t r i n s i c a l l y meaningful, every attempt to talk about i t turns on the " i n t r i n s i c meaning," i.e., ordinary meaning, of the concepts used. There is no co-subjective access to the phenomenon except through accounts which depend on the mastery of natural language for their formulation and comprehension. Only under a correspondence version of language that sees name and object as separate and separable does i t make sense to compare EM and natural science in terms of the (lack of) " i n t r i n s i c - 55 -meaning" of their objects. In view of EM's finding that accounts reflexively constitute their referents (Garfinkel, 1967:7-9), i t is odd to see a correspondence notion of language being employed; but i t i s precisely that notion which underlies logical empiricism's requirement of l i t e r a l description. 10. As we have seen, CicOurel (1970a) has no consistent technical use. Had we considered a l l the other things collectable in the EM literature as practices and features of sense making (see sub-section b) we would have found no single technical use. A host of ordinary, and therefore legitimate/sensible uses are to be found and can be applied. It should be added that consistent technical use is a problem throughout sociology. Indeed, a flagrant example of this problem is to be found in the magnum opus of Canadian sociology, John Porter's The Vertical Mosaic (1965)(cf. Heap, 1974b). 11. This presupposition of monological structure i s shared in phenomenology whenever the eidetic method of free phantasy variation is used to discover the essence of an ontological region. The method works off of freely chosen examples (either actual or possible ones) and then requires varying each aspect u n t i l the invariant emerges from a l l the variations. The invariant is the essence of the object, as exemplified by the original examples. This is a most useful method, which I employ in my analysis (see Part III) and which I argue has a rightful place in EM analysis (see chapter three). Where the method becomes suspect i s when i t Is used to claim that the essence of a common sense object has been discovered. This move presupposes that the examples with which the analysis began share with a l l other possible examples (of the same type of object) a definite set of common features. When this move i s made the resulting analysis can be c r i t i c i z e d along the same lines that Cicourel i s c r i t i c i z e d in the text, section 6a. For an earlier, but somewhat different, critique of the possibility and u t i l i t y of an eidetic approach to sociology see Heap and Roth (1973:359-61). 12. My version of the eidetic method brings the empirical and the conceptual to the fore in ways not done in phenomenology, nor, I suspect, i n ways completely acceptable to Husserlian phenomenologists. One point of contention is the (early) Husserlian distinction between the empirical and. the essential, between fact and essence. There i s a large 4>ody of literature on this issue (Kockelmans, 1967:77-105; Levinas, 1967; Merleau-Ponty, 1964:43-95, 1969:105-29; Dufrenne, 1966:75-84; Neisser, 1959). I find myself persuaded by Zaner (1972, 1973a, 1973b) that the later Husserl (1969) did not view fact and essence as s t r i c t l y separate and opposed. 13. While my version of the eidetic method continues Schutz' views (1966:92-115) that essence is circumscribed by type, i t differs in < - 56 -that i t pays attention to the place and necessity of the conceptual. Schutz (in c r i t i c i z i n g Husserl) argues that an essence i s circum-scribed by the type in terms of which we have experienced the relevant object in the mundane world. While Schutz held that language i s a treasure house of pre-constituted types (1962) his analysis of typification and types pays vi r t u a l l y no attention to language and i t s contexture (grammar). In fact, he treats typification and language (competence) as separate and distinct phenomena (1962:260-86). In a footnote Wilson makes an observation which i s well worth repeating. A great deal of confusion concerning Weber's views has been created by the practice of translating the German Wissenschaft as "Science." In i t s original sense, science meant rational intellectual discipline, or scholarship, which would be adequate renderings of the German. The word science as i t tends to be understood today, however, has a much narrower sense and is a translation of the German Naturswissenschaft, primarily physics, chemistry, biology, etc. If, i n the translation of Weber, one substitutes scholarship and scholar for the words science and scientist, his work takes on a very different and, i t may be argued, more consistent cast from the usual contemporary readings. (1970:77-8n) - 57 -Chapter Three METHODOLOGY AND METHODS 1) Ethnomethodology espouses an Interest in any and a l l forms of inquiry, from sorcery (cf. Castaneda, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1974) and alchemy (cf. T. Eglin, 1974) to t r a f f i c courts (Pollner, 1970), class-room testing (MacKay, 1974) and research on the language of honey bees ( E l l i o t , 1971). An interest i n any and a l l forms of inquiry i s indeed a policy set forward by Garfinkel (1967:32), as we have already noted. Thus whenever we discover a form of inquiry we are in the neighborhood of candidate phenomena. One such form of inquiry is common sensically known as "figuring out." Members engage in, and can be said to engage in figuring out hosts of disparate things: directions, contracts, bus schedules, cross-country trips, shopping l i s t s , math problems, grades, metric weight, travel expenses, motives, men, women, what's happening, how e l e c t r i c i t y works, and what to say. It i s the latter that interests me here, because i t i s also the object of professional figuring out. The professionals who figure out what to say, or "what we should say when" (Austin, 1970:181) are called (among other things) ordinary language philosophers. Their form(s) of inquiry, with a l l i t s trappings of mock naivete i s not of interest, though, for any distinctive features that i t may have. It i s of interest solely because It offers candidate phenomena: features and practices of sense making. That i s , "figuring out" warrants our attention, and not ordinary language philosophizing per se. The - 58 -enterprise of ordinary language philosophy is chosen for research because i t involves and makes v i s i b l e "figuring out," or at least a certain type of figuring out.: It allows us to recover the features and practices of figuring out the normative order of language use. 2) Having found a promising candidate for analysis, the question of method arises. With i t arises the more pressing question of methodology. How can one research and analyze "figuring out normative order", or what Wittgenstein (1958) calls "grammar"? One way i s to traipse on over to the local Department of Philosophy and question everyone i n sight about any traditional philosophical problem. When someone professes that he/she absolutely does not understand the question, yet declares that the question i s confused, an ordinary language philosopher w i l l have been found. Then put on the cloak of science and arrange sessions where, e.g., the philosopher i s given a concept and asked to figure out i t s correct use. Ask that he/she "think aloud," having obtained prior permission to tape record the sessions. Transcribe the tapes (rather, get the tapes transcribed) and get to work. This method is similar to the one used by Garfinkel in his study of lay and professional fact finding (1967:76-103). There, students were asked to verbalize their sense making of yes/no answers by a "counselor." In this study Garfinkel was interested in the formal properties of sense making. His major discovery was the (now) well known "documentary method of interpretation," where items of talk are treated as documents of underlying patterns which reflexively make those items v i s i b l e as documents. In addition, Garfinkel presents pages of - 59 -other findings (1967:89-94). While at least a dozen of Garfinkel's findings would appear not to meet Wilson's invariance criterion (1971:14), Garfinkel was nonetheless after formal properties. The talking-out-loud procedure apparently served this interest, to a degree. If one admits an EM interest in contingent practices, however, this procedure poses a problem. Some would identify the problem in the very character of contingent practices. For reasons which w i l l shortly become clear, I view the problem as tied to the procedure(s) of making sense of the sense making embedded in an Other's talk or action. That problem is specifically the problem of other minds. As i t enters the domain of EM's topics i t i s a species of the problem of indexicality. Epistemologically and methodologically the problem of other minds, as encountered in the talking-out-loud procedure, is the problem of correctly interpreting the talk of an Other so as to arrive at the specific sense of that talk, as intended by the Other. This i s Weber's problem of adequacy at the level of meaning (1968) which is essential to understanding action.. Ordinary language philosophy i s of help here for i t holds that what anyone could mean in and by any talk depends on shared conventions for language use (cf. Winch, 1958:24-33).^" This would appear to limit the number of alternative meanings any talk could have, but i t does not solve the problems of which i s the intended meaning. In EM terms this is a problem of indexicality. The intended meaning of an Other's talk i s always decided in terms of the context within which that talk occurs or i s recovered. In that talk and context - 60 -reflexively elaborate each other (Wieder, 1974:167-182), neither i s stable. Neither can be depended on to anchor the f i n a l sense of the other. Thus the problem of deciding the speaker's intended sense i s a problem of unraveling the indexicality of talk-in-its-context, i.e., the dependence of talk on i t s context for i t s i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y . Programmatically, EM lives through this problem of indexicality and survives i t by restricting i t s interest to invariant properties of sense making. If one of those properties, as i t appears in a concrete instance of sense making, is Invariant to any substantive interpretation of the text, then i t does not matter what the speaker intended. Indexicality of speaker intentions is not a problem in verifying the presence of invariant properties of sense making. When the concern is contingent practices, though, the indexicality of intended sense re-enters as a problem. Seeing the particularization of knowledge and reduction of the relevance of culpability (Bittner, 1967) or the practices of document production and use (Zimmerman, 1969) or an incongruity procedure (Sacks, 1972:283) or the practice of cutting off (Cicourel, 1968:168) involves and requires deciding the intended sense of actor's behavior, i.e., the meaning of their action (cf. Weber, 1968). Insofar as there might be contingent practices that members might use in figuring out the grammar of a concept, we would have to interpret the meaning of members' actions. In that these practices are not invariant, their sense is dependent on the interpretation of the actions in which they are embedded. Given an interest in contingent practices, the use of the talking-out-loud procedure presents the problem of indexicality as something that our claims may not survive. That i s , the "problem" is - 61 -not only philosophical, theoretical or empirical. It i s methodological: a trouble for our epistemic claims about contingent practices. We can never be certain, or, in empiricist terms, we can achieve only a weak degree of probability in our claims about members' contingent practices of figuring out grammar, out loud. So (reformed) EM analysis faces the same problem that other sociologies face. Within the interpretive paradigm this uncertainty i s accepted as a fact of l i f e (Wilson, 1970; Kaplan, 1964). It would be permissable, then, to employ the method of having a philosopher verbalize his figuring out of the normative order of language use. 3) That the talking-out-loud procedure Is permissible i s not to say that i t i s the only possible method or necessarily the preferable one. The preferable one would be one that either did not face this particular problem of indexicality or had the possibility of "surviving" i t . Even raising these po s s i b i l i t i e s within the context of EM might be considered heresy. Logical empiricist EM raises the second possibility in terms of invariant properties, but would not even consider raising the f i r s t p o s s i b i l i t y . If only for the news that failure might bring, I intend to consider and claim the possibility of non-indexical action. While the conditions for analyzing non-indexical action were not present when I commenced the analysis presented in Part III of this monograph, for my analysis I shall claim the possibility of "surviving" the index-i c a l i t y of contingent practices. We shall consider this pos s i b i l i t y . In that I do not wish to inflate your expectations as to the character of my heresy, perhaps i t would be best to deflate them from the start. Simply put, among members, including professional sociologists, - 62 -members are usually considered privy to their own intentions, or the meaning of their own acts. One cannot have an intention and not know about i t . Related to this sanctionable truth i s the sanctionable belief, among members, that a member i s usually authoritative on the issue of the meaning (in Weber's sense) of his/her own action ("behavioral displays"). If I can turn my heresy into sanctionable truth, I w i l l have laid part of the epistemological and methodological foundation for a preferable alternative to the talking-out-loud procedure. We shall take up consideration of that alternative, and i t s apparent problem, after I provide the grounds for my heresy. (a) To understand the possibility of non=indexical action we have to go back to the formulation of indexicality by the logician Bar-Hillel. Then we shall note how the concept i s used in EM. In so doing the slippery use of "meaning" w i l l become apparent. Then we w i l l turn to the grounds for extending the scope and transforming the domain of the concept indexicality. In considering the expanded concept we w i l l be able to formulate the possibility of non-indexical action. (1) In an often-cited paper Bar-Hillel (1954) discusses a phenomenon which philosophers have treated for ages: "dependence of the reference of li n g u i s t i c expressions on the pragmatic context of their production" (1954:359). The following i s what Bar-Hillel calls an "indexical expression." (1) It's raining. The intended reference of the sentence " w i l l be f u l l y grasped only by - 63 -those people who know the place and time of i t s production, and the identification of the intended reference of the sentence" (1954:359). An instance of a non-indexical, or objective expression would be (2) Ice floats on water. It i s non-indexical because i t "w i l l be understood by almost every grown-up normal English-speaking person to refer to the same state of a f f a i r s " (1954:359), without knowledge of the place and time of production. Bar-Hillel, with the aid of a series of distinctions, examples and definitions, shows the work needed to translate indexical into non-indexical expressions, the problems that their lpgic poses, and f i n a l l y , the impossibility of any s t r i c t l y phenomenalistic language. A l l these moves are not important here. What i s important i s to note that Bar-Hillel's concern with indexicality i s a concern f i r s t with the reference of sentences and secondly with their truth. In that one has to know the reference of a sentence to decide i t s truth, indexical sentences are a problem (to logicians) because their reference depends upon the pragmatic context of their production. Ways must be found to expand indexical sentences ao as to include the information provided by the pragmatic context. Only by so doing can indexical sentences be brought within the reaches of deductive logic. The point to be gotten out of a l l this i s that indexicality is the "dependence of the reference of linguistic expressions on the pragmatic context of their production" (Bar-Hillel, 1954:359)(emphasis added). That i s , Bar-Hillel does not formulate indexicality as a 2 problem of meaning. This is interesting because well known articles - 64 -(e.g., Wilson, 1970:68n) and lesser known articles (e.g., Handel, 1969:2) claim that Bar-Hillel defines an indexical expression as one that depends for i t s meaning on the context in which i t is produced. What are we to make of this? We could invoke the notion of a misreading consisting in a projection error (cf. Schwartz, 1972), Where Garfinkel's (expanded) use of indexical was read back into the paper from which Garfinkel borrowed the term. Or we could try to see i f there i s an accountable sense i n which reference might be understood as meaning. In that the authors under suspicion are otherwise precise in their terminology and deft in their arguments, the latter option seems wiser. Its wisdom i s affirmed by the existence of a widely held notion of meaning as reference. More familiarly, i t i s spoken of as the correspondence notion of meaning. Under this notion, the only meaningful sentences are ones whose referent can be identified. It i s this notion that underlies Ayer's v e r i f l a b i l i t y principle (1936:35) and Carnap's principle of confirmability (1953:48). A statement can be verified, i.e., found to be true, i f among other requirements, i t s referent can be identified. This correspondence theory of meaning and truth renders meaningless any statement which purports to be about the world, but which lacks an "empirical referent." Obviously, meaningless statements can not be true. With this swift move, positivists sought to drive metaphysics out of physics (science). In so doing they rendered (sentences about) religion, morality, "inner experience," art, (and indeed natural science i t s e l f , cf. Popper, 1959:36) meaningless. The only thing which saves any - 65 -suspicious enterprise Is the possibility of translating i t s phenomenon into empirical, i.e., sense perception observable, terms. This trans-lation must be paralleled by a translation of talk about the phenomenon into physical-thing language. Thus psychology i s saved through a doctrine of the correspondence of the psychological and the physical, i.e., reductionism. Traditional positivism, and the neo-positivism of the logical empiricists, offer this same salvation to sociology. In view of the logical empiricist bent of some ethnomethod-ologists, and the parallel bent of Bar-Hillel (a devotee to Carnap), i t i s not surprising that Bar-Hillel's discussion of indexicality i s brought to the sociological audience as a discussion of the context dependence of meaning rather than (simply) of reference. This move is the prerogative of the informed, and as such i t usually would deserve only a footnote. In this case i t deserves direct attention for three reasons. F i r s t , one a r t i c l e i n which i t occurs is of prime importance in the EM, indeed in the sociological, literature of the past five years. Second, i n that a r t i c l e the author''s exercise of his prerogative i s a source of possible conceptual confusion. That confusion surrounds the always slippery concept of meaning. Third, and perhaps most helpful here, in explicating the source of possible confusion, we w i l l become clearer on the relation of different forms of indexicality to sociology. That i s , the source of possible confusion is best considered an occasion for exposition rather than critique. ( In a footnote in his paper on normative and interpretive paradigms, Wilson (1970:68n) exercises his prerogative and claims that Bar-Hillel defined an indexical expression as "one that depends for i t s - 66 -meaning on the context in which i t is produced." Having introduced the concept of indexicality in the text, and footnoted i t s source, he discusses Garfinkel's application of the concept to phenomena addressed by the documentary method of interpretation. Wilson does not mention how Garfinkel has expanded Bar-Hillel's concept. This omission i s troublesome, because in Wilson's discussion of the mutual determination of appearances and underlying" pattern he states that "one may have to await further developments to understand the meaning of present appearances" (1970:68)(emphasis added). Note the shift in the sense/use of "meaning" here. Wilson can not be understood as claiming that one must await further developments to understand the reference of present appearances. Instead he is using "meaning" in a different way/sense than that prescribed by the correspondence notion of meaning. He is talking about the "meaning of situations and actions" (1970:69). This shift in sense and use i s troublesome because i t has led to treating Bar-Hillel as the authority for EM's claims that the hypothetico-deductive model of explanation i s inapplicable to social action (cf. Wilson, 1970). Since social action i s "irredmediably indexical" (Garfinkel, 1967) i t can not be l i t e r a l l y described and brought within the reaches of deductive logic. Bar-Hillel, however, claims that indexical expressions can be expanded into non-indexical expressions. Thus at the level of statements about action, indexicality in i t s original sense i s , in principle, remediable, at least in the view of logicians and methodologists. That i s , indexicality in i t s original sense raises no principled issues for those working within the normative paradigm. Thus invoking Bar-Hillel to persuade neo-positivists - 67 -that their cause is lost, i s a wasted move. If we transpose our concern from the indexicality of scientists' declarative sentences to the Indexicality of members' talk, the normative paradigm i s s t i l l not i n trouble. The indexicality, in Bar-Hillel's sense, of members' talk can be repaired in many instances, i.e., the talk can be expanded to make i t s referent unequivocal. Even when such repair i s not possible the normative paradigm s t i l l faces no problems from Bar-Hillel. This is so because i t has no principled interest in deciding the reference or truth of members' (rare) full-blown declarative sentences. It i s indexicality in Garfinkel's expanded sense, as the "indexicality of action," that creates the problem for logical empiricism. Since determining the motive of actors, i.e., the meaning of their acts, depends upon deciding the context in which those acts are encountered, i t i s the context-dependence of the phenomena which creates problems for empiricists. The indexicality of action enters into the problem of the indexicality of expressions because the motive/purpose/ intention/expectation/sentiment/disposition of the actor becomes a direct or implied reference of the sociological propositions. Since action and context reflexively elaborate each other in unpredictable ways, the definite correspondence of expression/proposition and i t s referent can not be secured. Without the possibility of l i t e r a l description, statements can not be verified, confirmed or even f a l s i f i e d (cf. Popper, 1959:40-2). That empiricists in sociology have refused to recognize the indexicality of action is what has allowed them to continue to claim that there are no obstacles, in principle, to converting indexical declarative sentences into propositions. - 68 -Thus to treat Bar-Hillel as an authority figure for EM is to miss the difference between the domain and referent of his concept and the expanded domain and referent furnished by Garfinkel. Bar-Hillel was concerned with indexicality as a problem of the referent ("meaning") of expressions, i n particular, declarative sentences. EM is concerned primarily with Indexicality as a problem of the meaning of action, whether behavioral or l i n g u i s t i c . Thus Bar-Hillel's domain i s the scientist's analytic apparatus and EM's domain i s (primarily) the scientist's or member's phenomenal f i e l d . In that EM also claims an interest in indexical expressions (Garfinkel, 1967:34) i t seems to share Bar-Hillel's interest in the problem of identifying and deciding referents. Character-i s t i c a l l y , though, i t transforms Bar-Hillel's domain into i t s own: the scientist's or member's phenomenal f i e l d . Insofar as Wilson and others have not explicated the EM extension of Bar-Hillel's concept and transformation of i t s domain, their work i s a source of possible conceptual confusion. That possible confusion can be traced to their loose use of "meaning." (2) How was the extension of the concept of indexicality and the transformation of i t s domain accomplished? What were the grounds for doing so? The former i s a biographical question that I can not answer. For my purposes the second question is the more important one. The grounds for the extension of the concept of indexicality and the transformation of i t s domain are suggested by Garfinkel's paper on "trust" as a condition of stable interaction (1963). Analyzing games, Garfinkel comes up with "constitutive expectancies" which define the "basic rules" of the game. These are rules that a player must observe, - 69 -and assume that others must observe, and assume that others assume he/she must observe in order for an event to be recognized and sanctioned as a constituent event of the game defined by those rules (1963:190). During his discussion of perceivedly normal environments of game events, we find this important passage. Basic rules serve as...the set of presuppositions -termed by Schutz ((1962)) as a player's "scheme of interpretation and expression" - whereby the player's own behavior, as well as the behavior of the other person, i s identified by the player as a datum of  action. This property may be stated in i t s general form as the following theorem. A sign correctly corresponds to a referent in terms of the assumed constitutive order that i t s e l f defines "correct correspondence". (1963:195) This formulation is directly relevant to the problem of indexicality in that i t locates the problem of correct correspondence between sign and referent as an issue of normative order. If a normative order, which comprises part of the context of production, is altered or replaced with a different normative order, the correspondence of the sign and referent can become problematic. Suppose, for example, that a proposition is encountered which employs the concept "meaning." The referent of the concept and thus the truth of the proposition w i l l depend upon the normative order of language use that decides what "meaning" could mean.. Within the limits, of proper use, the issue i s which concept was intended by the producer of the proposition. How readers decide the latter issue w i l l decide what could count as correct correspondence between sign and referent. In the paragraph immediately following the above quoted passage - 70 -Garfinkel has this to say. What holds for sign-referent relationships holds for the relationships of term and word, term and concept, phoneme and lexeme, word and meaning, behavior and action, sentence and proposition, appearance and object. A l l of these pairs are formally equivalent. A behavior signifies an action in terms of an assumed normative order. (1963:195) The extension and transformation of domain of Bar-Hillel 1s concept of indexicality thus has formal grounds. The claimed formal equivalence of sign-referent and behavior-action, with regard to the interpretive relevance of normative order, furnishes Garfinkel with adequate grounds to speak of the indexicality of action as a counterpart to the indexi-3 cality of reference. On the same grounds we could speak of the indexicality of the second member of each pair noted above, e.g., indexi-cal i t y of concept, being a problem of term-concept relationship. (3) Actions then warrantably can be called indexical in that their "meaning" depends upon the context of behavior. Here meaning i s what Weber (1968) called the "subjective meaning" which members "attach" to their behavior to make i t action. From Schutz' (1967) critique and cl a r i f i c a t i o n of the notion of "attaching subjective meaning" we arrive at a focus on the in-order-to motive of the actor's completed action. This motive i s the link between the action and the project which defines the meaning of the action. In other frameworks authors speak of the actor's intention or purpose (cf. Louch, 1966) as defining the "meaning" of his/her action;. The EM position i s that the meaning of action is irremediably indexical. This oft-made statement, to be considered true (in some sense of true), requires the explicit recognition of what has been only a - 71 -phantom rider. The rider taken for granted that i t i s invisible to the trained eye. The rider i s this. For the observer, the meaning of action i s irremediably indexical. Based upon the formal structure of indexicality, the latter i s a problem because of the issue of correct correspondence between sign and referent, behavior and action. That correspondence is decided with reference to the observable sign/behavior and i t s context. This i s so as a feature of the earlier mentioned problem of other minds. The observer does not have direct access to the "mind" of the actor. The observer can not observe the actor "attaching subjective meaning" to his/her behavior. While a l l of this i s true for the observer, this cannot be the case for the actor. The actor does not face the problem of other minds in deciding the meaning of his/her own actions. In light of Schutz' eidetic analysis of "the constitution of meaningful lived experience i n the constitutor's own stream of consciousness" (1967:45-96), i t i s clear that the actor has access to the meaning of his/her actions. This i s not to say that actors always "know" the motives for their actions. For one thing, they have to have a reason to reflect on their lived experience in order to recover the motives of and for particular actions. A l l that i s being claimed here i s that actors can, i.e., have the capacity and ontological prerequisitesj to recover their motives. What is equally important, though, given the problem of other minds, is that actors are the only ones who can recover their actual, lived motives. If i t was the case that actors were ontologlcally incapable of recovering their own motives, we would have no problem of other minds. There would be no concern to penetrate the "mind" of an Other. Mind would cancel - 72 -out of the equation of sense making. Now view this ontolpgical situation in light of the problem of indexicality. For the actor, unlike the observer, there is no issue of correct correspondence between behavior and action in terms of a normative context. Quite simply, having performed an act (in Weber or Schutz' sense) an actor does not have to depend upon his/her behavior and i t s context to decide the meaning of his/her action. The relation between action and behavior for the actor and for the observer i s vastly different. Where the observer depends upon "sense-perception" to observe the actor's bodily movements, the actor lives those movements. Where behavior signifies (appresents, cf. Husserl, 1970a) action for the observer, i t embodies, enacts the action for the actor. This last point is crucial for the issue of indexicality. Where the observer moves from behavior to act (as the meaning of the action), the actor, i n order to consider both elements, moves from act to behavior. This point requires amplification, with the aid of Schutz' analysis (1967:45-96). Out of his critique of Weber and analysis of the phenomena of acting, Schutz provides some useful distinctions. Action differs from behavior inasmuch as action i s the execution of a projected act. The projected act i s absent in the case of mere behavior. The act i s the state of affairs realized by a completed course of action,. . Before the action i s taken, or even conceived, the. actor engages in a future-directed anticipation of a state of affairs realizeable by an action. That anticipation i s actually a phantasizing of the completed action, a thinking i n the future perfect tense about what w i l l have been done. Schutz illustrates this with an example: - 73 -Suppose I imagine myself getting up out of my chair and going over to the window. What I really picture to myself is not a series of specific steps - one, two, three - from chair to window. No, the picture that I have in mind is a picture of a completed act of having gone over to the window. To this might - be raised the objection that this i s an i l l u s i o n and that i f we picture our trip to the window with proper attentiveness we would count the steps and picture them. But to this objection there i s a ready answer. If we do concentrate on each step or on each stretching of the leg, i t w i l l then turn out that what we are picturing' i s in each case a completed act: the act of having taken step one, the act of having taken step two, and so on. And the same w i l l hold true of the parts of these steps in case we carry our analytic inclinations any further. (1967:60) With this example Schutz is able to replace Weber's vague notion of the "orientation of an action" with the finding that "the meaning of any action is i t s corresponding projected act" (1967:61). Bringing about the projected act i s the in-order-to motive of the a c t i o n . A question about the meaning or motive of an action is thus answered in terms of the state of affairs to be realized by the action. For example, "Why did you open your umbrella?" "So I wouldn't get wet!" Project and motive are one: not getting wet. We might say that "motive" is the linguistic expression of the lived project. Thus in our language games about action, motives stand as the meaning of action. For the actor, in recovering the meaning of his/her own action, such as closing the window, the project of the action becomes thematic. As given thematically to the actor through reflection on his/her own experience of the action, neither the action nor the "purely physical behavior" is given thematically. A l l the multiple steps, and a l l the bodily movements that are performed and lived through by the actor, coalesce and become invisible in the thematically recovered end state - 74 -of affairs intended and realized by those steps and movements. In Husserl's terminology (1962:309-11) the polythetic acts of once-lived-through experience form a synthesis of a higher order that is grasped in reflection monothetically. This is not to say that those steps can not be recovered. Indeed they can. Polythetic acts of embodied consciousness are not recovered or relevant, though, when one seeks the meaning of one's own action. They merely contribute to the realization of the action's project, which i s the meaning of the action. Based upon the phenomenological analysis of the essential features of "subjectively meaningful action," i t now should be clear that actors do not depend on, or even reflect on, their behavior or i t s context i n order to decide the meaning of their action. For actors, the meaning of (their own) immediate action i s not indexical. Under-standing the meaning of their own action does not'involve reflecting on their own '.'behavior." Needless to say, i t also does not involve reflecting on "the context" of their "behavior." During the action and immediately following i t , the project, the "meaning" is in view to the actor prospectively, and then in retention (cf. Husserl, 1964:52-70). The concept of indexicality, then, has no application to being-performed-actions arid just-completed-acts, for actors. Thus i t cannot be claimed that a l l action is indexical, unless we add the rider "for observers." This opens the possibility of a limitedtisociology that would not face the problem of the indexicality of action. Such a sociology would be a first-person enterprise, a "refilexive sociology." It would be limited,showever, to the study of the analyst's own immediate action. - 75 -As this possibility pertains to the type of enterprise under consideration here, i t warrants the use of a particular method. Rather than analyze someone else's verbalized "figuring outj" which would be indexical, the analyst could analyze his/her own "figuring out," which would not be indexical. For such an analysis to successfully avoid indexicality i t would have to commence on completion of the action of "figuring out." If i t began later, or i f the course of action had been interrupted by other a c t i v i t i e s , indexicality could be encountered. In that my f i r s t person analysis did begin somewhat after my acts of figuring out were completed, and in that those acts were stretched over many weeks, the character and problem of indexicality must be pursued further. The question must be addressed of whether a f i r s t person analysis would be preferable to a third person analysis, i n spite of the fact that the former could not meet the ideal of analyzing non-indexical action. Having established the principled preferability of a first-person approach, attention shall be given to that approach as I actually used i t . (b) We have traced through the concept of indexicality from i t s origins i n Bar-Hillel's work, to the confusion over "meaning," to Garfinkel's expansion of the concept on formal grounds, to the intentional structure of acting, to the finding that the concept i s not omnirelevant. The truth of myrheresy is limited, though, as the reader undoubtedly noted. The truth i s limited to "immediate action:" being-performed-action and just-performed-acts. This suggests that the case i s different for actions given in what Husserl (1964) calls secondary remembrance or reproduction. For acts that are returned to via memory, after attention has been directed elsewhere, indexicality may enter in the picture. Note that indexicality - 76 -is essentially present for the observer of any action, but essentially absent for the performer of an immediate action. For the performer of an action, when that action i s only given in secondary remembrance, indexicality is only contingently present. This i s to say that even in the case of "reproduced acts" indexicality may not be present. Indeed I suspect that i t i s rarely present in the empirical majority of such cases. (1) How can indexicality be present in the case of actors' understanding the meaning of their own remembered/reproduced acts? For indexicality to be present we would have to find the triadic structure of sign-referent-context, or behavior-action-context, where identification of the referent or the action depends on identifying and understanding the context. This situation would not be present when the actor spontaneously remembers/reproduces one of his/her own acts. The situation would be present whenever lan*artifact of some action i s used as a sign to recover the meaning of the action that produced that art i f a c t . For example, consider the situation of a child looking through the family photographs. Intrigued by one photograph the child asks her mother, "What were you doing in this picture, mom?" In this situation the mother's third-person-observable behavior i s available to her qua observer as a sign for her past action. She must identify the context in order to identify her action. Her own action is indexical to her. This would also be the case i f the child found, e.g., a story the mother had written, a videotape or audiotape that the mother had of herself. Any objectification of a past action could serve as a sign for that action. We would then have the presence of indexicality, - 77 -where we would not have had i t i f the photograph had just been taken, the story just written, the tapes just made. While given in primary remembrance (retention), there Is no need to "refresh" one's memory by examining the objectifications of the just-performed-acts, much less their context. The meaning i s already given inpretention, i t need not be sought out. (2) A first-person analysis of action, then, could encounter indexicality i f i t involved the use of documents produced by the analyst and used to analyze remembered actions. Here enters my second heresy: The analyst's epistemic claims about the meaning of his/her own actions have the possibility of surviving indexicality. In order to comprehend why this i s the case consider why indexicality should cause sociologists to lose sleep. They can never be sure, in principle, that they have ascertained the actual motive for any act. A change in the observer's scheme of interpretation, resulting from new information about the actor or scene of action, can alter the sense of what action was actually performed (cf. Wieder, 1974). Even i f the actor gives an account of his/her motives there is no guarantee that the actor was te l l i n g the truth or that the observer understood him/her. Meaning i s forever elusive, in principle, for the observer. L i t e r a l description of action i s not possible (cf. Wilson, 1970). How is i t , then, that a first-person analysis of remembered acts has the possibility of surviving these troubles? The answer l i e s in the structure of sense making. In Schutz' terms, our concern here is with the actor's explication of the meaning of his/her own acts. Schutz understands this as "self-explication, i.e., as the ordering of a lived - 78 -experience within the total configuration of experience;" He goes on to say This ordering i s accomplished in a synthesis of recognition ((cf. Husserl, 1969:160)). The synthesis of recognition takes the lived experience that is to be classified, refers i t back to the schemes on hand, and fixes i t s specific essence. The lived experience is thus brought back to an objectification already on hand within the store of experience and identified with this objectification (1967:83). In other terms, the analyst has the possibility of "getting i t right" with regard to the meaning of remembered acts because of an essential reflexivity. The experiences which form the analyst's stock of knowledge, his/her interpretive schemes, include- the very experience to be recovered. That recovery is effected through the recognition of the behavioral artifact that sets up the problem of indexicality. To recognize a particular ar t i f a c t , say a written document, is to recognize, i f only dimly, the act that produced i t . This is so because the artifact was produced under the auspices of a project that gave i t meaning. For the actor, as we saw in the discussion of non-indexical action, his/her behavior and action are not given separately in experience. For the actor, to recognize the artifact i s to recognize i t within the context of the project (cf. Schutz, 1967:86-91) that motivated i t s production. Artifact and coatext are co-given in recognition. Otherwise, the artifact i s only recognized as a type, and not remembered as "mine." The observer of an artifact i s hardly in the same position. For him/her there i s no possibility of a synthesis of recognition. The artifact can only be referred to the observer's stock of knowledge so as to classify i t as to type, e.g., "study notes." As a type i t i s only more or less - 79 -familiar, but only familiar typically and not uniquely. The a r t i f a c t was never this one for the observer. It can be grasped typically and course-of-action types". (cf. Schutz, 1962:25) can be constructed from i t to yield typical motives. The choice between possible motives, though, has only an objective probability of success. Objective probability, however, is a category of interpretation (Schutz, 1967:237). We are back at the problem of other minds, of the indexicality of action. (3) While the possibility of a synthesis of recognition does exist for the actor-analyst, but does not exist for the observer, there are other problems for the actor-analyst, ones not faced by observers-. These are problems of the c l a r i t y and veridicality of memory. An analyst may recognize an artifact, but only dimly- r e c a l l the overall project that motivated i t s production. Obviously an attempt at describing the action would face d i f f i c u l t i e s , not the least of which would be where to begin. It would be best to seek out other specimens for analysis, ones remembered more f u l l y and clearly. As to the veridicality of memory, the analyst is in an interesting situation. As the analyst i s authoritative with regard to the meaning of his/her own acts, there i s no one who can contradict the analyst. There i s no criterion for veridicality outside of the experience of remembering, whose very veridicality i s the issue. This is not an unusual situation. In some sense we are always with our backs against the wall. The veridicality of any experience of some phenomenon always depends on a possible verdical experience of that phenomenon. Yet, there's no guarantee from within that possible c r i t e r i a l experience that that experience i t s e l f i s veridical (cf. Pollner, 1972). Or rather, - 80 -there i s a guarantee which is rarely given c r i t e r i a l status. That guarantee is coherence.and congruence, i.e., that the state of affairs as experienced makes sense. As applied to propositions, this c r i t e r i a for truth, (cf. Rescher, 1973) requires that propositions be consistent with existing bodies of knowledge. In terms of experience, including memory, something i s "true," for particular purposes, i f i t is coherent "in i t s e l f " and congruent with our stock of knowledge. There i s not space here to develop this thesis, but a few points can be made. By coherent "in i t s e l f " I am making reference to the essential structure of objects as they are given to consciousness. From the classic work of Aron Gurwitsch (1964) we learn that consciousness confronts a theme-field-margin structure for whatever object (in the wide sense) that i t encounters. The coherence of the object of consciousness is to be found in the reflexive relation between theme and f i e l d ("part" and "whole"), considered within what Gurwitsch calls "orders of existence." Each order of existence has a mode of appearance appropriate for i t s objects. The coherence of the object as given is correlative to the cognitive sytle through which i t is given. Where Gurwitsch is concerned with the internal coherence of objects, Schutz (1962:207-59) i s concerned with the congruency of those objects with the cognitive styles which intend them. This i s to say that the second dimension of lived truth is that the character of the object of consciousness, as i t i s given and revealed, must be congruent with the "expectations" (anticipations and pretentions) governed by the cognitive style through which i t is given and revealed. Only i f the object i s coherent and congruent can the actor decide what an object i s . - 81 -This coherence-congruence theory of lived truth is not completely worked out. Enough has been done to suggest, however, that in the mode of secondary remembrance veridicality i s an issue of the coherence of the remembered object and i t s congruency with the stock of experience and knowledge. In that no one else has direct access to the meaning of an act, the analyst, and a l l members, depend upon the coherence-congruence of the remembered act to decide the veri d i c a l i t y of memory. This i s not to say that memory is i n f a l l i b l e . Rather i t i s to say that the determination that i t i s or was f a l l i b l e turns upon the experience of incoherence or incongruence. (4) This would seem to re-introduce indexicality. If the coherence or congruence of the remembered act is upset, the analyst could be facing indexicality. A change in interpretive scheme, required perhaps by newly recovered particulars of the remembered setting, could alter the sense of what action had actually been performed. The artifact would no longer be the "this one" of a few moments ago. How, then, could a f i r s t person analysis survive indexicality? Admittedly, the f a l l i b i l i t y of memory as a possibility, prevents a f i r s t person analysis of remembered acts from emerging victorious in i t s battle with indexicality. It can survive, though. Its survival i s accomplished through i t s authority, even though i t s authority i s flawed by f a l l i b l e memory. When a third person analysis i s dealt a blow by indexicality, and forced to shift i t s stance i t cannot move to firmer ground. This possibility i s peculiarly open to a f i r s t person analysis. A piece of newly remembered information can jar the coherency of a remembered state of aff a i r s . As long as that incoherence is present - 82 -indexicality is victorious. Should a reconfiguration occur, however, and coherence be achieved again, the analysis can survive. It can do so on the authority of the analyst: The analyst i s the only one who can decide the veridicality of his/her memory of the meaning of his/her own action. What i s essential to.see here i s that "the meaning" of an action is an idealization. As Schutz puts i t ...the meaning of a lived experience undergoes modifications depending on the particular kind of attention the Ego gives to the lived experience. This also implies that the meaning of a lived experience i s different depending on the moment  which the Ego is observing i t . For instance, i t s meaning i s different depending upon the temporal  distance from which i t i s remembered and looked back upon. (1967:73-4) This is not to say that the "Ego" is free to make up the meaning of i t s lived experience. Rather, within secondary remembrance, as a form of reflection, the lived experience i s viewed under the relevancies of the present situation of reflection. The pragmatic relevancies of the Ego (the actor) decide the way in which past actions are of interest. The way they are of interest i s the way they mean. What they can mean is in some sense circumscribed by what they meant when they were performed and entered the actor's stock of experience and knowledge. In that i t i s this stock of knowledge that i s drawn upon to interpret the very past actions that i t includes, the meaning of an action-as-remembered i s not a matter of free invention. This i s so, as well, by virtue of the idealization of "the meaning" of an action, which i s a sanctionable idealization in members' sense making. - 83 -The relevance of this digression is that the meaning of an action does not reside fixed in some Grand Accountant's log book. "The meaning" is an idealization that i s presupposed as a yardstick for measuring subsequent interpretations. Yet in every subsequent s e l f -interpretation of a remembered act, the yardstick is at work in unknown ways constituting the very thing that i s supposed to be measured against i t . Furthermore, the yardstick i t s e l f i s only available memorially. In fact i t i s the yardstick, the meaning of an actual action, that the actor seeks to remember. In that "the meaning of the action" is always correlative to the temporal point and point of view of secondary remembrance, perhaps we should do away with the idealization of "the meaning of the action." Instead, we ought to recognize that the meaning of the action for the actor is what makes sense, i . e . ^ i s coherent and congruent, on the occasion that i i t makes that particular sense. In light of this realization i t becomes i n t e l l i g i b l e to claim that i f an actor i s certain about the meaning of his/her action, at that point in time the actor cannot be mistaken. Disruptions of coherence and congruency, and therefore, of certainty, reveal to the actor that he/she was mistaken, but not that he/she i s mistaken. On the other hand, from the accounts of the actor's actions by observers, the actor can know, and t e l l them, that they are mistaken. A l l this i s tot;say that the unique epistemic position of the actor allows him/her to shift to firmer ground when dealt a blow by indexicality. Throughout the battle, the actor-analyst retains his/her authority over the meaning of his/her own actions.^ The observer never had this authority and thus can not survive the fight with indexicality. - 84 -Through syntheses of recognition which are incorrigible while they make sense, the actor-analyst can survive indexicality. (c) Through a circuitous route we have established the peculiar way in which a f i r s t person analysis of remembered acts can survive indexicality. Throughout this argument and the prior one the focus has been on the phenomenon of action. This has been necessary for two reasons. Garfinkel expanded the domain of indexicality to include action, and contingent practices can be indexical in that they are embedded within and are dependent upon action. Perhaps now more can be said about this second reason. Contingent practices, as they are conceived here, are properties of sense making which receive their sense from the projects of action which motivate them. Insofar as i t makes sense to speak of people as interpreting, accounting, describing, explaining and figuring out, i t is i n t e l l i g i b l e , indeed i t is necessary, to conceive them as acting, i.e., as having projects of action that involve or require specific types of sense making as constituent features of those actions. As opposed to essential features and practices, their sense is essentially dependent upon the actions in which they are embedded. In view of this essential dependency, the sense of a contingent practice turns on the meaning of i t s parent action. The concern for non-indexical action and action that can survive indexicality, thus becomes a concern within EM for non-indexical contingent practices and contingent practices that can survive indexicality. 4) Having l a i d i t s epistemological foundation, we are in a position to formulate the preferable alternative to the talking-out-loud procedure. - 85 -That alternative can be characterized by these instructions: Read enough of the literature in ordinary language philosophy to get a (preferably strong) sense of what practitioners understand to be the task of figuring out the grammar of a concept. Then choose a concept and begin figuring i t out. Commit your thoughts to writing when possible. Carry the course of figuring out through to. completion, writing up a paper on the grammar of the concept. Then get to work on your figuring out, analyzing whatever practices and features of sense making that can be recovered adequately through retention and reproduction. Through this method the analyst w i l l have generated a plentitude of data through his/her own competence as a member and as a neophyte philosopher. It may be hard to see how such a "loose" method could be preferable to the talking-out-loud procedure, even i f i t can "survive" indexicality. Perhaps some c l a r i f i c a t i o n w i l l help. The important thing i s to note what is of EM interest. (a) A whole host of apparently interesting and troublesome features are not of EM interest or concern. We would not be interested in a l l the traditional problems and methodological issues that arise from the traditional problem of order problematic. Thus we would not be concerned in explaining how the analyst's biography, his/her sense making, or his/her community's normative order produced the notes he/she took or the paper that was written. The notes and paper are not of analytic interest to the enterprise of explicating "figuring out" as sense making. If one had an interest in accounting, then they would become of possible EM interest. For my enterprise, however, the notes and paper, and tape recordings as well, are of possible interest only methodologically as mnemonic devices that can serve to remind the analyst of his/her work of figuring out. - 86 -It i s not a problem that, as a neophyte philosopher, the EM analyst might do a poor job of figuring out. The concern is not to explicate ordinary language philosophy, for which a "representative sample" might be required. The concern i s rather with figuring out. Ordinary language philosophy is merely the theater for our (serious) play. As long as the method produces a recoverable and common sense recognizable instance of figuring out, i t matters not whether the instance, the play, i s good or bad, rich or poor, elegant or ugly. It w i l l display i t s features and practices nonetheless. (b) If we move within EM and recognize i t s interest, then the do-it-yourself method has an important advantage over the talking-out-loud procedure. That advantage involves, as might be expected, the problem of indexicality. It also involves, perhaps more significantly, a problem of recognition. Consider one problem (or advantage) faced by EM but not by conventional sociology. The universe of actions the latter encounters is always already partly, i f not largely, known in i t s typicality. If an action i s not recognizable by i t s technical term, e.g., executing a flam, i t usually i s recognizable in common sense terms, e.g., hitting a drum with two sticks almost at the same time. To invoke the common sense term is to identify the action in terms of a commonly known type of action. Knowing the language, how to use i t and when, the sociologist has typified foreknowledge of the scenes he/she w i l l l i k e l y witness in any setting. Such is not the case for ethnomethodologists. They do have a body of literature that gives them some foreknowledge, especially in - 87 -terms of "invariant" practices. Also, scattered through other bodies of literature, like hermeneutics, phenomenology, existentialism and literary criticism, sense making practices are sometimes discussed, though generally not from an EM perspective. The ethnomethodologist 1s problem (or advantage), though, i s that his/her phenomena are not pre-constituted and classified within natural language. Not that they could not become part of the coin of the realm, but they simply have not been thematized and given currency by members. Of course natural language i s the resource for thematizing the phenomena, but i t does not furnish EM with a shopping l i s t of things to look for. The l i s t remains to be made up, from and through the close scrutiny of actual actions. It is in this sense that Garfinkel (1967:viii) can say that "our study tasks cannot be accomplished by free invention, constructive analytic theorizing, mock-ups, or book reviews." To accomplish our study tasks we must begin from actual examples. This is where the talkin'-out-loud procedure is at a disadvantage. When our tasks include the retrieval of contingent practices, actual examples consist in performed actions whose meanings are known. To locate an apparent contingent practice, but not to be sure of the meaning of i t s parent taction, i s to locate a practice that can be identified only equivocally. Since the sense of the practice depends upon the project of the action, the practice i s as indexical as the action. In that a third person analysis cannot guarantee i t s findings against indexicality, there can be no guarantee that i t begins from actual examples of itsiintended phenomenon. Or, rather, a third person analysis, in principle, can achieve no certainty regarding what - 88 -i t s examples are examples of. In that EM's phenomena are not thematized in daily l i f e and sedimented in natural language, the third person analyst has limited resources to provisionally decide the sense and identity of members' contingent practices. A f i r s t person analysis, insofar as i t can avoid or survive indexicality, i s the only approach that i n i t i a l l y can decide the identity of the contingent practices. This is so because only a f i r s t person analysis has direct access to the identity of the acts that embed contingent practices. After contingent practices have been identified and described from a first-person perspective, then perhaps they would be available for third person study. That i s , only after the sense and identity of members' contingent practices has been established " f i r s t hand" can observers know what to look for. Otherwise, observers must infer and ascribe contingent practices to members without knowing whether such practices actually exist. The talking-out-loud procedure, after a l l , only produces an "outside opinion" on the features and practices of figuring out. In view of the findings presented in the analysis (below), i t is highly questionable that a third person perspective affords any clear view of the phenomena. A clear view can be gotten only i f you do-it-yourself. An informed view can be gotten through reading an account of the do-it-yourself method. It would seem that one should not try to deliver"an outside opinion u n t i l one has an informed view. (c) One predictable response to the do-it-yourself alternative is that i t does not look s c i e n t i f i c . By that i t is meant that there are no b u i l t - i n systematic controls to insure objectivity. This - 89 -response takes q u i t e s e r i o u s l y the f a l l i b i l i t y of memory as a problem. In i t s b e h a v i d r i s t v e r s i o n t h i s response decr ies the absence of sense data a v a i l a b l e to anyone (who b e l i e v e s i n the exis tence of "sense d a t a " ) . The e m p i r i c i s t response, based on Descar tes ' d i s t i n c t i o n between res  cogitans and res extensa as taken over i n the work of Locke, n a t u r a l i z e s consciousness and claims that mind must be reduced to matter i n order to be s t u d i e d r i g o r o u s l y and o b j e c t i v e l y . The e m p i r i c i s t c l a i m , then, i s that the d o - i t - y o u r s e l f a l t e r n a t i v e i s a piece of untrustworthy i n t r o s p e c t i o n i s m i n the shadowy recesses of the e s s e n t i a l l y p r i v a t e . ^ On t h i s account, the d o - i t - y o u r s e l f a l t e r n a t i v e seems to r e q u i r e that we j u s t take the a n a l y s t ' s f i n d i n g s on t r u s t , without hope or concern f o r i n t e r s u b j e c t i v e v e r i f l a b i l i t y . The e n t e r p r i s e that i s r e f l e x i v e l y c h a r a c t e r i z e d by t h i s response i s unrecognizable as the v e r s i o n of EM set out i n t h i s monograph. That i s , EM has a concern f o r " o b j e c t i v i t y " and (some v e r s i o n of ) i n t e r s u b j e c t i v e " v e r i f l a b i l i t y . " In that the l a t t e r i s the p r i n c i p l e guarantee of the former, our focus here w i l l be on v e r i f i a b i l i t y . (1) The p o s i t i v i s t v e r s i o n of v e r i f i a b i l i t y ( c f . A y e r , 1936) i s not EM's v e r s i o n , at l e a s t as EM has been conceived and reformed here . The p o s i t i v i s t v e r s i o n r e q u i r e s that a l l statements must be v e r i f i a b l e by experience . Experience i s understood i n a non-ordinary way, as s e n s e - p e r c e p t i o n . The e m p i r i c a l r e f e r e n t s of statements must be sense p e r c e i v a b l e . Statements about the world ( synthet ic s tatements) , i n Carnap's v e r s i o n (1953) must be t r a n s l a t a b l e i n t o p h y s i c a l - t h i n g language. The guarantee of meaning, of v e r f i a b i l i t y and thus of t r u t h i s the exis tence of p h y s i c a l t h i n g s , understood as "sense d a t a . " - 90 -We do not have the space to repeat the trenchant critiques of the notion of "sense data" that can be found i n the literature of both phenomenology (Gurwitsch, 1964; Zaner, 1970b:55-60) and ordinary language philosophy (Austin, 1962a). Instead, let us remember the argument put forward in the previous chapter regarding natural language and the limits of technical use. What any scientist could mean, i n t e l l i g i b l y and sanctionably, by the use of an ordinary concept is circumscribed by the conventions of ordinary use. As applied to "s c i e n t i f i c philosophy," the argument allows Ayer et a l . to use the concept of experience to refer to the observation of things in the world. Talk about "sense-perception" appears at the boundary of sense, and "sense-data" goes beyond the bounds of sense (cf. Austin, 1962). Even i f we do not question these latter concepts, a problem arises as regards to what positivists and logical empiricists claim about their use of "experience." Bluntly, they claim that only sense-perception counts as (real) experience, presumably because i t is perception of the real (cf. Ayer, 1936; Carnap, 1953; Popper, 1958). Thus in one stroke the empiricists tried to rule and overrule language. That master stroke severed the empiricists' link to the very world they wished to study. It denied the very relationship they depend on for the rational accountability of their claims as being about our world. It i s this master stroke, taken f i r s t by Hume, that engendered the c r i s i s of human meaning for the sciences and their underlaborers (cf. Husserl, 1970b). (2) EM, having an interest in sense making as i t occurs within any and a l l forms of inquiry, cannot afford the empiricists' arrogance. - 91 -Whatever form of experience is involved in sense making, that form is of interest. Experience is whatever can count, sanctionably, as experience. Thus a concern with v e r i f i a b i l i t y can not be limited to claims reducible to sense data observation statements. Instead, a concern with v e r i f i a b i l i t y takes a form appropriate to the type of phenomena about which EM makes claim. If EM wishes to study sorcery and mathematics, then i t seeks to make claims which furnish co-subjective access to the relevant phenomena, in spite of the fact that neither sorcery nor mathematics as forms of inquiry are reducible to sense data observation statements. The same holds for the study of ordinary language philosophy as "figuring out grammar." Given the legitimate limits of the use of the concept of experience, how can one verify or confirm through experience claims that issue from the do-it-yourself approach? Would not such claims have to do with the private, unique idiosyncratic experiences of the individual actor-analyst? The latter would be true i f that was what was of EM interest, but i t i s not. The interest i s members' methods of sense making. "But how can these be found and known within one's own egological sphere?" asks the c r i t i c . The answer has two parts. The actor-analyst is a member (a master of natural language) thus his/her practices are part of the corpus of members' methods. There are no methods, in principle, that any member uses or can use that are not memb ers' me thod. Second, and most important for the issue of v e r i f i a b i l i t y , the analysis done on the do-it-yourself approach moves from a consider-ation of the features and practices of sense making as they actually - 92 -occurred i n the course of inquiry, to a consideration of how they could occur. The analysis moves from actual examples of those features and practices, to imaginatively conceived possible examples of them. If the features and practices remain invariant to a l l the possible variations of the actual and possible examples, then they are particularly invariant and possibly type-invariant, i.e., essential. If not, they are contingent. This same move i s then made in terms of the features and practices themselves. They are imaginatively varied i n their aspects u n t i l their properties can be assigned either an essential or contingent status. (3) In view of the importance of this method, perhaps more needs to be said about i t s operation. It begins from the position that "every fact can be thought of merely as exemplifying a pure po s s i b i l i t y " (Husserl, 1970a:71). To view an empirical datum in this manner requires a shift i n attention (Husserl, 1969:206) from the realm of actualities to the realm of p o s s i b i l i t i e s (cf. Husserl, 1962:180-84). The actual individual given in experience i s treated as an example of that generic type; i t is a guide to further possible examples of that type. In Husserl's words, a l l the examples ...belonging to the openly i n f i n i t e sphere - which includes the ( i n i t i a l ) example, as "optional" and freed of a l l i t s factualness - stand i n a relationship of synthetic interrelatedness and integral connectedness; more particularly, they stand in a continuous and a l l -inclusive synthesis of "coincidence i n conflict." But, precisely with this coinciding, what necessarily persists throughout this free and always-repeatable variation comes to the&fore: the invariant, the indissolubly identical i n a l l the different and ever-again different, the essence common to a l l , the universal essence by which a l l "imaginable" variants of the example, and a l l variants of any such variants, are restricted. This invariant i s the ontic essential form (a p r i o r i form), the eidos, corresponding to the example, in the place of - 93 -which any variant of the example could have served equally well. (1969:248) As opposed to what some have misunderstood Husserl (1962) as saying, this method does not secure "an absolute apodicity, an absolute security against deception" (Husserl, 1969:157). Instead, as Zaner has pointed out (1973a:37), "every epistemic claim, including the eidetic, i s  essentially subject to error, modification, denial, as well as  confirmation." (4) What are to be verified or confirmed from EM eidetic analysis, then, are not the unique, unrepeatable experiences of an empirical monad. The objects of verification, rather, are the essential or contingent status of features and practices of sense making, and the essential or contingent status of their properties. Confirmation thus does not consist in trying to repeat the actor-analyst's unique experience, which, by definition, i s impossible to do anyway. Instead, confirmation proceeds by setting up situations wherein the relevant practices and features can be encountered, either actually or in imagination, in the confirmer's own experience. This method of analysis is known as eidetic, or imaginative, or free-phantasy variation (cf. Husserl, 1969, 1970a, 1973; Zaner, 1973a, 1973b). In that Wilson's particular invariance criterion (1971:14) decides invariance in terms of a phenomenon's identity throughout shifts of substantive interpretation, he presupposes this method as the means of confirmation of a claim. The method as I have advocated i t here differs slightly from the phenomenological version. Husserl and Zaner claim that analysis can begin from any example, including a merely imagined example. With reference to my earlier argument about the - 94 -"problem" of EM's data, I strongly believe that analysis should begin from actual examples. Practices and features of sense making are not thematized elements of members' knowledge. They are not part of the (recognized) furniture of daily l i v i n g . EM cannot begin with imagined examples because i t does not know beforehand what to look for and what i t w i l l find. Therefore i t cannot imagine an example and begin from there. Instead, i t must begin from actual examples of sense making and explicate the hitherto unseen practices and features which constitute g the sense that i s made. (5) To return to the means of confirmation of EM claimsj one further point must be brought to the fore. This point holds for the confirmation of claims from both the do-it-yourself and talking-out-loud procedures. Confirmation can only be achieved through adopting and respecting the "EM attitude." This is the reflective attitude used in EM analysis. The attitude has been characterized a number of ways in the EM literature: as the occasioned corpus (Zimmerman and Pollner, 1970:98), as the ethnomethodological indifference (Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970:345), and as the ethnomethodological reduction (Heap and Roth, 1973:363-5). This method i s derived from, but i s not congruent with, Husserl's notions of epoche and reduction (1962, 1970b). As taken over and modified for use in EM i t involves analyzing accounts and interpre-tations "while abstaining from a l l judgments of their adequacy, value, importance, necessity, practicality, success, or consequentiality" (Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970:345). As used in the do-it-yourself approach, the method requires that the actor bracket his/her belief i n whatever he/she believed during - 95 -the course of figuring out. Instead, the focus is on the believed as believed, the judged as judged, the doubted as doubted. For example, i f , in the course of figuring out, some theorist's claim i s treated and believed as authoritative, then in the analysis the theorist's claim i s prefaced with "Take i t that...". The theorist's claim i s thereby made available to analysis not as something correct (or incorrect), but as something believed in by the actor during the course of sense making. As such i t becomes viewable as a constituent feature of that sense making rather than as an external warrant for i t . Thereby i t becomes phenomenal that an actor (the analyst) saw some theorist's claim as a warrant for his/her own project and claims. The EM attitude i s a method for rendering phenomenal the hitherto unnoticed, thereby making vi s i b l e i t s place and function in sense making. Unless the confinner understands, and adopts this attitude in testing EM claims, the phenomena of import w i l l remain prephenomenal, out of sight, out of reach. Only from within this attitude can eidetic variation be carried out and i t s claims tested. Otherwise the relevant phenomena w i l l not be grasped and varied. (6'> The claims that issue, then, from the do-it-yourself method presuppose and invite confirmation in experience. Experience, though, i s not (mis)understood in the reductionist sense of observation. Instead, experience i s meant as the reflective experience appropriate to the phenomena under study: the features and practices of figuring out the normative order of language use. These features and practices are only available through the EM: attitude. Claims about them can only be tested by the controlled reflection of the eidetic method. These methods may - 96 -seem like insurmountable obstacles. They are not. Instead, they are invaluable tools for recovering the mundanely invisible: sense-making. 5) The epistemological and methodological foundations have been l a i d for the study of non-indexical action. Besides having discussed a preferred research strategy, two analytic methods have been outlined: EM reduction and eidetic.variation;. In that i t i s in the nature of ideals usually to remain unrealized, i t i s incumbent on me to inform the reader of the ways in which my research differed i n i t s realization from the ideal do-it-yourself strategy. The do-it-yourself strategy i s the product of hindsight, as the best research strategies always are. My actual strategy differed from i t in one major way. The do-it-yourself procedure requires that the analyst begin with an interest in the phenomena of sense making as evidenced in the activities of figuring out the grammar:of a concept. This interest leads to the adoption of the do-it-yourself procedure and the subsequent generation of a concept's grammar, which then becomes the focus of analytic attention. My actual strategy worked somewhat differently. It might be characterized as a having-done-it-myself procedure. As part of another research project I had read enough of the literature i n ordinary language philosophy to get a sense of what practitioners understand to be the task of figuring out the grammar of a concept. I then generated the grammar of the concept of j u s t i f i c a t i o n . That grammar was then used to warrant an interpretive claim that the author of a speech was "doing j u s t i f i c a t i o n " in and through that speech (cf. Heap, 1974c and chapter six). In looking through the extensive - 97 -notes taken during the course of figuring out the grammar, I saw the possibility of analyzing the sense making practices I had used. Using the methods of EM reduction and eidetic variation I undertook the analysis which appears below (see Part III). My actual strategy, then, consisted in a different order of steps than presumed in the do-it-yourself method. I had already generated the grammar of a concept when I developed an interest in explicating the sense making involved. I did not have to read literature i n ordinary language philosophy, take copious notes, or write a paper on the grammar of a concept, for I had already read some of the literature, taken copious notes, and written a paper. In one important way my divergence from the later-formulated ideal was rather advantageous. From previous experience I know that i t can be d i f f i c u l t to deliberately engage in a course of sense making. The d i f f i c u l t y i s one of discipline. My unobserved observer, what Husserl calls the transcendental ego (1970a), sometimes interrupts sense making, forcing attention to analytically interesting features of just-past sense making. This problem was not faced carrying out my actual strategy because at the time I generated the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n , I had no particular analytic interest in the work of figuring out grammar. This advantage seems a disadvantage with regard to the task of memorially recovering the features and practices of figuring out. At least with the ideal strategy, the nagging intention of analyzing the very thing one is doing would seem to Improve the chances of remembering what one did. This i s a legitimate point. An advantage of - 98 -the ideal strategy, then, would be that more practices and features would be recovered and analyzed. Whether the practices and features necessarily would be remembered any more exactly and clearly i s actually not a l l that obvious. It depends upon the analyst's "power of memory." I was quite surprised at the amount of detail that could be memorially recovered about sense making, months after that sense making had transpired. As would be expected, notes were quite helpful as mnemonic devices. In addition, I had a few tape recordings to refer to, that had been made during the course of sense making. They consisted in thinking-out-loud sessions, a method of getting out thoughts that come too fast or are too questionable to take the time to write down. Once spoken, the thoughts were written down i f they were worth remembering. On the whole, the issue of memory power i s an issue of training, as a multitude of how-to-improve-your memory books agree. Seemingly, a rather important part of that training i s the practice of keeping an intellectual journal. C. Wright Mills (1959) advocated this practice, and the example of my teachers no doubt influenced me to follow his advice. Notes taken during the course of figuring out were written in a journal style, with myself as audience. And many entries in my journals have the character of the analysis presented below, in that those entries consist in reflective analyses of first-hand experience of the world.. Aside from these advantages and disadvantages, the differences between the do-it-yourself and the having-done-it-myself research strategies seem to be of minimal importance. They both provide access to the phenomena of figuring out grammar. They both share the peculiar pos s i b i l i t y of surviving indexicality, and therefore of beginning from actual examples - 99 -They both furnish circumstances appropriate to EM's methods. And they both claim the intersubjective v e r i f i a b i l i t y of their findings. Perhaps most significantly, both strategies force us to con-front ourselves, and thus to recognize our incredibly deep rootedness i n membership. This in i t s e l f i s a f i r s t step in resolving the singular c r i s i s of western sociology (Gouldner, 1970) and western science (Husserl, 1970b). - 100 -FOOTNOTES 1. Outside of s c i e n t i f i c discourse, wherein semantic c l a r i t y i s a sanctionable rationality (cf. Garfinkel, 1967:269-70), i t is not at a l l obvious that members only mean what grammar allows them to mean. That i s , while grammaticality and i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y are sanctionable concerns within s c i e n t i f i c discourse, in daily l i f e I have the strong sense that grammaticality i s raised as an issue only i f i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y i s absent and i f there is accountable reason for someone to be chagrined over i t s absence. This i s also to say that there i s a much more creative use of "context" in daily l i f e governed under the pragmatic attitude. In that members are interested in what Is meant rather than what anyone could and should mean, grammaticality appears as a relaxed norm of conduct. Thus in daily l i f e we are hearer to the situation where "anything can mean (almost) anything". 2. Bar-Hillel mentions "meaning" (1954:360) once, which he understands as "pragmatic function". > In the case of "It's raining" the pragmatic function might be "to draw attention to certain meteorological conditions in the space-time neighborhoods of their producers (or in certain other specifiable neighborhoods)" (1954:360). This sense of meaning i s closest to Wittgenstein's famous, but loose, notion of meaning as use. It i s clear, however, that Bar-Hillel does not understand indexicality to be (also) a problem of meaning (pragmatic function). Were this so, he would not, for example, have made this claim: '"Close the door!' would be an indexical, *A to close the door d^ at t^l' a non-indexical command" (1954:365). The non-index-i c a l form of the command certainly does not resolve any issues of the pragmatic function of the command, e.g., whether the speaker intended to amuse the hearer with a witty remark, or to arouse the hearer with a sexual pass. 3. In terms of this view of the formal structure of indexicality, I would not want to claim that indexicality has the property of a gestalt "part-whole" interdependence. Wilson (1970:68), however, does make this claim. It seems to me, though, that part-whole interdependence should be understood as an instance of the phenomenon of reflexivity (cf. Shearing, 1973; Gurwitsch, 1964; Wieder, 1974). 4. Ordinary language philosophers, such as Ryle (1949) and perhaps Wittgenstein (1958) would argue that i t i s a mistake to assume that "mind" is in the "equation of sense making" in.the f i r s t place. From a phenomenological standpoint mind should not be treated as an entity in i t s e l f , and thus is not an independent element in sense making; For the purposes of this argument, however, I have formulated the problem of other minds in the traditional fashion. I have done so because i t i s this formulation which captures traditional sociologi-cal thinking on the subject (cf. Weber, 1968). It is this formu-lation which I believe l i e s behind the notion of indexicality as a behavior-action problem. That we cannot know an Other's mind Vis why we can never be sure of his/her.action,^i.e., the meaning of his/her - 101 -behavior. My concern i s to show how the possibility of non-indexical action can arise from within and out of the traditional formulation of the other minds problem;; If the problem was reformulated from a linguistic or phenomenological standpoint, the claim could be made s t i l l that an actor knows his/her own intentions, or that conscious-ness is reflexively aware of i t s e l f (as intending some object). 5; Schutz discusses another type of motive, a because-motive. This is an experience in the past which motivates the project. The because motive w i l l not concern us here because the meaning of an action i s not that which motivates the project (the because motive). Rather the meaning of an action is that (project) which motivates the action (the in-order-to motive). 6. A caveat must be repeated here: what any actor-analyst could mean, accountably, sanctionably, in and by any action i s somewhat limited by the conventions of language use (cf. Wittgenstein, 1958; Winch, 1958). Another formulation of this caveat i s to say that I am tentatively accepting what Mundle (1970:38) calls the By-Others version of the v e r i f i a b i l i t y principle. Mundle claims that Wittgenstein implies this version in his later work (1958:117, 153, 206). It involves claiming that what anyone could mean by anything depends upon what others .could understand him/her as meaning. My acceptance of this version is only tentative for i t seems to me, on phenomenological grounds, that i t must be combined with some form of a By-Me version, thus becoming a relative of Ryle's By-Someone version (1971a:126). 7. This position is similar i n a few respects to Gilbert Ryle's ordinary language critique of "self knowledge" (1949:148-89). In that Ryle i s sometimes touted as the ordinary language philosophy expert on phenomenology - based on some (less than sterling) book reviews done in late 1920's (1971b, and see Ryle, 1970) - his mistakes require much more attention than can be given here. Briefly, Ryle argues that the doctrine of Privileged Access to one's own 'inner' doings rests on two presumptions: "(1) that a mind cannot help being constantly aware of a l l the supposed occupants of i t s private stage, and (2) that i t can also deliberately scrutinize by a species of non-sensuous perception at least some of i t s own states and operations" (1949:148). It should be noted that introspection as Ryle under-stands i t , is not phenomenological reflection, nor was he e x p l i c i t l y addressing phenomenology in his remarks. Nonetheless, i t is worth noting that, while Ryle c r i t i c i z e s introspection, he argues that retrospection is a "genuine process" (1949:159). Retrospection i s precisely a type of reflection, a type which can be made phenomeno-logical by bracketing the presumed existence of i t s object. The irony of Ryle's critique of reflexive consciousness (point 1) is that his alternative account and his adoption of retrospection both presuppose what has been thrown out. His alternative i s to note that by having and acting according to a plan (1949:169) persons - 102 -accomplish the ordered character of their lives and world. A phenom-enological analysis of this alternative reveals a shifting of the elements of the action from f i e l d to theme to f i e l d as the elements enter the action. This reveals the temporal structure of consciousness. This also reveals that for every element that i s given thematically in reflective consciousness, there i s a f i e l d of related and relevant aspects that are given in pre-reflective consciousness. Once this essential bi-level structure of consciousness i s recognized, the question arises with regards to many of Ryle's examples as to how some aspect of pre-reflective consciousness can be recovered as the object of retrospection. Given Ryle's one level version of consciousness, only previously reflected-on objects would be available to retrospection. That one could "catch oneself daydreaming" (1949:159) and "heed" "the muscular and skin sensation in the back of his neck" (1949:151) is unaccountable in terms of Ryle's alternative. Instead, they can be accounted for only by admitting the reflexivity of consciousness, even at the pre-reflective level. In Husserl's terms (1964:175), "Every act i s consciousness of something, but every act is also that of which we are conscious." Ryle even admits this possibility when he writes of an individual 'being alive to what he i s doing' (1949:169). But then he ignores i t in claiming that the difference i s only one of degree between a person being alive to what he/she i s doing, and that person being alive to what someone else is doing (1949:171). 8. This point is related to one made in the last chapter. There, in footnote eleven, i t was pointed out that the eidetic method becomes suspicious when applied to common sense types of objects. To pre-suppose that such objects as families, p o l i t i c a l parties, classes, leaders, etc. each have a common set of invariant features is to forget the socio-historical origins of those phenomena and concepts in daily discourse. Since conventional sociology's concepts and phenomena are co-extensive with members' concepts and phenomena (cf. Zimmerman and Pollner, 1970), the eidetic method Is inappropriate. In that EM's phenomena are not part of members' repertoire of ready topics, i t can concern i t s e l f with the essential, logical structure of i t s phenomena. It can do so without fear of contradiction by members' surveys of the area. EM has f i r s t claim to i t s phenomena. In staking i t s claim, however, i t must attend to and respect the ordinary limits of the concepts i t chooses. That i s , EM s t i l l runs the risk of conceptual confusion. Members can claim that the techni-cal use of a concept transgresses the limits of ordinary use. Sociology faces this problem as well, but EM does not face the conventional sociological problem of phenomenal confusion. While EM has f i r s t claim to i t s phenomena, conventional sociology i s unrepent-antly a claim-jumper. - 103 -PART II: BRIEFINGS - 104 -Chapter Four MEANING, FORCE AND GRAMMAR 1) This f i r s t of three briefings gives an account of concepts that are important in and to our journey. Controversies have surrounded each of the concepts, but our concern here w i l l be to outline the concepts and their inter-connections as they w i l l be encountered In the second briefing and in the journey. Insofar as possible and feasible we w i l l stay close to primary sources: Wittgenstein and Austin. 2) In the previous chapter, two notions of meaning were discussed, meaning-as-referent and meaning-as-motive. The f i r s t one i s the prize of correspondence theories of meaning, where the words in language are assumed to name objects, and the object so named i s the meaning of the word. This i s the theory that Wittgenstein sought to undermine in the opening para-graphs and throughout Philosophical Investigations. He called i t the Augustinian view of language because St. Augustine assumed that the mastery of natural language consisted in learning names of objects. In this version of language certain types of nouns are paradigmatic, nouns like car, house, road, pencil, apple. They correspond to an object. Wittgenstein takes this notion seriously and asks how language i s used, and how i t would have to be used, under this Augustinian notion. Now think of the following use of language: I send someone shopping. I give him a s l i p marked 'five red apples.' He takes the s l i p to the shopkeeper, who opens the drawer marked 'apples,' then he looks up the word 'red' i n a table and finds a colour sample opposite i t ; then, he says the series of cardinal numbers - I assume he knows them by heart - up to the word five... - But what i s the meaning of the word 'five'? - No such thing was in question here, only how the word 'five' i s used. (1958:2-3) - 105 -An alternative to meaning-as-referent thus arises: meaning-as-use. The latter notion of meaning i s developed by continuing'*, the consideration of the former. A primitive language i s conceived for communication' between a builder and his assistant., The language consists In these nouns: block, p i l l a r , slab, beam. Since a verbal definition of the words cannot be provided within this small language, definition must be made ostensively. This i s the method that logical empiricists depend on for establishing the meaning of words. Yet "for many words i n our language there do not seem to be ostensive definitions, e.g., for such words as 'one,1 'number,' 'not,' etc." (Wittgenstein, 1965:1). In the case of any language, including our small language, ostensive definition depends on context and training (1958i5j. With different training a block could be a slab. In a different context a block would be something you "throw," as in North American football. "So one might say: the ostensive definition explains the use - the meaning - of the word when the overall role of the word in language i s clear" (1958:14). The advantage of use over meaning (as-referent) i s that the former carries no connotation of an object corresponding to a word. The use of a word, phrase or sentence can only be understood in a context. "For a large class of cases - though not for a l l - in which we employ the word 'meaning' i t can be explained thus: the meaning of a word i s i t s use in the language" (1958:20). Thus, in another writing Wittgenstein admonishes us "Think of words as instruments characterized by their use" (1965:67). Like tools In a tool chest there is not one function that a l l words have in common. Speaking a language involves employing words having a multitude of uses. Wittgenstein l i s t e d some of them: "Giving orders, and - 106 -obeying them - ...Reporting an event - Forming and testing a hypothesis - ...Play acting - ...Guessing riddles - Making a joke, t e l l i n g i t -...Asking, thanking, cursing, greeting, praying" (1958:11-12). In and for these activities i t i s of no help to claim that the meaning of utterances is their referent, e.g., what i s the referent of "thank you"? Instead, i t i s argued that the use of the words decides their meaning, e.g., consider that and how "thank you" might be used in reporting an event, play-acting, making a joke and thanking. 3) John Austin found the metaphor of words as tools too imprecise. Once after reading over Wittgenstein's l i s t of some of the uses of language (1958:11-12) "Austin remarked that these things are a l l quite different, and can't just be lumped together l i k e that" (Pitcher, 1973:24). We might say that Austin cleared up and pared down Wittgenstein's notion of meaning and force, as given through locutionary and illocutionary acts. Illocutionary acts are ones "in which to say something may be to do something, or in saying something we do something" (Austin, 1962b:91). Locutionary acts also, but in a different sense, consist in saying some-thing. In their " f u l l normal use" they include "the utterance of certain noises, the utterance of certain words in a certain construction, and the utterance of them with a certain 'meaning' in the favourite philosoph-i c a l sense of that word, i.e., with a certain sense and with a certain reference" (1962b:94). In the case, then, of locutionary acts i t i s proper to ask for the meaning of the locution, precisely i n the sense argued against by Wittgenstein. On another level, though, To perform a locutionary act i s i n general, we may say, also - 107 -and eo ipso to perform an illocutionary act, as I propose to c a l l i t . To determine what illocutionary act i s so performed we must determine in what way we are using the locution: asking or answering a question, giving some information or an assurance or a warning, announcing a verdict or an intention, pronouncing sentence,... and the numerous l i k e . (1962b:98-9) The performance of an illocutionary act is the "performance of an act in saying something as opposed to the performance of an act of_ saying something" (1962b:99), i.e., a locutionary act. The doctrine of the different types of functions of language i s dubbed the "doctrine of 'illocutionary forces'" (1962b:99). Austin develops a number of fine points about illocutionary acts, regarding performative verbs,^ misfires, breaches, hitches, and uptake (1962b). These points are less important here than Austin's assertion that "the illocutionary act is a conventional act: an act done as conform-ing to a convention" (1962b:105). That i s , for an illocutionary act to achieve i t s force, i t s force must be recognizable. In Austin's scheme, recognition (uptake) i s made possible through shared conventions (can there be any other kind?). Those conventions establish that, in certain types of contexts, certain utterances count as certain illocutionary acts. Take "asking for assistance". In certain circumstances, as when one f a l l s into a vat of chocolate, the conventional way to achieve the force "asking for assistance" i s to y e l l "Help!" Yelling "Fire!" would not be conventional, w i l l not achieve that force, though in other circumstances i t might. Yelling "chocolate!" would not be conventional, in any circumstance, as the illocutionary act "asking for assistance." That i t would not, allows i t to be used in a comedy song about f a l l i n g - 108 -into a vat of chocolate. As sung by the Smothers Brothers comedy team, i t s unconventionality as "asking for assistance" i s what conventionally achieves i t s force as a joke of some type. "But," as Austin concedes, " i t i s d i f f i c u l t to say where conventions begin and end" (1962b:118). Austin sought c r i t e r i a to distinguish illocutionary from locutionary and, a third type, perlocutionary acts (acts having a certain consequence). A criterion that seemed to do the task was "'In saying x I was doing y' (or *I did y')" (1962b:122). Thus, in saying "help" (x) I was "asking for assistance" (y). This formulaiican be applied, in a sense, to locutionary acts. Using an old English grammar school joke, one can claim in saying "Iced ink" (x) I was uttering the noises "I stink". Or, in saying x I was making a mistake (y). What distinguishes the illocutionary from locutionary act, in terms of the formula, is that the former act " i s constituted not by-intention or by fact, essentially but by convention (which i s , of course, a fact)" (1962b:127). For our purposes i t i s important to note that Austin's formula does not include a specification of context. It would seem essential to include such a specification since illocutionary force i s dependent on conventions. Conventions receive their authority from the recognizable context in which they are employed. For anyone to have been "asking for assistance" i n saying "Help" their utterance would have required the accountable recognizability of the context as being one where they could have been asking for assistance. John Searle (1969:52) helps us out here with his version of Austin's formula "X counts as Y in context C." Following P i Eglin's example (1974) we shall formulate and use this formula as "In context z, x counts as y." - 109 -4) In turning to the concept of grammar we return to Wittgenstein, who i s always more suggestive and less clearly systematic than Austin. In that grammar i s understood usually as the syntax of language, Wittgenstein's use of the term might be considered metaphorical. For him, grammar is not simply the syntactic rules governing the construction of sentences. Instead i t i s the rules or conventions which constitute the meaning of a sign (Specht, 1969:146). I have the sense that these rules or conventions include, for Wittgenstein, the rules of syntax, in whatever ways syntax i s drawn upon to accomplish i the meaning of signs. Wittgenstein, however, does not employ a syntax -semantics distinction, essentially because he does not take a "reduc-tionist'Srwiew of speech. That i s , he does not analyze speech by f i r s t reducing i t to i t s structural components. Instead, he approaches i t at the level that i t is understood, as meaningful. We might say that he begins with the experienced "whole" that i s prior to the "parts" abstracted and idealized by linguists. In that the "whole" contains the "parts" (in some unspecified way) Wittgenstein's notion of grammar includes syntax and semantics. In that he i s concerned with meaning, he i s more concerned with "semantics." In that he understands meaning as use, he is concerned with the conventions of use that realize for members the contexted meaning of terms and utterances. Where the focus of Wittgenstein's earlier, logical p o s i t i v i s t 2 philosophy was logic, the focus of his later philosophy was grammar. The enterprise was to describe grammar (cf. Binkley, 1973:78-93). At times grammar appears as a type of logic, as described by Wittgenstein, but there are important differences between the two. Logic i s outside - 110 -daily l i f e , as a self-enclosed abstract system. Happenings in the world cannot overrule logic, though they can be rendered ironic by i t . Grammar, on the other hand, i s at the center of daily l i f e , as a communal structure with a natural history, being always in change. It is imparted to new generations in a whole l i f e - s t y l e , not in the form of a body of rules: applications of rules become clear only in the context of a practiced Lebensform since rules alone never reach any solid ground in the regress of rules to explain the use of rules^to explain the use of rules.... (Binkley, 1973:79) The rules of grammar, then, are rarely formulated. Formulating them, in some sense, is the work of a science, sometimes i t s e l f identified as "grammar." Wittgenstein's writings on grammar do not make our task easy. First of a l l , i t i s not clear how limited the concept of grammar i s . He writes of the grammar of words (1965:34, 1958:18n, 75, 92) of expressions (1965:20, 109; 1958:167) of phrases (1965:70) of propositions and sentences (1965:51, 53; 1958:112) and of states (1958:151). It would seem that grammars exist for whatever can be talked about. Grammar is co-extensive with language; the latter i s senseless without the former. There i s not only one type of grammar, however. Note this distinction. 664. In the use of words one might distinguish 'surface grammar' from 'depth grammar.' What immediately impresses i t s e l f upon us about the use of a word is the way i t is used in the construction of the sentence, the part of i t s use - one might say - that can be taken in by the ear. - And now compare the depth grammar, say of the word 'to mean', with what i t s surface grammar would lead us to suspect. No wonder we find i t d i f f i c u l t to know our way about. (1958:168) - I l l -The f i r s t point to be made is that the distinction between surface and depth grammar owes nothing to the work of Chomsky or structural linguists. The origin of the distinction i s unclear, but the more Important task i s to attempt to understand i t within Wittgenstein's framework. Perhaps a further example would help i l l u s t r a t e the difference between surface and depth grammars. Take the two locutions, "Beverly played a game of chess" and "Beverly won a game of chess." The surface grammars (syntax?) suggests that "played" and "won" are similar. If we go deeper, though, we see that the former is an activity, while the latter i s a result. An activity and a result are two different types of phenomena, having different phenomeno-logical structures. In Wittgenstein's terms, they have different depth grammars. We might say that the philosophical problems arising around meaning arise from taking surface grammar too seriously. Wittgenstein, though, provides us no further direction on how we might distinguish between the two types of grammar so as to get below the surface. Regarding depth grammar, or what we simply shall c a l l grammar, two positions are taken in Wittgenstein's work regarding the relationship of language and experience. The f i r s t might be spoken of as a determinist position, where- language determines attleast the limits of experience. In this view "Grammar governs the possibility of i n t e l l i g i b l e experience, and therefore i t limits what the world could possibly turn out to contain" (Pitkin, 1972:122). This i s the Autonomy of Grammar position (Hacker, 1972), where grammar decides i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y . It i s conceived as an a p r i o r i ruler over facts. - 112 -Grammar may be compared to a method of measurement, A method of measurement is antecedent to statements of lengths. The absurdity of trying to justify grammar by reference to features of reality which are discribed by means of that grammar i s exemplified in trying to ju s t i f y our employment of the metric scale by reference to the fact that a kilometre really does contain 1,000 metres. (Hacker, 1972:163) Yet there is another position which appears to contradict, i f not modify the determinist position. We might speak of this second position as con-structionist. "In crude summary, what Wittgenstein argues i s that a con-cept i s determined not by an 'object' for which i t is a 'label' (since there may be none),but by the language games in which i t Is used; in that sense i t i s conventional" (Pitkin, 1972:122). In this view experience 3 can alter language. Here the genesis of grammar i s important to under^t standing the language-experience relation. Grammar i s seen as being altered, shaped, reconstructed not on i t s own i n i t i a t i v e , but in response to the human needs, a c t i v i t i e s , experiences of concrete socio-historical settings. How grammars actually change, though, is not explored or discussed by Wittgenstein. In some situations the determinist version seems j u s t i f i e d . For example, 650. We say a dog i s afraid his master w i l l beat him; but not, he i s afraid his master w i l l beat him tomorrow. Why not? (Wittgenstein, 1958:166) The answer would seem to involve the grammars of dog and afraid, which govern i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y , here. I n t e l l i g i b i l i t y and grammatical!ty are not always linked, however. Cicourel (1973:105) provides an interesting sentence, furnished from the work of Lakoff. - 113 -You think that Nixon and Humphrey are different people and that they w i l l campaign against each other and one of them-will lose, but I think that Nixon and Humphrey are the same person and that he w i l l win. This sentence is grammatical in neither a semantic nor syntactic sense. In terms of syntax Lakoff argues that "Nixon and Humphrey have different referential indices, and therefore cannot have the same index in the second half of the sentence" (Cicourel, 1973:105). In terms of Wittgenstein's notion of grammar, two persons cannot be one (though in Catholic language games, three persons are one, God). Yet the sentence i s i n t e l l i g i b l e , i f cynical. That i t i s recognizable, within the context of U.S. po l i t i c s of the late sixties, as cynical, i s evidence that i t i s i n t e l l i g i b l e . We might render i t s point as, " A l l politicians are alike." That some, or at least one, sentence i s i n t e l l i g i b l e , while not being grammatical, reveals that grammar does not govern with an iron hand. Where "semantic c l a r i t y " i s a sanctionable rationality (cf. Garfinkel, 1967:267), the i n t e l l i g i b l e must be (should be) grammatical. In everyday l i f e , guided by a pragmatic attitude (Schutz, 1962), i t i s situated i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y that counts - indeed, i t may not always count, even there (think of garbled dinner conversation met by knowing smiles). And within some groups the i n t e l l i g i b l e becomes grammatical, as i t is rendered con-ventional (think of street and bureaucratic slang). Here we see the source of the constructionist version of grammar, as pragmatic activity. This version depends on the needs of people to make sense together (cf. O'Neill 1974:16-17). The balance between the determinist and constructionist positions seems to be struck through the fact that grammar consists in conventions. - 114 -Conventions are public, one person cannot have a convention. Thus for any one person grammar governs "the 'possibilities' of phenomena" (Wittgenstein, 1958:42). Yet persons, through their concerted action, can alter grammar, as the grammar of (the concept of) woman is being altered today. As well, grammar can be altered in the course of other changes, e.g., the shift from a market to an advanced market economy results in a reformation of the grammar of (the concept of) woman (cf. Collins, 1971). Grammar consists in and of conventions. Some of those con-ventions are more important than others. They are c r i t e r i a , "they define the thing that they are c r i t e r i a of" (Pitkin, 1972:127). In some circum-stances though, c r i t e r i a are not needed, e.g., I dovnot need a criterion for my own pain, while my behavior may serve as a criterion of my pain for someone else (cf. Wittgenstein, 1958:88-104). Regarding c r i t e r i a and grammar Wittgenstein says that "to explain my criterion for another person's having a toothache i s to give a grammatical explanation about the word 'toothache'" (1965:24). In another passage he remarks, 572. Expectation i s , grammatically, a state; l i k e : being of an opinion, hoping for something, knowing something, being able to do something. But in order to understand the grammar of these states i t i s necessary to ask: "What counts as a criterion for anyone's being in such a state?" ... (1958:151) 5) If we wish to decide the grammar of a concept, such as j u s t i f i -cation, then one route would be to seek a criterion for the application of that concept. In that j u s t i f i c a t i o n i s an illocutionary act (Austin, 1970: 175-77), we have a ready-made criterion. As reformulated by Searle (and Eglin) we can take i t that in context z, x counts as jus t i f i c a t i o n . Our - 115 -task, then, becomes to generate the grammar of jus t i f i c a t i o n by figuring out the identity of "x" and "context z." That task furnishes data for EM analysis. It should be noted that the grammar of jus t i f i c a t i o n w i l l not be exhausted in what follows, nor is the following approach the only approach that one could take to figuring out grammar. In particular,we w i l l not be looking at the (surface?) grammar of how " j u s t i f i c a t i o n " as a term i s used. Just as we w i l l not learn much about insults by only looking at the use of the term insult - for "I insult you!" does not have the force of an insult - we w i l l not learn much about justifications by looking at how the term i s used. Instead, we w i l l be concerned with the grammar which provides for the possibility of claiming that some talk or writing i s a jus t i f i c a t i o n . This part of the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n , then, goes beyond what we might think of as just i f i c a t i o n i t s e l f . It includes the conditions under which i t i s appropriate to give a ju s t i f i c a t i o n . Other features of the grammar of just i f i c a t i o n could have been generated, and their generation also would have furnished us data for EM analysis. EM analysis does not require that any particular features of grammar be figured out: any features w i l l do. The results of generating the grammatical conditions under which one can and should offer j u s t i f i c a t i o n are presented in the next briefing, as chapter five. 116 -FOOTNOTES 1. The search for performative verbs, such as c r i t i c i z e , admit, apologize, blame, i.e., verbs whose mere.utterance in a sentence constitutes the very activity which they name, was abandoned .by Austin (1962b:91). Essentially, the problem was that whether or' not a verb was or was not a performative depended upon the context in which i t was uttered and not upon the "properties" of the verbs. Austin made a fresh start with his doctrine of illocutionary forces, resulting in a shift to talking about performative utterances. The status of an utterance as performative was argued to depend on the total speech situation of the utterance (1962b:147). Turner (1970) has taken the argument further, claiming that a l l and any exchanges of utterances can be regarded, i n principle, as "doing things with words." In light of Austin's shift away from relying on the apparent properties of verbs, i t is distressing to see modern linguists like Fillmore (1971) resurrect the ^ enterprise of treating "meaning" (including force) as a property of terms. Fillmore attempts to describe the "semantic f i e l d " of a host of verbs. He does so through the method of idealization (cf. Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970:339) whereby the "semantic f i e l d " i s abstracted from unknown contexts and treated as a property of verbs them-selves. The method presupposes ideal speaker-hearers, and presupposes that only syntactically grammatical sentences are i n t e l l i g i b l e . In that Fillmore treats the verb " j u s t i f y " i t should be noted that his approach could have been taken in the next chapter, but on philosophical grounds i t i s less preferable than the approach that i s taken. Aside from the odd,absence.of any .specification of context, Fillmore's approach would limit us to examining the grammar of j u s t i f i c a t i o n solely in terms of utterances where the term " j u s t i f y " appears. It should be added, however, that Fillmore's work did not come to my attention u n t i l well after "Grammar of Justification" was written. In terms of simply generating data, there could be no in principle objection to having taken his approach, instead: i t , too, requires "figuring out." 2. For a discussion of the differences and similarities between the early and late philosophies of Wittgenstein see Fann (1969) and Pears (1971). 3. In that Wittgenstein seeks only to ^ describe,, grammar .and he never squarely faces the chicken-or-egg question thrown at any theory of constitution: which came f i r s t , language or experience? Of course, language precedes each one of us: we are born into i t . But the real question i s one of origins. Specht raises a version of this question: "How i s the relation between li n g u i s t i c 'forming' and li n g u i s t i c ' s t u f f to be conceived in the f i r s t language-game, so that something l i k e : object or: something i s made clear to man" (1969:182). It seems that Wittgenstein struggled with this question, but never resolved it-; A l i k e l y 'answer' can be fashioned from his struggle - 117 -with the question "How am I able to obey a rule?" •lif this i s not a question about causes, then i t i s about the justification for my following the rule in the way I do. If I have exhausted the ju s t i f i c a t i o n I have reached bedrock, and my spade i s turned. Then I am inclined to say: "This i s simply what I do." (Remember that we sometimes demand definitions; for the sake not of their content, but of their form. Our require-ment i s an architectual one; the definition a kind of ornamental coping that supports nothing.) (1958:85) If the response to Specht's question i s just "People simply both form and abide by grammar," then/justifications come to an end. The inter-esting feature of this response, independently of the issue of whether or not i t i s satisfactory, i s the way i t short-circuits the question. Specht's question i s not out of curiosity or in passing, for the answer feeds back into the project of assessing the rigour, consistency and adequacy of a theory of constitution. Instead of speaking to the question, Wittgenstein can be conceived as speaking to the interest that animates i t . Further moves in the "show me your rigour" language game are forestalled not by a right answer to the question, but rather by the response "justifications come to an end." - 118 -Chapter Five GRAMMAR OF JUSTIFICATION 1) This second briefing presents the results of the mundane work of figuring out the grammar of just i f i c a t i o n . It i s imperative that this chapter not be read as the analysis. 2) As a convention or corpus of conventions we w i l l only find some utterance or writing to be a j u s t i f i c a t i o n when i t i s publicly, socially, conventionally appropriate to c a l l that utterance or writing a " j u s t i f i c a t i o n . " This i s to say that justifications are not "brute facts" found raw in nature. They are what Anscombe (1958) calls "institutional facts" dependent upon (shared)conventions for their very existance. While one finds (the reference of) "stones" and "bones" out in the world independent of any culture or extant society, one only finds (the sense and reference of) baseball, tenure, grand larceny, promises, and justifications within social worlds. Thus to claim that something i s a ju s t i f i c a t i o n i s to claim that i t i s appropriate to c a l l that something a j u s t i f i c a t i o n . When, then, should we say that something i s a justification? Austin (1970) has discussed i n a preliminary way the difference between excuses and justifications. Both are said to be in order "where someone is said to have done something which is bad, wrong, inept, unwelcome, or in some other of the numerous possible ways untoward" (1970:176). The difference i s that in doing excusing one agrees that the act was untoward, but one does not accept f u l l responsibility for the act. Whereas, with a ju s t i f i c a t i o n one disagrees that the act was actually or essentially untoward and furthermore one accepts responsibility for the act. As an illocutionary act, justifying i s i n t e l l i g i b l e and - 119 -appropriate within some context. Within that context, the utterance or writing which counts as justifying has the necessary features of what i s conventionally and transsituationally recognized as justifying. In Searle's formula (1969) x counts as "justifying", in context z. Austin has supplied an essential feature of the context of appropriateness. Rather than say that an actual accusation of untowardness is required, It would appear more sensible to say that a ju s t i f i c a t i o n i s in order where there i s a probable accusation, for competent members know the types of acts and situations where anyone would expect a jus t i f i c a t i o n . An actual accusation i s thus not needed. That an accusation need only be probable i s to suggest the important feature that the act in question be interpersonally recognizable as possibly untoward. If i t was not possibly untoward, there would be no reason to jus t i f y i t . If i t was unquestionably untoward a ju s t i f i c a t i o n would be useless, out of place. While a ju s t i f i c a t i o n can be given by anyone to anyone else, i t Is only in order between certain persons. Someone who had no responsibility for the performance of the (possibly) untoward act could not be asked, accountably for a ju s t i f i c a t i o n . But anyone who was responsible would be accountably obligated to give a ju s t i f i c a t i o n . But to whom? Who i s entitled to a justification? To be entitled, the act must be in some public way relevant to a member, as when the act i s apparently against the member's interests or unacceptable to him/her. This i s not enough, though, for members must have the interpersonally recognizable right to have expected that the obligated party would not perform acts against the interests of, or unacceptable to the entitled party. Since a soldier does not have the - 120 -socially recognized right to expect the enemy not to shoot at him/her, the soldier cannot accountably ask the enemy for j u s t i f i c a t i o n when the untoward act occurs. When members are incumbents of status positions, their recognized rights and responsibilities provide for obligation and entitlement, assuming of course that the act can be defined as relevant to the members as status position incumbents. When this i s not the case the question of appropriateness i s more d i f f i c u l t to decide. For our purposes we need not develop this point. That the entitled party (the hearer, H) has a public right to expect acceptable actions by the obligated party (the speaker, S) requires that the possibly untoward act (A) be conceivable as having been chosen from other possible and apparently reasonable courses of action, e.g., not-doing A. If a l l parties are aware (and are aware that they are a l l aware) that S had no choice but to do A, a just i f i c a t i o n i s not in order. Note that throughout my discussion of the conditions of appropriateness the social, interpersonally recognizable public character of the conditions has been stressed. This is because i t is not enough to feel entitled or obligated, nor to merely feel that certain acts are personally unacceptable or somehow untoward. When dealing with a convention such as the grammar of jus t i f i c a t i o n , psychological considerations are irrelevant. What matters i s that anyone, that i s , any competent user of natural language would recognize a particular act (within certain typical contexts) as the type of act which generally might be unacceptable and which generally requires a jus t i f i c a t i o n given and received by conventionally - 121 -appropriate individuals. I may be outraged by a workman painting a f i r e hydrant red or by someone entering my apartment without f i r s t removing their shoes, but my asking them for their j u s t i f i c a t i o n would be odd i f not senseless. While they may hear my talk as "accusation", as asking for a ju s t i f i c a t i o n , the context is not z. No competent member would take a j u s t i f i c a t i o n to be in order. One may be provided, i f only to see what game I might be playing. But the accused would not be accountably obligated to give a j u s t i f i c a t i o n . 3) Having examined the necessary conditions of appropriateness l e t us look at the context z in terms of the conditions of occurrence and probable occurrence. For occurrence, S must know (merely pre-reflectively) that a j u s t i f i c a t i o n i s appropriate, which involves rather much. He/she must know that the act i s relevant to some H and that the act could be seen by anyone in H's position as possibly untoward. S must recognize that he/she i s responsible for A, and i f responsibility i s shared, S must recognize that i t is his/her responsibility to give the jus t i f i c a t i o n to the appropriate H. S must know who that H is and be able to communicate with him/her and must do so (which involves rather much i t s e l f ) . H must be conceived as someone who could understand S's communi-cation and be able to judge the acceptability and adequacy of the j u s t i f i -cation. The consequences of a j u s t i f i c a t i o n being accepted or rejected by H must be relevant i n some way to S. The conditions of probable occurrence may not be necessary, but can be sufficient for a ju s t i f i c a t i o n actually to be given. It could be sufficient that S knows that H knows a ju s t i f i c a t i o n i s appropriate. That knowledge can consist in S knowing that H knows an A has been performed, - 122 -which S knows that H may take to be untoward. S knows that H knows that S i s responsible for A and that S i s accountably obligated to furnish H with a jus t i f i c a t i o n . S knows that H knows that S knows that a jus t i f i c a t i o n i s appropriate. That knowledge consists in knowedly interpersonal know-ledge of a l l the necessary conditions of appropriateness having been met, and by whom., The probability of occurrence i s present i f other members of the community are known to share any of this knowledge and If i t i s thought that they might bring _to bear negative sanctions on S. That probability i s also present i f S thinks that he/she has anything to gain or conserve by giving j u s t i f i c a t i o n . This occurs most probably where S and H are incumbents of status positions to which A i s relevant, and where H holds the superior position. 4) In view of context z, what counts as justifying? Given that a l l the necessary conditions of appropriateness have been met? justifying conS sists in giving reasons why A i s actually not an untoward act. Stated positively, i t consists in giving reasons why A i s actually an acceptable act. Note that the term "actually" is necessary because to give a j u s t i -fication, when appropriate, i s to say that the possibly untoward act is actually acceptable. The latter term i s i a l s o necessary, but understood in a wide sense, which we w i l l now specify. 5) The necessary conditions for a completely successful (or faultless) ju s t i f i c a t i o n primarily involve the character of the reasons given. Reasons cover three moments: the grounds, the aim, and the choice of act. The grounds and aim could be identified to a degree with Schutz' (1967: 86-96) notions of because and in order to motives. The choice of act has to do with the necessary condition of appropriateness that the act in question - 123 -has to be conceivable as having been chosen from alternative courses of action. The evaluation of reasons i s in terms of the adequacy of grounds, and, for a l l three reasons, in terms of appropriateness or acceptability. The categories of evaluation are grammatical in terms of the reasons being evaluated. That i s , the evaluation of the reasons i s in terms of how members can accountably, that i s , grammatically talk about the types of things being evaluated. With "grounds" we can speak of "reason enough," of the adequacy of grounds, for doing A. But i t i s senseless to evaluate the choice of an act in terms of adequacy. One can speak i n t e l l i g i b l y about the adequacy of some act, e.g., viz, some aim, but what could one be talking about in addressing the adequacy of a choice? The same question can be raised in regards to the "adequacy of an aim," or purpose, end or intention. One can speak of the adequacy of an aim or end as a link within a means-end chain, but then the aim is being addressed as a means and not as an aim. On the other hand, with appropriate and acceptable we can puzzle out a grammatical application to a l l three reasons. The character of the reasons can be further specified. For a just i f i c a t i o n to be faultless the reasons given must be the actual reasons involved in the generation and performance of the act. If the reasons are found to have been constructed for the occasion of t e l l i n g , then the justi f i c a t i o n i s faulted and the actual reasons can be demanded. Not a l l actual reasons w i l l be acceptable or appropriate, though. For one thing, S must have been the appropriate person to have done A. More importantly the reasons must be public. By public I mean that - 124 -merely private, idiosyncratic reasons w i l l not do. The reasons must be (and be presented as) the reasons that anyone in that situation would or could have had, or, indeed, should have had. This is to say that while grounds and aims could be identified with because and in order to motives, not a l l instances of motives would be publicly appropriate. The "type" which i s atypical in the sense of a merely idiosyncratic motive is inappropriate as grounds or aims. Of course the grammar of motives decides the interpersonal poss i b i l i t y of something being i n t e l l i g i b l e as a motive. But not a l l things i n t e l l i g i b l e as motives would be publicly appropriate and adequate as grounds or aims in a ju s t i f i c a t i o n . This i s to say that the c r i t e r i a of appropriateness and acceptability exists within some community of language users. 6) This has rather important consequences, for while S ju s t i f i e d his A to H, he/she does so in terms of some (possible) community's standards. S casts him/her-self as Anyone in the community and addresses H as Anyone in the same community. That Anyone would have done A i s to say that Anyone should accept A having been done. That H's acceptance or rejection of the just i f i c a t i o n i s i t s e l f accountable within some community provides that acceptability w i l l not be decided on merely private grounds. The grounds or reasons must be those recognized by the community. That community con-sists in a shared moral order whose adherents potentially consist of at least S and H. The community spoken of here Is not necessarily coincidental with any self-proclaimed or his t o r i c a l l y recognized community. A master and slave can be said to have (vastly) different communities, but should a slave attempt to justify an act to his/her master, he/she w i l l do so not in terms of the c r i t e r i a of the histor i c a l l y situated slave community, but - 125 -rather in terms of some possible community wherein the master would have done what the slave did, and for the same reasons. "The master" here is not merely an empirically unique monad, but i s rather appealed to as "any master". Thus while S and H may be members of concretely different communities, and/or may hold concretely different status positions, in giving a ju s t i f i c a t i o n S i s making a public claim to being analytically identical to H. This i s not to say that S necessarily feels that H may be the same as S, for S may be forced to give a ju s t i f i c a t i o n in circum-stances where he/she sees no possibility of success. Yet in giving a just i f i c a t i o n in such circumstances he/she i s accountable for his/her public claim of analytical identity to H. To i l l u s t r a t e the identity claim take a Black man in Georgia around 1955 or so, who takes a drink at a fountain marked "White only". Seeing this untoward act a White asks him "What do you think you're doing boy?" Now a number of choices are available, most obviously: excusing and justifying. Would the following be accepted by H?: "Well i t ' s hot, so I thought I'd get myself a drink." We could imagine H bringing out the obviously untoward feature of S's act: "That's a White Only drinking fountain boy. Can't you read?" For S to continue to ju s t i f y his act, no matter what reasons are given, i s to implicitly, i f not e x p l i c i t l y claim that in certain circumstances the White Only restriction i s not relevant. That i s , in certain circumstances there are no relevant differences between Blacks and Whites; they are the same for some purposes. If for some reason H accepts S's ju s t i f i c a t i o n , the public nature of the claim becomes especially evident. H's acceptance has the accountable implication that not only are S and H the same, but a l l Blacks are the same as Whites - 126 -in some circumstances. If the historical White community did not agree, H would find himself frozen out of that community. The centrality of the claim to analytical identity in the offering of a jus t i f i c a t i o n i s further revealed by returning to the con-ditions of appropriateness. If H cannot be conceived as possibly analy-t i c a l l y identical to S with regards to the performance of A, a just i f i c a t i o n may not be i n order. Justification may be given to children, slaves, prisoners, and the mentally i l l , and may have been given i n the hi s t o r i c a l past to Blacks and women. However, they are or were not accountably entitled to justifications. Those who do or did offer justifications do or did so of their own vol i t i o n , "privately", and in so doing had to manage the accountable implication that there i s or was no difference between children and adults or between wometi and men. - 127 -Chapter Six BEGINNING 1) Since i t i s so mundane to begin at the beginning I think i t most useful to begin there. What follows, then, is a short historical sketch of the work, events and interest that produced GRAMMAR. 2) In an indirect sense, the generation of Grammar can be traced back to the Quebec Crisis of October, 1970. Caught up in the events and issues of the early weeks of October, I was surprised and shocked at the invocation of the War Measures Act on October 16th. That evening my wife and I listened attentively to the broadcast of Prime Minister Trudeau's speech on the CBC radio. His performance was impeccable and powerful, but his claims struck me as outrageous. It was patent nonsense that the FLQ's (Front for the Liberation of Quebec) purposes would have been served equally as well i f anyone in the audience, "perhaps some child," had been kidnapped. Trudeau became truly Machiavellian. Reading the text of his speech in the next day's Vancouver Sun, I was intrigued by some of i t s features. I commenced an analysis modeled along the lines of Dorothy Smith's (1971) innovative paper "K's Mentally 111." In l i s t i n g the dramatis personae' in the speech I began to see a significant structure in the social relationships. An Us vs. Them structure became vis i b l e through the identifiers used i n the speech. I realized that the identifiers had been employed in that manner as a tactical move in Trudeau's attempt to justify his invocation of the War Measures Act. I had the opportunity of presenting this germinal analysis i n classes I was teaching and within a public lecture series on the Quebec Crisi s . Student and public reaction was heartening. Less heartening, - 128 -Indeed depressing, was the reaction of senior colleagues at a seminar one winter's night in 1972. My use of "j u s t i f i c a t i o n , " was argued to be the weak point of the whole enterprise. One commentator pointed out that the analysis would be inherently unstable and confusing so long as I used the concept of ju s t i f i c a t i o n as an unexplicated resource. Another forcefully argued that unless I could produce the essential features of that concept, I would have no warrant for assembling some set of the speech's features as "doing justifying." Depressed with the reaction, but undaunted, I pursued the analysis in a quite lengthy paper entitled "Us and Them: The Social Organization of a P o l i t i c a l Document" (1972). That paper was not open to the criticisms leveled earlier because i t skirted the issues to which they were addressed. Classifying Trudeau's speech as an instance of what Aristotle (1941:1335), called forensic rhetoric, I identified a precondition for the success of such a speech. That precondition was what Kenneth Burke (1950:55) called "identification." The character and conditions for the success of jus t i f i c a t i o n i t s e l f was l e f t to another paper. The "Us and Them" paper received mixed reviews. One review i t s e l f was not mixed. It was sharply negative. Along lines of previous criticism, i t brought into question most of the assumptions which underlaid the paper. Upon reflection i t was clear that some of those assumptions were not shared by the traditions (old and new) which I was seeking to work within. It seemed equally clear, however, that some of them were defensible in terms not too far removed from those traditions. The alternative approach recommended was unappealing, though I did begin to read i t s background literature, ordinary language philosophy. - 129 -3) Over almost the next two years I reshaped, refined and extended the analysis begun in "Us and Them." The essential approach was retained though i t became more sophisticated. Since the most negative reactions seemed partly based upon misconceptions of my enterprise, I did not feel too constrained by them. Growing familiarity, however, with ethnomethodo-logical analyses did provide a sense of constraint. No matter how sophisticated the interpretation of Trudeau's speech became, i t was clear that the so-called analysis would be merely another instance of substantive sense making. As such i t would be inherently unstable, with every s h i f t in the interpretive scheme producing new and different results (cf. Wilson, 1970; Wieder, 1974). While that i n s t a b i l i t y is a problem that the interpretive para-digm has to and can live with, I was dismayed by i t . To the degree that I could recover my own course-of-accounting, though, there was no absence of stable phenomena (cf. Wieder and Zimmerman, 1971). Taken by Gouldner's c a l l for a "reflexive sociology" (1970) (and Zaner's radicalization of i t , 1971) I saw the possibility of using my work as data for;a f i r s t person, "reflexive" ethnomethodology. 4) In attempting to come to grips with the problem of indexicality, I listened to a tape of lectures given a number of years ago by two important figures in ethnomethodology. Working within different traditions, what they jokingly called "narrow" and "thin" ethnomethodology, they had different concerns and different approaches to indexicality. Of import to me was that the "thin" (conversational) analyst formulated his concern as the attempt to explicate the indexicality of the force of utterances. Though my approach would be "narrow," this formulation was intriguing. - 130 -At that time I had returned to the concept of ju s t i f i c a t i o n , so the talk alerted me to the possibility that " j u s t i f i c a t i o n " could be treated as the force of an utterance. This sent me back to re-reading Austin (1962b, 1970) and fi n a l l y to his student, John Searle (1969). It was in Searle's work that I saw a way of developing and presenting the c r i t e r i a for illocutionary acts. Working off of whatever examples of justifying I could find or dream up, the grammar of justifying became v i s i b l e . I generated the grammar of justifying and wrote i t out expli c i t l y to warrant my claim that Trudeau was doing justifying. Thus I did not seek to elaborate every possible feature of the legitimate application of the concept of jus t i f i c a t i o n . 5) It was useful to begin at the beginning because, as I said, i t was so mundane to do so. That mundaneity is of interest not because i t i s defective, but because i t i s grammatical. That mundaneity consists in the accountable ways of conceiving the Grammar as having a history, as being the product of a mundane course of work. Beginning at the beginning provides for the rational character of the Grammar of J u s t i f i -cation as the sensible outcome of a mundane course of work. Beginning at the beginning also provides for the rational character of an "analysis" of a mundane course of work. A mundane conception of the course of work furnishes the auspices for where such an analysis could begin. That there i s "a beginning" solves the analyst's problem of where to begin. A determinate history, conceived as a completed object, a set of. events, decisions, findings, and actions, i s the mundane guarantee that description, explanation or analysis w i l l not constitute - 131 -the very course of work i t addresses. 6) This mundane guarantee provides for what Pollner (1970) has called mundaneity's reflexive self-preservation. The guarantee exists in and through the reflexive character of natural language accounts, the fact that they simultaneously posit and constitute the phenomena they address. This reflexiveness i s for members usually uninteresting, and therefore unnoticed (cf. Garfinkel, 1967:7-9). Special interest is required to notice that reflexivity. Talking of i t reflexively seeks and requires, posits and constitutes, a community wherein reflexivity becomes noticeable and talk-aboutable. Reflexivity is thus a principle which provides for i t s own (grammatical) conceivability. 7) The reflexive/constitutive character of accounts should not prove a problem to my analysis. My concern is not to provide a natural history account of how Grammar was actually generated. Such accounts w i l l be resorted to, but only as a way of placing us in the presence of phenomena of analytic interest.'*" Those phenomena consist in (the reference of) sense-making practices and features I Being interested in constitution rather than the constituted, the reflexive/constitutive character of my descriptions furnishes a criterion for, rather than an obstacle to epistemic claims about invariance. If in discovering and describing sense-making practices and features, I make use of those very practices and features, my claims w i l l be on firm grounds. This necessary criterion of self-descriptive adequacy (cf. McHugh, 1970) has been stated most succinctly by Aron Gurwitsch (1966a:47). Every philosophical system i s subject to the obligation of accounting for i t s own poss i b i l i t y , i t must at least be able to give such an account in i t s own terms. Less radically expressed, there must be no incompatibility between the doctrinal content of a philosophical theory, - 132 -that which is maintained and asserted in i t , on the one hand, and, on the other, the mere fact of the formulation of the theory in question. An incompatibility of such a kind would provide the basis for a decisive argument against the theory beset by that incompatibility. As Pollner (1970:230-41) has shown, sociologists have typically sought privileged self-exemption for their claims, thereby guaranteeing their error. 8) Addressing the mundane character of "the course of work" seems to rob us of our auspices for where to begin. We cannot invoke a determinate history having self-evident contours warranting our attention. While i t is grammatical to suppose that the course of work had a beginning, we must be indifferent to every claim to have found i t . That methodological indifference frees us from the constraint of having to orient to "the beginning" and "the end" and everything in between. It is not our worry to account for every fact and finding in the mundane course of work. Instead we shall attempt to recover and meditate on moments of that "course of work" for what those moments might t e l l us about sense-making. We w i l l not find everything that there is to find, for that finding i s endless work, and our work w i l l have an end. As long as we find things of interest, and thus have "findings," that w i l l be enough. Fortunately as well, our findings speak to the grounds and issues of ethnomethodology. 9) Where to begin is thus my responsibility. As a decision taken on my authority as analyst, you, and in fact we, w i l l have to wait and see to judge the wisdom of that decision. In that "the data" can speak to us endlessly through an ever-unfolding implicative structure, i t w i l l do so wherever we begin and every time we begin. It i s that - 133 -structure of which we shall take note. For us to take note of i t , we must be in i t s presence. We can get there I believe from the mutual path afforded by "Grammar of Justification," as the mundane destination of the "course of work." That "course of work" as a course of sense making, an indefinite collection of sense-making practices and features, i s our real interest. The accounting practices of "Grammar" thus w i l l not receive our direct attention in what follows. - 134 -FOOTNOTES 1. That i s , in doing the analysis I use the "course of work" in a straightforward fashion as a method for running across candidate phenomena. Seeing something that i s a possible phenomenon of interest I bracket, set aside, the "course of work." This shift of attention assures that I w i l l not confuse topic and resource by invoking the course of work (mundanely conceived) to account for (describe, explain, render sensible) the phenomenon of interest. For my interests I have found that the phenomena speak for themselves. If the "course of work" becomes analytically relevant, the phenomena provide that pronouncement (in response to my analytic interests). (My seemingly anthropomorphic treatment of phenomena w i l l be discussed later within the text, in Chapter Eleven). In that my concern is an analysis of the work of generating grammar, and not an analysis of my analysis, the "course of work" w i l l become thematic only as i t i s found to be a constituent feature/notion in the very work under study. Thus my use of the "course of work" as a method for locating candidate phenomena w i l l not be addressed elsewhere in this writing. It remains i t s e l f as a candidate phenomenon for an analysis of my analyzing. In that second level analysis the criterion of self-descriptive adequacy would be relevant to my f i r s t level methodical use of "the mundane course of work." That i s , for my claims to hold (about that methodical use being an essential practice) I would have to find that I used that very practice in generating the second level analysis. Reflection on the analytic work done to write this footnote suggests that that methodical use would qualify as an essential practice. For my present analytic interests, that practice need not be further thematized. Thus the self-descriptive adequacy criterion need not be invoked at this level, for that practice. On the notion of "bracketing" (epoche orjreduction) see Husserl (1962, 1970a, 1970b). Schutz (1962:104) provides a useful explication, as does Gurwitsch (1964:164-7). For an explication of the ethnomethodological reduction see Zimmerman and Pollner (1970). For a comparison of the latter with the phenomenolpgical reduction see Heap and Roth (1973). - 135 -PART III: JOURNEY - 136 -Chapter Seven CALLING 1) In "Beginning," I provided a gloss for the work of generating "Grammar of Justification." There I wrote It was in Searle's work that I saw a way of developing and presenting the c r i t e r i a for illocutionary acts. Working off of whatever examples of justifying I could find or dream up, the grammar of justifying became vi s i b l e . That gloss could be added to and expanded considerably. To set the stage, slight expansions and additions may help. In Speech Acts John Searle (1969) shows the structure of illocutionary acts by taking promising as an example. He states nine conditions for an act to count as promising, and then extracts five rules for doing promising. While elegant, for my purposes, a l l that seemed tedious. I leapt into the search for the grammar of justifying by taking Searle's nine conditions one at a time, seeing whether and how they would apply for justifying. When they did not seem to apply I sought to modify them. To do so I occasionally treated Trudeau's speech as a possible example of justifying from which I might learn. I turned to the few sparse examples provided by Austin (1970) and Lyman and Scott (1970). Mostly I generated my own examples. After three days work, I had progressed to Searle's fourth condition and then l e f t his conditions behind. On the fourth day, entirely out of the (miraculous) blue came an unsolicited paper by a former colleague, Peter Eglin. His paper (1974) focused in part on Searle's formula for constitutive rules, taking Searle's formulation to£task.>in&terms'ofithe unmentioned but massive work needed to specify - 137 -Context z, within which x counts as y. Eglin shows that interpretive work i t s e l f to depend upon other constitutive rules, making the use of Searle's formula irremediably indexical. He then goes on to Garfinkel's work (1963) on constitutive rules, which reveals the "et cetera clause" b u i l t into every set of rules. In that the definition of the context presents much the same problem as defining the object x, the definition of the context i s argued to have the character of a decision by f i a t . Eglin thus reformulates Searle's formula as "Find any small letter to be z, and see that in context z, x counts as y""'(1974:1). An example would be "See that what's-going-on-here (q) is a quarrel (z), and hear, in the context of the quarrel (z), utterance (x) as an insult (y)"*(1974:8). Eglin's paper took me completely away from Searle's formula for promising and brought me to his formula for constitutive rules. This brought on a flurry of work on that formula and Eglin's arguments. The resulting 24 pages of notes are noteworthy in their complete absence of any examples. A l l the work was "theoretical," done at a level as abstract as Searle's formula. Then, a v i s i t i n g relative took me away from the work awhile. Returning four days later I pulled together the threads of my previous work in a set of notes entitled "Inventory on Illocutionary Acts and Justification." In those notes I developed most of the ideas and claims put forward in "Grammar of Justification." Again, examples were occasionally generated, and Searle's work was reviewed. The conditions of justifying were worked out in a loose way. At f i r s t I had mistakenly applied Searle's formula directly to Trudeau's speech, yielding "context - 138 -z (a p o l i t i c a l speech), x^ (document), x 2 (a text as sense structure) and y, doing justifying." I later came to reformulate the constitutive rule in general terms, yielding context z as conditions of appropriate-ness, occurence and probable occurence. X became "giving reasons why a possibly untoward act i s actually acceptable." After a few days of organizational work I wrote "Grammar of Justification." At the time I was aware that i t was rather compact and perhaps needed to be unfolded a b i t more to cl a r i f y points that might be misunderstood. In particular, I recognized that I needed to add a discussion of how, when, and where "justifying," as a term, could be accountably used. It did not appear, though, that that discussion needed to be added to strengthen my claims that Trudeau was justifying. 2) In and as "Beginning", a gloss for the work of generating "Grammar", has been provided. Of possible interest i s the fact that the work was open to and the result of contingencies, aapaper in the mail, a v i s i t i n g relative, etc. The f i r s t draft character of "Grammar" i s now known, which i s to reveal that the mundane course of work has not yet ended. Note that the auspices for beginning with Searle's Speech Acts are furnished by invoking the few lines in "Beginning" where I mentioned Searle's work. But note that the beginning claimed in "Beginning" was much earlier. The beginning and end thus have a pragmatic, contingent character, whose apparent definiteness i s provided by my authoritative characterizations (organization) of them. A l l this simply points to the indefinitely open character of the mundane course of work, as the correlate of the practices which reflexively constitute i t in and for the t e l l i n g . In and out of the course of work characterized in the previous - 139 -section we now have somewhat more shared access to the actual phenomena of interest. That phenomena consists in four contingent practices: calling, f i l l i n g , grounding, and answer-seeking. They can be called Invoker practices. As used, they involved three essential features for figuring out: pre-reflective knowing, pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing and orientingf'to-grammaticality. These seven properties of sense making reveal figuring out as having a structure fundamentally different from interpreting and accounting. Let us recover those seven properties. 3) There i s an interesting recurrent feature of the course of work, a feature which was essential to i t s possibility. My work of converting:?Searle's formula for promising into a formula for justifying evidences that feature. The following i s an excerpt from my notes "Justifying and Ground Preparing," where I respond to three of Searle's nine conditions, beginning with number two. 2. "S expresses the proposition that p in the utterance T." p = the kidnappers posed a nation-wide threat. 3. "In expressing that p, S predicates a future act A of S." Now this i s for promising. For justifying there i s no future act, though future actions w i l l be influenced by the adequacy of the j u s t i f i c a t i o n . 4. "H would prefer S's doing A to his not doing A, and S believes H would prefer his doing A to his not doing A." With justifying, H may prefer that S do i t . S may desire to do i t , or he may not. What seems to be involved i s a feeling of need or obligation. Either S or H may feel a need for j u s t i , as well as an obligation, but i t is S who i s obligated to just i f y . And whether S feels the need or obligation depends in part on whether he perceives that H feels that a j u s t i i s needed or that H feels that S i s obliged to give a j u s t i . This, now, depends upon the past, present, and future relationship of S and H. The feature of interest can be found as an answer to the question: How was I able to respond in this manner to Searle's formula? The answer appears to be that I already knew in what - 140 -justifying consisted. Prior to the time that I responded to Searle's fourth condition of promising, I had not "come up" with the notion that there might be a f e l t need or obligation to j u s t i f y . Yet I did not learn that from Searle's fourth condition. It merely "came to mind." Much of my work of generating the grammar had this character. I had to know already, in some sense, what I was seeking to learn, to come up with, to generate. The literature on jus t i f i c a t i o n , which I have heard i s extensive, was not consulted. Austinis discussion in "A Plea for Excuses" (1970) gave only broad hints as to the character of justifying as an illocutionary act. Besides, i t had been two years since I had read Austin. I had not yet re-read that essay, nor had I gone back to Lyman and Scott's essay "Accounts" (1970) since reading i t in 1971. Yet somehow I knew in some way the components of justifying. If we step back a b i t , i t should come as no surprise that I already knew. Justification i s a members' concept and I am a member. Not only do I know (how to use) the concept and "what i t means", but so do a l l other competent members. Searle had to know the concept of promising in order to generate i t s grammar. Even i f he consulted previous work on that concept, he s t i l l judged that work and i t s claims based on his own knowledge. In fact, that he has that knowledge allows and warrants his doing ordinary language analysis. And that I have members' knowledge allows and warrants my doing sociological analysis (cf. Turner, 1970). This point has in fact been a major concern and topic of ethnomethodology and i t s critiques of constructive sociology (cf. Zimmerman and Pollner, 1970; Wilson, 1970; Garfinkel - 141 -and Sacks, 1970). If we step closer, though, we might get a better look at this members' knowledge. As an essential feature of my generation of the grammar of justifying, and as possibly an essential feature of the generation of any grammar, i t deserves more attention. Perhaps that attention can be focused by asking a question: If I already knew in what justifying con-sisted, why did I not just write out the grammar instead of taking two weeks and f i f t y some pages of notes? The answer resides in the character of members' knowledge. That knowledge does not reside, formulated and neatly packed in a storeroom labelled "mind." Instead, i t has a ready at hand character, ready to be formulated and packed i f the need arises. But i t is work to gather, formu-late and pack i t . Such work i s the work of reflection, of reflective consciousness. There must be reasons or motives to do that reflective work. As i t arrives on the scene, prior to reflective formulation, knowledge has a rough and ready character. Since i t usually arrives to be used, and not merely to be looked at, i t i s transparent, something to be seen with and through. Only in looking at i t and formulating i t , i s i t noticed to have determinate features i t s e l f . A l l this i s to say that members' knowledge, as operative in and throughout my generation of the grammar of justifying, did not have the character of reflected upon, formulated and elaborated knowledge. Such knowledge was in fact the product of the work of generating the grammar. Members' knowledge as a resource does not have the character of a topic, of an object for consciousness'., Instead, that knowledge can best be characterized not as knowledge, but as pre-reflective knowing. Such - 142 -knowing has the character not of an object, but of an "act" (of con-sciousness) which intends an object.* That act, being pre-reflective, is passive, i n the sense that i t requires no reflective ego activity to "do" i t (cf. Husserl, 1970a:109-12). Pre-reflective knowing i s not some-thing one thinks about, i t merely occurs, In a straightforward, taken for granted manner, as when one simply recognizes "what's happening" in the scenes of daily l i f e . In the case of the quote at the beginning of this section, my response to Searle's conditions required reflection, but that reflection turned on (my) pre-reflective knowing. That knowing was used, necessarily, i n generating the product, knowledge. While pre-reflective knowing can be talked about as knowledge, as when Schutz indexes i t as "the stock of knowledge" (1962:14), I think i t important not to confuse pre-reflective knowing with objectivated, formulated knowledge. The former Is important because in my actual work of generating grammar i t i s knowing which i s an essential feature, not knowledge. That knowing was in fact, and looks to be in essence, the ground of (formulated) knowledge. It provided the pos s i b i l i t y and the actuality of my generating the grammar of j u s t i f i c a t i o n . This i s so not merely as an hypothetical assertion. I am not putting i t forward as a "theory" i n the favoured sociological sense of a possible-way-of-looking-at-things. This i s so, rather, as a description of "what actually happened" and a claim as to "how i t i s and must be for anyone." The latter as an eidetic epistemic claim i s made on the basis of the self-evidence of the phenomenon of pre-reflective knowing (cf. Zaner, 2 1970a, 1972). The test of the claim i s to see how else you or anyone else could actually generate the grammar of a concept. It appears l i k e l y that the claim can be extended beyond merely - 143 -generating the grammar of concepts, but such an extension would require us to go to other examples (cf. Zaner, 1973a), and thus beyond the work at hand. 4) As a contingent feature of figuring out grammar, we have my use of Searle's formula for promising. That use turned upon an anticipated pre-reflective knowing. That i s , without any act of reflection there was awareness that the grammar of jus t i f i c a t i o n was (possibly) known. That awareness, l i k e the awareness that I can reflectivelyeeatch while writing this, was not the awareness of the presence of elaborated, packaged know-ledge, nor the awareness of knowing. It was and i s the awareness of a possibility, of a capability to go on. It involves, then, a pre-reflective awareness of knowing as ready-at-hand. Whether or not I do know, however, usually requires an act of reflection on what I have thought, spoken or written (objectivated). As a feature of my use of Searle's formula, the awareness of possibly knowing was not an awareness of a totally open possibility. It was not that there was awareness that absolutely anything in the world might be known. Rather i t was an awareness of possibly knowing (aspects of) the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n . As such, we may say that that pre-reflective awareness involved an expectation that something would come to reflection, i.e., be "known." Further, that "something" would be relevant to the grammar of justifying. The expectation i s essential to the feature of pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing. Without such an expectation (of some type of thing coming to reflection) the feature would be senseless, or i t would be other than "awareness of possibly knowing." As essential to that awareness, the expectation i s also pre-reflective. - 144 -The expectation i s worthy of further attention in that i t was not an expectation of a particular thing. Whatever came to reflection was only expected as to type. The particular things that came to mind were not familiar. They had never been formulated before. The type of thing they would be was only pre-known analogically, as paral l e l to the type of thing I was meditating on, e.g., Searle's formula. Had I meditated on other objectivations (objects of thoughts: "ideas") or objectifications 3 (objects of thought symbolized as speech or writing), the expectation would have involved other types of things. Here i t i s important that we keep in view the formal properties of the practices and features under discussion. The expectation (as a feature of pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing) was an expectation of some particular type of thing coming to reflection. This formal property i s of Interest. Very crudely put, I knew that I knew, but did not know what I knew. While there was pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing, there was no awareness of what i n particular would be found to be known and to have been known a l l along. Part of the paradoxical character of this claim arises from our accountable ways of talking about knowledge and consciousness. The grammars of concepts are pre-ref lectively known. We do not need nor do we usually have c l a r i f i e d , elaborated knowledge of the grammars of concepts. This i s to say that we do not have (reflective) knowledge of what we (pre-reflectively) know. Claiming that "I knew that I knew, but did not know what I knew" involves a further problem with and of grammar. The knowing and awareness of i t as a possibility were pre-reflective and thus without "ego-activity." This i s to say that there is a problem i f we take the use of " I " too seriously. - 145 When I reflect on my experience of using Searle's formula, there is merely the object of experience and the experiencing. No " I " or " s e l f " i s given in "my" straightforward pre-reflective experience. Perceptually, the experience of looking at this page or reading this very sentence does not include the someone ("you" or "me") who is looking or reading. To find ourselves requires not simply an act of reflection, but an act of addition. That addition i s thoroughly accountable. Further, in the language games (cf. Wittgenstein, 1958, 1970) where " I " is grammatical, i t is not seen, nor does i t count as an addition to experience. Common-sensically there is a knower, a self, whenever knowing occurs. That the " s e l f " i s an addition to pre-reflective experience can be seen -if an example of such experience is reflected upon while suspending the assumption of a self doing the knowing. The finding i s that the experience is unaltered: there is knowing and the known, experience and the experienced. This i s not to say that the concept "s e l f " has no legitimate application. Rather i t is to say that i t s application to the domain of straightforward experience is at best questionnable. The self as embodied subjectivity does become present as a phenomenon implied in acts of reflection, especially where practical problems arise (cf. Zaner, 1974a)l Reflection "reveals" self or ego as the superinduced "source" (cf. Sartre, 1957) of the reflected on acts. My claims here, of course, cannot change our language-games wherein " I " is grammatical, but they can lead us to treat such talk less seriously, i.e., less as description. As well, my 4 claims, and similar claims by others, can perhaps institute new games, new ways of speaking. Rather than saying"!iknew that I knew, but not what I knew," - 146 -i t would be more appropriate to say there was awareness of possibly knowing, but no awareness of what would turn out to be known. This i s to say that the use of Searle's formula had an essentially promisory and unforeseeable character. The use would turn out to produce whatever and only whatever i t actually did produce. What i t actually did produce, on the occasion of i t s production, f i l l e d the promise of using i t ( i f only poorly). Exactly what was promised, however, was unknown un t i l i t arrived. The expectation of i t s a r r i v a l was an expectation of some relevant type of object coming to reflection. When i t arrived, i t reflexively became "what was known a l l along." 5) Besides the features of pre-reflective knowing and awareness of possibly knowing, which were essential to sense making, there was a con-tingent practice involved. That practice consisted in a way of finding out what I possibly knew. Given that I knew that I knew, but did not know what I knew, i t was a way of bringing pre-reflective knowing "into the open," as knowledge. The practice serves to solve the type of problem faced at the beginning of this analysis, where I knew the points I wanted to cover, but did not ;know where or how to begin. In the case of this analysis, my knowing has for the most part enjoyed prior objectification in notes and outlines. In the case of generating the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n , my knowing was merely pre-reflective, an awareness of possibility. The practice could be called a re c a l l practice, but that suggests that what i s recalled has been called before, whereas i t has not. It has been used, perhaps, but not called to reflection. Instead, l e t us speak of the practice as a calling practice. Reading, writing down and thinking about Searle's conditions for promising operated as a way to c a l l up the - 147 -features of justifying. Searle 1s conditions had been read before, but never ex p l i c i t l y i n terms of the features of justifying, i.e., the calling practice was not used in prior readings. It would not be essential to the practice that the reflected on objectivations be familiar, foreknown. The practice could be used in a f i r s t reading. That I had read the conditions before was, then, merely a contingent feature of my concrete use. That contingency is revealing, however. It reveals that i t was not enough to "have" Searle's conditions for promising as a sedimented element of my stock of knowledge. Just "knowing" Searle's conditions, in the peculiar sense of having them stashed away (where?) in my memory, could not in i t s e l f c a l l forth the analogical features of justifying. A simple inventory check of my stock of knowledge would not allow the calling practice to work. It would not be used upon an inventory. Instead, the conditions had to be; brought to reflection, as would anything that might serve as a "caller", a springboard for the calling practice. The practice, then, depends essentially upon the presence to reflective consciousness of some object. From a member's perspective, i t i s conceivable that not only thought objects, but perceptual objects could serve as callers. In the example, which we have to work from, the thought objects (objectivations) were objectified i n symbolic form. Intuitively, i t would seem that calling could be done off of objectivations that were memorially reproduced. I simply could have recalled Searle's conditions from prior readings. The presence of the caller as only objectivated might give rise to practical problems of calling based upon the retentional limits of consciousness. Note, however, that i t is not enough to have - 148 -the caller present to reflective consciousness. In the case of objectivations, the caller must be "performed." By that I mean that one cannot simply look at signs-on-a-page, or have a mental picture of a string of words. The signs must be read or the picture-words must be pronounced-to-oneself, or spoken aloud. Here we come to another feature of the caller. It must not pnly be performed; i t must make (some form of) sense; This i s not to say that i t must be true, correct, accurate, referentially adequate, etc. The use of those qualifiers presupposes that the objectivation makes sense, i s i n t e l l i g i b l e , understandable in some way. If "S expresses the proposition that p in the utterance T" did not make some kind of actual or vir t u a l sense, i t does not seem at a l l l i k e l y that i t could have been used as a caller. If i t did not make sense, in the reading or reproduction of i t , i t could not be taken as authoritative, i.e., true, correct, accurate, etc. Taking Searle's conditions as authoritative involved seeing that they were about a certain type of thing: an illocutionary act. They rendered certain things thematic. I could have attempted to c a l l up the features of justifying by reading and meditating on newspaper headlines, match book covers, wedding invitations, comic-strip dialogue, the opening lines of French novels, the concluding paragraph of social s c i e n t i f i c journal art i c l e s , etc. Indeed, such meditation might c a l l up features of justifying, but I would have never thought (until now) to use the calling practice on such objectifications. As an unthematized members' practice there is no question of when the practice is not to be used. Such a question would require reflection - 149 -on the domain of the practice, while the practice heretofore had not even been noticed. As pre-reflectively used, there i s only an awareness of when the practice can be used. Pre-reflectively, in any situation of knowing there i s no awareness of a l l the things (practices, concepts) that do not apply. Only reflection can hit upon the latter, and then a reason or motive i s needed to do so. That I did not seek out headlines, match-book covers, etc. is sensible in terms of the "background assumption" involved in the (use of the) calling practice. It was taken that features of some object could c a l l up features of the object of interest (justifying) i f that (former) object was of the same type as the object sought. The use of the practice, then, required knowing the type of the object sought: I had to know (the type) for which I was looking. So, I did know (something about) what was pre-reflectively known (by me). As well, I had to be able to recognize and understand Searle's formulas as being about the same type of object as I sought. This was the type of reference that the objectivation had to be taken as having in order to be taken as a possible caller for the calling practice. This would seem to be merely a contingent feature of the (use of) the calling practice, in that we might find some members using the calling practice off of objectivations that had no apparent possible analogical reference to what was sought. Yet, by choosing an analogical caller, there mundanely would seem to be a greater probability of success with the calling practice. In that not just anything was used as a caller, the use of the calling practice involved some prior work of selecting or finding - 150 -a caller. In "Beginning" we have my description of how I mundanely came to use Searle's formulas. Concretely and contingently I selected those conditions through some process of practical reasoning, e.g., I meditated on "the conditions" as being those i t a l i c i z e d sentences in Speech Acts which immediately followed the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4...9. I did not attend to or write down the rest of the sentences which followed each number. Analytically and eidetically my concrete, contingent selection procedures are relevant here only in that they evidence that selecting i s and must be done in order to find and use an analogical caller. When a caller is found, the calling practice involves an act of attention which is different from the typical way in which the objectivation had previously been regarded. There is a shift in interest, a shift in attitude when reading and meditating on the objectivation (qua c a l l e r ) . It i s not read or regarded for i t s own sense and reference. In my case, I had no interest in promising per se. The (noetic) contexture of the acts of the calling practice i s thus, quite complex. Considering my case, where the caller was read, my acts of reading passed through the signs-on-the-page (the document) to realize the sense (the text)(cf. Heap, 1974a), not in terms of their actual referent but In terms of an hypothetically given, conceivable referent (justifying). Those acts of reading and meditating on what was read took for granted that ^ the reference of the caller was a certain type or class of object (illocutionary acts). Yet, those acts bracketed the authorized concrete reference to a class-member (promising). Instead, they oriented to another class-member (justifying) as a conceivable - 151 -(not actual) referent. This was facil i t a t e d by the absence of an explicit mention of "promising" in the conditions meditated on (cf. section three above). Had I worked off of an objectivation rather than an objectifica-tion of the conditions, the contexture of acts would have included memorial reproduction rather than reading. This perhaps would have raised retentional problems that were not faced in working with a document. Otherwise the contexture appears to be the same. The product of those acts of reading and meditating reveals an important reflexivity in the calling practice. Earlier I noted that the use of Searle's formulas in the calling practice was essentially promisory. What was promised was unknown un t i l i t arrived, yet there was an expectation of some particular type of object (features of justifying) coming to reflection. The caller, then, has a promisory character, and that which comes to reflection, the called, i s foreknown as to type. It i s in terms of that type that a caller i s selected. Upon selection, though, the caller only has the status of a possible caller. If i t does not produce the called, i t i s not an actual caller. Actual caller and called are reflexively given. The (possible) caller i s selected for what i t may c a l l . Yet, prior to the arrival of the called, the features of the caller which are of analogical relevance are unknown. From prior reading and reproduction, though, one may have a vague, empty sense of their relevance. To have this sense is to have already constituted the possible caller as having certain features. Prior to encounter with the caller, though, there is merely a presumption that the caller has certain relevant features. What those (presumptive) features w i l l be found to have been, is unknown. - 152 -Prior to the use of the practice i t i s an open question as to what the features "are," whether they (will be found) to have analogical relevance and what that relevance w i l l be. In saying that this i s an open question, I am also pointing out that calling i s not constrained to find analogical features that accountably are "really there." Calling i s a practice in "figuring out" which only registers i t s successes. It is not a move in a zero-sum game. It is "creative.""' In selecting Searle's conditions as possible callers my analogical relevancies located a number of features. Note in section three that with condition two I picked up on what "p" could be.^ In condition three, "future act" caught my attention. With condition four i t was the notion of "prefer", that S or H might prefer some act being done. Now i t need not have happened this way, but i t did. That i t did i s of interest only in the way that i t evidences a calling practice. Clearly this practice turned on the features of pre-reflective knowing and pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing. Only by knowing, and knowing that I knew, did i t become possible and sensible to employ a practice for calling up whatever i t was that I knew. As noted above in section four, whatever was called up became what i t was that I had known. That feature can now be seen as a product of the calling practice, as i t operated with the other two features: knowing and awareness. - 153 -FOOTNOTES 1. Readers familiar with Berger and Luckman's treatise on the sociology of knowledge (1966) w i l l recognize the distinction between pre-ref lective and reflective as inspired by Husserl's work (1962). The distinction between knowing and knowledge parallels in many ways, though not completely, Husserl's (1962) distinction between the intending act (noesis) and the intended object (noema). Perhaps i t should be mentioned that my use of "knowing" at times w i l l be awkward, ungrammatical. In Wittgenstein's terms (1958:5, 11-12), my talk may appear as moves in a strange language game. Fortunately, the reflexivity of accounts may bring about a community wherein that talk and i t s game become familiar. But that requires that we be open to apparently awkward usage, for what i t may t e l l us. The game wherein the description of pre-reflective knowing i s a move, is the game of trying to describe a form of l i f e (cf. Hunter, 1971) within which our more familiar games are embedded. The awkwardness stems from the socio-historical absence of a language-game with which to describe a form of l i f e which has never been of interest before. Phenomenologies provide such 'descriptive' language-games, but they are not yet widely familiar. 2. I bring this point up here, in f u l l phenomenological regalia, because i t is so easy to lose sight of the "empirical" bent of phenomenology. Husserl's slogan "to the things themselves" (1970c) seems to be lost to both phenomenological philosophers and phenomen-ological sociologists. Being concerned to use "the things them-selves" as the self-evident auspices for my claims about them, I have purposely not brought in any of the literature which would authorize my talk of Pre-Reflective Knowing. As well, that literature makes claims to see much more than I can yet see for the looking. For those interested in that literature, in hermeneutics and phenomen-ology, aiuseful place to start i s with R. Palmer's Hermeneutics (1969) . Paul Ricoeur's discussion (1973a, 1973b) of Heidegger and Gadamer covers their main positions, while Ricoeur's study of Freud (1970) provides an example of another type of hermeneutics. For extended commentary on Ricoeur's hermeneutical phenomenology see Idhe (1971) and Rasmussen (1971). The latter work i s of special interest because i t includes an important essay by Ricoeur, entitled "What is a Text? Explanation and Interpretation." 3. The concepts of objectivation and objectification enjoy different uses (cf. Berger and Luckmann, 1966; Husserl, 1973; Avineri, 1968). Here, the former i s the more general concept, denoting the object of thought (an "idea") and the work of bringing the object of thought to reflection. Objectiflcation, on the other hand is the narrower concept, denoting the object of thought given "symbolic" form. Symbolic i s to be understood widely to include what Schutz (1962: 306-43) has called marks, indications, signs and symbols. Objecti-fications are thus objectivations which can be appresented through - 154 -some symbol. Having an "objective" form, they can be returned to again and again (or at least that idealization i s accountable). Objectification can also be the work of objectifying thought, as in writing this footnote. Thus a l l objectifications are objectivations (given symbolic form), but not a l l objectivations (objects of thought) are objectifications. The distinction finds i t s use, and thus i t s warrant, in the way i t makes the work of writing v i s i b l e within the stream of experience and In the way that objectification provides for indexicality as a practical problem. 4. Ordinary language philosophers have dealt with issues of the reference and appropriateness of using " I " (Ryle, 1949:186-89; Wittgenstein, 1958:120-6, 187-92). The trouble that " I " , or the ego, has caused in phenomenology begins with Husserl's move from a non?-egological conception of consciousness in Logical Investigations (1970c) to an egological conception in Ideas (1962) and his later works* (1969, 1970a, 1970b, 1973). Sartre (1957) took issue with this move, as did Aron Gurwitsch (1966b). At this point I am only claiming that pre-reflective consciousness i s non-egological, "without ego ac t i v i t y . " This claim is not merely being "borrowed" from phenomenologists; i t is based upon the evidence of my work of generating the grammar of j u s t i f i c a t i o n . The claim i s given a general form because the claim i s that pre-reflective consciousness i s essentially non-egological. But the claim can be taken further. While the self does become present as a phenomenon implied in acts of reflection, the implication i s not given as a component of the acts themselves. Let us turn to Gurwitsch (1966b:294). By the mere fact of being grasped by an act of reflection, the grasped act then acquires a personal structure and the relation to the ego which i t did not have before i t was grasped. Reflection gives rise to a new object - the ego - which appears only i f this attitude i s adopted. Since the grasping act i s not i t s e l f grasped, the act continues having no egological structure. It deals with the ego as an object only; and i t finds this object connected with i t s proper object, v i z . , the grasped act upon which i t bears. Hence the ego in question is that of the grasped, not of the grasping act. Gurwitsch does allow, however, that the ego ban be implied at the  horizon of reflected-on psychological dispositions (1966b:298). 5. Creative, that i s , within the limits of i t s own background assumptions. It assumes that only certain types of objectivations can be callers, thereby assuring that only certain types can become callers. As such the practice reflexively affirms and preserves i t s assumptions, thereby reflexively authorizing the pre-reflective logic that informs i t . 6. Now we can see that I mistakenly did not attend to the general - 155 -character of the condition. Thus I came up with a value for p in terms of the specific instance of justifying of interest to me: Trudeau's speech. Here let me simply remark that at the time my response made sense, in a grammatical way. The value I gave p had the form of a proposition and thus f i t with Searle's formulation of condition two. It does not matter, of course, with regard to my analysis whether my mundane claims about justification-are "right" or "wrong." - 156 -Chapter Eight FILLING 1) While I had read Searle's account of constitutive rules a month or so before receiving Eglin's paper, the latter alerted me to the possibility of using the constitutive rule formula for justifying. This possibility presented i t s e l f in part because I had already seen that justifying was an illocutionary act. Also I was in the market for a way of showing Trudeau's speech to involve such an act. Upon receiving and reading Eglin's paper the section that provoked the most thought on my part was the example of the modified Searlean formula. That example read "See that what's-going-on-here (q) is a quarrel (z), and hear, in the context of the quarrel (z), utterance (x) as an insult (y)" (Eglin, 1974:8). I was intrigued with issues raised by the modified formula with regards to representing the components of the actual recognition of illocutionary acts. Of interest here, though, i s the content I originally gave the formula. Treating the letters of the formula as indexing "setting features," I wrote "those features are z, a p o l i t i c a l speech, x^ (a document), y.^ (a text as sense structure) and y, doing j u s t i f i c a t i o n . " In "Grammar", however, those letters were given different content. The context became "conditions of appropriateness, occurrence arid probable occurrence." The content of x was formulated as "Giving reasons why a possibly untoward act is actually acceptable." If we ask "How was I able to respond lik e this to Searle's constitutive rule formula?" we find the f i r s t feature discussed in the previous chapter, in section three. Pre-reflective knowing was required. - 157 -I had to know in what justifying consisted in order to f i l l the formula (in each case that i t was f i l l e d ) . As claimed above, this feature seems essential to generating the grammar of a natural language concept. Attendant and dependent upon that essential feature was a pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing. Taking i t that the formula was an adequate way of formulating members' pre-reflective knowing, I took i t that I possibly knew what would f i l l the formula for justifying. But this "taking" did not involve ego activity. It was not that "I took i t . " The taking merely occurred unreflectively, as an unnoticed assumption. There was, then-, pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing. My possibly knowing, as something that might come to the fore in reflection, consisted in possibly knowing what would and should f i l l the formula for justifying. Crudely put, i f " I " was not (pre-reflectively) aware that I possibly knew what would/should f i l l the formula, there would have been no sense in trying to use that formula. 2) My use of that formula was different than my use of Searle's formula for promising. The latter involved a calling practice. By attending to the specific conditions for one illocutionary act, the conditions for another illocutionary act were called to mind. With the formula for constitutive rules, however, a related but somewhat different contingent practice was involved. As well, necessary features had to be present. (a) One feature consisted in assuming that the formula was adequate to the task of representing members' pre-reflective knowing. That i s , I treated Searle's work and formula as authoritative,* as having captured the essential structure of a l l illocutionary acts. That feature of - 158 -course entails other background assumptions, that a l l illocutionary acts share a single structure (context dependency) and that that structure can be captured and expressed. Without giving thought to the wisdom of those assumptions, or even being reflectively aware of them, I treated the formula as authoritative. (b) That formula was treated as authoritative i n the course of a practice, a f i l l i n g practice. That practice consisted in using Eglin's example as an implicit model for f i l l i n g the formula for justifying. The way in which Eglin f i l l e d the formula, with "quarrel" as context z and "utterance" as x, furnished me with the type of content appropriate to the formula. Eglin's work solved for me the problem of the indexi-cality of reference (cf. Bar-Hillel, 1954) of the letters In Searle's formula. Knowing what to look for and at, I was able to see that in my case the context was a p o l i t i c a l speech, for that was "what's-going-on-here". The type of thing which x was in Eglin's example, led me to generate x in my case as two things, a document and a test. I had been working on the distinction between document and text a few months before in preparing a paper for presentation (1974a). The document was claimed to be the signs-on-the-pages and the text was the meaning structure appresented by the signs. The document/text distinction merely came to mind as the type of thing which in this case stands in the same relation to y as Eglin's "utterance." The sense in which I can be said to have used Eglin's example as an implicit model needs explication. That use is one that 'I' did not know that 'I' was making. That i s , the use was pre-reflective, without ego activity. As pre-reflective, i t has the character of something that - 159 -merely happens, on occasion. In that i t seems to have happened often, and i n view of the grammatical fact that i t can be re-cast as a reflective activity, I elect to c a l l i t a practice. Through a different election, i t could be called a feature. (1) As what Husserl called "passive a c t i v i t y " (1970a:112) the prac-tice consisted, in part, in discovering what the formula intended. This occurred in the course of seeing (but not noticing) how the formula was f i l l e d in Eglin's example. That the formula was f i l l e d , however, was noticed. What was not noticed was that i t was f i l l e d in a particular way. That i s , the work of f i l l i n g the formula as involving choices and decisions on Eglin's part did not cross my mind. Eglin as analyst-writer was not available in the experience of (reading) his example. Metaphor-i c a l l y , he went.transparent as a messenger of nature (cf. McHugh, et a l . , 1974). In (the experience of) reading and reflecting on the example, there was only the-formula-filled, with no hint of the-filling-the-formula. The-formula-filled was taken as authoritative, as "how i t i s . " Had I thought of Eglin f i l l i n g the formula I might have realized that i t could have been f i l l e d in other ways. Without any such realization, "quarrel" and "utterance" were taken pre-reflectively as the types of things which z and x signify. Not seeing the-filling-of-the-formula contingently provided for seeing the f i l l e d formula as authoritative. However, the f i l l e d formula i t s e l f was important in authorizing what types of things should f i l l the formula. Context z and x were only vaguely and emptily intended (cf. Husserl, 1970c:675-706;. 1969i56*62; Sbkblowski,« 1974:18-9) in my original readings of Searle's formula. I did not know in any - 160 -previously reflected upon way what should f i l l the z and x slots in the formula. Pre-reflectively there was a sense of what could f i l l those slots. What could f i l l them would be whatever seemed coherent and grammatical. Whatever z should be, i t would be something that could be a context. With x, i t would be something that could count as something else, i n particular an illocutionary act. So, x would have something to do with communication.) Note, then, that the formula made sense upon f i r s t reading, but the sense was vague, yet-to-be-filled-in. Not having c l a r i f i e d knowledge of what exactly should f i l l those slots, i t was the sense-structure of the formula i t s e l f which made sense. Besides having been authoritatively presented by Searle (1969), "on the surface" i t looked as i f i t could be the formula for illocutionary acts. Had I not had an (ethnomethodological) fixation on "context", i t might not have appeared as sensible, even on the surface. Had i t not appeared as sensible, the f i l l i n g practice could not have worked off of i t . It would not have been used. Eglin's example, with context z as a quarrel and x as an utterance, was taken as f i l l i n g the formula in and as i t s indexical, intended sense. In and through that f i l l i n g , z and x were reflexively and retrospectively c l a r i f i e d as to the types of things they had been a l l along. The example, taken as_ an example c l a r i f i e d what types of things should f i l l those slots. The indexicality of reference was solved. In that Eglin's work of f i l l i n g the formula was not vis i b l e in reading the example, the example did not appear open to the i n f e l i c i t i e s that we methodically pin on subjectivity. The example i n i t s clarificatory function was taken as truth, rather than as opinion. - 161 -Thus a number of features worked together in discovering what the formula intended. In the course of pre-reflectively seeing how the formula was f i l l e d in Eglin's example, the formula was taken as authoritative for a l l illocutionary acts. The f i l l e d formula was taken as true and authoritative with regards to the types of things that the 2 formula had signified a l l along. The contingent absense of Eglin from his example allowed questions of subjectivity and intersubjectivity never to arise. In these ways the example came to have the status of a "model" for my f i l l i n g practice. (2) That practice i s of interest for i t s non-discursive character. It can be cast as discursive by formulating the experience into a question "What would/should f i l l the formula for justifying?" As a description^ then, we might offer: "After the question came the answer, having the content stated above. In between was a deliberate reasoning* process, performed s e r i a l l y over time. The answer was the conclusion of that process. Finally, i t was the answer to the question asked." Yet to cast the practice this way i s to say more about what we take to be acceptable accounting than about the process as i t presents i t s e l f to and i n reflection. As I can recover the process memorially and with the aid of 3 notes and a taperecording, i t did not have this discursive character. I did not ask a question. There merely was presented something-that-could-be-fdrmulated-as-a-question. I did not seek to ianswer that 'question.' Instead, I was led to reflectively formulate a question about how something i s recognized as context z. In the course of ruminating on that issue I h i t upon the 'answer' to the 'question' that - 162 -I had not formulated. I saw what-was-coming-to-mind (the "setting features" for justifying) as the answer-to-the-unformulated-question. Seeing the 'answer' gave me the 'question' in a non-discursive act, which Schwartz (1971, 1973) would c a l l "reflexive coupling." The coupling occurred in a way analogous to the phenomenon of recognizing a piece of a puzzle as the piece which would f i t the puzzle at a point s which had merely been seen, but not noticed. The piece, in the very recognition of i t , recalls the hitherto unnoticed place where i t would f i t . In a similar way, seeing the "setting features" set off a 4 reflexive act wherein they were seen as an 'answer' to the 'question' which they brought to mind. Seeing those forthcoming setting features as an answer required reflectively noticing that they were the same types of things as f i l l e d the formula in Eglin's example. That noticing was the core of seeing those features as an example. That-which-^was-noticed furnished the answer in the same way that Eglin's example furnished the answer to what was signified by z and x. That structural isomorphism provided that-which-was-noticed with i t s characterizability as an answer. From the above i t can be seen that Eglin's example stood as a model in only an implicit sense. No explicit reflective adverting to the example was done in the course of searching for an 'answer.' In fact, finding an 'answer' structurally isomorphic to Eglin's example reflex-ively provided the auspices for claiming that that example was a model. Thus at some future point i t may occur to me that my description of "what happened" may have been executed under the (illegal) auspices of a cultural convention, a mere way of talking. That in i t s e l f would be - 163 -of interest. I would count i t as a finding. But looking back from here and now, i t appears that Eglin's example served pre-reflectively as an implicit model for sense making. In the way that i t i s so served, with the attendant features outlined in this section, i t stands as a f i l l i n g practice. It was a way of f i l l i n g in a trusted-to-be-true formula with what I already knew. As with the calling practice, though, I did not know what exactly i t was that I knew. Only by "getting i t out," by objectivating i t in thought and writing did I learn what I had known. As with the calling practice (cf. chapter seven, section five) there was the reflexive realization of what I (must) have known a l l along. 3) Let us move from my concrete case to conceive the essential and contingent features of the f i l l i n g practice."* In doing so i t w i l l become clear, i f i t is not already, that f i l l i n g and calling bear a strong resemblance. Of course, both practices required pre-reflective knowing and involved a pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing. As with the calling practice, I did not know exactly what i t was that I knew. Only by "getting i t out," by objectivating i t in thought and writing did I learn what I had known. In order to do so, the formula-to-be-f i l l e d also had to be objectivated and performed (in my case, read). While in my case the formula was objectified i n writing, only the limits of memorial reproduction and retention (cf. Husserl, 1964) would limit the use of the formula as a pure thought object, an objectivation. As objectivated and performed, the formula had to make sense for i t to be treated by a f i l l i n g practice. These features hold as well for the - 164 -(use of the) calling practice. A difference appears when we consider the selection of the formula to be f i l l e d . With a calling practice the orientation i s to an object or objectivation experienced as being of the same type as sought. Most significantly, the presumed features of the object at hand are taken as possibly relevant. Their relevance i s analogical. The analogical features are only known reflexively and retrospectively, in and as the features that c a l l to mind features of the object being sought and elucidated. There i s no guarantee that analogical features w i l l be found and there is no accountable constraint to find any particular ones. There i s only an expectation of some analogical type of thing coming to reflection. Such i s not the case with the f i l l i n g practices. There i s nothing having a status parallel to a "possible c a l l e r . " Searle's formula for constitutive rules, as a formula for a l l illocutionary acts, was not experienced as only possibly relevant to justifying. It was taken as accountably, actually relevant. Thus, i t s features were taken as unquestionably relevant. The content of each of the letters of the formula had to be f i l l e d . This was not taken as a matter of personal caprice, of free creation. There was, rather, a sense of necessity to the f i l l i n g . That sense involved a pre-reflective orienting to that necessity as public. The problem of f i l l i n g Searle's formula led me to use Eglin's elaborated example as an implicit model. In the actual use of the f i l l i n g practice, then, each of the features that were relevant to (the rule for) insulting were taken to be accountably and necessarily of analogical relevance for justifying. There was an expectation of a particular type - 165 -of thing coming to reflection. With calling, then, we may speak of choice and the reflexive realization of caller and called. With f i l l i n g , the analogically relevant features are taken to be publicly predetermined. F i l l i n g was done, then, as a move in a (taken-to-be) zero-sum game, where failures would be registered and counted. So, selection of a formula to be f i l l e d was experientially constrained by taking the formula to be authoritative, complete, and f i n a l (at a general level) with regards to the features of justifying. Possible callers did not have that (experienced) authority. The apparent authority of the analogical, present-at-hand, objectivation, then, decides whether a calling or f i l l i n g practice w i l l be used. The former practice "calls forth," and thus involves a movement from and away from the analogical objectivation. The latter practice, on the other hand, involves a movement from, and a return to the objectivation - for i t i s answerable to i t , as that which i t seeks to f i l l . This formulation of their difference fortunately reveals their similarity. In that f i l l i n g involves a moving-from the present-at-hand objectivation, i t bears a resemblance to calling. We might even speak of the analogical, present-at-hand objectivation (as in Eglin's example) as a "caller". Playing on the indexicality of natural language, let us< distinguish between the "possible c a l l e r " of the calling practice and the "authorized caller" of the f i l l i n g practice. The differences and similarities of this family of practices remains (essentially) open to further research. - 166 -FOOTNOTES 1. It is interesting to note that (scholars claim that) the Greek notion of authority involved essentially the "potential of reasoned elaboration" (cf. Friedrich, 1958:37). 2. I say "contingent absence" because he was not absent from the reading experience in any necessary way. He could have been present to mind (outer) horizonally through his presence In the room where I was reading. Or he could have been present through use of f i r s t person pronouns in his formulating and writing the example. 3. On this occasion I was using a taperecorder as an audience for my thinking-aloud. In and by hearing my talk i t s implications were shown. Using a taperecorder in this way displays some of the features of a calling practice, but I produce the "caller," in and as my talk. Thus this use of a taperecorder more nearly parallels features of the answer-seeking practice discussed in chapter eleven. 4. By "reflexive act" I mean to point to the reflexive character of what is given in the act. While acts can be reflexive, as when they are reflexive for their sense to their occasion of occurence, reflexivity is only a property of the act (as intended/known). Reflexivity, unlike reflection, i s not something one can do. The term has no verb form. While one can say "I r e f l e c t . . . , " i t i s ungrammatical to (try and) say "I reflex." 5. The perceptive reader may have noticed that a f a i r amount of time and space has been spent on the description of a practice and features of i t s use which do not seem to play a part in "Grammar." In fact, a moment's reflection may bring to mind the fact that the formula as f i l l e d in "Grammar" is totally different than has just been discussed. In that our concern i s not the mundane course of work, i t is not of interest that the work "took a different direction." What is of some interest i s that in pulling together the threads of the work, after a v i s i t i n g relative had shared our world for four days, the thread holding the newly f i l l e d formula for justifying dropped out of sight. Just prior to the relative's arrival I had sifted and abstracted from my notes on Eglin's paper, from my reflections on those notes, and from my inventory of those reflections. When returned to upon the relative's departure, my f i n a l condensation and indexing of notes did not lead me to rediscover the formula for justifying. The notes at hand, and in particular those jotted down at odd times between conversations, led me to take i t that appropriateness had something important to do with context z. Not un t i l reviewing the notes in search of candidate phenomena did I rediscover the formula as f i l l e d i n line with Eglin's example. A l l of this i s of some interest because i t clearly displays a ubiquitous feature of generating the grammar. On and for every occasion - 167 -of working on "Grammar," as well as on the analyses themselves, I had to "begin again." I had to recover the themes, their direction and development from previous occasions, and their prospective direction and development on and through the occasion at hand. - 168 -Chapter Nine ORIENTING-TO-GRAMMATICALITY 1) A contingent feature of the work of generating Grammar was my orientation to and use of general formulations. I used Searle's conditions for promising and Eglin's example of Searle's formula for constitutive rules. What was sought, called for, and f i l l e d in was elaborated knowledge of grammar. The concern of the enterprise was to recover what was already pre-reflectively known. Another approach would have been to begin with actual examples of justifying in order to discover their grammatical structure. A further feature, which may be essential, was that the generation oriented to problems or questions. These were usually not formulated and written out. Rather they were merely "recognized," giving me reasons to go in certain directions seeking resolutions and 'answers.' The latter search practice had the status of strategy, a decided-upon way of doing the work. While i t was a routine practice, operative at some point in a l l the academic work I can remember ever having done, i t was not always operative during the generation. Often leads would be followed just to see where they might go, in hopes of discovering something of interest. As well as recognized problems, there were possible problems, some of which were more probably problems than others. And of course a possible, but improbable problem was not really a problem at a l l . 2) In terms of the problems and topics oriented to, an essential feature was that of orienting to the grammaticality of the elaborated grammar of justifying. By this I mean that the location and identifica-tion of the components of the grammar were done by and through checking - 169 -the grammaticality of terms. Such 'checking' was sometimes pre-reflective, as when i t was obvious that the term f i t . More often i t involved reflective acts to see whether and how terms would f i t . Sometimes the checking even involved checking the f i t as a recognized issue of grammar. The latter type of checking i s evidenced i n Grammar, i t s e l f , when the argument is presented that adequacy i s a criterion for grounds, but not for choice or aim (cf. chapter five, section fi v e ) . (a) Grammaticality as a feature of objectified thought (e.g., speech or writing), as well as orienting to that grammaticality as a practice, appear to be instances of what Cicourel (1970a) has touched upon with his concept of "normal forms." Cicourel, as noted in chapter two, speaks of "certain normal forms of acceptable talk and appearances upon which members rely for assigning sense to their environments" (1970a:148). This "interpretive procedure" has not received much attention by ethnomethodologists, nor is the 'procedure' elaborated in published work by Cicourel himself. In one writing, though, he identifies normal form in an instructive manner. He writes of "normal form typifications" (Cicourel, 1970b:34). While this i s helpful, his writing i s confusing and confused (ungrammatical), because while normal forms are identified as an "interpretive procedure," his very talk casts them as features of the phenomena of which sense is made. Perhaps he is now aware of that confusion, for in his recent book he writes that "The interpretive procedures enable the researcher and member to recognize 'appropriate' settings, talk, and a c t i v i t i e s , thus providing an Orientation to their environment." He then goes on to make "appropriate" synonymous with "normal" form (Cicourel, 1974:20). Thus - 1/U -"normal form" seems now to be recognized as a setting feature. This foray into the biography of a theorist is only a way of noting that the phenomenon under investigation here is not completely new to ethnomethodology . This is true, of course, only i f grammaticality can be understood as an instance of normal form. Based upon my readings of Cicourel (1970a, 1970b, 1974) and especially work done under his advisement (Leiter, 1969),* i t appears that grammaticality can be understood as an instance of normal form. To claim that talk in some setting appears as appropriate or normal form is to claim that what was said should (or at least could) be said there and then by the type of person who said i t . It i s a claim that the talk was grammatical. It must be noted, however, that the claim that some talk is or is not grammatical would appear to an instance of substantive sense making. Unless such a claim is treated as a members' claim, made by a member as a correlate of orienting-to-grammaticality, the claim has no analytic status within an ethnomethodolpgical enterprise. This holds for a l l "normal forms." Possibly this i s why "normal form" has not received much attention by ethnomethodoLegists; i t appears to be a members' phenomenon. Rather than buy into whatever some concrete theorist might have meant by the gloss "normal form," I am. pointing to the a f f i n i t y between grammaticality and what publicly could be meant in texts where "normal form" is discussed. The issue is not what Cicourel meant, but what his talk could be pointing to, publicly. That i t could point publicly i s to say that pointing is a matter of convention. To the degree that language i s public i t s implicative structure is no one's private domain. However, more important than issues of the hermeneutics - 171 -of the author versus the hermeneutics of the text (cf. Ricoeur, 1973a) is the phenomenon which normal forms and grammaticality can be seen to reference. Before turning to that phenomenon, a word of caution i s perhaps necessary. In line with the ethnomethodological reduction or epoche (cf. Zimmerman and Pollner, 1970:98; Heap and Roth, 1973: 363-5) our attitude towards grammar w i l l not be the same as Wittgenstein's (1958) or Austin's (1970). Wittgenstein held the position that grammar governs "the 'possibilities' of phenomena... the Kind of statement that we make about phenomena" (1958:42). Our attitude w i l l be to bracket that claim, to take no position with regards to i t s correctness. Instead, what Wittgenstein (and his interpreters, Pitkin, 1972; Hacker, 1972; Specht, 1969) refer to as grammar w i l l be of interest in the way that members find and take grammaticality to be a concern. Our interest w i l l be in grammaticality as a property of intended objects and in orienting-to-grammaticality as an essential feature of acts through which such properties are intended, seen, noticed. It w i l l pose no problem that my writing (as an act) i t s e l f w i l l orient to the grammaticality of what I write and claim. Rather than posing some kind of i n f i n i t e regress (cf. Wilson, 1971), the reflexivity of my writing - that i t orients to grammaticality while being about grammaticality - i s preliminary evidence for the claim that orienting to grammaticality i s a candidate universally invariant feature of sense making. (b) The calling and f i l l i n g practices involved an orienting to grammaticality, an orienting that marked the whole of generating grammar. The products of those practices were produced and checked with reference to grammaticality. Note my response to Searle's second - 172 -condition for promising (cf. chapter seven, section three above). 2. "S expresses the proposition that p in the utterance T." p = the kidnappers posed a nation-wide threat. By taking p as a possible component of justifying, a response was called forth which provided the parallel content of p in the case of justifying. Orienting-to-grammaticality involved orienting to the type of thing p was supposed to be, a proposition. Whatever would be p would be something that could be called a proposition. "The kidnappers posed a nation-wide threat" was written as i t came to mind, for i t appeared i n t e l l i g i b l e and sensible as a proposition. It was not only sensible as being a proposition, but i t was pre-reflectively seen to make sense internally. For members, and thus for myself, kidnappers are the kinds of things that can (be said to) pose threats. For members, this cannot be said sensibly of other types of things, e.g., past participles, 1/2, the letter "a." In terms of the f i l l i n g practice, orienting-to-grammaticality was revealed above in chapter eight, section two (b). " P o l i t i c a l speech" and "quarrel," as well as "utterance" and "document/text" were seen as equivalent types of things. Whatever things could f i l l the z and x slots in the constitutive rule formula were taken to be things which could be a context or could "count as something else:" justifying. Proceeding from Eglin's example the analogical f i l l i n g of the formula for justifying involved orienting-to-grammaticality. Now, at a reflective level one could claim that with the calling and f i l l i n g practices there was an orientation to "What's parallel to this in the case of justifying?" or "What should f i l l these slots in the case of justifying?" The work of finding these answers, however, was the work - 173 -of pre-reflectively orienting to the (taken to be) grammatical features of Searle's formulas and Eglin's example. Those features were seen, but not noticed. Had they been noticed we might speak of a reflective orientation to the question "What should be said?" That orientation would s t i l l turn upon pre-reflective orienting to the relevant grammatical features. Orienting-to-grammaticality is thus a constituent feature of the intentional acts which intend and seek grammatical features. In this sense, taken-to-be grammatical features are dependent for their phenomenal status on the acts which seek and apprehend them. In perhaps more familiar sociological terms, the recognition of grammatical features depends upon a prior stock of knowledge of grammar. Unless the actor can bring that knowledge to bear in concrete situations, grammatical features w i l l not be recognized. Lacking a phenomenal status they could 2 not be said to exist at that time for that actor. In this sense, acts of knowing, here involving an orienting-to-grammaticality, are a necessary condition for the existence of grammatical features (cf. Gurwitsch, 1964:202-27; Sokolowski, 1964:195-223). In thisesense, orienting-to-grammaticality can be found to be constitutive of grammatical features. This holds both in the case of "finding" grammatical features (as features of objectivations) and in the case of producing grammatical features (objectivating them). In neither case is orienting-to-grammaticality to be understood as necessarily (or even usually) a reflective activity. It can be, though, as w i l l be seen in the following sub-section. (c) Grammaticality as a guide, concern or source of news was omnipresent, especially in thinking about the key terms. Here i s an - 174 -excerpt from my notes ("Inventory on Illocutionary Acts and Justification") that evidences that presence. Perhaps i t need not be said, tho i t may prove illuminating that i t is odd, senseless, unintelligible that I could/would find unacceptable and demand a J for certain acts, e.g., getting into a car before driving i t away, turning on the TV before watching Kung Fu, or adding a column of figures before getting the total. The absurdity here i s that the grammar of acceptable/unacceptable requires that the act in question could have been done some other way or need/could not have been done at a l l . (It i s even less sensible to say here that the above acts were 'against one's interests. 1) So, A must have been open to a choice between alternatives. If there were no alternatives the demand for a j u s t i i s senseless (unless, situationally, one did not see that there was no alternative). Note that to say A is unacceptable to H is to say that A i s relevant to H. The grammar of unacceptable was ex p l i c i t l y thematic here. I oriented to when something could be called unacceptable. The type of examples generated did not quite evidence the point I wished to make, but that w i l l be addressed when we turn to my use of examples. Of further interest was the use of (the grammar of) one term to decide the appropriateness of other terms within the grammar of justifying. In the days prior to the writing of the passage quoted above, I faced a problem. I was trying to decide whether a jus t i f i c a t i o n would be appropriate because the act was possibly against the interests of the hearer, or because the act was relevant to the hearer. In the passage quoted above I check out interest and relevance as to how they f i t with the grammar of unacceptable. The realization that the grammar of unacceptable "requires that the act in question could have been done some other way" called forth the realization that the grammar of "against one's interests" had - 175 -a parallel feature. Then, a few sentences later, attention was drawn to the point that an act being unacceptable to a hearer entails, grammatically, that that act be relevant to the hearer. Both "against one's interests" and "relevant" were seen to share with the grammar of unacceptable the feature that the act in question must have been open to a choice between alternatives. The grammars were taken as compatible on this point, which suggest their constituency in the grammar of justifying. Along similar lines, I oriented to the compatibility of other possible terms of the grammar of justifying. In notes prior to my relative's arrival ("Justifying and Ground Preparing") I had been concerned with a possible asymmetry between "responsibility" on the speaker's side and "entitlement" on the hearer's side. Responsibility and Entitlement are not reciprocal, are not at the same level. Equivalence would be Speaker Obligation and Hearer Entitlement. The speaker is obligated when he i s responsible for the possibly untoward event or act (Tho j u s t i can be given by non-responsible persons, e.g., "Yes, but John had to, in order to save his family"). But to whom Is he obligated to give the justi? To an entitled Hearer. How is one entitled to receive a justi? Well i t probably doesn't have to do with the relevance of the event or act to the Hearer-Reader. Since entitlement i s public the relevance must be public or made public. Two pages later I wrote. So, a l l we have Is that where there is Responsibility there is Obligation. Where there is (certain types of) Relevance there is Entitlement. The Obligation is to those who are Entitled to a j u s t i because of the Relevance of the Act/Event for which the Obligated is Responsible. Now in seeing the possible asymmetry I did not reflectively consult grammar. Rather a picture was given which was not entirely - 176 -coherent, sensible. The picture represented a speaker and a hearer. "Responsible" was the term seen (in the picture) for the speaker. "Entitled" was the term seen for the hearer. But something did not f i t , for "responsible" tied the speaker to the (possibly untoward) act, while "entitled" seemed to tie the hearer to the speaker. I realized that symmetry required that I have a term that would be complementary to "entitled" and t i e the speaker to the hearer. "Obligated" came to mind., It rushed into the picture to f i l l the now-noticed gap. The f i l l i n g of that gap revealed another one when I asked, "How i s one entitled to receive a j u s t i ? " I saw that "grounds" did not tie the hearer to the act, but "relevance" did. I did not seek to coin terms to f i l l the gaps. Instead I sought the terms that would and should f i l l the gaps. Those terms were taken to be already available (to me and any of us). A l l I had to do was to re c a l l them. The unformulated question was on the order of "What do you c a l l this?" or "What's the word for this?" In this way, having a picture as a feature of interpreting allowed using the picture as a practice. The picture was used as a guide to what-I-needed-to-know-reflectively. The lack of f i t or incoherence of the parts of the picture drew my attention. What was attended to was the obscure or missing parts. In this case relations were seen for which there were no terms given. Looking at the relations was a way of summoning up their names. While looking summoned up their names, the test of appropriateness of the terms was whether they f i t , accountably, with the other terms. Deciding their f i t involved orienting-to-grammaticality. That orienting was not a matter of subjective preference. It was not - 177 -that I sought terms that would suit me. I did not seek terms whose f i t could be "decided" by f i a t . Instead, I oriented to whether the terms "responsible" and "obligated" really were appropriate and complementary to each other. Orienting-to-grammaticality was an orienting to the intersubjectively objective: How i t really i s and must be, for everyone and anyone. (d) The work of generating or explicating the grammar of justifying consisted throughout in discovering, recalling and checking out the interlocking of (the grammar of) terms and even phrases (e.g., "against one's interests"). The work of explicating the grammar was the work of finding and showing the taken-to-be-there interconnections between the 3 key terms and the concept of ju s t i f i c a t i o n . The character of the work and i t s results i s thus of peculiar interest. I explicated the grammar of justifying (to some degree) but in so doing I employed terms whose grammar was seen as unremarkable. That i s , there was no need, in my mind, to explicate the grammar of those terms. When the need arose, with a claim I was wishing to make about terms of evaluation, I addressed the use of "adequate." Otherwise, the need never arose. Now under some other version of mundane theorizing, such as the popular hypothetic-deductive model, I should have explicated the grammar of the key terms (or at least defined them). But to do so I would have had to employ terms whose grammar would have had to have been presupposed as known-in-common. Given the experienced intermeshing and interlocking of concepts and their grammars, the process of explication looks to be practically endless. There would be no - 178 -explicating that could not be said to require explication. Pre-reflective knowing makes that endless explication both possible and unnecessary. It makes i t possible in that the term to be explicated and the work of explicating i t require pre-reflective knowing that (the term means this in this type of situation) and knowing how (to proceed to explicate i t s situated meanings). It makes such explication unnecessary in that what is being explicated and objectivated is what everyone can be accountably taken to know. That everyone can be accountably taken to (pre-reflectively) know grammar, is the accountable 4 grounds for cutting off explication at some point. What appears as a problem within some versions of theorizing, thus turns out to be the very ground for that and any other theorizing about the social world. That ground i s pre-reflective knowing. I raise i t as a point here because the presence of orienting-to-grammaticality appears to be an essential feature of that knowing. While orienting-to-grammaticality also occurs as a feature of reflection, as i s shown above in sub-section (c), pre-reflective knowing is what provides for the possibility of reflective knowing. In phenomenological terms, the passive constitution of the world through pre-reflective consciousness furnishes that which can stand as an object for reflection (cf. Husserl, 1973). While reflection can create new objects, which become sedimented in pre-reflective knowing, such reflection always begins from the world of things, as foregiven pre-reflectively. The ethnomethodological import here i s that in the concrete work of generating grammar I find the operative pre-reflective know-how to have involved orienting-to-grammaticality. Thatoorienting bespeaks - 179 -the presence of language at the level of so-called pre-linguistic experience. Empirically (or self-evidentially), the pre-linguistic appears as "on the way to language." The duality of language and experience thus suggests i t s e l f as a constructivist doctrine (cf. Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970). In discovering the work of "figuring out" to consist, in part, in pre-reflective knowing, and in finding that knowing to consist, already, in orienting-to-grammaticality, we are discovering a wider notion of "language" and even "speech" than admitted by social scientists or even Husserlian phenomenologists, like Schutz (1967). Language and experience appear to be a paired phenomenon, a point to which we shall return later. - 180 -FOOTNOTES 1. In an M . A . t h e s i s done under C i c o u r e l ' s s u p e r v i s i o n there i s a p e r t i n e n t d i s c u s s i o n and example of normal form. Ken L e i t e r ran an experiment where subjects were supposed to code t a l k . He o f f e r e d the f o l l o w i n g piece of data and d i s c u s s i o n as a way of showing "the r o l e that normal form plays i n , t h e accomplishment of c o d i n g . " H: " I ' m supposed to go ahead and ask him anyway because he won't see what I 'm d r i v i n g at? In case he doesn ' t r e a l i z e i t would be b e t t e r not to pay i n t e r e s t I should b r i n g i t u p . " V : That doesn' t make good E n g l i s h does i t ? H : " In case he doesn ' t r e a l i z e i t would be b e t t e r not to pay any i n t e r e s t I should b r i n g i t u p . " No, t h a t ' s a l r i g h t . I t ' s j u s t the way I read i t . Oh, I see, h e ' s t r y i n g to f i g u r e out , h e ' s t r y i n g to r a t i o n a l i z e the answers. There are s e v e r a l items to note about the example. F i r s t of a l l , the coder reads the i tem under c o n s i d e r a t i o n . Secondly, her partner V, n o t i c e s a discrepancy i n normal form where she comments, "That doesn' t make good E n g l i s h does i t ? " Note that her statement corresponds to what C i c o u r e l w r i t e s about normal form: " c e r t a i n normal forms of acceptable t a l k and appearance e x i s t which members r e l y upon f o r a s s i g n i n g sense to t h e i r environments" ( L e i t e r , 1969:99). What i s being indexed here i s that members t rea t grammaticali ty as a concern i n sense making. That i s the sense i n which a concern f o r normal form i s evidenced. 2. The q u a l i f i c a t i o n " f o r that a c t o r " should be taken s e r i o u s l y . I f something does not " e x i s t " f o r consciousness i t does not e x i s t at a l l - one could not prove otherwise without having or presupposing some mode of access to (consciousness of ) the o b j e c t . The n o t i o n of an object i n - i t s e l f , K a n t ' s noumena or the concrete object of the correspondence theory of t r u t h and meaning, can have only a presumptive exis tence independent of the p o s s i b i l i t y of consciousness of i t . In s o c i a l science the presumptive exis tence of concrete objects i s assured by the u n v e r i f i a b l e constancy hypothesis ( c f . Gurwitsch, 1964:87-92; P o l l n e r , 1970; Kers ten , 1972), where sense-data are assumed to be e m i t t i n g i n v a r i a n t s t i m u l i . Such an assumption l i t e r a l l y creates the problems of " m i s p e r c e p t i o n " and " e r r o r " a t t r i b u t e d to s u b j e c t i v i t y . By dropping the constancy hypothesis we have access to the c u l t u r a l procedures f o r accomplish-ing the sense of o b j e c t s - i n - t h e m s e l v e s . The constancy hypothesis i s i t s e l f one of those procedures . 3. I t i s i n t e r e s t i n g to note a W i t t g e n s t e i n i a n ' s observat ion on the i n t e r c o n n e c t i o n of concepts . "Grammar, one can say, e s t a b l i s h e s the - 181 -the place of a concept in our system of concepts, and thereby in our world. It controls what other concepts, what questions and observations, are relevant to a particular concept" (Pitkin, 1972 : 119). Phenomenological treatments of the problem of relevance (Schutz, 1970; Gurwitsch, 1964; Embree, 1974) have generally missed this phenomenon of grammatical relevance. One exception is the recent work of Stanage (1974) which at least notes the presence of the phenomenon. 4 . That "cutting off," which occurred throughout the work of generating and writing "Grammar," is equivalent to the invocation of what Garfinkel (1963, 1967) has studied under the rubric of the "et cetera clause." While he has found this to be an implicit property of sets of rules, i t has a much wider domain. Husserl (1969 :185) discovered the same phenomenon in his study of formal logic. He referred to i t as the idealization of "and so forth" (und so welter) Schutz (1964:285) found that idealization to be operative throughout sense making. Natanson (1973:18ir21) has argued that that idealization is in fact essential to the possibility of a social world. It should be noted that to ask that the explication be taken further i s to impugn my, or any author's membership. The invocation of an "et cetera clause" i s a right of membership. To challenge that right is to challenge membership. Thus "doing et cetera" i s "doing member-ship." Doing distrust, then, i s a way to dismember. - 182 -Chapter Ten GROUNDING 1) So far we have the use of Searle's formula for promising and the use of his formula for constitutive rules. As noted in the previous chapter, in the use of these formulas I oriented to and responded with general formulations. I tried to move from the formulas directly to their content, as they should be f i l l e d to represent justifying. Examples were used, but I never began from them. Instead they came into use when I could not continue at a general, abstract level. These problematic points are sometimes signalled in my notes by a formulated question, e.g., "What would the speech be i f one didn't take A to be untoward?" I sought to resolve these problematic points in and by the use of examples. That use seemed to have two related but different features. Examples were used to n a i l down and warrant a (questionable) distinction or claim. And they were used to seek answers. There was seeking done in the course of supporting a claim, and a warrant came from (successful) seeking. In both uses of examples there was pre-reflective knowing and a pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing. The knowing was not of the same character as reported with other practices. With other practices the knowing produced knowledge, as that which was known, e.g., I found that I had known that "For justifying there is no future act, though future actions w i l l be influenced by the adequacy of j u s t i f i c a t i o n " (see chapter seven, section three). The knowing involved in the generation and use of examples was not a knowing-that, but a knowing-how. The "what" that is so produced does not stand as knowledge. Rather i t stands as evidence of knowledge, of knowing-that. My know-how - 183 -produced evidence of my knowing-that. As evidence of knowing-that, i t reflexively showed that I had the know-how. That know-how consisted in knowing what would be (what would count grammatically as) an example of justifying, even though I had no elaborated, formulated knowledge of justifying. Again, pre-reflective knowing and awareness made i t possible to go on and find out what I knew, and thus that I knew (how). (a) The use of examples to n a i l down and warrant distinctions is manifest through these excerpts from my notes. Note with the WM Act the character of the jus t i f i c a t i o n and i t s power depends upon who gives i t to whom and when. The corner butcher could give a j u s t i , tho his status does not obligate him to do so. It's not that everyone ran to the corner butcher or to the oldest man on the block, in the neighborhood, city, etc., to priests, to 12 year olds, to sensual women, dwarfs, members of MENSA, etc. They could offer justifications but are not obligated by their status-identity. They may be "obligated" i f they come out in support of the action, but you wouldn't have gone to them expecting a j u s t i i f you didnl.t learn that they held that point of view" (from "Justifying and Ground Preparing"). 'Interests' should not be construed narrowly, for I can have humanitarian interests such that I demand a j u s t i (the grounds for demanding a j u s t i should reveal something about the nature of A) when I see police hassling an Indian, when my government refuses to s e l l wheat to starving Africans. Is i t then that I'm entitled to a j u s t i whenever any A is not 'acceptable' to me? Does "against H's interests" = "unacceptable to H" (and vice versa)? I don't think so. Part of i t is the public nature of my interests as opposed to private acceptability. That Is, that David Lewis calls his campaign plane "Daisy 1" may be unacceptable ('sissy,' 'queer,' in poor taste) but that does not provide me with adequate grounds (in Lewis' or e.g., the CBC TV News Audience's view) to demand a j u s t i from Lewis. I could do so, but there would be a question about the appropriateness of of my demand, i.e., about my entitlement and therefore a question about whether Lewis was Obligated to give a J..." (from "Inventory on Illocutionary Acts and Justification"). Perhaps i t need not be said, tho i t may prove illuminating that i t i s odd, senseless, unintelligible that I could/ - 184 -would find unacceptable and demand a J for certain acts, e.g., getting into a car before driving i t away, turning on the TV before watching Kung Fu, or adding a column of figures before getting the total. The absurdity here i s that the grammar of acceptable/unacceptable requires that the act in question could have been done some other way or need/could not have been done at a l l . . . " (from "Inventory on Illocutionary Acts and Justification"). (b) The f i r s t thing to note is that none of the examples are complete or were completed. They were generated and developed only far enough to support a point, e.g., that the "character" and "power" of a jus t i f i c a t i o n depend upon who gives it-, that I can demand a jus t i f i c a t i o n based upon my humanitarian interests, that the private unacceptability of an act offers no grounds for demanding a ju s t i f i c a t i o n , that i t i s senseless that someone could find unacceptable and demand just i f i c a t i o n for certain types of acts. Perhaps more vividly than anywhere else in the recoverable course of work, these excerpts display an orientation to grammaticality at a reflective level. Each of the claims for which examples are produced are claims about the grammar of just i f i c a t i o n . The contingent sense making practice of using examples to support claims can be spoken of as a grounding practice, having a number of attendant features. The practice can be likened to walking through familiar woods at night with a flashlight. Occasionally you have to stop and look around to see where you can step, to see where and how you can go from here. In so doing you may learn more than you had sought to know (reflectively). The analogy, however, portrays the work of generating the grammar and using examples as too incarnate in their relation. It was not that;>I had toamerely shine my light at the ground to see i t . I have to cOme up with the ground through - 185 -pre-reflectively knowing how to come up with examples that would allow my points to stand and my journey to continue. (It should be noted that :the examples used were hypothetical, not "actual examples''). That coming-up had a recoverable and remarkable structure. As with calling and f i l l i n g I moved from a present-at-hand objectivation. That objectivation was always an epistemic claim. In my case the claims were objectified in writing, but they could have been merely thought. While calling involved a move away from i t s objectivation (the caller) to analogical features, and f i l l i n g involved a return to the objectivation, grounding involved a search for evidence. I sought to generate examples that would support the claim at hand. That involved presupposing the possible correctness of the claim where the generation of an example would reflexively show i t s actual correctness. {That hypothetical (possible) examples could show "actual correctness" i s i t s e l f of interest vis-a-vis issues of "data"). The possibility of i t s correctness, however, turned upon the i n t e l l i g i b i l i t y of the claim. The claim qua claim had to make sense, i f only tentatively, vir t u a l l y , conceivably. If the claim did not make or suggest some kind of sense, i t could not possibly be correct, mundanely speaking. More importantly for the practice, though, i f the claim did not make or suggest some kind of sense i t could have never been used as a guide, a reference point for the generation and selection of examples. Reflection and meditation on the objectivated claim were carried out with an eye to the features of the claim which examples would have to exemplicate. The possibility of examples being evidence turned upon observing and achieving links of thematic relevance - 186 -(cf. Schutz, 1970) between claim and examples. >The how of that achieve-ment was contingent. In the f i r s t excerpt I sought dramatis personae whose status appeared different and unrelated to Trudeau's status position. "Corner butcher" and others came to mind. In excerpt two I recalled the student protests of the sixties and reflected that they seemed to be calling for justification on grounds of "humanitarian interests." That led me to think of dramatis personae who typically are the ones acting against humanitarian interests. Police and government came to mind. Then I sought those whom they typically oppress through inhumanitarian acts. In the private acceptability issue in excerpt two, I had to do some thinking. What I thought of were things-which-people-sometimes-find-offensive. In concentrating oh that, some of those things came to mind. They did so as i f I had made a selection on a vending machine. I pushed the button and out came "Daisy 1" (during a Canadian federal election). Upon i t s appearance I had to decide whether i t was what I wanted. In the third excerpt, regarding a senseless demand, I had the type of example in mind: something on the order of some of Wittgenstein's examples (1958). But I could not remember exactly any of his examples, except as to their type. I pushed the button "senseless demands" and somehow the examples were manufactured as they were delivered.^" That manufacturing depended on (pre-reflective) know-how. (c) In earlier sections one feature of the use of Searle's formulas was that the pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing involved an expectation that something (relevant) would be known - 187 -(would come to reflection). This grounding practice, of seeking examples, has a similar structure, but differs in one important respect. 2 Where whatever came f u l f i l l e d the purpose, the telos of the calling and f i l l i n g practices, with the grounding practice the examples them-selves did not f u l f i l l the practice's telos. Instead the telos (of warranting a claim) was f u l f i l l e d through the examples. The way in which the example evidenced the claim at hand, was the way in which the telos was f u l f i l l e d . Here then, there i s a question of whether or how well the example evidences the claim. The example?is selected and manufactured with an eye to displaying the veridicality of the claim. If i t looks like i t i s turning out to do so, i t is objectified in writing. During or after the writing, further reflection may reveal that the example is not adequate. With this practice, then, fulfillment i s essentially open to re-interpretation. This was not the case with the calling and f i l l i n g practices. Reflection could find that what was called and f i l l e d was wrong but not that the practice's telos had not been f u l f i l l e d . This difference is traceable to the fact that the example is only evidence, not the fulfillment i t s e l f . In Garfinkel's terms (1967), the examples are Irremediably indexical and reflexive to the occasion of their generation. Their sense as evidence, as evidence for some claim, and as adequate of inadequate evidence, i s dependant upon the possibility of recapturing and reconstructing the occasion and intentions for their generation. This recapturing depends on being able to memorially reproduce or read the "same" example again. In my case the examples were objectified - 188 -in writing and as such were taken as persisting and enduring. That i s , my use of and return to the examples evidenced an accountable assumption that the signs-on-the-page (the document) would remain constant. As Gurwitsch (1964) has shown, such constancy cannot be verified. The indexicality and reflexivity of evidence is perhaps best illustrated through the third excerpt, above. There I was grasping for Wittgensteinian examples of conventions and came up with "getting into a car before driving i t away." There is a mundane problem with these examples, as reflectively realized later (thereby evidencing the essential openness of examples-as-evidence). The problem, as seen during the course of generating the grammar, was that the examples did not quite:evidence the claim I was wishing to make. At the time I had the sense that that was the case, even though I could not come up with the right type of example. Yet, I knew the right type, in a vague way. Now I can generate an example of that type; i t would be odd, senseless, unintelligible i f I should find unacceptable and demand justi f i c a t i o n for a basketball team having five players in NCAA competition, for castling in chess, for using two drumsticks in playing a flam. The right type of example would have been one where the sensibility of an action depended primarily on the conventions (^constitutive rules") which define what counts as that action. Instead, I had generated examples that depended primarily not on constitutive rules but on (what?) let us say "ontological conditions." While "driving i t away" can be done in a conventional manner, as can "getting - 189 -in the car," i t is not a matter of convention that the latter must precede the former. Were i t a matter of convention alternative conventions could be conceived. One is at great pains to discover an alternative convention in this case (providing "driving i t away" entails the driver being in the car, which i t conventionally does entail). In the case of NCAA basketball i t i s purely a matter of convention that there must be five players on each side in the game. The convention easily could be imagined to be otherwise, e.g., four players to a side. It was the peculiarity of "demanding a jus t i f i c a t i o n for a convention" that I sought to display in generating the examples in the third excerpt. In writing the examples I had the inkling that they were not quite right, though I thought that further reflection might reveal them to be adequate. With this inkling, and even after the reflective work that found them partially inadequate, they s t i l l were taken to evidence the claim regarding senseless demands. The operative structure was like that of building a wall with odd size bricks. At one point you know the size brick you need, but cannot find i t right off. Wanting to get on with the job, you pick out an odd brick to provide support for now. Later, you reason, the brick can be knocked out and the correct size inserted. Likewise, I was interested in getting on with the job. The example was not quite right, but i t would do. It would provide some support for my claim, showing i t to be actually correct (for s t r i c t l y practical purposes). In terms of our earlier formulation this structure is most interesting. The practice's telos, which was to be f u l f i l l e d through the example, was (partially) f u l f i l l e d through an example that stood In - 190 for the correct type of example. I knew the latter type but could not provide a document of i t . The telos was practically f i l l e d bysa proxy. The relation between the example and the type of example for which i t was a proxy i s somewhat like a relation of indication. The example indicated the type of example which would Aground the claim-at-hand. (It i s important tokkeep i n mind that the example indicated a type of which i t was not an exact instance). (e) To understand what i s meant by the relationship of indication, i t i s instructive to note Schutz' lucid account of Husserl's work. Husserl ((in Logical Investigations)) has characterized this relationship of indication ("Anzeichen") as follows: an object, fact or event (A), actually perceptible to me, may be experienced as related to another past, present, or future fact or event (B), actually not perceptible to me, in such a way, that my conviction of the existence of the former (A) is experienced by me as an opaque motive for my conviction for, assumption of, or belief in the past, present, or future existence of the latter (B). This motivation constitutes for me a pairing between the indicating (A) and the indicated (B) elements. The indicating member of the pair i s not only a "witness" for the indicated one, i t does not only point to i t , but i t suggests the assumption that the other member exists, has existed, or w i l l exist (Schutz, 1962:311). The opacity of the indicator-indicated relationship i s of interest. That the relationship is opaque does not mean that a l l indications create practical problems of knowing what is indicated. That problem is usually prevented by the presence of a context wherein the indicator i s found. Let us consider an example. The position of a needle on the di a l located on the dashboard of my car indicates how much gas I have l e f t in my tank. That same dial found in a junk yard or sold in the parts department of a garage i s not taken to indicate how much gas I have in my tank. It could do so, were It - 191 -"hooked up." But even then, on every occasion of noticing the d i a l , i t could turn out that i t was not functioning properly. That decision would be reflexive to i t s occasion, in the sense that i t would depend upon the noticed features of the occasion, e.g., needle on " f u l l , " engine coughing and dying. Those features warrant a search for "what's wrong," involving a retrospective interrogation, including "when did I last get gas?" In the same way that the decision of "malfunctioning needle" i s reflexive to the occasion of decision-making, the taken-to-be-functioning needle i s reflexive for i t s sense to the occasion whereupon i t is observed. Thus the indicator, however evaluated, i s essentially reflexive for i t s 3 sense. This holds for a l l indicators on their occasions of indicating. The reflexivity of indicator to context (and vice versa) i s a guarantee against the indexicality of the indicator-indicated relationship becoming a practical (and therefore a member's)problem. By being able to notice or recover a context, the indicated member can be noticed or recovered. This reflexivity, however, only guarantees the (possible) success of indicators that have been recognized as^  indicators. While the indexical relation of indicator and indicated i s opaque, the character of the indicator as a (possible) indicator can i t s e l f be opaque. In the example above, public conventions overcome the latter opacity. Gas gauges indicate relative gas levels, in the way that they do so, through inter-personally recognized, accountable conventions. Where relations of indication are conventional, they could be reorganized differently. In the case of the gas gauge, given i t s public purpose, "empty" and " f u l l " could be reversed in their positions on the d i a l . Then " f u l l " would mean " f u l l of fumes". Such a convention would be eminently sensible in a society whose technology could not guarantee that fuel tanks would not explode from the - 192 -heat of the engines. As wer know (from accounts of Whorf's discoveries as an insurance investigator, i f from nowhere else), empty fuel drums present more of a danger than do f u l l ones. This i s to say, then, that things can be recognized and taken as indicators i f there are socially distributed conventions for defining them as (possible) indicators. (f) Returning to the case where an example indicated a type of example of which i t was not an instance, clearly there were no conventions to follow. The written passage was not marked in a way which publicly would c a l l attention to the example as an indicator for another, related type of example. In fact, in returning to my notes, and that passage, the relation-ship of indication was not called to mind, at f i r s t . At some point in re-reading and reflecting on the example as an example, i t came to me as to how I had intended i t to be read and understood. It posed a problem to reflection and recall that there were no conventions that allowed me to mean the example in that way. That problem was overcome in recalling the lived context to which the passage was reflexive. That reflexivity re-awakened the indicative relationship. The example was then see-able as an indicator. In re-reading, the example indeed served as an "opaque motive" for my conviction that there was a type of example for which i t stood, and which grounded the claim I was wishing to make. This is the odd feature of this instance of an indicative relationship. What was indicated was not given as a determinate individual. Only i t s type was appresented. One f i n a l point should be brought out regarding this indicative use of an example within the grounding practice. Since the intention was f i l l e d through the example, as evidence for the claim at hand, i t was possible to allow one type of example to stand in for another type. It depended on how the example was treated as to whether and how i t f i l l e d the grounding - 193 -practice's intention. It turns out that when one knows what i t indicates, an example can be treated .as indicative, and the grounding practice can succeed (though not f u l l y ) . (g) Earlier i t was pointed out that examples were generated to support a point, to give credence to some claim. It is this feature of the use of examples which provides the practice with i t s sense as a grounding practice. It was not that I reflectively asked "What would prove my point?" Rather, i t was taken for granted (pre-reflectively known) that examples were evidence. It x^ as not that I had to decide whether to gather actual (really-happened-in-the-world) examples or hypothetical ones. Rather, i t was taken for granted that hypothetical ones would do. It occurs to me that not everyone would have taken that for granted. It was so taken by me, perhaps, because I have been convinced by (the writings of) Austin (1962b, 1970) and Cavell (1964) as to the acceptability and u t i l i t y of using hypo-4 thetical examples. A l l the examples I used were hypothetical. That they were hypothetical i s of some interest, for while I made them up, they were treated as evidence for my claims. Something like this, of course, i s done a l l the time in the ordinary language philosophy literature. However, in my case as well as in the literature, the procedure does not have a (merely) self-serving character. That i s , they were experienced not merely as my_ examples, not idiosyncratic products of my unique biography. They were oriented to as intersubjectively recognizable instances of public phenomena. It was taken for granted that anyone-of-us could generate such examples, and anyone-of-us would recognize the examples i n their intended sense. Their apparent public character as possible and sensible or insensible furnished their status as evidence for my claims. - 194 -The four instances of examples above in subsection (a) were a l l "possible" examples, as were the other examples I used. It would be possible for those hypothetical situations and utterances to occur in "real l i f e . " One could have asked the corner butcher to justify the Iter Measures Act. I could ask for jus t i f i c a t i o n i f I saw police hassling an Indian. Had I the opportunity I could demand jus t i f i c a t i o n from David, Lewis as to why he named his campaign plane "Daisy 1." And someone could ask you to justify getting in to a car before driving i t away. A l l of these examples are hypothetical, but from a member's perspective they are possible, they could, or could have occurred. Yet with the exception of the second instance of examples (police and Indians, government and Africans), the examples were, mundanely speaking, specifically insensible. The second instance of examples (excerpt two) was both possible and sensible. For those examples to be sensible they had to be possible. Mundanely speaking, "demanding jus t i f i c a t i o n from a book for hassling an Indian" would not be a possible example. Thus i t could not be sensible. In the case of the other examples, they were totally possible, 6 but sensible only in part. Their insensible part was specifically produced to evidence a point. In instance one, i t would have been possible to ask the corner butcher for ju s t i f i c a t i o n . As well, j u s t i f i c a t i o n was apparently in order. A possibly untoward act had occurred (the invocation of the WM Act). The act was relevant to citizens and they were entitled to ask for just i f i c a t i o n . It would have been insensible, though, to seek out the corner butcher or 12 years olds for jus t i f i c a t i o n . They had no publicly apparent responsibility for the act and therefore had no obligation to justify i t . Similarly, an insensible feature is to be found in the third - 195 -and fourth instances of examples. A l l df this is noteworthy in light of our earlier findings. The generation of examples, both in their possible character and sensible or insensible features, essentially involved orienting-to-grammaticality. Usually the orienting was pre-reflective, but the orientation to insensible features required reflective work. The status of an example as possible turned upon whether i t was publicly the case that, e.g., corner butchers, police, an Indian, my government, a campaign plane, cars, Kung Fu and a column (not a row, vector or beam) of figures could be said to exist. Here again we find language-experience as a paired phenomenon. The course of work evidences the feature that thought and language were not separate. There was no example which came toraninjl which could not be expressed. Seeing an example was already seeing something that could be expressed. That a hypothetical example could be expressed is no guarantee that i t would be a publicly possible example. We could speak here of orienting-to-possibility. Such a way of speaking would be adequate and appropriate i f i t appeared that experience and language were separate realms. The implicit expressibility of experience suggests that, at least for the realm of "figuring out," experience i s already l i n g u i s t i c , i n a wide sense. Thus "grammaticality" has a wide application, such that experiential poss i b i l i t i e s are here taken as grammatical p o s s i b i l i t i e s . Orienting-to-grammaticality i s thus an orienting to what is possible,and vice versa. It should be noted that the limits of these claims cannot be decided from the evidence available for this analysis. Seeing experiental possibility as an issue of grammaticality requires some imagination. It i s more obviously the case that the issue of - 196 -the sensibility or insensibility of an example or of i t s parts i s an issue of grammar. The generation of sensible and insensible features involved and required an orienting-to-grammaticality. What-should-be-said-when, where, how, by. and to whom, i.e., grammar, decided sensibility. The grammar, of course, was not elaborated and formulated as knowledge. It was merely pre-reflectively known and used (oriented to). We find, then, that the work of deciding both possibility and sensibility consisted in an important part in orienting-to-grammaticality. This suggests that pre-reflectively there is not necessarily or always a s p l i t between " i s " and "ought," the ontological and the normative. (We shall have occasion to pursue this point later.) What is of additional interest here is that the examples generated were straightforwardly taken as public in their character and features. They were taken as possible not only, or even, in my_ world, but in the world, our world. As well, their sensibility or insensibility was taken unquestionably as a public feature. They were not taken as sensible or insensible to me and also probably sensible or insensible to others. That distinction would be accountable, but the experience was of those features as already public, as public-from-the-start. They were publicly possible, and sensible or specifically insensible at f i r s t sight. Yet, that they had that character and those features, can be seen reflectively to have been decided on my authority as a member. Besides there being no one around to question the public, intersubjective character and features of the examples, no thought was given to finding anyone. Neither theoretical nor practical problems of intersubjectivity arose. It i s for. .this very reason that examples made by "me" to support "my" claims could be taken as successful - 197 -(or indicating success). The very sense of the practice as a grounding practice turned upon finding the ground not to be mine, or anyone-in-particular's, but to be "the ground": everyone's. - 198 -FOOTNOTES 1. Exactly where " I " was in a l l this reflective work is unclear (and possibly wrongheaded to consider). " I " seemed to "push the buttons" and be involved in mixing the ingredients, but " I " was only a witness to the ingredients' ar r i v a l . 2. One could speak of the intention rather than of the telos of a practice. Such a way of speaking, however, might give rise to (conceptual) con-fusion given my talk of "what the formula intended." As well, for those who have heard the word "intentionality" bandied about, confusion might arise. To speak of the telos of a practice i s to speak of the purpose i t serves, e.g., the calling practice served to c a l l relevant things to mind, the f i l l i n g practice served to f i l l the formula for ju s t i f i c a t i o n , etc. The purpose and the fact that a practice has a purpose (only one?) are not reflectively known. They are taken for granted. Tied to this status is the fact that, as prereflective, there is no separation between a practice and the purpose to which i t s 'user' puts i t . The telos i s immanent to the practice-in-use. What can create confusion here is that i t is grammatical to speak of a user who has purposes, for which a "practice" i s used. However, a 'user'was not present i n the pre-reflective experience of the practice-in-use. Thus, on the basis of the phenomenon (practice-in-use) as i t appears to me, the claim must be made that the purpose is the purpose (telos) of the practice and not the reflected-on purpose of a user. Another source of confusion would be to treat the practice-with-its-telos as a thing, independent of consciousness. Instead, i t must be made clear that the practice-with-its-telos is a constituent feature of consciousness, in and as intentional (noetic) acts. 3. Perhaps i t should be pointed out that indicators are only animated in and by consciousness. It i s senseless to speak of indicators as independent of consciousness or, what comes to the same thing, independent of occasions of use. The status of something as an indicator turns upon i t s actual or intersubjectively conceivable use as an indicator. Convention allows us to conceive certain things as possible and probable indicators, but i f they do not do the work of indicating, even their con-ventional status i s in jeopardy. Reflexivity, thus, i s not to be under-stood as a property of indicators per se. Rather i t is a property of the phenomenon of indication which is phenomenally constitutive of indicators. That reflexivity, l i k e a l l reflexivity, i s a property present only in and to consciousness. Consciousness here i s understood as intentional, as consciousness of (cf. Gurwitsch, 1966b:124-40). While one pole of reflexive relationships seems always to be the object, we must not miss the correlativity of object and consciousness. If we- miss that correla-t i v i t y we f a l l into the trap of treating objects, and therefore r e f l e x i -vity, as independent of consciousness. We thereby miss what provides for the possibility of any object whatsoever (cf. Gurwitsch, 1964:221). - 199 -I did refer occasionally to Trudeau's speech, but i t i t s e l f could not be treated as a bona-fide example of justifying. It's very status was the issue. Which is undoubtedly why such literature rarely addresses the epistemo-logical problems involved in noticing, on any actual occasion, whether that occasion, that time and place, is the appropriate occasion for saying x rather than y or z. While evermindful of the "problem of context", context never poses a problem for them: they legislate i t . This hypothetical approach and i t s unnoticed problems have a l i f e in sociological discourse as well. Their l i f e i s a plague, as when the issue i s "ethnomethodology's critique of the normative paradigm." On one occasion, after having given an abbreviated version of Wilson's formulation (1970), I was harnessed with a hypothetical example. "Suppose I've got two groups of kids, one with 75,I.Q. and other with 125 I.Q., and that allows me to predict 100% of the variance with reference to classroom performance? What would your critique come to then?" As with any other hypothetical example, a l l the situated epistemological problems are done away with because one already starts positing what in any actual case would have to be found, i.e., that they "have" such and such "I.Q.", that i t "predicts," that "classroom performance" i s measureable, etc. The plague goes well beyond after-dinner fencing, however. It i s found wherever and whenever the theorist dons the robes of what Merleau-Ponty (1964) calls the "absolute spectator," otherwise known as the "objective observer." - 200 -Chapter Eleven A N S W E R T S E E K I N G 1) The second use of examples was in seeking answers, rather than, as in the grounding practice, trying to support answers (claims). The two practices do have related features, however. Examples are given the same evidential status within each practice, and each practice i s merely contingent to the task.of figuring out grammar. The practice warrants being called "answer seeking" by the features of i t s occasion of use. • As mentioned before, I worked at a general, abstract level in generating the grammar of justifying. When problems arose in the course of that work, examples were sought to put thought back on firm ground. As we have seen, examples were used to support claims, but when the situation did not even produce any l i k e l y claims, examples were turned to as a source of answers and news. (a) In one such situation a question was posed: "What would the speech be i f one didn't take A to be untoward?" The question came out of reflection on the possibility that some hearers would not see the invocation of the War Measures Act to be untoward. I was wondering whether they would then see Trudeau as doing justifying. Now, while I was concerned with an actual, concrete example, Trudeau's speech, the question was not answered or oriented to In terms of the speech. I sought a general answer that would be objective, would hold in most i f not a l l such situations. The work of seeking an answer in this case i s noteworthy. It did not go so far as producing written hypothetical examples. It did not need to, for the answers arrived before that was necessary. That written examples were not necessary i s to say that the example as - 201 -phantasized produced evidence strong enough to allow a return to abstract thinking. Rather surprisingly, given the lapse In time since that phantasizing (three months), my notes allow me to memorially recover and re-enter that phantasizing. The reconstruction offered, no doubt, would have been different had i t begun moments after the phantasizing. That is not particularly bothersome in that the feature of interest can be found in any :other phantasizing (of an example) that we might undertake in order to answer a question about grammar. This i s to say something of import regarding the character of "data" for this type of analysis. Data, whether hard, soft, actual or hypothetical, are of interest only as examples (cf. Zaner, 1973a). In order to answer the question posed above (regarding the consequences of not taking A to be untoward) I phantasized a situation of interaction: I was in a high ceiling building with people moving around and past me, as in an airport terminal. Someone was speaking to me, justifying some act which I did not feel to be untoward. I was not looking at him, but rather was looking toward the ground. My body was peripherally in sight, along with what may have been luggage, and what were his feet and legs. He wore black trousers and black shoes, and seemed to have an overcoat slung over his forearm. This a l l came to mind by orienting to "what happens when someone j u s t i f i e s an act that I don't take to be untoward?" The situation came to mind in just this generality. The speaker was not anyone that I actually knew. The place was familiar only in i t s typicality, formulateable as "like an airport terminal." The situation had no before and no after. The speaker's speech was not heard for i t s - 202 -sense. I did not phantasize him saying particular words, or even justifying a particular act. No attention was paid to the supposed "conditions of appropriateness." Using Searle's formula: the talk was not heard (phantasized) as x, "giving reasons why a possibly untoward act was actually acceptable." It was phantasized as y, justifying. I simply posited the character of the talk as "justifying." In phantasizing this situation, at this level of generality, an answer came. In the phantasy I f e l t awkward, embarrassed, aware of myself.^" It was not that I posited myself as being embarrassed. The embarrassment merely happened as the phantasy unfolded. In l i v i n g in that unfolding, the embarrassment presaged the answer. The answer was " f e l t , " then reflectively caught as the answer. I f e l t the j u s t i f i c a t i o n was unneeded, then saw that that was the answer. While there was much that was contingent in the phantasy and the phantasizing, the essential feature was that the answer came from within the phantasy, but not as part of the phantasizing. Pre-reflective know-how produced the example, but the example produced the answer. That I knew and could recover the answer was taken as granted. What the answer was reflectively, however, was unknown. The practice was a way of recovering what was pre-reflectively known. Unlike the calling and f i l l i n g practices, though, there was no guide to work from, nothing serving the function of Searle's formulas. The answer simply came from (within) the example and not as a response to It. I learned from the example; i t did the teaching. What had been an object, became a subject. It spoke. I listened. (b) While this feature of the use of examples strikes me as news, - 203 -i t i s only news to reflection. Pre-reflectively, this feature i s expected to occur. Otherwise, there would be no reason to seek answers through generating examples. Being taught by examples is a pre-reflectively known possibility. Now, for now, for us, i t i s a reflectively known possibility evidenced by actual uses of (hypothetical) examples. The feature of being taught i n the course of seeking answers also occurred in writing out examples, as i t were, "off the top of my head." Take the "Black man in Georgia" example, which was incorporated into the text of "Grammar." I was working out the logic of analytical identity and difference, trying to see i f the offering of ju s t i f i c a t i o n always implied analytical identity between speaker and hearer. The issue became problematic when the speaker and hearer did not appear to share the same cultural community. Take a Black Man and a White Man in Georgia in early 1900's. A White Man walks through a Black man's farm, or i s 'poking around.' He's probably not asked for a J (He might be asked for an explanation, where the A is not implied as of negative value.) But a Black Man doing the same on a White Man's farm would be asked for a J (or would he just be run off?). If asked for a J the Black Man would most probably give a J, or an excuse. Now this may not be a good example because the Act i s one that any Black man might see as requiring J to another Black man. Maybe make i t drawing water from a well or drinking at a fountain. (Note that segregated fountains make trespassing negatively accountable while affirming Difference). Now, suppose that no Black Man f e l t he had to give a J to another Black Man as to why he was drinking from a public fountain, but a White Man demands a J. Now note that the Black man probably would not give a J; he'd give an excuse. To jus t i f y the action^would be to r i l e or challenge the White Man, or to claim Analytic Sameness. Now this suggests that tho J's may be asked for by S, they can be given only with dire consequences. To justify an A to a Superior Different i s thus to claim Equality, (from "Inventory on Illocutionary Acts and Justification") - 204 -In thinking and writing out the above example I was repeatedly informed by what I had thought and written. Having phantasized a white man walking through or poking around a black man's farm in Georgia in the early 1900's, I saw that in that type of situation (in that place at that time) the white man probably would not be asked for j u s t i f i c a t i o n . In objectifying that thought the "question" began to arise as to what the white man would be asked. Before the question became articulated, in the course of i t s coming to reflective formulation, the answer came: "He might be asked for an explanation..." I then reversed one element of the phantasy, putting the black man on the white man's farm. In imagining that reversal I imagined the consequences. The reversed example was then used to ground the claimed consequences. But In writing out the last phrase, "would be asked for a J , " the phantasy spoke, t e l l i n g me that the white man possibly would not even ask for a j u s t i f i c a t i o n . He might just run off the black man. In that the giving of a ju s t i f i c a t i o n was of interest, I followed that line of reflection, dropping the "running off" possibility. That produced "If asked for a J the Black Man would most probably give a J, or an excuse." After having been alerted by the phantasy to the possibility of the black man being run off, I could see that an excuse might be given rather than j u s t i f i c a t i o n . Reflection on the example of the black man being asked for jus t i f i c a t i o n produced the awareness that perhaps the example was not a good one. Its "goodness" was decided with reference to the issues for which the example was generated. In considering how to alter the example to make i t relevant to the issues of identity and difference, I h i t upon drinking fountains. - 205 -That seemed i n t u i t i v e l y [ f r u i t f u l . In hitting upon i t , I grasped i t in i t s public and h i s t o r i c a l relevance to black-white relations. In so grasping i t , I caught a hint of a feature of interest: the accountability of trespassing as affirming Difference. That feature was of interest in terms of accounting and difference, but not specific-a l l y relevant to generating the example. Thus I cast the talk as a "note," enclosed in parantheses. The formulation of the example in terms of the drinking fountain brought to mind that an excuse rather than a j u s t i f i c a t i o n would be offered. This point had appeared before, each time pushed to attention by the object of attention: the imagined example. This time i t was taken up as relevant, as a help rather than a hindrance. In exploring the implications of giving a j u s t i f i c a t i o n in that situation, I found the answer to my original "question." The offering of j u s t i f i c a t i o n implied analytical identity, and I had an example that grounded that claim. (c) In the quoted excerpt and in the work of producing i t , there was much that was contingent. Most of i t could have been otherwise. Just thinking of the membership categories "Black Man" and "White Man" might have produced the insight that in Georgia at the turn of the century the former would not have offered a j u s t i f i c a t i o n to the latter. The example could have been made more concrete at the beginning as to the type of men, e.g., a known-to-be vicious black man. There could have been more twists and reflective turns in working out the example. The example could have been set elsewhere and elsewhen. It could have been different i n endless ways. - 206 -The example is of interest, however, for what i t shows, and for the fact that i t did show. The feature worthy of mention and attention is that phantasizing produced phantasies which offered more than I had phantasized, more than I had imagined. This happened with the excerpt above. It happened in a l l other cases of example using. It could happen in any case of seeking-answers-through-examples. And in any particular case i t might not happen. This i s to say that the answer seeker has no s t r i c t guarantee or control over i t happening, for i t is something that happens, not something that i s done. (d) The answer-seeker does seem to have some form of control, as I did. That control exists in entertaining a theme or topic. In the case of answer-seeking-through-examples, the theme is what Schutz would c a l l "motivationally relevant" (1970:45-52). It makes a difference to me, in the way that i t makes a difference to my project at hand. I use the examples in order to find an answer; that i s my in-order-to motive (cf. Schutz, 1967:86-91). It is not me and my motivational relevances that make examples teach, though. The teaching i s out of my hands. However, the practice of using examples evidences an intriguing dimension in the feature of being taught. Somehow, what i s taught is of interest. Conceivably, an example could teach an indefinite number of things. The examples tried and tested above could have taught (or could teach) about human nature, about American History, about Black History, about word association, about brotherly love, about Cain and Abel, about farms, wells, drinking fountains, grammar, syntax, economic relations, normative order in Georgia or elsewhere, i n 1900's or elsewhen. And they couldJteach what they can be seen now, for the accounting, - 207 -to have taught. And now, perhaps, they can be seen as having taught more and other than they were said to have taught. Well, of course and obviously, not a l l those things would have been of interest given my motive of finding an answer to my problem at hand. While this "ego-relevance" (cf. Embree, 1974) seems to suggest part of the answer, i t leaves mysterious the connection between the phantasized and the teaching. It i s not the case, of course, that I can or wish to explain that connection, in any casual sense. Such explanation, at any rate, would presuppose understanding the phenomenon while i t is exactly that understanding which I wish to achieve and express, in and as description of the formal structure of the connection. (e) Somehow, I was taught what was of interest. Merely envisaging the i n i t i a l situation of a white man poking around a black man's farm, I realized that ju s t i f i c a t i o n probably would not be asked for. In following out that realization an answer appeared: "He might be asked for an explanation..." The realization of that answer pointed my thoughts in another direction, requiring that I reverse the roles in the phantasy. And so on. I recount the work of generating the example here to bring out the character of that work. One thing led to another. Seeing one thing, I was shown another. That which I was shown was relevant in some way, not directly to my motives, but relevant to the theme, topic, object of thought, the envisaged situation. I conceived the typical actors and typical situation, but in bringing them together as the object of my thoughts, they displayed an implicative structure of relevant aspects. The implications were not intendedly installed in the phantasy by the phantasizing. Rather they presented themselves as relevant aspects - 208 -of the phantasy i t s e l f , aspects unforeseen in the project of phantasizing. These'lhemati.c'ally relevant aspects were not merely outer horizonal (cf. Husserl, 1962:91). They were not related to the theme in the way that my desk i s related to the books piled upon It, nor in the way that an old barn i s relevant and related to the farm auction held within i t . Rather, the aspects were relevant to the theme as i t s inner horizon (cf. Gurwitsch, 1964:234-45). They were related to the theme in somewhat the way a one piece seat and wear-marks on the stretchers are related to the theme "antique chair." The aspects were related to the theme i n some-what the way brass and percussion are related to and in music-being-heard. Or, more closely, the aspects were related to the theme in the way that a properly written news story is related to i t s opening paragraph (cf. Boughey, 1974). The aspects were a f i l l i n g i n of the theme i n the use of examples. In seeking answers through generating examples I was taught what was of interest in that, and because, I furnished the themes through phantasizing. Of course I picked up themes from the phantasy, which i s to say that aspects of one theme were sometimes thematized. Thematizing produced a theme, which then showed some aspects. I was taught what was of interest because the aspects were of the theme which my interest had fostered. As aspects of the theme, their relevance to the theme and to my motives was assured. Thus, in choosing themes I had some control over what would be taught. That control was limited, not unlike the control undergraduates have in choosing classes from college calendars. In signing up, they have only a vague notion of what w i l l be taught. In my case, the themes were not chosen from alreadyknown-alternatives. That I would be - 209 -taught was not guaranteed. To keep to the analogy: only upon being taught did I realize for which course I had signed up. (f) Besides only being taught what was of interest, i t turned out that I was never taught anything that I did not already "know". The course being taught was always a refresher course. I never learned anything "new." Rather I was reminded of what I already knew. Here i t is important that the sense of "know" and "new" be f i l l e d . What I knew, and therefore was not new, was "how things are typically." My knowledge was of the typical. Pre-reflectively, the typical ways of men and women were known. In the same way that doing grocerypshopping at any Safeway, getting gas at any Shell station, eating at any Voyageur restaurant in Canada, produces "nothing new," nothing strange, the phantasizing produced nothing having strange, new aspects. The aspects were unforeseen, but not unknown. They were known in their typicality, as being the type of thing a typical black man would say to a typical white man i n some typical country setting in Georgia of the early 1900's. In Schutz' terms (1962:134) the phantasized types of persons, place, talk were anonymous (read:general) but familiar at that level of generality. Unless the phantasized situation and actions were familiar, I never could have conceived them in the f i r s t place. Unless the aspects of the themes were familiar, I do not see how they could have ever been shown. This point is revealing, at least of my presuppositions, i f not of the truth. It reveals that while the phantasy did the teaching, the possibility of i t doing that rested upon pre-reflectively knowing the phantasized situation in. i t s 2 typicality. (g) Pre-reflectively knowing the phantasized situation in i t s - 210 -typicality was a knowing-how-to-proceed. It was a knowing that allowed and provided for the construction of the phantasy as well as what the phantasy taught. That know-how involved orienting-to-grammaticality at key points. In envisaging a situation involving a white man and a black man in Georgia after the turn of this century I was seeking what would be said i n that type of situation. I saw f i r s t that the white man probably would not be asked for ju s t i f i c a t i o n . Then I saw that he probably would be asked for an explanation. In the reverse situation, with the black man poking around the white man's farm, I saw that the farmer would probably offer an excuse. Now in searching for and being taught what would be said, note that the illocutionary force was of interest and not l i t e r a l l y "what would be said." In light of the age-old arguments among philosophers about the fact-value, or is-ought distinction (cf. Hume, 1888; Searle, 1969), i t i s of some interest that typically "what would be said" i n a phantasized typical situation was taken pre-reflectively as being "what should be said." The distinction between the normative and the ontological was given no thought, as i t did not arise. Nor did i t s absence present any practical problem to theorizing. These points are worth mentioning, not only for their philosophical implications, but for their sociological implications. The character of grammar (as oriented to) was not merely normative. It was ontologically productive. It produced and reproduced ontology. In and for the seeing and the tellings the normative and the ontological were intertwined. The factual social order was and i s a moral order. For members, reflectively elaborated grammar, as "what should be said when, where, how, to and by whom" is normative. But, for them, i t also decides what can be said publicly to exist. Pre-reflectively known grammar, as a guide to - 211 -phantasizing furnishes "what would be said." It i s able to do so because "what would be said" typically would be "what should be said." Grammar as ontological and normative i s an accountable guide to what could be and what should be. We are now in a position to see that the interest in what was taught was provided in the taken-to-be grammatical connection between aspects and theme. The relevance between aspects and theme was not the relevance encountered in experiencing a perceptual object. The relevance was one encountered in phantasizing. It could have been encountered in an actual situation of interaction. That relevance was what Schutz (1970) and Gurwitsch (1964) would c a l l thematic relevance, but we can now see that that relevance was, as well, grammatical. Orienting-to-grammaticality in phantasizing (and possibly in observing) social interaction leads to the discovery of factual aspects of the situation, which are also normative aspects. What-couilld-be and what-should-be bring forth "what i s " within the phantasized situation. The aspects, being "what i s " within the situation, showed themselves as relevant to the theme precisely in the ways that they could be seen as "what would be said in that situation." Their relevance was grammatical. To say that what was taught was grammatically relevant to the situation (as the theme) i s to introduce i n a strong way the participation of consciousness with i t s object. The phantasy did the teaching but consciousness did the phantasizing. I have already pointed to the importance of the familiarity of the aspects, their foreknown character, providing for the possibility of those aspects surfacing in phantasies. Now i t can be taken further. The familiar types of persons, places and talk were organized reflectively in the phantasizing, and pre-reflectively in grasping - 212 -the aspects of the phantasies. That organizing and organization, as sensible, i n t e l l i g i b l e and accountable were achieved through, or as the correlate of orienting-to-grammaticality. The experienced grammaticality of intended objects (e.g., themes and aspects) guided pre-reflective knowing in and as knowing how to phantasize a typical situation that could provide the answers sought. That grammatical know how is here being claimed as that which provided for the possibility of the phantasy teaching what was of interest to me and relevant to the theme. (h) With this claim i t becomes clear that being taught by an example, as a feature of the use of an answer-seeking practice, does not render that practice essentially different from the calling practice discussed in chapter seven above. You w i l l recall that the calling practice consisted in reflecting on a component of Searle's formula for promising. Through and in the midst of that reflecting, the parallel features of justifying were called to mind. The practice was a way of finding out what I knew (read: was pre-reflectively known). The answer-seeking practice was also a way of calling to mind what was pre-reflectively known. However, no other objecti-fications, l i k e Searle's formulas, or Austin's examples, were used as a guide. The practice depended instead upon what I could produce through phantasizing typical situations. The practice depended upon my own objectivations and their objectification in writing. In the context of my purposes, projects, knowledge, the theme at hand, and past themes and their aspects, these objectivations served to c a l l to mind what was foreknown but unforeseen. What was called to mind in this way had a different status than what was called to mind by the calling practice. With the latter, what was called ton mind required further reflection to assess i t s correctness. As you w i l l r e c a l l from section three above, In response to point two of - 213 -Searle's formula, "S expresses the proposition that p in the utterance T," I wrote "p = the kidnappers posed a nation-wide threat." When I originally wrote i t , that claim seemed vi r t u a l l y correct. In reviewing the claim i t looked to be wrong, at least in one respect. That i s , p was given a specific concrete content, where p should have been cast as the general form for justifying. Further reflection also found ways in which my response was correct. The important point here is that as elaborated knowledge of grammar, the claim was open to reconsideration and reinterpretation. The claim, i n fact, needed what the answer-seeking practice pro-vided. That practice provided an answer through an example. An accountable l i k e l y example grounded the very answer i t taught. That giving a jus t i f i c a t i o n i n a certain situation would create a particular problem for the participants, was both an answer to a question about analytical identity, and evidence for that answer. Because of this reflexive grounding the claim was made (in the beginning of chapter ten) that the operative structure of the grounding and answer-seeking practices shared certain features. There was seeking done in the course of grounding a claim, and a warrant came from (successful) answer seeking. The features shared by the grounding and answer-seeking practices are many, which suggests their kinship in a family of yet-to-be-thematized practices. Both practices depended upon pre-reflective knowing-how and pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing-how. That know-how was operative in the practices in generating examples that were thematically and grammatically relevant to the claims i n question. The claims off of which the practices worked were similar i n that they had to do with a state of affairs having an uncertain status. The act-attitude of grounding, however, Involved taking - 214 -the claim to be possibly and probably true. In answer-seeking the "claim" was problematic as to i t s truth. As such, i t was formulated as a question about the character and status of a state of a f f a i r s . The objectivations off of which the practices worked, however, had to make (some kind of) sense in order for the work of generating and selecting examples to be carried on. Even when the "claim" was problematic, as i n answer-seeking, the question had to make sense in order to search for and find an answer. While "being taught" was essential to the success of the answer-seeking practice, i t also occurred as a feature of the work wherein the grounding practice was operative. The feature of "being taught" was present on each of the occasions indexed by the four excerpts provided above in chapter ten section one (a). In each case where an example was generated to ground' a claim, the example would teach me, remind me of some further point. In the "corner butcher" example I grounded the claim that the obligation to justify the War Measures Act was tied to status position. But in writing out the examples, i t occurred to me that corner butchers, priests, 12 year olds, etc. could be obligated to give j u s t i f i c a t i o n i f they came out in support of the action. The concept of obligation appeared to s t i l l have application in that situation. Each of the other examples showed unforeseen aspects that taught more than I had imagined. Being taught, then, was a ubiquitous feature of the actual use of examples in generating the grammar of j u s t i f i c a t i o n . This i s to say that that feature was contingent to the practices of grounding and answer-seeking. On any actual occasion there is no guarantee that an example w i l l teach. As we a l l know, teaching and learning are precarious enterprises. - 215 FOOTNOTES 1. This i s of particular interest in light of Zaner's (1974a) work on the reflexive contexted genesis of self within problematic situations. The phantasizing produced just this type of awareness of embodied self within the phantasy. That i s , I did not decide to include that awareness of self in the phantasy. Rather i t came about within and as a feature of the phantasized situation, at i t s horizon. 2. Husserl (1970a:108-16) explains the possibility of this phenomenon in terms of apperception. Husserl's claim is worth noting. Apperception i s not inference, not a thinking act. Every apperception in which we apprehend at a glance, and noticingly grasp, objects given beforehand - for example, the already-given everyday world - every apperception i n which we understand their sense and i t s horizons forthwith, points back to a "primal  instituting," in which an object with a similar sense became constituted for the f i r s t time. Apperception, then, i s a passive 'act' of pre-reflective consciousness. Regarding phantasy, the apperceived aspects of the theme could only be apperceived If there had been a "primal instituting" of a type to which the aspect points back. Thus the teaching depends upon what was foreknown. I should add, however, that Husserl's claim seems to have the character of a theory which explains what cannot be seen. It makes sense, and is analytically powerful, but I cannot as yet see how the phenomenon of apperception as pointing back to a primal instituting can be given in direct self-evidence. Such evidence i s c r i t e r i a l for any phenomeno-logical claim. - 216 -PART IV: RECOLLECTIONS - 217 Chapter Twelve SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS 1) Treating an occasion of figuring out grammar as an opportunity for analysis, three essential features and four contingent practices of sense making were discovered and discussed. We now have an opportunity, to recover and review these properties of figuring out so as to decide their larger implications. While the properties themselves are of prime importance, the analysis nonetheless speaks to issues and questions in EM and the rest of sociology. In particular, the analysis speaks to the social, intersubjective character of supposedly private, "subjective" experience. 2) Speaking metaphorically, i t could be said that the analysis has revealed a species of contingent practices consistirag of two families.^- The former might be called the Invoker species. The grounds for speaking (metaphorically) of a species are the essential properties shared by the four practices. Each involves two intended component objects: possible caller and the called; authorized caller and the f i l l e r ; epistemic claim and the ground-evidence; question and answer-evidence. The f i r s t component of each practice has to be rendered an object for reflective consciousness, i.e., objectivated, and i t must be performed (thematized) i n a particular mode, as an invoker. The f i r s t component, as performed, must make (some kind of) sense, actual or vi r t u a l . The f i r s t component i s intended and performed in terms of the telos of the practice: to c a l l , to f i l l , to ground, to answer. That purposive performance of the f i r s t component (somehow)-invokes the second component. As well, of course, the use of - 218 -the practices involves the three essential features of orienting-to-grammaticality, pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing, and pre-reflective knowing. With the last mentioned feature of sense making, the familial differences within the species becomes noticeable. Calling and f i l l i n g involve pre-reflectively knowing-that, e.g., "p = the kidnappers posed a nation-wide threat," about the topic of interest. On the other hand, grounding and answer-seeking involve pre-reflectively knowing-how, e.g., to generate relevant examples as evidence. Thus i t seems that we have calling and f i l l i n g as members of one family, and grounding and answer-seeking as members of another family, within one "species." The difference between families are to be found in their respec-tive essential properties. We w i l l treat the properties tentatively as definitive of familial membership i n either the Calling family (calling and f i l l i n g ) or the Grounding family (grounding and answer-seeking). The definitive properties involve the telos of the practices. Quite simply, the telos of the calling and f i l l i n g practices are f u l f i l l e d by the arrival to reflection of the second component, the called, the f i l l e d . With the grounding and f i l l i n g practices the telos i s f u l f i l l e d through the arrival to reflection of the second component. Only by searching the new arrival can the user decide whether i t furnishes evidence, e.g., grounds or answers, for his/her claim or question. Tied to this difference in mode of fulfillment is the finding that for the Grounding family, answers are sought from the second component, while for the Galling family answers are sought from the f i r s t component. That i s , with calling and f i l l i n g , the f i r s t component is treated as the - 219 -authoritative source of answers, with the answers given in and as the second component. In the case of grounding and answer-seeking, though, the authoritative source of answers i s the second component, the evidence. In both cases the answers may turn out wrong. If they are wrong, in the case of the Grounding family, the telos w i l l not be f u l f i l l e d , even though a second component has been invoked. Whether or not the telos has been f i l l e d i n this case depends on the interpre-tation of the second component qua evidence. No issue of interpretation of the second component i s involved regarding the f u l f i l l e d telos of the calling and f i l l i n g practices. Their telos i s f u l f i l l e d by_ the second component's arrival, not through i t . While there are" essential differences between families, there are also family differences: the families do not consist In twins. Within the Grounding family the practices di f f e r over the status of the f i r s t component. In grounding, the claim ( f i r s t component) i s treated as authoritative or at least possibly correct. In answer-seeking the question does not have this status, nor does i t lack i t . Questions simply are not authoritative or unauthoritative, only their answers are. Instead of a claim to know, the f i r s t component of the answer-seeking practice has the status of a problem, something problematic, yet to be known. From the second component of the answer-seeking practice a claim to know issues. Thus what i s f i r s t with grounding, i s last with answer-seeking. In the Calling family both f i r s t components are treated as authoritative, thus grounding shares a further feature with calling and f i l l i n g . In the Calling family there are two differences, which reveal - 220 -two features shared by f i l l i n g with the Grounding family. F i r s t , the second component of calling, unlike i t s brethren i n the other three practices i s not a player i n a zero-sum game. Its failure as an answer i s not registered, does not have to be contended with. Its failure i s handled by the ad hoeing practice (cf. Garfinkel, 1967:20-3) of "le t i t pass." With the other three practices the second component counts; i f i t i s not congruent with what else i s known, i t must be contended with, worried about. If the f i l l e d component does not f i t , or the ground-evidence goes against the claim, or the answer-evidence upsets previous claims, one cannot let i t pass. Coherence and congruence must be restored i f the project i s to continue. The second difference within the Calling family also d i s t i n -guishes calling from the other three practices. With the other three, the second, component i s reflexive to the f i r s t . The move i s from the f i r s t , as the invoker, to the second, as the invoked. The arrival of the invoked^ however, reflects back on the invoker, as the f i l l e r that takes the place of the authorized caller, as the example that grounds the claim, as the example that answers the question. Such i s not the case with the called and the caller. The called mirrors the caller but does not reflect back on i t , for i t is not answerable to i t . The caller i s merely the point of departure, not the destination. Having introduced and applied a system of classification i t is necessary to make clear i t s limits. Talk of species and families is metaphorical and provisional. Taken seriously, i t i s not at a l l clear what should count as a species attribute of a family attribute. The approach taken here was that whatever properties were common to a l l - 221 -four practices became the "species attributes." Whatever two practices had in common that the other two did not share, became "family attributes." The provisional character of the classification as used, can be seen in the treatment of "family difference." These differences in essential properties were treated as displaying difference within families. Under a different election the differences could be treated as grounds for claiming^ that there are no families: each instance of family difference displays that one practice has more i i i common with the other "family" of practices than i t does with i t s own "brother." What i s of interest, then, i s the shared properties of the four practices, and not their "membership" in a family or species. Before we can become at ease with any system of classification, a great deal more research i s required into the actual and possible examples of contingent sense making practices. 3) Three essential features of figuring out grammar were found to have been present, both in the use of the contingent practices and during the course of sense making. The f i r s t feature revealed that Schutz' (1962:14) notion of stock of knowledge is misleading with regard to situated sense making. In any situation where the grammar of a concept i s being explicated, we expect to find knowledge-in-use, i.e., pre-reflective knowing. Knowledge that something i s some way, or knowledge of how to do something, i s ready at hand, ready to be formulated or used as sense making requires* This knowing is neither reflective, nor the object of attention. Rather i t i s a capability to carry on, a capability present prior to reflection, at i t s foundation. It i s the inexhaustable resource for figuring out grammar, i.e., for bringing to reflective formulation what i t is that one already knows (pre-reflectively). - 222 -To say i t i s inexhaustable i s to say that a l l objective reflective formu-lations of grammar depend for their sense and authority on that competence which i s prior to reflection. Here we see the consequence of the analysis for ordinary language philosphy. The latter's task i s made endless by the very thing that makes i t possible: pre-reflective knowing. By "endless", I do not mean that there are always more fish in the sea, concepts in the language. The task is endless because objective expressions about grammar are always subject to the situated authority of pre-reflective knowing. Since a l l the possible contexts of i n t e l l i g i b l e use can not be foreknown, and grammaticality depends on context, the grammar of a concept can not be given definite expression. Since i t can not, the notion of "the grammar of a concept" must be recognized as an idealization. Insofar as analysts treat that idealization, and expressions aimed at i t , as authoritative, they.deny the source of legitimate authority: pre-reflective knowing that and how. In this fashion, following Searle 2 (1969), my formulation of the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n (see chapter five) usurped the very authority that made i t s generation possible. Essential to the use of the Invoker practices i s the pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing. That awareness differs from pre-reflective knowing in that i t involves an expectation of a particular type of thing coming to reflection. In terms of the operative structure of Invoker practices, the feature provides a sense, a hint, an intuition that some objectivation could be treated as an invoker. If there is no hint or sense of possibly knowing what an objectivation might invoke, there i s no reason to shift attitudes to treat i t as a (possible) - 223 -invoker. When there i s this sense, this awareness of possibly, knowing, the expectation of a particular type of thing coming to reflection i s an expectation of the arrival of the invoked. It i s the expectation of knowing-that such and such is the case, in calling and f i l l i n g . In grounding and answer-seeking, the expectation i s of knowing-how to generate relevant evidence (examples). While pre-reflective knowing i s made possible by pre-reflective consciousness, the pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing i s made possible by the temporal structure of consciousness, That i s , i t s possi-b i l i t y i s founded on the puotentional structure of consciousness (cf. Husserl, 1964; Zaner, 1970b:138-55) as an anticipation of the future. The pre-reflective awareness of that protention evidences the reflexivity of consciousness to i t s e l f : "Every act is consciousness of something, but every act i s also that of which we are conscious" (Husserl, 1964: 175). 3 While pre-reflective knowing provides the possibility of the Invoker practices being used, and the pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing i s essential to the choice of objectivation as a (possible) Invoker, the third feature provides for the possibility and success of invoking. That third essential feature of figuring out grammar i s orienting-to-grammaticality. As this feature enters into the use of the Invoker practices i t involves consideration of the invoker in terms of the features relevant to the topic about which knowledge i s sought. With calling and f i l l i n g , this consideration decides relevance in terms of what could and should be said, e.g., in the case of justifying, In terms of the Grounding family, the orienting i s towards the relevant - 224 -properties of the evidence. That i s , when the invoker is "the character and power of a ju s t i f i c a t i o n depends on who gives i t to whom," the generation of the invoked involves orienting to certain types of people. Those are people who merely by giving and receiving j u s t i f i c a t i o n could affect the "character and power" of the j u s t i f i c a t i o n . This i s an orienting to what should and would be said about the "character and power" of a j u s t i f i c a t i o n , given that i t is given and received by certain types of people. Thus both knowing-that and knowing-how achieve their success (and failures) through orienting to the grammaticality of the invoker and the invoked (as a particular type of thing). The inner workings of the contingent practices are a l l guided by grammaticality, as a member's pre-reflective and reflective concern. Beyond that, deciding the grammar of a concept involves orienting to the grammaticality of i t s key terms,i.e., checking how they f i t together, cohere. 4) The analysis reveals i t s e l f as having been about a certain type of sense making. It has been called "figuring out." The findings of that analysis, however, should not be treated as t e l l i n g us about any and a l l Instances of sense making that can be called figuring out. That i s , while we must respect ordinary usage in deciding the accountable sense of our findings, the search for the features and practices of sense making should not be bound by ordinary usage. Quite simply, no partic-ular " l i n g u i s t i c identification" of sense making, e.g., figuring out, discovering, interpreting, deciding, solving, calculating, making up, planning, etc., has exclusive rights to the phenomena i t identifies. In any actual instance of sense making, a number of referentially - 225 -adequate identifiers are available. For example, a l l of these things can be said to be figured out: cross country trips, shopping l i s t s , math problems, grades and what, should be said. Yet, i t also i s grammatical to speak of planning cross country t r i p s , making up shopping l i s t s , solving math problems, calculating grades and deciding what should be said. There is no principled way to decide whether a practice is a phenomenon of ""figuring out" or of a host of other referentially adequate identifiers. To attempt that enterprise is to assume a one-to-one correspondence between concept and phenomenon. That correspondence is the idealization and i l l u s i o n of empiricists. Instead, the position taken here is that ordinary language has the f i r s t word (cf. Austin, 1970:185) but not the last. The i n i t i a l location of practices and features must be i n t e l l i g i b l e in ordinary terms. After that location, the determination and exploration of the discovered type Of contingent sense making should be i n terms of the structural features, the essential properties of the discovered practices. The analysis presented here located i t s e l f i n t e l l i g i b l y as an exploration of "figuring out grammar." Having discovered an (open) set of contingent practices, the search for other members of that set, or variants of present members, w i l l not be guided by what can be called an instance of "figuring out." "Figuring out" was only a passport to gain us legitimate entry to foreign lands. Once there, the concern is exploration, within the bounds of our visa (ordinary use). It matters not whether the discovered practices are linked to figuring out, or solving, or deciding, as long as they can be linked, grammatically, to some identifier. - 226 -Perhaps, however, one point should be c l a r i f i e d . It matters not which referentially adequate identifier i s chosen, as long as one particular identifier can be used. That identifier i s "making sense" or "practical reasoning." Either concept must be applicable^ in order for a phenomenon to qualify for EM interest. This i s rather a strong requirement, but the status of a master concept would seem to require some version of this requirement. Otherwise, EM is faced with a problem of semantic cl a r i t y (cf. Garfinkel, 1967;267-71) in making i t s claim, i.e., " i f i t can not be called sense making or practical reasoning, how;, can i t be treated to EM analysis,?" Thus, while i t does not matter which identifier i s used, e.g., interpreting or figuring out, the master concept/identifier must be applicable even If i t i s not used. What does matter is recognizing and respecting the properties of types of sense making. The properties discovered in this analysis receive their sense from the project of making sense of a certain type of thing. Again "figuring out" cannot be our guide, for what can be said to be figured out reveals no monological structure. Sometimes what is to be figured out does not yet exist, e.g., cross-country t r i p , shopping l i s t . Sometimes i t already exists, e.g., math problem. Some-times i t already exists and is to be discovered, e.g., motive of an action. Sometimes i t exists and only needs to be understood, e.g., bus schedules, directions. In figuring out grammar, the mundane concern is to discover something that already exists. It i s a normative order that we subscribe to (or else this sentence could not make sense to me or you). It i s i n the work of making sense of what we already know (pre-reflectively) that - 227 -the seven properties discussed and analyzed here, receive their sense and place. It is in explicating one's own member's knowledge that i t i s sensible to employ Invoker practices, and to depend on the three essential features. One can c a l l , f i l l , ground, and answer only when one already knows what one is trying to recover, to invoke. This l i s t of seven properties of sense making w i l l be expandable, most probably, by analyzing other instances where sense is made of what-should-be-said-when, of members' knowledge. (The insertion "most probably" i s only to keep us open to the possibility that variants, "relatives," of these properties may be found elsewhere). Thus "type of sense making" is not decideable from a l i s t of referentially adequate identifiers. The type of sense making is correlative to the type of object about, or of which sense i s made. The type of sense making i s , therefore, decided by considering i t in relation to that object. Rather than speaking of "figuring out" as a type of sense making, we instead should speak of figuring out x, i n this case grammar, the normative order of language use. Interpreting types of sense making, and thus having to inter-pret types of objects of which sense is made,sare required in the study of contingent practices of sense making. This seems a necessary way of proceeding i f we accept the possibility and implications of type-invariance, as discussed i n chapter two. It is only by the specification of "types of sense making," in terms of the correlativity of sense making and i t s object, that i t is sensible and useful to speak of type-invariance. For a feature to be type-invariant, i.e., essential, i t must - 228 -display particular invariance (see chapter two, and Wilson, 1971:14). It must be possible to conceive that particular invariant property of sense making as a "prototype." The type of which i t is a prototype (for analysis) must be essential to the "type of sense making" wherein i t is embedded. A l l three essential features, knowing, awareness and orienting-to-grammaticality, may be evidenced by many or even a l l structural types of sense making. Indeed, i t was suggested in chapter nine that orienting-to-grammaticality looks to be a candidate universal invariant feature. The most that can be said, though, in any instance of analysis, i s that a particular invariant feature is essential. For i t to be essential, the particular invariant has to be conceivable as a type of feature or practice. As well, the feature or practice has to be discovered whenever analysis i s aimed at the same "type of sense making" as that i n which the feature was originally located as particularly invariant. This was the case with pre-reflective knowing-that and knowing-how, and with the other two features. They were in evidence in the use of each of the practices of figuring out grammar. Thus they were offered as essential features, essential to a type of sense making: "figuring out grammar." 5) Having furnished an analytic summary of the intended-to-be verifiable findings, the question arises as to the implications of this type of analysis for EM, beyond the possible contributions to EM knowledge. These implications have to do with the character of practices and their analytic status. (a) The analysis took the advice given in chapter two, section 4.C.6.: "what 'sense making practices' could be, technically, turns upon what they could be said to be, ordinarily." This advice allowed the - 229 -discovery of the Invoker practices. Their good sense as practices was not assured by consulting definitions or l i s t s of practices in EM. Other reports of practices were not taken as models to guide my discovery (recovery) of practices. Instead, my mastery of natural language allowed recognition of things that anyone-of-us could c a l l "practices." This is not to say that I paid no attention to what EM understands sense making practices to be. Nor i s i t to say that anything that could count as a "practice" would be of EM interest. Rather, i t i s to say that I operated with a sense of what is meant, technically, by "practice," and that that sense depended on my mastery of the ordinary concept and use of "practice." To the degree that the analysis produced findings recognizable (at least to some practitioners) as "sense making practices," the claim i s vindicated that EM analysts should be open to whatever their mastery of natural language can uncover, discover, and recover regarding "sense making practices." To predecide what w i l l count as practices is to pre-determine what?will be found to be practices. It i s also to predetermine what w i l l be lost, without being noticed. (b) The analysis reveals a third structure of sense making. In interpreting, as i t has and can be conceived in EM (Cicourel, 1970a; Wilson, 1970), the structure is that of making sense of objects/behavioral displays within a scenic environment. The sense maker interrogates an object for i t s situated sense. In accounting (Wilson, 1972), the structure i s that of one actor identifying,referencing or in some way objectiflying something for another actor (including him/herself, as in a diary). The sense maker reports to some other sense maker about some object (in the - 230 -wide sense). "Figuring out" (grammar) presents another structure, one where objectivations are interrogated not primarily for their sense, but for what they can invoke in the form of other objectivations. (1) Besides opening up another area for analysis, this finding casts further doubt on the wisdom of presupposing that sense making has a monological structure. That we have at least three structures that can be called sense making, argues strongly against searching solely, i f at a l l , for universally invariant properties of sense making. Instead, the implication of the present analysis i s that a concern with invariance can go only as far as seeking properties invariant to specific structural types of sense making. Whether pre-reflective knowing, pre-reflective awareness of possibly knowing, and orienting-to-grammaticality are invariant to a l l types/structures can not be decided on the basis of their invariance to one structure: figuring out (grammar). (2) A second implication along these lines i s that EM, i f i t has an interest in sense making, should not re s t r i c t i t s e l f to Invariant properties. A l l that can be said, and can be of interest, about sense making is not exhausted in describing invariants. Contingent practices have always been present among EM findings. There is no reason to consider them as trouble, a source of embarrassment or cause for remedial action. Instead, they should and can be analyzed for their essential properties. To the extent that they are repeatable, they are verifiable (in modes appropriate to them). As such, they present another, and perhaps richer, source of news about how experience, and thus the world, is ordered and accomplished. 6) The analysis of figuring out grammar, in particular the - 231 -discovery of essential features, has a further implication for EM and for interpretive sociology as well. This implication has to do with inter-subjectivity, language and "the social." To catch this implication we must f i r s t attend to "the social" in EM, and in i t s roots. (a) In EM "the social" has an obvious and thereby strange status. It i s obviously of prime concern, as some sort of master category in which EM phenomena must be found. We find an abiding concern with accounts and interpretations of social action (Wieder and Zimmerman, 1971; Wieder, 1974; Wilson, 1970). A concern with order is often formulated as a concern with social order (Turner ,J1974 i l l ; Gieourel1,, 1970a :136),;.- s i t .is aot that the world, or settings or situations per se are of interest. Rather, the interest i s in the social world, social settings, social situations (Zimmerman and Pollner, 1970). In fact, i t has been claimed that for EM the foundational nexus of meaning is the "directly observed social s i t u -ation" (Heap and Roth, 1973:364). It is this concern with the social that awards EM i t s status as a social science, a sociology. This concern is obvious and good, It becomes strange, though, in light of what i s not said and done about "the social" in EM. Turner (1970:187) has made explicit the EM policy that the analyst must explicate the interpretive competence that guides his/her work. Bittner (1965:248) points out that inquiry can not get under way without f i r s t employing the very s e n s i b i l i t i e s that i t seeks to study. He goes on, however, to emphasize that "we must be prepared to treat every substantive determi-nation we shall formulate as a case for exploring background information on which i t i n turn rests." In line with this position, Zimmerman and Pollner (1970:97) offer the occasioned corpus (EM reduction) as a method - 232 -for turning members' resources (and thus the analyst's resources ) into phenomena for inquiry. In light of these positions and exhortations i t becomes strange that an obvious resource in and for EM nowhere receives analytic attention. The master category of "the social" i s an unnoticed and unclarified resource for EM analysis - a resource essential to locating candidate phenomena. The analysis provided here speaks to this resource, but before taking time to hear i t s speech let us consider what might be meant and understood by "the social" in EM. In light of the position developed in chapter two I take i t that whatever can count, technically, as social must also be i n t e l l i g i b l e within, the scope of ordinary usage of the concept and use of social. In that correct usage w i l l be indexical. however, we w i l l discover no absolute boundaries that rule discourse. A second option would be to interrogate the technical use of social that EM might be drawing on as a sociology. The latter option would also illuminate the resources of sociology. Let us consider that option. In that Weber i s the major figure in the interpretive paradigm, and is of relevance to EM through the work of Schutz, his oft-repeated definition of social action is important here. Weber (1968:4) stated that "Action is 'social' insofar as i t s subjective meaning takes account 8f the behavior of others and is thereby oriented in i t s course." While there are major conceptual problems in this definition, what is significant here i s that the social i s defined as involving and requiring an orientation to an Other, in terms of his/her behavior. Schutz (1967) has explicated the problems in this definition and - 233 -in Weber's other foundational definitions. He finds Weber using unclari-fied and ungrounded concepts of behavior, meaning and action. He finds Weber using ambiguous notions of orienting to an Other, but finds him, in general, using an affectihg-an-Other model for social action. Out of systematic criticism and eidetic c l a r i f i c a t i o n Schutz provides Weber's interpretive sociology with a phenomenological foundation. This c l a r i f i -cation reveals that behavior i s meaningful and action i s not merely behavior with subjective meaning "attached." Both behavior and action are understood as capable of being social. Schutz furnishes these definitions. Conscious experiences intentionally related to another self which emerge in the form of spontaneous activity we shall speak of as social behavior. If such experiences have the character of being previously projected, we shall speak of them as social  action. (1967:144) Social behavior includes such experiences as feelings of sympathy and antipathy. Social action includes experiences of showing sympathy and antipathy as planned a c t i v i t i e s , as in stage plays. While Schutz has cr i t i c i z e d and significantly altered Weber's definition, he has retained the core of Weber's notion of social. Schutz does not retain the affecting-an-Other model, but he does make an Other-orientation c r i t e r i a l for social behavior and action. That Other-orientation "postulates that a Thou lives, endures and has consciously lived experiences" (1967:146). If EM analysts drew upon Weber-Schutz, then they might under-stand social situations and social settings as situations and settings wherein at least one actor oriented in his/her behavior or acts toward an Other. Minimally, the Other would not have to be present, or even alive. These would be social situations wherein a one-sided social - 234 -relationship obtained between an actor and his/her contemporaries, predecessors or successors (Schutz, 1967:139-214). More typically, an actor would be in relation to someone co-present with him/her, a consociate. If we invoke a simple common sense notion of social situations or settings, the co-presence of two or more actors would seem to be a paradigm case. If we consider the social in terms of sense making then we have two major divisions within EM. In terms of accounting, the interest i n the social could be in the giving of accounts as i t s e l f a social action. EM analysts, however, have expressed an interest in accounts of_ social action (Wieder and Zimmerman, 1971; Wieder, 1974), where the social i s rendered phenomenal by focusing on the ways in which members conceive and describe social action.** Accounts of anything else would apparently be out of bounds for analysis. In terms of interpreting, the interest in the social could be in how social phenomena were interpreted. More narrowly, one analyst has expressed interest in procedures involved in interpreting social action (Wilson, 1970).^ These versions of EM seem • most clearly to draw upon Weber (and perhaps Schutz) in their understanding of social action and the social. (b) This short consideration of the social in EM seems to have i t s own nasty implication. Under the Weber-Schutz notion of social action, and i t s apparent adoption within some leading versions of EM, the analysis presented here is rendered illegitimate. It does not conform to EM's "normal form." Instead of focusing on the social, or on members focusing on the social, the analysis focuses on non-social action (figuring out) which i t s e l f does not focus on social action. )Instead the object of sense making is a normative order. True, i t was a members' normative -235 -order, but that order is not social action i t s e l f . The analysis, then, is of the private, the psychological, the non-social. A number of alternatives are open here in response to the claim of illegitimacy. It could be honored and validated by agreeing that the analysis was counterfeit. This would render this monograph somewhat novel in the annals of social s c i e n t i f i c research, for counterfeits are usually not self-proclaimed. A second alternative would be to challenge the claim of illegitimacy by showing that the analysis actually i s legitimate, or near legitimate. This alternative could take the tack of arguing that social action presupposes, or at least involves, normative order. Thus figuring out normative order would be an action relevant to, but one level removed from social action. This alternative would recognize the Weber-Schutz position as authoritative and base i t s counter-claim on i t s relevance to that position. A third alternative would be to point out that the concepts of social and social action are unclarified resources in EM. If i t could provide no c l a r i f i c a t i o n i t s e l f , i t would at least be better off than when Weber-Schutz implicitly ruled supreme. If i t could provide, however, an argument showing that the analyzed actually was social in a fundamental sense, then i t would offer the possibility of furnishing EM with an explicit conception of the social. Or, at least, i t would offer EM a competitive version of the social, such that the work of choosing a leading version could begin. The unclarified-resource character of the social would have been rendered thematic. This alternative would see i t s e l f as merely drawing out the implications of the analysis. (c) Needless to say, the choice between alternatives i s prefigured, - 236 -for the implications of the analysis have already been noted. They run as a red thread through the fabric of the analysis. The implications for reconceiving the social follow from the discovered properties of sense making. Throughout sense making the objects of cognition were never taken or experienced as "mine" in the sense of mine alone. This i s not to say that I experience the objects of my attention as residing out i n the world for passers-by to see and circumvent. Nor is i t a claim that I was i n a state of telepathic communication with some community of l i k e -ly minded individuals. No group-mind claim i s being put forward. (1) What, then, i s being claimed? Broadly: the objects of cognition, whether ideas, texts, actual or possible examples, or "thoughts" were taken and experienced as intersubjective. They were taken as intersubjective in the sense that anyone of us could have experienced the object as i t was experienced by "me." In phenomenological terms, the thetic character of the object as intended and the doxic and non-doxic positionalities of the intentional acts (Husserl, 1962) were taken and lived as bbject-acts that anyone of us could have taken and lived. Experience was not "subjective." The sense that invoker 1s made, such as Searle's formulas, was not taken and lived as the sense they made only for me. Taking an invoker as authorized, as in the f i l l i n g practice, was not done because i t appeared as authoritative only for me. As noted in chapter ten regarding the examples employed in the grounding practice, "They were oriented to as intersubjectively recognized instances of public phenomena." The same held for the examples used in answer-seeking. In particular, the^ answers that were given, e.g., that ju s t i f i c a t i o n would be unneeded, that a white man would not give a black man a ju s t i f i c a t i o n , etc., were - 237 -not understood as merely answers-for-me. They were answers, and thus they were taken as answers for everyone. Throughout the course of figuring-out I did not even consider trying to coin terms to describe the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n . Instead, the terms were sought that do describe the grammar, for everyone and anyone. The entire course of sense making evidenced an orienting to the public character of a l l "private" objects. Anything that made sense was not taken or even conceived as only making sense for me. What could be, what should be, and what i s , never appeared as private matters. Perhaps this claim can be given a more familiar form. Schutz (1962:11-13) noted the reciprocity of perspectives as a presupposition of common-sense experience. That presupposition i s essential to the possibility of our familiar everyday world, what Schutz (1962:208-29) analyzed as the paramount reality. That paramount reality was also called the world of working, for i t i s constituted through working acts, where we bodily gear into the outer world It is in terms of the trans-cendent objects of this outer world that the reciprocity of perspectives operates. It consists of two idealizations. i) The idealization of the interchangeability of the standpoints: I take i t for granted - and assume my fellow man does the same - that i f I change places with him so that his "here" becomes mine, I shall be at the same distance from things and see them with the same typicality as he actually does; moreover, the same things would be in my reach which are actually in his. (The reverse i s also true.) i i ) The idealization of the congruency of the system of relevances: Until counterevidence I take i t for granted - and assume my fellow man does the same - that the differences in perspectives o r i g i -natin'g'.inftour unique biographical situations are irrelevant for the purpose at hand of either of - 238 -us and that he and I, that "We" assume that both of us have selected and interpreted the actually or potentially common objects and their features in an identical manner or at least an "empirically identical" manner, i.e., one sufficient for a l l practical purposes. (1963:11-12) Later, on the same page, Schutz c l a r i f i e s the "We" of the second i d e a l i -zation: "...this 'We' does not merely include you and me but 'everyone who i s one of us,' i.e., everyone whose system of relevances i s substan-t i a l l y (sufficiently) in conformity with yours and mine" (1962:12). A number of comments can be made about the reciprocity of perspectives as they relate here. At this point, only one is in order: The operation of a reciprocity of "perspectives" occurs beyond the para-mount reality of action in the outer world of daily l i f e . A reciprocity was presupposed in the work of figuring out grammar. That work did not consist i n working acts. Instead i t consisted primarily in "covert" actions, what Schutz (1962:211) called "performances." The latter are actions that are "inner," without outer worldly manifestation. Part of realizing the project of these actions involved, i n my case, working acts, such as reading and writing, but they were merely component actions that received their sense from the project of figuring out. In the case of covert actions, lik e figuring out grammar, there are no transcendent objects in terms of which a We could have different perspectives, in a spatial sense. I can get no closer to the grammar of jus t i f i c a t i o n , or an example of i t , than you can. Note in the second idealization, however, that Schutz authorizes another use, a metaphorical use of perspectives. Perspectives "originating in our unique biographical situations" are not a matter of space. With figuring-out there was a - 239 -presupposed reciprocity of metaphorical perspectives. But the presupposed reciprocity was not in terms of transcendent objects. It was in terms of immanent objects. With immanent objects there i s no "here" and "there" to speak of. We, then, can not exchange our heres to get a different! perspective on the object. Perspective, i s thus to be understood metaphorically. Nonetheless, there i s a central idealization that the immanent objects of experience, at least in figuring out grammar, could be experienced by Others, and would appear substantially the same in their experience. While space can not make a difference for immanent objects, time can, for such objects are constituted in inner time. Yet, the objects are taken as atemporal and repeatable (the idealization of repeatability, cf. Natanson, 1973). The notion of interchangeable standpoints in terms of immanent objects i s that, in spite of their unique constitution in inner time, they can be repeated and experienced by Others, within their inner time. We can change temporal standpoints and the immanent objects w i l l appear the same to us: that i s the idealization. The congruency of relevance receives a similar alteration. It remains as Schutz stated i t , but "common objects" are never actually common. Immanent objects are given as potentially common objects. In factf, in terms of Schutz' formulation i t does not make sense to speak of actually common objects prior to the operation of the reciprocity of perspectives. That operation realizes transcendent objects (in the outer world) as common. Since immanent objects are not in the outer world for a l l to see, their status as common objects i s potential under the operation of the reciprocity of "perspectives." - 240 -Perhaps in light of the differences between the reciprocity presupposed for transcendent and immanent objects, the metaphorical use of "perspective''' should be dropped. Instead, in the case of immanent objects l e t us speak of a reciprocity of conceptions. Broadly: What I conceive is what you could conceive, and would conceive, were you to experience this (immanent) object. What I conceive i s experienced under the idealization of the interchangeability of temporal standpoints. I take i t that you could experience the (ideally) same immanent object even though that object would be given in you unique stream of internal time-consciousness (cf. Husserl, 1964). It would be given at and i n a different time than i t was given to me. As well, the idealization of congruent relevances holds for what is conceived, where the conceived objects are always potentially common. Using these reformulations of the reciprocity of perspectives we can now say that the work of figuring out grammar was carried out under the presupposition of the reciprocity of conceptions. In EM terms, this reciprocity was an essential feature of a partlicular structural type of sense making: figuring out grammar. As such, i t counts as  another finding of our analysis. It i s a finding that the immanent objects of experience were taken and lived as intersubjective: possibly and potentially common-to-everyone-of-us. (2) A preview of the social can be had by probing the conditions under which the reciprocity of conceptions are probable and possible. There is one condition, or feature of intending immanent objects as intersubjective, which requires that the above formulation of the reciprocity of conceptions be changed. The change i s required because - 241 -"I " do not usually take i t that "you" could experience "my" immanent object. I can do so, but " I " am around only as an object for reflection, as embodied in working acts (cf. Merleau-Ponty, 1962) or as a self when a problematic situation arises (cf. Zaner, 1974a). When figuring out runs smoothly, " I " am only marginal to the tasks at hand. And "you" were rarely thematically present during the performance of those tasks. Figuring out was for the most part non-egblogical (cf. Gurwitsch, 1966b). In terms of the taken to be intersubjective character of the immanent objects of figuring out, this means that " I " and the rest of "you" were not co-present within the work of addressing those objects. Their intersubjective character is fu l l y realized as intersubjective only in reflection on that work. Within the work, the intersubjective was given as the objective. Something that i s given as objective carries  intersubjectivity as an implication of i t s objective status. That implication can be recovered and thematized in reflection. Within the work of figuring out, answers, examples, authorized callers had an objective status. In what does an objective status consist as conceived here? An objective status i s a property of objectivities (pace Husserl) or of objects. That property i s that they make sense, have coherence (cf. Gurwitsch, 1964). They make sense as_ something, as an answerj as an example, as an authorized caller, or as a possible something. If an object, in this case an immanent object, does not make sense, i s incbfe herent, i t i s not, properly speaking, an object for consciousness. " I t " is without apparent (and thus real) order, sense. " I t " as something5 chaotic and ambiguous creates the problematic situation wherein the self - 242 -arises. As befitting the noticed presence of the self in object-oriented experience, this situation deserves the name subjective (cf. Garfinkel, 1952:97-8). It is meaningless experience because the 'object' has no apparent or decidable sense, as given in that very experience. An object without sense is meaningless. To be i n t e l l i g i b l e an 'object' must have an objective status in and for the experience of i t . That an "object" has an objective status, and i s thus an object, carries the implication that i t w i l l be i n t e l l i g i b l e to Others, i.e., has an intersubjective status. It merely requires an act of reflection to recover that intersubjective implication. This situation has two significant consequences for the thesis of reciprocal conceptions. Regarding the thesis i t s e l f , the situation i s not of " I " experiencing a taken-to-be intersubjective immanent object. Or, rather, i t is (and was) rarely this situation. Instead, i t i s (and was) a situation where an object is given in and to consciousness. Insofar ae i t is realizable as_ an object, i.e., as making some particular sense, i t s intersubjective status is implied. Unless a problem arises, " I " do not consider whether the rest of you would conceive this particular object in the way " I " do. In the same move that an object i s given,.' an intersubjective object is given, for there are no objects which are not intersubjective. Another way of putting i t is that whatever makes sense, makes sense not for me but for everyone of us, i.e., i t makes sense. There was no experienced or taken-to-be private sense realized in the course of figuring out grammar. A second consequence of the non-egological character of consciousness is that there is no ego to bring the reciprocity of - 243 -conceptions into question. That i s , since " I " am not present to conscious-ness in realizing immanent objects, " I " am not noticeable as "causing" perception or "owning" objects. Were " I " present, there would be an omnipresent "reminder" of the "subjectivity" of experience. When things do not make sense, or when they make sense as not "really" having made sense in the past, " I " am a mundane, accountable resource - as a scapegoat. That i s , within our language community there exists a collection of sense making practices which invoke and depend on "subjec-t i v i t y " as an accountable solution to why something did not make sense, or made the wrong sense. Of course, the logic of these practices requires privileged self-exemption (cf. Pollner, 1970) so that the "subjectivity" "behind" them i s not called into question. It should be added, then, that the problems of subjectivity and intersubjectivity are not seen here as problems. Rather, they are members' solutions to problems of why something did not make sense, or made the wrong sense. The introduction of non-egological consciousness into the discussion requires that the formulation of the reciprocity of conceptions be altered. As formulated, the reciprocity i s adequate to experiences where " I " am present. As well, we can see that i t i s implied: in non-i egological experience, as i n figuring out grammar. As regards the latter, an adequate formulation would be that what i s conceived, insofar as i t makes sense, i s conceivable. As straightforwardly lived, there simply is no question of whether of not i t could be conceived by anyone else. " I " and "you" are not present. The conceived i s simply not "my" conception, or anyone's. The consideration of reciprocity arises when " I " and "you" are considered. In that intersubjectivity i s implied in the objective - 244 -status of the conceived, the reciprocity of conceptions could be said to be implied in non-egological experience. Or, we might say that the objective as intersubjective furnishes the accountable grounds for presupposing that the reciprocity of conceptions is "implied" in non-egological experience. It should be noted that the alteration of the reciprocity of conceptions, based on the non-egological grasping of an objective-intersubjective world, requires reformulating Schutz' reciprocity of perspectives (1962:11-13). As well and more importantly, i t requires reconsideration and reformulation of the reciprocity of perspectives as a universally invariant sense making practice (cf. Cicourel, 1970a:147). (3) There is a second condition, an essential one, which provides for the intersubjective character of the conceived and the reciprocity offconceptions. That condition is language, understood in a broad sense. Conceptions and the conceived occur and are possible only within language as an interrelated collection (system?) of socio-historical conventions for meaning and making sense. In the case of figuring out grammar, language was omnipresent, as evidenced by orienting-to-grammaticality as an essential feature of sense making. That feature consisted in orienting to what should be said and deciding the sense of what had been said by Others, e.g., Searle and Eglin. This feature was essential to the use of each of the Invoker practices and was involved throughout generating the grammar of ju s t i f i c a t i o n . The massive importance of this feature comes into view when we recognize i t s relation to the objective-intersubjective status of intended objects. Objects must make some kind of sense within experience - 245 -in order for them to be objective-intersubjective, i.e., objects. They must and are found to be coherent within the theme-field structure of consciousness, i.e., coherent within an experienced context (cf. Gurwitsch, 1964). The coherence or unity of the object of thought, i t s theme, is a unity by relevancy (Gurwitsch, 1964:341). It is this unity by relevancy that also unifies the theme and i t s field/context. As we saw in the analysis of answer-seeking (chapter eleven), the connection between theme and aspects, and thus between theme and field/context was lived as a connection of grammatical relevance. That grammatical relevance is what was oriented to in deciding the coherence of invokers and in generating the invoked, and in deciding the coherence of what was invoked. The notion of the coherence of an object of thought is thus seen here as essentially dependent on language as accountable conventions for deciding coherence. This is to argue a rather strong relation between language and experience. This strong connection was noted in the analysis, chapter nine. It was strongly implied in the discussion of ordinary and technical use of mundane concepts, in chapter two. The connection has been made and suggested by both ordinary language philosophers and phenomenologists. The correlativity of language and experience is fundamental to Wittgen-stein's (1958, 1967) notion of grammar (see chapter four). It is expl i c i t l y argued by Searle (1969:19-21) in his principle of expressibility. The latter has i t that whatever can be meant can be said, by someone, sometime, somewhere, however unclear and unsatisfactory that saying might be. On the phenomenological side the correlativity i s argued by Kotzin (1972:342) who writes "recognizing carries with i t the essential possibility of - 246 -expressing the recognition." Ihde (1969:51) addresses the relationship directly and puts forward the thesis that "there i s no inexpressible experience," though poorly expressed ones are in no shortage. It i s Ihde who provides us with a way of seeing and expressing the phenomenon when he writes of language and experience as an essentially paired phenomenon: "language-experience." It is in this light that we might understand Heidegger's aphorism, "language i s the house of being." That an experience could be expressed is no guarantee that such an experience i s possible, e.g., the experience of a three-sided square. In the analysis we found that orienting-to-grammaticality was essential to deciding what would stand as a possible, but insensible example, e.g., asking the corner butcher to justify the War Measures Act. Recall this paragraph from chapter eleven. The character of grammar (as oriented to) was not merely  normative. It was ontologically productive. It produced and reproduced ontology. In and for the seeing and the te l l i n g , the normative and the ontological were intertwined. The factual social order was and is a moral order. For members, reflectively elaborated grammar, as "what should be said . %^wheh'^wjiere t Jioiw, tb"rand"by whom"Iissnormative. But, for them, i t also decides what can be said publicly to exist. Pre-reflectively known grammar, as a guide to phantasizing, furnishes "what would be said." It i s able to do so because "what would be said" typically would be "what should be said." Grammar as ontological and normative is an accountable guide to what could be and what should be. It was in terms of what would be and what should be that the status of objects of thought was decided. As noted i n chapter ten, "Orienting-to-grammaticality was an orienting to the intersubjective-objective: How i t i s and must be, for everyone and anyone." Language and experience as a paired phenomenon makes possible the objective-intersubjective status of objects. This paired phenomenon ( - 247 -gives a new sense to "sharing a language." It i s by sharing a language that the experienced coherence of Immanent objects can be realized and given as implicitly intersubjective. In sharing a language a world i s shared. This gives rise to a fundamental view of membership. It is not merely "mastery of natural language" (Garfinkel and Sacks, 1970:342), i t i s mastery of the world. At the reflective level where " I " and "you" become visible the reciprocity of conceptions is profoundly affected by language-experience. It i s founded on that paired phenomenon. The conception (via concepts) is essentially correlative to the conceived object, the phenomenon, which i t expresses and intends. It i s through language, as public conventions for meaning, that we can understand each other's, and even our own, so-called private experience. This is best shown in Wittgenstein's (1958:88-104) treatment of what is perhaps the paradigm of private experience: the phenomenon of pain. Wittgenstein considers this phenomenon in terms of. the possibility of someone devising a privatellanguage to describe their own pain. We w i l l not go into the private language argument (which is a major branch of the industry which has grown'up around Wittgenstein's work, but see Rhees, 1968). What is important to note from that argument, and from more recent work on the concept of pain (Hunter, 1973), is that they displayiin~a strong fashion the essential link between language and experience. It i s through sharing language conventions that members can decide i f they or others have pain. Thus while pain is private, in the sense that I can not have your pain, i t is public in the important sense that in order for i t to be pain, i t has to meet the indexical - 248 -c r i t e r i a f o r being c a l l e d " p a i n . " In our terms, i f i t i s recognizable as an object of experience, i t i s i m p l i c i t l y i n t e r s u b j e c t i v e . I t s o b j e c t i v i t y and i n t e r s u b j e c t i v i t y are guaranteed by mastery of n a t u r a l language, as mastery of the w o r l d . (d) Returning to the quest ion of the s o c i a l and the s ta tus of my a n a l y s i s , we now should be able to conceive a more fundamental a l t e r n a t i v e to the Weber-Schutz v e r s i o n of the s o c i a l . That a l t e r n a t i v e i s grounded on the i n t e r s u b j e c t i v e character of the world as l i n g u i s t i c . Such a world i s fundamentally s o c i a l as l i v e d , i n that i t i s made p o s s i b l e as our world through language. Language i s conceived here not as a r e i f i e d s i g n system, but as a means of express ion , a means of and f o r experience ( c f . Merleau-Ponty, 1962, 1969). I t al lows and provides f o r a sense of a shared world by c o n s i s t i n g i t s e l f i n s o c i a l l y and h i s t o r i c a l l y der ived conventions f o r meaning and making sense. I t s use does not guarantee that the same sense w i l l be made by a l l p a r t i e s . I t only guarantees that any sense any party makes i s given as a sense some other party could make. That some other party could make that sense i s what f u r n i s h e s a sense of a shared w o r l d . The sense of a shared world i s furnished and accomplished through the s o c i a l . That i s , the s o c i a l i s sense making; sense making i s e s s e n t i a l l y s o c i a l . I t i s sense making ( i n and through language) that r e a l i z e s the coherence, the u n i t y of meaning, of intended o b j e c t s . The o b j e c t i v e , and thereby i n t e r s u b j e c t i v e s tatus of phenomena, i s guaranteed i n no other way than through s o c i a l l y and h i s t o r i c a l l y d e r i v e d and d i s t r i -buted p r a c t i c e s and features of sense making. W i t h i n t h i s view " s o c i a l l y and h i s t o r i c a l l y d e r i v e d " p o i n t s to the r e f l e x i v e l y s e l f - p r o d u c t i v e - 249 -character of the social. The social i s developed from within i t s e l f , from within sense making. If we can conceive of there being new practices and features of sense making, e.g., contingent ones, we can conceive them only as developing within courses of sense making. They would develop i n response to new phenomena which need to be rendered sensible. Note that even conceiving these poss i b i l i t i e s i s an instance of sense making. Sense making, l i k e language, can be rendered thematic only from within, not from without. Within this fundamental view of sociality my analysis was not of-.'the "psychological" and merely private. Insofar as i t was a study of sense making, i t was unavoidably a study of the social. It was a study of what was lived as intersubjective from the start. It was a study of what was accomplished through the social organization of language-exper-ience as a fundamentally social phenomenon. What is more, the study i t s e l f is not lost to us as the merely private. It too was necessarily social. Through and through i t was a members' accomplishment, based on unnoticed socially and hist o r i c a l l y derived sense making practices. (e) This view of the social allows us to see that any behavior or action (in Schutz' sense) i s already social. It does not become social by thematically orienting to an Other in an act of reflection. The orientation to Others i s operative In any behavior or action, understood as involving and requiring sense making. To realize an object is to presume that anyone of us could or would realize i t i n the same mode of givenness. Others are essentially implied in the realization of the sense of intended objects, as intended. 1"-In\ fact, i t i s not strikingly clear from the work of either - 250 -Weber or Schutz that their notions of Other-orientation require reflectively thematizing the Other. Note Weber'sJexample of social action oriented to an indefinite plurality of unknown individuals. Thus money i s a means of exchange which the actor accepts in payment because he orients his action to the expectation that a large but unknown number of individuals he i s personally unacquainted with, w i l l be ready to accept i t in exchange on some future occasion. (1968:22) The orientation to the behavior of othersiin this example consists i n a certain type of expectation. The expectation that Others w i l l accept money in exchange for something else i s rarely thematically realized in reflection. The expectation i s what Garfinkel (1967:36) would c a l l a background expectation. In our terms the expectation is pre-reflective and merely operative rather than thematic. If ah Other-orientation depended upon reflectively and explicitly/thematically postulating "that a Thou lives, endures, and has consciously lived experiences" ( (Schutz, 1967:146), then we would find precious few examples of social action. This i s not to say that the view taken here of the social i s merely a cl a r i f i c a t i o n of Weber of Schutz' views. The former adopts basically an affecting-the-Other madel of social action, which i s not our model. The latter adopts a restricted view of Other-orientation which excludes language. The former position was noted earlier, the latter one deserves c l a r i f i c a t i o n . That c l a r i f i c a t i o n can be had through considering this statement by Schutz. Every product and therefore every sign that I see has, apart from an Other-orientation, an objective meaning for me; but by interpreting i t as a sign of another's conscious experiences, I can bring i t within an Other-orientation. (1967:150) - 251 -This view separates language, as a sign system, from an Other-orientation. In opposition to this view, the one developed here is that objective meaning exists only within language, which i s a socially constituted phenomenon. Thus to decide "an objective meaning for me" i s to have decided how anyone could conceive that object, here and now, in this situation,.for these purposes. An Other-orientation, then, i s not some-thing overlaid onto language. It is essentially implied and presupposed in language use, in making sense of anything (interpreting) and to anyone (accounting). In that Weber and Schutz allow that an Other-orientation can be merely operative and pre-reflective, the position taken here i s compatible with theirs on this point. In that Weber and Schutz operate with restricted notions of what can count as Other-orientation, or social action, the position here takes issue with theirs. Note, however, that a l l three positions agree in taking some form of Other-orientation as c r i t e r i a l for deciding the social status of any action or behavior. In that our use of social is not the only i n t e l l i g i b l e use of the concept, there should beeno'" attempt to abrogate Weber and Schutz1 uses of the concept. Let us c a l l ours the wide sense of social and theirs the narrow sense of social. This is not to say that a l l i n t e l l i g i b l e uses are equally useful. While i t is not important to develop the point here, the argument can be made in a strong fashion that the work of Weber and Schutz presupposes the wider notion of social. Their sociologies do not reflect the restricted view of the social world suggested by their narrow use of social. That'^narrow use requires the analyst to leave'. - 252 -unaddressed the very world (or province of meaning) that is presupposed in any and a l l social action, in the narrow sense. The narrow sense of social shunts off the world as somebody else's problem, which is precisely the view of the relation between sociology and philosophy that logical empiricists hold. That view is totally inappropriate to any form, In the widest sense (cf. Heap & Roth, 1973:362), of phenomeno-logical sociology (cf. Merleau-Ponty, 1964:98-113; Zaner, 1974b; Winch, 1958; Louch, 1966).9 (f) Perhaps through a l l of this we have c l a r i f i e d somewhat a sense of "social" which EM can legitimately invoke to define i t s domain. This sense of social i s most f e l i c i t i a u s for EM, for i t s legitimate domain encompasses i t s proper phenomena, sense making. For this reason alone this wide sense of social i s preferable to the marriage of convenience struck between sense making and the Weber-Schutz version of social action. With the wide sense of social action EM's position as and within sociology becomes grounded and c l a r i f i e d . Now, as called for by Garfinkel (1967:32), any form of inquiry can be studied as i n t r i n s i c a l l y social, in resource and topic. Thus figuring out grammar takes i t s place within EM's domain of "studyables." That domain is coextensive with what makes sense, when i t makes sense and no matter for how long i t makes sense, or who makes i t . Making sense i s reflexive evidence for, and is there-fore the sine qua non of, membership (which i t s e l f only becomes vi s i b l e in i t s social and sociological relevance through our wide notion of the social). The wide notion of sdcial, and the discovery of language-experience upon which i t is based, have implications as well for conceiving - 253 -indexicality and reflexivity. We have seen and discussed the formal grounds displayed by Garfinkel for extending the concept of indexicality from expressions to actions. The wide notion of social strengthens the warrant for this extension through language-experience as a paired phenomenon. Indexicality as a concept can be extended to cover any and every instance where sense is realized, as long as there is dependence on the triadic./formal structure of "sign"-sense-context. In phenomen-ological terms, any instance of appresentation (cf. Husserl, 1970a: 108-111) becomes of interest as an instance of indexicality. Perhaps even more informative is the link between language-experience and reflexivity, which now becomes i n t e l l i g i b l e . Language-experience provides the possibility for*: and thereby furnishes the reasonableness of, Garfinkel's favoured form of reflexivity. The reflexivity of natural language accounts, whereby referents are both posited and constituted, becomes sensible when experience of the world is understood to be always already l i n g u i s t i c . Only under a correspondence theory of meaning and truth, where an alien spectator is presumed to oversee the presence and separation of word and thing, is i t utterly baffling that words reveal the world. 7) In this work I have sought to give central attention to a collection of practices and features of sense making encountered in recovering and reflecting on the work of figuring out justification's grammar. It turned out that the journey required a f a i r amount of preparation, for the point of departure, manner of travel and point of destination were out of the ordinary, even for EM. While the journey, and in particular i t s findings, remain the - 254 -center of attention, i t is hoped that the now-available preparations w i l l allow others to take similar journeys, though, not necessarily to follow the same path. There i s no claim that this path and this type of journey are the only ones EM should take. While a l l properties of sense.making, in principle, can be studied f i r s t hand, that is not always the easiest or most feasible approach to take. Hopefully, the f i r s t person approach at least has been established as an approach that can be taken. Aside from the analysis, i t s findings and the manner of approach, the other concern of this work was to reform EM. Perhaps even reform is too strong a word, for the concern was to focus attention on EM's analytic apparatus with an eye to c l a r i f i c a t i o n . Preparing for the journey furnished an opportunity and occasion to consider and c l a r i f y the possible character of sense making, i t s practices and features, and their analytic status. Surprisingly, the journey i t s e l f furnished material to continue that c l a r i f i c a t i o n , by revealing the social i n the apparently private. If the c l a r i f i c a t i o n and reformation furnished here turn out not to solve satisfactorily the problems addressed, or raise more problems than they solve, that too w i l l be good. At this point in the development of ethnomethodologies there is a need to begin to consider EM's own analytic apparatus. The invocation and celebration of the indexicality and reflexivity of a l l attempts to consider, c l a r i f y , dismantle, and reform EM's own apparatus can not save EM from the fact that i t i t s e l f is a communal search for knowledge. As such, i t can not afford to treat questions and claims about the normative order of disciplined, rational - 255 -discourse, i.e., science, as solely phenomena for EM inquiry. Such a gambit furnishes findings, but i n so doing robs them of their authority. The criticism of i t s own apparatus should not become the sole or major concern of EM, for that would only continue the trend, long popular in sociology, of talking about the enterprise rather than carrying i t out. A priestly caste of EM methodologists would be counter-productive. The criticism of the apparatus must develop in and out of the work of doing EM analysis, for the enterprise and i t s apparatus must be reflexively self-adequate (cf. Gurwitsch, 1966a). In the task of achieving that adequacy, and deciding i t , the disciplines of phenomenology and ordinary language philosophy are of assistance. There are, as has been remarked, major differences within each discipline, and even greater ones between them. Clearly the position taken here has been that rapprochement is both possible and necessary, but not for i t s own sake or the sake of either discipline. Rather, rapprochement must be hammered out for the sake of, and i n terms of EM. In this matter the work w i l l not be done by philosophers, though an increasing number are showing interest in EM. Instead, i t must and can be done by ethnomethodologists, for only practitioners are in contact with the phenomena for which the apparatus is formed, and reformed. This i s to put something of a burden on ethnomethodologists, though there has long been familiarity with Husserlian phenomenology. Familiarity with other forms of phenomenology, and in particular with ordinary language philosophy, Is not to be seen as merely of methodological import, however. Instead, and as should be apparent from the analysis presented here, these two disciplines are instructive regarding phenomena - 256 -of EM interest. They furnish an endless