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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Theoretical frameworks in qualitative research / editors, Vincent A. Anfara,

Jr., Norma T. Mertz.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 1-4129-1416-7 (pbk.)
1. Qualitative research. 2. Social sciences-Research-Methodology.
I. Anfara, Vincent A. II. Mertz, Norma T.
H62.T4272006
001.4'3-dc22
2005030919
06 07 08 09 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Acquiring Editor: Lisa Cuevas Shaw

Editorial Assistant: Karen Cia Wong
Production Editor: Sanford Robinson
Copy Editor: Taryn Bigelow
Typesetter: C&M Digitals (P) Ltd.
Indexer: Karen A. McKenzie
Cover Designer: Janet Foulger
Contents
List of Figures and Tables

..
Vlt
Preface IX
Introduction XUl
1. Seeking an Understanding of School Culture:

Using Theory as a Framework for Observation and Analysis 1
Joyce L. H enstrand
2. Transformational Learning and HIV-Positive Young Adults 23

Sharan B. Merriam
3. Struggling With Theory: A Beginning Scholar's Experience

With Mazzoni's Arena Models 39
Frances C. Fowler
4. Liminality and the Study of a Changing Academic Landscape 59

Pamela ]. Bettis and Michael R. Mills
5. Organizational Identity and Identification During a

Departmental Reorganization 73
Michael R. Mills and Pamela]. Bettis
6. Chaos and Complexity: A Framework for Understanding

Social Workers at Midlife 85
Irene E. Karpiak
7. A Look Through the Kubler-Ross Theoretical Lens 109

Kerri S. Kearney and Adrienne E. Hyle
8. Mary Douglas's Typology of Grid and Group 129
Edward L. Harris
9. Adapting Bourdieu's Field Theory to Explain
Decision-Making Processes in Educational Policy 155
Carol A. Mutch
10. On Politics and Theory: Using an Explicitly Activist
Theory to Frame Educational Research 175
Catherine A. Lugg
Conclusion 189
Index 197
About the Editors 203
About the Contributors 205
List of Figures and Tables
Table 1.1 Chapters in Theoretical Frameworks in

Qualitative Research XXIX
Figure 1.1 The building blocks of theory xv
Figure 1.2 Hierarchy of needs as used in Maslow~s

theory of motivation XVi
Figure 3.1 The stage model of the policy process 56

Figure 8.1 The grid dimension of school culture 132
Figure 8.2 The group dimension of school culture 133

Figure 8.3 Types of social environments and their
social games 135
Figure 9.1 Setting of the field for the writing of the first
version of Social Studies in the New Zealand
Curriculum (SSiNZC, 1994) 158
Figure 9.2 Setting of the field for the writing of the second
Curriculum (SSiNZC, 1996) 160
Figure 9.3 Setting of the field for the writing of the final
Curriculum (SSiNZC, 1997} 161
Figure 9.4 A generic diagram of a social field 164

Figure 9.5 Educational policy in New Zealand as a social field 167
vii
Preface
T he idea for this book developed from our experiences as teachers of

qualitative methods. Graduate students seemed to lack an understand-
ing of the role of theory in qualitative research, specifically the use of a the-
oretical framework. Our students' confusion was a reflection of the fact that
discussions about qualitative research are not generally clear and precise about
the use of theory in its development and conduct.
When we discussed theory and, in particular, theoretical frameworks,
in our classes, students seemed puzzled and would ask a litany of questions:
What is a theoretical framework? How do you find it? Where do you use it?
What effect does it have on your research? Typical queries would include
concerns like
• "How do I find something that fits what I'm doing?"

• "What happens if I can't find one?"
• "Does this mean I need to do another review of the literature?"
As students attempted to explore the literature on this topic to answer

their questions, they reported finding competing conceptualizations of the
relationship between theory and qualitative research in the literature as well
as divergent definitions of what a theoretical framework is and how it is used.
Unfortunately, our students were left with more questions than answers.
In January 2004, we shared our common experiences related to teaching
qualitative methods. We both acknowledged that we had searched for a book
that would clearly explicate these issues. This led us to begin a discussion
about writing a book that would directly address the role of theory in quali-
tative research. We intensified our discussions as we carefully reviewed the
literature and by February 2004, a proposal for the book was on its way to
Sage. It seemed to be the likely publisher for such a book, because almost every
book we had used in our qualitative research courses had been published
by Sage.
ix
x Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
We were excited to receive a quick, positive response from Lisa Cuevas

Shaw, Acquisitions Editor at Sage. We met with her in April during the
American Educational Research Association (AERA) meeting in San Diego.
During that breakfast meeting, she expressed great interest in the book
and asked a series of important questions about the book proposal. It was
obvious to us that she had done her homework. We left AERA and San Diego
with the promise that Lisa would discuss this project with her editorial team
and that we would consider the reviews she intended to solicit. These reviews
proved to be helpful in revising the original book proposal.
Once Sage offered us a book contract, a "call for manuscripts" was widely
issued. More than 90 submissions were received. As we carefully read through
these submissions, we found that many of these proposals did not "fit" our
definition of a theoretical framework (e.g., the purported theoretical frame-
work was methodological or paradigmatic in nature) or did not provide
evidence of any self-conscious understanding of the effect of the theoreti-
cal framework on the study conducted. After months of reading, e-mailing,
and talking with potential contributors, we settled on the 10 proposals that
are presented in this book.
The potential contributors were then asked to develop more complete
drafts of their chapters, attending to questions we had posed to them. While
in Montreal for the 2005 AERA meeting, we had our first opportunity to meet
face-to-face with the authors and discuss the initial drafts of the chapters. We
also presented cOlnprehensive feedback to the selected contributors on their
chapters. Not surprisingly, the authors did a fantastic job in discussing
their research and the theoretical framework they used. But most of them
had not revealed enough of the "behind-the-scenes" processes of working
with a theoretical framework, of how the framework had affected specific
aspects of their study. We wanted more of the researchers' thoughts and
actions exposed so that future qualitative researchers could get inside the
heads of these researchers. The contributing authors then had 4 additional
months to revise and resubmit their manuscripts. It is our hope that these
normally tacit decisions and actions will provide both guides for the reader
to follow and mental stimulation for imagining the pervasive effects of a
theoretical framework on qualitative research.
We would be remiss if we did not thank Lisa Cuevas Shaw, Acquisitions
Editor; Karen Wong, Editorial Assistant; Taryn Bigelow, Copy Editor; and
Sanford Robinson, Project Editor, all at Sage, who guided us through this
process and n1ade a very difficult task seem relatively sin1ple. Finally, we want
to thank each of the contributing authors for allowing readers to see many of
the aspects of the research process that are often hidden. It is our hope that
Preface xi
this book will contribute in some special way to the ongoing dialogue about
theory in qualitative research, and with and among those who teach it. This
discussion about the role and place of theoretical frameworks in qualitative
research is one that needs to take place.
Vincent A. Anfara, Jr.
Norma T. Mertz
Introduction
Vincent A. Anfara, Ir.
Norma T. Mertz
S tudents as well as experienced researchers who employ qualitative

methods frequently have trouble identifying and using theoretical frame-
works in their research. This trouble is typically centered on finding a theo-
retical framework and understanding its pervasive effects on the process of
conducting qualitative research.
Currently, no comprehensive discussion of theoretical frameworks exists to
assist those engaged in qualitative research. Therefore, our overarching goal
is to provide a book that effectively explains, through discussion and exam-
ple, what a theoretical framework is, how it is used in qualitative research,
and the effects it has on the research process. In short, this is a guidebook into
the mysteries of theoretical frameworks in qualitative research.
To begin our journey, we look at what theory is and review the literature
that currently exists on the use of theory in qualitative research. Ongoing
confusion about the use of theory and theoretical frameworks in qualitative
research makes it all the more important to openly address this issue, look
closely at what researchers do, and subject their use of theory to review by
others. We, then, provide readers with the definition of theoretical frameworks
that is used throughout this book and exemplified in Chapters 1 through 10.
The contributors of these chapters focus on published research studies and
address where and in what ways the theoretical framework affected their
studies. We conclude this introduction with a discussion of the organization
of the book and guidelines for readers to maximize its use.
xiv Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
What Is Theory?
Although Flinders and Mills (1993) argued that "precise definitions [of
theory] are hard to come by" (p. xii), theory has been defined in a variety
of ways by philosophers of science and scholars in the academic disciplines.
Examples include Kerlinger (1986), who defined theory as "a set of interre-
lated constructs, definitions, and propositions that presents a systematic view
of phenomena by specifying relations among variables, with the purpose
of explaining and predicting phenomenon" (p. 9). In similar fashion, Argyris
and Schon (1974) defined theory as "a set of interconnected propositions that
have the same referent-the subject of the theory" (pp. 4-5), and LeCompte
and Preissle (1993) stated that "theorizing is simply the cognitive process of
discovering or manipulating abstract categories and the relationships among
these categories" (p. 239). In a somewhat different vein, Strauss (1995) noted
that theory provides a model or map of why the world is the way it is. He
further explained that whereas theory is a simplification of the world, it
nonetheless is aimed at clarifying and explaining some aspect of how the
world works.
Discussing this myriad of definitions, Silver (1983) purported that formal
definitions of theory rob it of its true beauty, its emotional significance,
and its importance to everyday life. She defined theory as a unique way of
perceiving reality, an expression of someone's profound insight intb some
aspect of nature, and a fresh and different perception of an aspect of the
world.
Although we favor Silver's (1983) conceptualization of theory, it is evident
from what she says that understanding theory and its relationship to the
research process requires effort. To understand a theory is to travel into some-
one else's mind and become able to perceive reality as that person does.
To understand a theory is to experience a shift in one's mental structure and
discover a different way of thinking. To understand a theory is to feel some
wonder that one never saw before what now seems to have been obvious all
along. To understand theory, one needs to stretch one's mind to reach the
theorist's meaning.
The Building Blocks of Theory

In many discussions of theory (e.g., Babbie, 1986; Silver, 1983; ]. Turner,
1974), important points are made about its components parts-the rela-
tionship of concepts, constructs, and propositions to theory. As one moves
from concepts to the level of theory, there is also a movement from concrete
experiences to a level of abstract description.
Introduction xv
Theory-------------Abstract
Proposition
Construct
Concept
Sensation----------------Concrete
Figure 1.1 The building blocks of theory.
Working from the most concrete level of sensations and experiences,

concepts are words that we assign to events. Concepts enable us to distinguish
one event or sensation from another. Concepts also allow us to relate events
in the past to ones in the present or future. Often these concepts will cluster
and form a higher-order unit of thought known as a construct. Silver (1983)
provides the example of IQ as a construct. This construct incorporates the
concepts of age (the amount of time one has lived) and intelligence (the
amount of knowledge one has).
Moving to the next level of abstraction we encounter propositions.
Propositions are expressions of relationships among several constructs.
Because propositions are new inventions, they must be carefully defined and
explained to others. Because one proposition is usually insufficient to explain
a new insight about an aspect of reality, researchers use a set of propositions
that are logically related. It is this relationship of propositions that constitutes
a theory. When we develop theory, we have completed a highly abstract
thought process with ideas being removed in successive stages from the world
of immediate experience and sensation. Even though abstract, theories are
profoundly helpful for understanding the experienced world. To help under-
stand the relationship between and among the building blocks of theory and
to assist in comprehending the movement from concrete experience to
abstract explanation, we offer Figure 1.1.
Some Examples
Within the social sciences, one can find a multitude of efforts to describe,
explain, or predict phenomena. The nature of theory (what it is and its com-
ponent parts) might be clarified by reference to two particular theories that
are familiar to most readers. Let us then briefly turn to the work of Abraham
Maslow and Leon Festinger. ..
xvi Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
Self-Actual ization
(to develop iota what one is capable of becoming, autonomy, self-direction)
Esteem
(self-esteem and recognition by peers)
Social Affiliation
(love, belonging, acceptance by others)
Security and Safety
(physical safety, financial security)
Basic Physiological Needs
(food, water, shelter, sex, air)
Figure 1.2 Hierarchy of needs as used in Maslow's theory of motivation.
One of the most powerful ways of understanding human motivation was

developed by Abraham Maslow (1954). According to Maslow, human beings
have a variety of needs (concepts), some more fundamental than others.
Maslow grouped these needs into five basic categories (constructs), arranged
hierarchically from "lower" to "higher" (propositions). Lower needs domi-
nate behavior when they are not satisfied. Higher needs become salient only
after the lower needs have been satisfied. From these concepts, constructs, and
propositions, Maslow concluded that behavior is an expression of one's drive
to reduce deficiencies by gratifying the most salient type of needs (theory).
This hierarchy is shown in Figure 1.2.
As a second example, let us look at Festinger's theory of cognitive
dissonance. Published by Leon Festinger in 1957, A Theory of Cognitive
Dissonance has been one of the most influential and widely debated theories
in social psychology. Festinger's theory begins with the beliefs one has about
"the environment, about oneself, or about one's behavior" (1957, p. 3). These
beliefs (concepts) are called cognitions, and the theory deals specifically with
pairs of cognitions (constructs). Pairs of cognitions may relate to each other
in relevant or irrelevant ways (propositions). Irrelevant pairs of cognitions
"may simply have nothing to do with one another" (p. 11). Relevant pairs of
cognitions may be either consonant or dissonant. Consonant cognitions occur
Introduction xvii
when elements of knowledge follow from one another. Dissonant cognitions

occur when the obverse of one element follows from the other. For example,
if a person knows that he or she is surrounded by only friends but feels afraid
or threatened, a dissonant relationship between these two cognitive elements
exists. This "uncomfortable feeling" motivates the individual to lessen or
eliminate the dissonance. In stating his theory, Festinger wrote, "The presence
of dissonance gives rise to pressures to reduce or eliminate the dissonance.
The strength of the pressure to reduce the dissonance is a function of the
magnitude of the dissonance" (p. 18).
What Constitutes Good and Useful Theory?

McMillan and Schumacher (2001) discussed certain criteria that must be
present for a theory to be useful in the development of scientific knowledge.
A theory (1) should provide a simple explanation of the observed relations
relevant to a phenomenon, (2) should be consistent with both the observed
relations and an already established body of knowledge, (3) is considered
a tentative explanation and should provide means for verification and revi-
sion, and (4) should stimulate further research in areas that need investiga-
tion. Agnew and Pyke (1969) recommended that good theory be (1) simple,
(2) testable, (3) novel, (4) supportive of other theories, (5) internally consis-
tent, and (6) predictive. Eisner (1993), however, framed it most cogently:
Theory attempts to satisfy the human need for scientific rationality by providing
explanations that will meet that need. The adequacy of such explanations is
tested not only by their appeal, their cogency, and their aesthetic quality, but by
the extent to which they can be used to help us anticipate, if not control, the
future. (p. vii)
A useful theory is one that tells an enlightening story about some

phenomenon. It is a story that gives you new insights and broadens your
understanding of the phenomenon.
Theories in the Social and Natural Sciences

According to Langenbach, Vaughn, and Aagaard (1994), the social sciences
have more theories than do the natural sciences, especially theories that
compete with each other (e.g., McGregor's [1960J Theory X and Theory Y).
Agreeing with this notion, Alexander (1987) noted that the social sciences
in contrast to the natural sciences will always be characterized by multiple
theoretical orientations and will never achieve the degree of consensus about
empirical referents or explanatory schemes characteristic of the natural
xviii Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
sciences. Indeed, because the natural sciences-physics and biology, for

example-have few competing theories, disconfirming one and replacing it
with another is a rather momentous event, an event Kuhn (1970) has termed
a "paradigm shift." In contrast, competing theories are common in the social
sciences because the nature of the phenomena being studied allows for those
phenomena to be viewed from multiple perspectives, or "lenses." Each per-
spective could provide a reasoned and sensible explanation of the phenome-
non being studied.
As an example, drawn from the discipline of psychology, consider the
classical theories of play. Gilmore (1971) categorized them into the follow-
ing areas: surplus energy theory, relaxation theory, recapitulation theory, and
pre-exercise theory. Surplus energy theory posits that humans accumulate
energy that must be released. Play uses the surplus energy the body does not
need. According to relaxation theory, play allows people to build up energy
that can be used later for the purposes of work. Recapitulation theory states
that humans pass through stages that parallel phases in the development
of the human race. Essentially, play helps to transcend the primitive stages of
life. Finally, pre-exercise theory avers that play prepares children for their
adult roles. During play, children rehearse the skills they will use as adults.
Each of the theories may be a reasoned explanation of the phenomenon; none
appear to disconfirm the others. All of them may coexist, providing different
perspectives on play.
Theories in social science research exist at a variety of levels. The most
common levels of theories in social science research include individual
theories, organizational theories, group theories, and social theories (see Yin,
1994, pp. 29-30). Individual theories focus on the individual's development,
cognitive behavior, personality, learning, and interpersonal interactions.
Organizational theories focus on bureaucracies, institutions, organizational
structures and functions, and effectiveness or excellence in organizational
performance. Group theories deal with family issues, work teams, employer-
employee relations, and interpersonal networks. Finally, social theories focus
on group behavior, cultural institutions, urban development, and market-
place functions. These levels cut across social science disciplines and afford a
myriad of theories at each level.
In social science research, theories are generally drawn from the various
disciplines (e.g., political science, economics, anthropology, sociology, psy-
chology). These disciplines provide a plethora of lenses for examining phe-
nomena. Neophyte researchers often confine their consideration of theory to
theories they have frequently encountered. In so doing, they may fail to
uncover the wealth of theories in the various disciplines that might be effica-
cious. If properly used, these varied perspectives can tremendously enhance
Introduction xix
research. More than this, these "disciplines interact and mutually enrich each
other" (Suppes, 1974, p. 56).
With a basic understanding of what theory is and some sense of the
different ways in which theory is used in research in the natural and social
sciences, let us now turn our attention to looking at what we know about
the role of theory (specifically the use of theoretical frameworks) in qualitative
research.
A Review of the Literature on

Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
Whereas there is little disagreement about the role and place of theory in quan-
titative research (Creswell, 1994, 2002), such is not the situation with respect
to qualitative research. Indeed, there is neither consensus about its role in
qualitative research, nor about what is being discussed. Much of what we
credit as warranted knowledge about qualitative research comes through the
relatively small, albeit growing numbers of textbooks in the field, materials
widely used by teachers of research to prepare and mentor students and
neophyte researchers. Examination of the most prominent of these materials
for wisdom about the role of theory in qualitative research leaves the reader
with one of three different understandings: first, that theory has little rela-
tionship to qualitative research (Best & Kahn, 2003; Gay & Airasian, 2003);
second, that theory in qualitative research relates to the methodology the
researcher chooses to use and the epistemologies underlying that methodology
(Crotty, 1998; Denzin & Lincoln, 2003a, 2003b; Guba, 1990; Lincoln &
Guba, 1985), and to a subset of this position, that it is related to some method-
ologies (Creswell, 1994, 1998,2002; Gall, Borg, & Gall, 1996; Patton, 1990;
Yin, 1993, 1994); and third, that theory in qualitative research is broader
and more pervasive in its role tpan methodology (Bentz & Shapiro, 1998;
Flinders & Mills, 1993; Garrison, 1988; Maxwell, 1996; Merriam, 1998;
Miles & Huberman, 1994; Mills, 1993; Schram, 2003; Schwandt, 1993).
The categories of understandings are not exclusive, and authors may lean
toward more than one position. For example, Broido and Manning (2002)
situated the role of theory within methodological paradigms, yet they hinted
at the notion that theory has a much wider role to play. Similarly, Merriam
(2002) acknowledged the part methodology plays in the "theoretical stances"
researchers take, while continuing to address what she perceived as the
broader, deeper influence of theory on the research process. It is, however,
these differences in emphasis about what theory refers to and is about that are
a source of confusion for the student and neophyte researcher.
xx Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
Theory as Nearly Invisible

In a widely used textbook, Gay and Airasian (2003) do not discuss, nor
even mention, theory in relation to qualitative research, although they noted
that, "Some fundamental differences in how quantitative and qualitative
research are conducted reflect their different perspectives on meaning and
how one can approach it" (p. 9). Best and Kahn (2003) mentioned theory,
but confined their discussion to defining it as "an attempt to develop a
general explanation for some phenomenon ... primarily concerned with
explanation and therefore focus [ing] on determining cause-effect relation-
ships" (p. 9), normally the province of quantitative research.
Several other authors give short shrift to discussions of theory in qualita-
tive research, while acknowledging its relevance to a particular methodology.
Gall, Borg, and Gall (1996) relegated the role of theory to its development or
testing, identifying it as a type of research. Although most of their discussion
of theory used examples drawn from quantitative research, they suggested it
has some role in qualitative research. "Many qualitative studies are done to
discover theory. The approach sometimes is called grounded theory because
the researcher starts by collecting data then searches for theoretical constructs,
themes, and patterns that are 'grounded in the theory'" (p. 52).
Theory as Related to Methodology

In sharp contrast to these works, where theory in relation to qualitative
research is nonexistent or relatively modest, there is a substantive body of
work that equates theory in qualitative research with the methodologies used
in the conduct of the research and the epistemologies underlying these meth-
ods. These works are well-known, and largely written about qualitative
research specifically, rather than about research in general. In earlier works
by Lincoln and Guba (1985) and Guba (1990), they speak about paradigms
as "what we think about the world" (Lincoln & Guba, 1985, p. 15), "basic
belief systems ... that have emerged as successors to conventional positivism"
(Guba, 1990, p. 9), that is, postpositivism, critical theory, and constructivism.
They speak about theories emerging from naturalistic inquiry, not framing it,
and methods changing in the process of theory definition. Guba (1990), in
particular, called on others to support the paradigm-methodology connection
(Eisner, 1990; Schwandt, 1993), and concluded, "If inquiry is not value free,
is not all inquiry ideological?" (Guba, 1990, p. 11) Interestingly enough in
light of later works, Lincoln and Guba (1985) argued that "naturalistic
inquiry is defined not at the level of methodology but at the level of paradigm.
It is not crucial that naturalistic inquiry be carried out using qualitative
Introduction XXI
methods exclusively, or at all" (p. 250), clearly relating to methodology in

relatively simple terms, quantitative and/or qualitative methods.
In later works, Denzin and Lincoln (2003a, 2003b) equated paradigms
with theory and argued that these paradigms contain the researchers' "epis-
temological, ontological and methodological premises" that guide the
researchers' actions (2003b, p. 33). These paradigms are identified as: posi-
tivism and postpositivism; interpretivism, constructivism, and hermeneutics;
feminism(s); racialized discourses; critical theory and Marxist models; cul-
tural studies models; and queer theory (Denzin & Lincoln, 2003a, p. 32). The
way it works, according to Denzin and Lincoln (2003b), is that the researcher
"approaches the world with a set of ideas, a framework (theory, ontology)
that specifies a set of questions (epistemology) that he or she then examines
in specific ways (methodology, analysis)" (po 30). This is a clear linking of
theory to methodologies; it also suggests, however, that the study is widely
affected by the linkage. Interestingly enough, the authors advised that the
qualitative researcher needs to become "bricoleur" (po 6), taking on pieces of
representations (paradigms, methods) to fit the situation. Clearly, paradigms
and theories are something to be chosen by the researcher, and with those
choices come guiding epistemologies.
In attempting to clarify the relationship among the elements identified
by those relating methodological approaches and their genesis in and from
philosophic orientations (called paradigms by Denzin and Lincoln, 2003 b;
theoretical traditions by Patton, 1990; theoretical stances by Merriam, 2002;
and theoretical perspectives by Crotty, 1998), Crotty differentiated among
epistemology, theoretical perspective, methodology, and method, although
he held that they inform one another. For Crotty, theories of knowledge,
or epistemologies (e.g., objectivism, constructionism, subjectivism), inform
and are embedded in theoretical perspectives (e.g., postivism, interpretivism,
critical inquiry, feminism, postmodernism). He claimed that "the philosoph-
ical stance inform[s] the methodology and thus provide[s] a context for the
process and grounding its logic and criteria" (p. 3)0 Methodologies-which
include a wide range of approaches, from experimental research and survey
research, to ethnography, phenomenology, grounded theory, and heuristic
inquiry, to action research, discourse analysis, and feminist standpoint
research--eonstitute research designs that affect the choice of methods to be
used, for example, observation, case study, statistical analysis, document
analysis, and so on. In reality, Crotty framed the reader's understanding of
the relationship the other way around, as he perceived that research is con-
structed from the methods "we propose to use," to the methodology that
"governs our choice and use of methods," to the theoretical perspective that
xxii Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
"lies behind the methodology in question," to the epistemology that "informs

this theoretical perspective" (p. 2).
Yin (1994) argued that case study research, in contrast to other qualitative
research designs like ethnography, requires identifying the theoretical per-
spective at the outset of the inquiry, since it affects the research questions,
analysis, and interpretation of findings. In a sense, he argued, "the complete
(case study) research design embodies a theory of what is being studied"
(p. 28), drawn from the existing knowledge base. It is interesting to note that
whereas Yin categorized case study as a research design on a par with ethnog-
raphy and grounded theory, Crotty (1998) saw case study as a method to be
used in realizing methodologies like ethnography and grounded theory.
Creswell (1994, 1998), too, posited the role of theory in qualitative
research in relation to research designs (methodologies or theoretical per-
spectives in Crotty's categorization, 1998). In his earlier book, Creswell
(1994) argued that the role of theory varies with the type of research design.
In grounded theory, for example, theory is the outcome of the research.
In phenomenology, "no preconceived notions, expectations or frameworks
guide researchers" (p. 94). In "critical ethnographic" designs, that is, studies
with "a critical theory component" (p. 94), one begins with a theory that
"informs" the study, although Creswell did not specify what it informs in
the study. Interestingly enough, in referring to ethnographic designs without
a critical theory component (his designation), Creswell specified that theo-
ries might be drawn from "existing theories of culture" (p. 94), outside of
methodological parameters, for example, social exchange theory. In referring
to how these theories might inform the study, he indicated that they might
"help shape the initial research questions" (p. 94). Having said this, however,
Creswell argued that
In a qualitative study, one does not begin with a theory to test or verify. Instead,
consistent with the inductive model of thinking, a theory may emerge during the
data collection and analysis phase ... or be used relatively late in the research
process as a basis for comparison with other theories. (pp. 94-95)
Indeed, in depicting the research process for qualitative studies, the develop-
ment of a theory or comparison with other theories comes after the gathering
and analysis of data.
In a later book, devoted to distinguishing among five different "research
traditions" in qualitative research-biography, phenomenology, grounded
theory, ethnography, and case study-Creswell (1998) acknowledged that
researchers bring paradigmatic assumptions (ontological, epistemological,
axiological, rhetorical, and methodological) to the design of their studies, and
Introduction XXlll
may, in addition, bring ideological perspectives (postmodernism, critical

theory, and feminism) that "might guide a study" (p. 78). Although he did
not specify how the paradigmatic assumptions or ideological perspectives
affect the various research designs (traditions), Creswell spoke to "another
perspective" (p. 84), social science theories, which he referred to as a theo-
reticallens rather than as an ideological perspective, and how this lens affects
each of the research traditions. He contended that with ethnography and phe-
nomenology, the researcher brings "a strong orienting framework" (p. 86) to
the research, whereas in grounded theory, "one collects and analyzes data
before using theory" (p. 86). With biography and case study, a theoretical
lens might or might not playa part, depending on the nature of the study and
the disposition of the researcher.
Patton (1990) posited a set of "theoretical traditions" (a mixture of theo-
retical perspectives and methodologies in Crotty's [1998] categorization):
ethnography, phenomenology, heuristics, ethnomethodology, symbolic inter-
actionism, ecological psychology, systems theory, chaos theory, hermeneutics,
and orientational. Because these traditions derive from the social and behav-
ioral science disciplines and the different questions central to these disciplines,
Patton (1990) argued for the close link between theory and method, and per-
haps more, in a clear, compelling way: "How you study the world determines
what you learn about the world" (p. 67).
Theory as More
As compelling as the work relating theory in qualitative research to
methodologies and their underlying epistemologies is a body of work that,
although not denying the influence of methodologies and their underlying
epistemologies, suggests that the role of theory in qualitative research is more
pervasive and influential than suggested by those who situate it methodolog-
ically. They contend that it plays a key role in framing and conducting almost
every aspect of the study.
Merriam (1998) argued that "many believe mistakenly that theory has no
place in a qualitative study. Actually, it would be difficult to imagine a study
without a theoretical or conceptual framework" (p. 45). Referring to Becker
(1993), Merriam emphasized that we would not know what to do in
conducting our research without some theoretical framework to guide us,
whether it is made explicit or not, and calls the theoretical framework "the
structure, the scaffolding, the frame of your study" (p. 45). For Merriam,
the theoretical framework is derived from the "concepts, terms, definitions,
models and theories of a particular literature base and disciplinary orienta-
tion" (p. 46), and affects every aspect of the study, from determining how to
XXiV Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
frame the purpose and problem, to what to look at and for, to how we make
sense of the data that are collected. She argued that the entire process is
"theory-laden" (p. 48), and that every study has a theoretical framework.
Echoing Merriam (1998), Miles and Huberman (1994) spoke to what they
considered to be the critical role theory plays in qualitative research. While
admitting that "many social anthropologists and social phenomenologists
consider social processes to be too complex, too relative, too elusive or too
exotic to be approached with explicit conceptual frames," they held that "any
researcher, no matter how unstructured or inductive, comes to fieldwork
with some orienting ideas" (p. 17). Without at least "some rudimentary con-
ceptual framework" (p. 17), they argued, there would be no way to make
reasoned decisions about what data to gather, about what; to determine what
is important from among the welter of what is possible. The conceptual frame-
work "can be rudimentary or elaborate, theory-driven or commonsensical,
descriptive or causal" (p. 18), but it delineates the main things to be studied
and the "presumed relationships among them" (p. 18). The conceptual frame-
work is, according to Miles and Huberman, constructed from the theories and
experiences the researcher brings to and draws upon in conceptualizing the
study. These theories, implicit and explicit, include grand theories, like sym-
bolic interactionism and "middle-range concepts such as culture" (p. 91), as
well as "preconceptions, biases, values, frames, and rhetorical habits" (p. 91).
Maxwell (1996) saw the "conceptual context" as one of five components
of the research design that connect and interact in a nonlinear, noncyclical
fashion. The conceptual context contains the "goals, experiences, knowledge,
assumptions, and theory you bring to the study and incorporate in the
design" (p. 6). He argued that what the researcher "thinks is going on with
the phenomena" (p. 4) is brought to the consideration and development of
the study and influences not only the purposes of the study, but also "what
literature, preliminary research and personal experience" (p. 4) the researcher
draws on in conceptualizing the study.
In his book on Conceptualizing Qualitative Research (2003), Schram
aligned the conceptual context of a study with theory, which he saw as extend-
ing "from formal explanatory axiom[s] ... to tentative hunch[es] ... to
any general set of ideas that guide action" (p. 42). He contended that the
researcher's perspective, fundamental beliefs, values, hunches, assumptions,
and purposes for engaging in the study constitute "premises about the world
and how it can be understood and studied" (p. 29), and playa "pervasive
but subtle" role in directing the study. This role includes "how you engage
with a preliminary sense of problem and purpose, how you portray your
involvement with study participants, the way you define key concepts, how
you address assumptions within your research questions" (p. 39), as well as
Introduction xxv
"deciding which of the things you see are legitimate and important to
document" (p. 29).
Similarly, whereas Bentz and Shapiro (1998) acknowledged that there
are "cultures of inquiry ... general approaches to creating knowledge in
the human and social sciences, each with its own model of what counts as
knowledge, what it is for, and how it is produced" (p. 9), they contended,
nevertheless, that
Research is always carried out by an individual with a life and a lifeworld ... a
personality, a social context, and various personal and practical challenges
and conflicts, all of which affect the research, from the choice of a research
question or topic, through the method used, to the reporting of the project's
outcome. (p. 4)
Among the advocates of the position that the theoretical or conceptual

framework in qualitative research is more than the methodologies and epis-
temologies underlying them, few are as vehement and articulate the position
as cogently as Flinders and Mills (1993). In their book, Theory and Concepts
in Qualitative Research, they addressed the issue directly. Flinders and Mills
began by asserting that "Few of us now claim that we enter the field tabula
rasa, unencumbered by notions of the phenomena we seek to understand" (p.
xi). They argued that theory includes "any general set of ideas that guide
action" (p. xii) and that theory profoundly affects the conduct of the research.
"Theory is pragmatically bound up with the activities of planning a study,
gaining entry into the field, recording observations, conducting interviews,
sifting through documents, and writing up research" (p. xiv). Indeed, they
affirmed a statement reputed to William James, "You can't pick up rocks in
a field without a theory" (p. xii).
Arguing that atheoretical research is impossible, Schwandt, in Flinders and
Mills (1993), contended that it is impossible to observe and describe "the way
things really are, free of any prior conceptual scheme or theory ... without
some theory of what is relevant to observe, how what is to be observed is to
be named, and so on" (p. 8). It is "prior theoretical commitments and con-
ceptual schemes" (p. 9) that guide the inquiry, according to Schwandt.
Mills (1993) defined theory as an "analytical and interpretive framework
that helps the researcher make sense of 'what is going on in the social setting
being studied'" (p. 103), and speaks about the implicit and explicit theories
underlying the case that is the focus of his chapter-the beliefs, propositions,
and theoretical conceptions that framed the study and its analysis, even
though the theory was purported to be "emergent." These theories, he
argued, "provide the researcher with a framework for the problem and ques-
tions to be addressed in the study" (p. 114).
~". ~,
;1
. .
"," ~
-"
xxvi Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
Where Does That Leave Us?

Although this review of the literature on the role of theory in qualitative
research is hardly exhaustive, it does provide a basis for considering where we
are with respect to the role theory plays in qualitative research. Qualitative
research has often been criticized for not being guided by theory in its devel-
opment and conduct. Clearly, that is not the view shared by those who write
about and guide neophyte researchers in doing qualitative research. Theory
has a place, an unavoidable place for all but one or two of the authors we
have reviewed, and plays a substantive role in the research process. For those
writers for whom methodologies are primarily associated with the role of
theory, the epistemologies underlying these methodologies as well as the
methodologies themselves serve as lenses from and through which the
researcher looks at the study. It is not just the choice of a methodology that
affects the study. For those writers for whom theory affects studies in more
ways than that, without speaking to the matter directly, they clearly imply
that methodologies and their underlying epistemologies influence and guide
the study theoretically. They do not stop there, however, but suggest that
there is more that the researcher brings to the study, and it is all that the
researcher brings, implicitly and explicitly, that affects all aspects of the study.
Whereas those who take either position perceive that one's theoretical
framework profoundly affects the study, beyond casual mention of some of
the aspects of a study affected by this framework by some authors, there is no
clear delineation of what in a study is affected by the theoretical framework
or how it is affected. Nor is there much discussion of the effect of implicit,
unexamined perspectives, biases, and assumptions; of explicit theories that are
brought to bear on one's study, for example, from the social sciences; or of the
interaction of these and their effect on the study. For existing texts, consider-
ation of theory and its effect on the study is but one aspect of a larger focus
of the work. Thus, they provide neither the depth of understanding nor the
specificity needed to explicate the topic. If one already understands, at some
deep and intimate level, the role and place of a theoretical framework, then
explanations are both understandable and confirmatory. One can put the dis-
parate pieces together and fill in the blanks in the places they may not have
mentioned. None of the texts, however, provide sufficient guidance to stu-
dents, neophyte researchers, or those who may not already understand its role
and place, to be able to "see" how theoretical frameworks affect research or
to be able to fully and appropriately identify and apply a framework to their
own research.
This, then, is the purpose of this book. But before we proceed with this
guidance in the use of theoretical frameworks, it is necessary to provide a
clear definition of what we mean by the term theoretical framework.
Introduction XXVll
A Definition of Theoretical Frameworks

We clearly situate our conception of the th~oretical framework with
those authors who see theory as "more than" (i.e., Flinders & Mills, 1993;
Merriam, 1998; Miles & Huberman, 1994; Schram, 2003). Acknowledging
that the term does not have a clear and consistent definition, we define
theoretical frameworks as any empirical or quasi-empirical theory of social
and/or psychological processes, at a variety of levels (e.g., grand, mid-range,
and explanatory), that can be applied to the understanding of phenomena.
This definition of theoretical frameworks excludes what Guba and Lincoln
(1994) have called "paradigms" of social research (e.g., postpositivist, con-
structivist, critical, feminist). It also does not consider methodological issues
or approaches to be synonymous with theoretical frameworks (e.g., narrative
analysis, systems analysis, symbolic interactionism).
Examples of what we mean by theories that can be applied as "lenses" to
study phenomena might include Vygotskian learning theory, micro-political
theory, class reproduction theory, job choice theory, and social capital, as
well as the theories employed by the researchers who have written Chapters
1 through lOaf this book. Theoretical frameworks they used include limi-
nality (V. Turner, 1967, 1977), transformational learning theory (Merizow,
1991), the arena model of policy innovation (Mazzoni, 1991), and grief
theory (Kubler-Ross, 1969), to name a few.
There are a large number and wide variety of theoretical frameworks avail-
able for qualitative researchers to consider. These frameworks originate in the
many different fields of study and disciplines in the social and natural sci-
ences. Thus, the well-read qualitative researcher is alert to theoretical frame-
works in economics, sociology, political science, psychology, biology, physics,
and anthropology, to name but a few. That same researcher is open to con-
sidering the applicability of these frameworks to the research problem chosen
to study. It is, indeed, this diversity and richness of theoretical frameworks
that allow us to see in new and different ways what seems to be ordinary and
familiar.
As examples, Hoenack and Monk (1990) applied economic theory to a
study of the costs and benefits of teacher evaluation systems in education. The
economic aspects they addressed included production theory and efficiency,
the economics of information, performance incentives, and the distributional
effects of policy interventions. The use of this unusual theoretical framework
in educational research allowed the authors to present a unique view of the
phenomenon being studied. Pounder and Merrill (2001) used job choice the-
ory (developed by Behling, Labovitz, & Gainer, 1968; and later adapted to an
educational setting by Young, Rinehart, & Place, 1989) to examine potential
xxviii Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
candidates' perceptions and job intentions with regard to the high school
principalship.
In defining theoretical frameworks, we are cognizant that any framework
or theory allows the researcher to "see" and understand certain aspects of the
phenomenon being studied while concealing other aspects. No theory, or the-
oretical framework, provides a perfect explanation of what is being studied-
a point we shall return to in the concluding chapter of this book.
Organization of the Book

The chapters that follow (1 through 10) take you "behind the scenes" to
examine the role of theoretical frameworks in qualitative research. They allow
you to learn how these researchers found the theoretical framework they
used in a particular study, and how it affected that study. The contributors
take you on their journey in using the framework and in thinking about its
applicability, providing sufficient detail to allow you to assess what they saw,
against the published research study discussed and cited. These insights pro-
vide the reader with practical lessons drawn from real-world studies. These
lessons concern not only the contributions of theory to qualitative research,
but also the dilemmas and pitfalls that theory presents to researchers.
To allow the reader to compare and contrast responses across chapters,
contributors were asked to address the following items (if relevant), in
approximately this order:
1. an overview of the study that formed the basis for the discussion of the
theoretical framework used, including its purpose, research questions, methods
employed, findings, and conclusions;
2. a detailed description of the theoretical framework(s) used in the study and the
discipline in which it/they originated;
3. how the researcher found the theoretical framework and what convinced him
or her that this was an appropriate framework to use;
4. what effects the theoretical framework had on the research questions, the design
of the study, and the analyses obtained;
5. other conceptual frameworks considered and why they were used or discarded;
and
6. any additional issues the contributors wished to discuss in relation to the use of
theory in their research.
The headings and subheadings in the chapters in this book correspond to

the above items. As noted earlier, this structure was imposed to allow readers
Introduction xxix
Table 1.1 Chapters in Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
Theoretical Field of Chapter

framework study/discipline Focus of study number
Culture Cognitive Organizational change; Chapter 1

(Goodenough) anthropology culture of teachers
Transformational Psychology HIV-positive young Chapter 2
learning and adult adults
development
(Mezirow)
Arena model of Political science Passage of Ohio S.B. 140 Chapter 3
policy innovation in 1989---eomprehensive
(Mazzoni) school reform
Liminality Anthropology Experiences of university Chapter 4
(Turner) faculty with a college
reorganization
Social identity Sociologyl Experience of university Chapter 5
theory and organizational faculty with a college
self-categorization studies reorganization
theory (Hogg,
Terry & White)
Chaos/complexity Physical and Midlife transitions and Chapter 6
(Prigogine & biological resolution of midlife
Stengers) SCIences tasks for social workers
Grief model Psychology Educational reform! Chapter 7
(Kubler-Ross) organizational change
Typology of grid and Social School culture Chapter 8
group (Douglas) anthropology
Habituslfield Sociology Curriculum development Chapter 9
theory (Bourdieu)
Queer legal Law Historical analysis of Chapter 10
theory (Lugg) schools
to compare and contrast the responses of the various contributing chapter

authors. Readers will note slight variations in the wording of some of the
headings and subheadings~ but the variations are slight and, more important~
the content in each chapter addresses each of the six areas.
Table 1.1 provides an overview of the theoretical frameworks used by the
contributing authors, the fields from which they were taken, and the foci of
the studies that employed them.
xxx Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
The final chapter of the book is an analysis of Chapters 1 through 10. After
carefully reading and reflecting on these chapters, we offer our readers a dis-
cussion of the salient points addressed by the authors. This discussion focuses
on the relationship between theory and qualitative research, and offers read-
ers a series of lessons learned as well as issues that need our attention.
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1
Seeking an Understanding
of School Culture: Using
Theory as a Framework for
Observation and Analysis
Joyce L. Henstrand
Overview of the Study
Purpose
This case study of planned change at Emerson High School, a large
suburban high school, was conducted to contribute to the understanding
of the process of reforming secondary schools. At the time I conducted my
research, most studies of reform had involved elementary schools, but the
findings of these studies did not apply to the more complex high school
system (Fullan, 1990; McLaughlin & Talbert, 1990). The persistent resis-
tance of high schools to systemic change and the lack of case studies focused
on improving high schools (Miles, 1986) offered the opportunity to partici-
pate in the national dialogue related to improving the nation's high schools.
After a search of studies on school reform, I decided to approach my
investigation from a cultural perspective. In the previous 20 years, most
investigations of change had been from a technological or a political
2 Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
perspective. One example of a technological approach, the concerns-based

adoption model developed by Hall and Hord (1984) to offer facilitators a
formula for bringing about change in schools, assumed that if a facilitator
helps individuals work through a series of predictable stages, the result will
be successful implementation of reform. Politically oriented studies, in con-
trast, focused on examining how tensions and conflicts between individuals
or among groups have slowed or prevented reform. Neither the technolog-
ical nor the political approaches appealed to me. The technological change
models tended to reduce the change process to a formula, assuming most
people will respond uniformly to the treatment being administered by the
change facilitator, and the political approaches focused on the political
aspects of conflict. Neither explained the way people experience change nor
the interaction of an organization's internal culture with the change process.
My interest lay in the cultural perspective because my experiences as a
teacher had enabled me to witness the complexities of the change process
from inside the organization. I had participated in failed reform efforts and
in highly successful innovations. From my perspective, teacher values, the
culture of the organization, and the leadership skills of the change facilitator
were the key issues in successful reform efforts. Supporting this approach
in his early work on change, Michael Fullan (1982) argued, "Neglect of ...
how people actually experience change as distinct from how it might have
been intended is at the heart of the spectacular lack of success of most social
reforms" (p. 4). In his classic work The Culture of the School and the Problem
of Change, Sarason (1982) attributed the high failure rate of school reform to
a lack of understanding of school culture and advocated for increased descrip-
tive studies of the process of change in the school culture. By providing a case
study (as defined by Yin, 1984, p. 23) describing how people actually experi-
ence change, this study was intended to create a dialogue between those who
experience change and those who want to know about change.
I began the case study without a thesis; instead, for a full school year I
observed the culture of a high school as reform was attempted (Fullan, 1990;
McLaughlin & Talbert, 1990). The essential question of the study was "What
is going on here?"-a question Wolcott (1988) believes is suitable for ethno-
graphic research. The result is a description and interpretation of change in
the context of a specific school culture. It does not provide a prescription for
carrying out future change efforts in other places, but it does provide cultural
insight to those who seek to bring about change in high schools.
Methodology
Because I approached this case study from a cultural perspective, I chose
the ethnographic research techniques of cultural anthropology and conducted
Seeking an Understanding of School Culture 3
my research from my perspective as a full-time practicing teacher in a large

high school. As this position was unusual in ethnographic research, I not only
studied theory related to the conduct of anthropological fieldwork, but
also wrote a rationale detailing the implications of the "native" becoming
a researcher. In addition, as part of the findings, I included a detailed discus-
sion of the implications of both being a full member of the culture and con-
ducting ethnographic research. The theory and implications surrounding this
research stance will be discussed later in this chapter.
I conducted fieldwork with a repertoire of strategies that generally followed
Spradley's (1980) cycles played over many times. The strategy I used at any
point in time depended on "feedback from the field, redefinition of research
questions as [my] understanding of the culture [deepened], and meanings
that participants [attached] to things" (LeCompte & Goetz, 1984, p. 165).
The individual career history required the specialized methodology of Denzin
(1970), Kluckhohn (1945), Langness and Frank (1986), and Wolcott (1983).
Although the sequence of use varied from situation to situation, the strategies
included:
Interviewing. I used James Spradley's (1979) ethnographic interview to

guide the informal interviews, which were useful during the early months
of my fieldwork when I was discovering major issues. During the later
stages, I added formal interviews to focus on specific topics. As a model for
the formal interviews, I used the long interview as described by McCracken
(1988).
Observation. My natural involvement in school activities provided access

to most school events. Whenever possible, I took notes verbatim. In instances
in which I could not take notes, I jotted down key comments and crucial
quotes as soon after the event as possible. Every evening, I reviewed my notes
and filled in gaps.
Key Informants. I followed the advice of H. Russell Bernard (1988) and

Jeffrey Johnson (1990) as I chose informants.
Surveys and Questionnaires. The work of Fink and Kosecoff (1985), Bailey
(1987), Worthen and Sanders (1987), and Gay (1987) guided me in the devel-
opment and administration of a census survey as part of a reciprocal agreement
(as defined by Wax, 1952) with the School Improvement Team.
Additional Strategies. I used unobtrusive measures (Webb, Campbell,

Schwartz, & Sechrest, 1966) such as archives and physical traces to corrobo-
rate evidence found through other data gathering techniques.
Findings
The case is presented in three sections (Goodenough, 1981) that represent

the culture as a whole, subgroups within the culture, and the outlook of
an individual. My goal was to provide "thick description" (Geertz, 1973)
to enable readers to experience and interpret the change process during an
academic year at Emerson High School. Emerging from the description is a
portrait of a school that appeared to outsiders to achieve its goal: providing
multiple opportunities for success for students. That broad goal fostered mul-
tiple projects: a mentor program, a peer tutoring project, curriculum changes
in language arts and social studies, and articulation of services to students
at all grade levels. Although these overt accomplishments seemed to signal
success, covert changes in the school culture undermined and eventually
prevented the overall success of reform at Emerson High School. When the
principal, George Barnes, covertly changed policies regarding student disci-
pline, teacher support for the entire reform project eroded. Barnes, in his
determination to keep students in school and in class regardless of their
behavior, violated a sacred norm of the teaching staff-the belief that strong
discipline support from administration both ensured a positive climate in the
school and contributed positively to the education of students. The frustra-
tions that teachers felt over what they perceived as a lack of disciplinary sup-
port and Barnes's response that he had no intention of removing students
from classes for either suspensions or expulsions, ultimately affected teachers'
responses to all of the reform projects that Barnes advocated.
Comments made by administrators and teachers throughout the process
indicated basic differences in how administrators and teachers perceived their
worlds, so neither side understood or empathized with the view of the other.
Not surprisingly, communication also suffered and contributed to teacher
dissatisfaction. By focusing on information about events and goals, Barnes
inadvertently violated another sacred norm of the teachers: their need to have
information regarding expectations, follow-up on student issues, and infor-
mation that affected their careers or their daily work. The opposing percep-
tions by administrators and teachers of what constituted good communication
and appropriate discipline for students led to serious dissatisfaction among
staff and erosion of support for all of the change projects.
Descriptions of three faculty groups, the School Improvement Team,
the At-Risk Steering Committee, and the department chairs, revealed further
erosion in the climate of the school because Barnes's interactions with these
groups increased difficulties in reaching the school goals. Barnes created the
At-Risk Steering Committee to lead school reform. He appointed new teachers
and others who supported, and did not question, the school goals. It quickly
became obvious that this group was steering the course of reform at Emerson
High School. Veteran teachers frequently voiced their annoyance that new
teachers were influencing the future of the school more than veterans.
The School Improvement Team, a mostly veteran group elected by their
teaching peers, felt frustrated that Barnes had assigned the task of leading
the reform to the At-Risk Steering Committee. The teachers and classified
staff on the School Improvement Team had been elected by their peers to
represent them in areas such as determining and planning implementation of
the school goals. Although the team members were generally supportive of
the school goal "to provide multiple opportunities for success" to all students,
they did not agree with Barnes when it came to implementation. A prominent
example was their skepticism about the program to mentor at-risk students.
Responding to comments from teachers, they strongly urged that Barnes
provide professional development and support on how to mentor students,
but very little training occurred. Once the mentoring program began, team
members tried to inform Barnes about staff frustrations related to discipline
issues. They told Barnes that they did not want to abandon the program, but
suggested changes that would make the program more palatable for teachers.
Disagreements emerged in the meetings. Barnes grew frustrated with their
questions and questioned teachers' dedication to student success. The teach-
ers accused him of not listening, and eventually withdrew active support for
the innovations. Barnes stopped going to the School Improvement Team
meetings. Abandoned by the principal, the School Improvement Team found
purpose for its existence by dedicating its efforts to seeking resolution to
staff frustrations. The team conducted a staff survey and published results
that revealed deep dissatisfaction among the majority of the staff. Barnes's
refusal to change the course of action for the school led to deeper dissatisfac-
tion and further eroded support for the reforms.
The department heads, another group of veteran teachers, were appointed
by the principal to perform administrative tasks related to running their
departments. Seeking to domesticate several strong critics by appointing them
as department heads, Barnes reduced their open opposition because actively
supporting school goals was a condition of their employment as depart-
ment coordinators. Although these influential teachers were kept out of
the decision-making loop, they were charged with implementing changes in
curriculum and instruction within their departments. Their meetings were
marked by civility and reporting on progress toward the goals. Informally, as
they interacted with colleagues, they sometimes joked about issues but seldom
openly opposed Barnes. In their official roles, they worked to implement the
goals, but they rarely expressed enthusiastic support among their peers.
Barnes's work with the three groups promoted a phenomenon that Fullan
and Stiegelbauer (1991) refer to as balkanization and Sergiovanni (1986) calls
wild centers. Normally, centers in schools provide stability and are "normal
and necessary for establishing social order and providing meaning"; but they
can, if left unattended, become "wild centers" that "may not only contradict
administrative and organizational aspirations but may conflict as well among
themselves" (Sergiovanni, 1986, p. 9). By abandoning two groups of power-
ful teachers, Barnes encouraged them to become wild centers, undermining
his own goals.
Conclusions
Emerging from this examination of a school in the process of change is the
notion that responses at all levels of the organization influence the success
of attempts at reform. It is no doubt important to come to an understanding
of how an entire staff accepts or rejects an innovation. Equally important
to understanding the change process, however, are the roles played by small
groups and by individuals. In the case of Emerson High School, all the expe-
riences of the small groups and the individuals came together to create the
overall phenomenon of the organization. To fully comprehend the culture of
the school, the whole must be understood in terms of the parts just as
the parts must be understood in terms of the whole. My observations of the
staff, the subgroups, and the individual revealed three significant issues to be
considered by those working to change schools.
Issue #1: Teachers and Administrators Have Opposing Ideational Systems.

Teachers and administrators tend to interpret the same phenomena in different
ways. This viewpoint supports the notions of Wolcott (1977) and Rossman,
Corbett, and Firestone (1988) on how to approach issues associated with
making changes in an organization. Understanding, rather than berating, the
norms and sacred values of others can more productively lead to solutions
and thoughtful implementation of change. The key issue at Emerson High
School was student discipline. As Barnes and his administrative team worked
on discipline issues, they operated from the belief that they were redirecting
students to more successful choices. Because the administrative approach
did not involve traditional consequences such as suspension, teachers viewed
each incident as a personal insult that proved lack of support from the admin-
istration. In this and all issues I observed, the subgroup of administrators
tended to think in terms of the big picture and acted to move the system
toward its goals. On the other hand, teachers tended to focus on the specifics
of each situation and how it impacted their own classroom. This was a cul-
tural characteristic shared by the teacher subgroups and also by the individ-
ual teacher. Barnes wondered why teachers could not see the big picture and
criticized them for focusing on small issues and incidents. A comment by one
teacher represented the viewpoint of her colleagues when she stated that
her job demands focus on details: daily class schedules, taking attendance,
tracking hundreds of grades, and filling out paperwork. She wondered how
Barnes could expect teachers to shift easily to the big picture in the context
of their daily reality. The conflicting interpretations were never resolved and
undermined the school improvement goals.
Issue #2: Teacher Beliefs About Reforms Have More Impact Than Facts. The
beliefs of members of the Culture and subgroups are ultimately more impor-
tant than the facts about what actually happens. The overly broad goal at
Emerson High School led to multiple interpretations of its meaning; without
adequate information and direction, teachers acted on their own perceptions.
Barnes did provide teachers with factual information, but he did not provide
information that corresponded with what teachers desired, such as how the
reforms would impact their work, including their relationships with students.
After each factual communication, teachers created their own interpretations.
Those vested in the planning, such as the At-Risk Steering Committee, tended
to react favorably to announcements. Teachers with less or no involvement in
the development of the goals created interpretations that questioned Barnes's
motives and assumed the worst. Barnes's explanations after the fact rarely
changed any minds; teachers clung to their own interpretations that were
closely aligned with their personal belief systems. Reactions of teachers in
subgroups helped to reify the interpretations of the general population.
Issue #3: School Reforms Impact the Lives of Teachers as Well as Students. In
the flurry to improve schools for the benefit of students, it is easy to forget that
teachers have needs, too. Seymour Sarason (1990) argues that "schools are no
less for the growth of staff than for students" (p. 150) and claims that ignor-
ing that notion has contributed to the failure of many reform efforts. The case
of an individual teacher, Linda Nelson, illustrates how not to nourish a tal-
ented and productive teacher. Although, Nelson was publicly acknowledged
for her contributions, her work was rewarded with extra responsibilities and
increased committee work. She resented the lack of compensation for extra
tasks, grew disillusioned, and finally left the profession to pursue a different
career. Another example is the impact on teachers related to changes in disci-
plinary tactics. When teachers sent students to the office because of severe
disciplinary infractions (such as swearing at the teacher), they expected to be
supported by administration with appropriate consequences for the student.
When students were returned to the classroom with no tangible consequence,
the teachers felt that their authority had been undermined. Furthermore, they
reinforced their interpretations in the subgroups and at informal gatherings.
The reform was making life better for students, but worse for teachers. Not
surprisingly, teacher support for the reform eroded.
Although the people and events of Emerson High School will not be exactly
replicated in another organization, their story offers an insider's view of the
culture of a suburban high school grappling with change. Leaders in reform
should take the time to study and understand each school's culture, including
the variations in the ideational systems of teacher groups and individuals.
Using that knowledge, the needs of both adults and students can be addressed
during the process of change.
My Use of Theory
Prior to commencing fieldwork, I studied theory in two distinct areas:
(1) sociological and anthropological theory that would potentially guide both
the gathering and analysis of the data, and (2) theoretical discussions by
anthropologists regarding the research role of an active participant observer.
In the first case, I was seeking a theoretical framework that would "guide
and clarify" my observations, data collection, and analysis (Wolcott, 1995,
p. 183). In the second case, I sought justification for my research role, which
involved being a "native" who becomes a researcher rather than the classic
stance of "stranger" seeking to understand the natives. In both areas, the
theoretical stances I chose were critical in every phase of the work.
Theoretical Framework
The theoretical orientation of cognitive anthropology, and, more specifi-
cally, the work of Ward Goodenough (1981), guided my data collection and
analysis. Other theoretical frameworks influenced several aspects of the
study, and will be explained later in this chapter, but Goodenough's frame-
work was the major influence. My search for a theoretical stance began when
I was a doctoral student at the University of Oregon and enrolled in a course
in educational anthropology offered by Harry Wolcott. I developed an inter-
est in ethnographic research, with its emphasis on description and interpre-
tation. Eventually, I took a class from Wolcott called "Culture Theory" and
wrote a paper that explored the appropriateness of various sociological and
anthropological theories in anthropological research. I found multitudes of
theories and continued my reading after I completed the class. I settled on cog-
nitive anthropologist Ward Goodenough's cultural framework for the case
study of Emerson High School because it allowed me to examine the multiple
roles of teachers in the school culture and explained the relation of individu-
als, small groups, and the whole in the process of change (Henstrand, 1993).
Cognitive anthropology "focuses on discovering how different peoples
organize and use their cultures" (Tyler, 1969, p. 3} and perceives that culture
resides in the minds of people rather than in the material phenomena of
the system. When they study a culture, cognitive anthropologists seek to

understand the organizing principles underlying behavior" (Tyler, p. 3). They
ask, "What material phenomena are significant for the people" and "How
do they organize these phenomena" (Tyler, p. 3). Cognitive anthropologists
are also interested in both differences between cultures and differences within
cultures (Tyler, 1969). Their "prime inroad" for understanding groups and
their cultures is language (Agar, 1987, p. 432).
Ward Goodenough, one of the early leading scholars of cognitive anthro-
pology, "took language as [his] point of departure for studying culture"
(1963, p. iii). Culture "consists of standards for deciding what can be, stan-
dards for deciding how one feels about it, standards for deciding what to do
about it, and standards for deciding how to go about doing it" (Goodenough,
1963, pp. 258-259). Culture is not the material artifacts or observed tradi-
tions; rather, it is "what is learned, ... the things one needs to know in order
to meet the standards of others" (Goodenough, 1981, p. 50). Public culture
is not taken as "a given simply to be described; [he] takes it as a phenome-
non to be explained" (Goodenough, 1981, p. 59). Language is the primary
vehicle for learning from members of the culture pool.
Goodenough's (1981) definition of culture includes not only the Culture
(with a capital C) of the entire society but also allows for subgroups and for
individuals. The Culture includes the values and traditions that are known
to all members of the society. Subgroups consist of smaller groups or
clusters that, in addition to sharing the values and traditions of the Culture,
have values, traditions, and language unique to the members of their group.
Individuals have their own personal idiolect or version of the language and
their own private version of the shared Culture. Further, Goodenough (1981)
argued, "no two individuals have exactly the same understanding of it in
all respects" (p. 97). The individual outlook that Goodenough labeled "pro-
priospect" grows "out of his own experience [as] each individual develops his
private, subjective view of the world and of its contents-his personal out-
look" (p. 98). The "sum of the contents of all of the propriospects of the soci-
ety's members" (p. 111) becomes the Culture pool. On the other hand, each
propriospect can contain pieces from many different cultures. Thus, the con-
cept of propriospect not only allows for differences between individuals but
also accounts for an individual person being multicultural and choosing an
appropriate operating culture at will.
Goodenough's (1981) model of culture accounts for gradual change (cul-
ture drift), rapid change, innovation, and response to change. Culture drift
occurs as younger individuals shift their ideas, beliefs, values, recipes, or
traditions away from those taught to them by their elders and toward other
influences. Faster change can occur when members of the Culture reevaluate
and accept change in ideas, beliefs, values, recipes, or traditions. If the changes
cause dissonance between the public culture and peoples' beliefs, a crisis may
develop with turmoil among members. Some customs may acquire such deep
commitment from the members of the Culture that
People demand of one another that they acquire the knowledge and skills needed
to perform these routines. They demand cooperation of one another in their
performance, and they prohibit behavior that interferes with them or that jeop-
ardizes the arrangements and stockpiles on which performance of these cus-
tomary routines depends, investing them with moral rightness and even sanctity.
(Goodenough, 1981,p. 90)
Individuals may withdra w from the changes or change may be blocked in the
Culture.
Making Goodenough's (1981) model of culture the organizing framework
for my study was a relatively simple choice for me. I had spent over a year
(Henstrand, 1993) investigating multiple anthropological and sociological
theories of culture. Although they offered insights that expanded my knowl-
edge and influenced my work in small ways, I had not "connected" with any
of them. Structural and functional theories tended to concentrate on the phe-
nomenal world by looking at social structure and function. They were more
concerned with the relationship of structure and function than with the belief
systems of the members. Most analyses focused on a unit of measure. For
instance, Durkheim was more interested in societal forces than in the indi-
vidual, and Radcliff-Brown analyzed change in terms of the whole social
structure. In contrast, Weber and Malinowski focused on individuals as their
unit of analysis. In addition to the limitations of their unit of analysis, struc-
tural and functional theories lacked constructs for talking about change.
Functionalism, in particular, focused on explaining continuity of culture
rather than change. Because I was studying planned change, structuralism
and functionalism seemed limited in usefulness for my work.
In contrast to the limitations of the structural and functional theories,
Goodenough's (1981) model provided a means to understand the complexi-
ties of the social system I found in the high school. His model included a
framework for analyzing the total group, smaller clusters within the group,
and individuals. I was not forced to place individuals in a single category but
could identify overlapping roles and relationships. In addition, Goodenough
offered a framework for understanding change in a social system.
Goodenough's (1981) concept of "propriospect" also offered a valuable
tool for analysis. According to Harry Wolcott (1987, 1991), propriospect
draws our attention "to the individual acquisition of cultural competencies in
which each of us is engaged throughout the course of a lifetime" (1987, p. 51).
I'
Propriospect avoids taking an evaluative stance because the interest of the

researcher is on the contents of the propriospect. Finally, propriospect "draws
attention to the idea that multiculturalism is exhibited in normal human expe-
rience" (1987, p. 32). Because every propriospect contains a different combi-
nation of pieces from the operating culture and from other cultures, diversity
is a natural state.
One additional theoretical approach, interpretive anthropology, also
affected my study. Interpretive anthropology includes both culture theory
and the practice of studying culture. Rooted in phenomenology, structural-
ism, structural linguistics, semiotics, and hermeneutics, interpretive anthro-
pologists avoid creating categories like the functionalists and refuse to identify
universal truths. The only reality that they claim is their own interpretation
of their text. In fact, discussion of the texts themselves is an important char-
acteristic of the movement. A major representative of interpretive anthropol-
ogy, Clifford Geertz, takes a semiotic view of culture. He agreed with Max
Weber "that man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself
has spun" and he took "culture to be those webs, and the analysis of it to
be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretive
one in search of meaning" (Geertz, 1987, p. 5). Ethnography was not to be
defined by its methods such as seeking an informant or keeping a diary; rather
it is a "kind of intellectual effort ... an elaborate venture in ... 'thick descrip-
tion'" (Geertz, 1987, p. 6). The ethnographer develops an interpretation
or constructs meaning from the descriptions of even minor aspects of the cul-
ture. Though this may appear on the surface to be similar to Goodenough's
(1981) framework, Geertz specifically separates himself from Goodenough.
Goodenough believed culture is manifested in the mind. In contrast, Geertz
believes "culture is public because meaning is" (Geertz, 1973, p. 12). Further-
more, Geertz argues that the cognitive anthropologists' belief that mental
phenomena can be analyzed by formal methods such as mathematics and
logic "is as destructive of an effective use of the concept as are the behavior-
ist and idealist fallacies to which it is a misdrawn correction" (Geertz, 1973,
p. 12). Geertz does not expect that there will ever develop "a perfection of
consensus" but instead a "refinement of debate" (Geertz, 1973, p. 29). The
"vocation" of anthropology is "not to answer our deepest questions, but
to make available to us answers that others, guarding other sheep in other
valleys, have given, and thus to include them in the consultable record of
what man has said" (Geertz, 1973, p. 30). Despite Geertz's adamant argu-
ment separating cognitive and interpretive anthropology, more recently
cognitive anthropologists have come closer to interpretive anthropology by
seeing culture as public and symbolic (Dougherty, 1985).
Effects of Using a Theoretical Framework

When I originally set out to discover a theory or theories, my goal was to
find theories that would guide my data collection and analysis, clarify my
ideas, unify my work, and justify my research role as participant observer. As
a novice researcher, I knew that tackling a year of ethnographic research in
a high school involved observing and analyzing a myriad of events and rela-
tionships. I wondered, "How can I make sense of it all, or, for that matter,
any of it?" Because my goal was to discover what was going on in a compre-
hensive high school that was attempting major change, I needed a lens that
would help me filter the input and develop a defensible interpretation. Theory
provided me with that lens and influenced nearly every aspect of my work.
Goodenough's (1981) model of culture and change guided my data analysis,
and organization of the written case. Geertz (1973, 1987) and interpretive
anthropology influenced me on a holistic level by guiding my thinking about
interpretation and description. Both aided me in defending my research role.
Goodenough's Culture, Language, and Society (1981) provided the basis
of the organization of the case study into three major categories: the social
group as a whole, smaller subgroups of teachers, and one teacher operating
within the larger group. When I reviewed the research on teacher culture,
I discovered that most work discussed teachers as a single culture. For exam-
ple, Wolcott's Teachers Versus Technocrats (1977) represents school culture
as a moiety system with teachers represented as one half of the moiety.
Lortie's Schoolteacher: A Sociological Study (1975) provides an analysis of
teachers as a type, and Sarason's The Culture of the School and the Problem
of Change (1982) treats teachers as a group. Because of my long-term expe-
rience working in schools, I knew that subtle differences exist among teach-
ers, and I wanted my study to expose the variations in teachers at the same
time as I described the commonalities of teacher culture. Goodenough's
(1981) concept of Culture, culture pool, and propriospect provided the
framework for looking at both the big picture and the subtleties.
When I entered the field to live as a full participant observer for a year,
I worked to ensure that I was able to collect data that represented all three
major categories. I had not yet chosen the individual teacher who would be
the representative for one propriospect, but she revealed herself to me rather
quickly. A leader on the School Improvement Team, she enjoyed the respect
of the principal, teaching colleagues, and students. Early in the year, she
supported the concept of the reform, and she was always candid about her
opinions even as they shifted. She readily accepted my proposal to be the sub-
ject of a major section of the study, and, unlike other teachers, she was not
afraid of possible consequences when she voiced her opinions. Moreover, she
provided an opportunity to test Goodenough's (1981) hypothesis that each

propriospect shares characteristics with the Culture and with subgroups to
which it belongs, and also possesses characteristics from outside the group
that are unique to itself.
The subgroups emerged quickly as well, perhaps because, as a full partici-
pant, I was familiar with the working teachers committees and their roles.
As I gathered data, I was careful to ensure that I observed each group in
situations in which the group was intact. As I observed each group, I asked,
"What characteristics do the members of this group share with the Culture?"
and "What characteristics are common to members of this group, but not
present in all others in the Culture?" I also asked, "What unique functions
did the members of this group serve in the reform efforts?"
Finally, I gathered data that would reveal characteristics common to all
teachers. This was done primarily by observing the teachers in large groups
and by partnering with the School Improvement Team to conduct a census
survey that enjoyed a 100 percent response rate. My guiding questions were
also derived directly from Goodenough's (1981) theory. I sought to discover,
primarily through examination of both written and oral language, the
common understandings that constituted membership in the Culture. This
included, "standards for deciding what can be, standards for deciding how
one feels about it, standards for deciding what to do about it, and standards
for deciding how to go about doing it" (Goodenough, p. 62). These were
standards that cut across all subgroups and were present in individual
propriospects. One section of the study, "A Year at Emerson High School,"
describes the culture pool, and the conclusions for the study focus on the
standards that are understood by members of the culture pool.
The concept of propriospect was, in particular, valuable to observation,
analysis, and description in the case study. Because I operated in the role of
full participant observer, I was keenly aware of issues of objectivity. Using the
concept of propriospect, I was able to analyze the operating culture of indi-
viduals without being evaluative of the world view. Propriospect was a tool
for understanding the partial overlap of viewpoints of teachers and adminis-
trators without contradicting the discussions of their different cultural orien-
tations. Because propriospect is a collection of all experiences, teachers and
administrators did share a number of experiences; their propriospects, how-
ever, were not identical because they each had experiences unique to their
roles in the school. In addition, propriospect was an aid in understanding
teachers' individual and collective response to change. As explained earlier,
most teachers responded strongly to the changes in discipline implemented
by the principal. The change in disciplinary practices no longer aligned with
the belief systems of teachers, resulting in turmoil. According to Goodenough,
some customs are so deeply held that "they prohibit behavior that interferes
with them ... and ... [invests] them with moral rightness and even sanctity"
(1981, p. 90). Teachers talked about the changes as being morally incorrect,
and, as frustration increased, the teachers' sense of being morally correct
increased. Informal conversations revealed an expectation that all teachers
would share the same view. Goodenough's theory helped develop my insight
into how conflicts between public culture and personal beliefs can result in
the upheaval and resistance that I observed at Emerson High School.
Geertz's (1973, 1987) writing appealed to me at a more intuitive level,
which is not surprising when considering my academic background. Like
Geertz, I studied literature as an undergraduate, and I was drawn to his
emphasis on description of the public aspects of the culture. As both a student
and teacher of literature, I had been schooled in the idea that no reality is
the same for all people; the only reality I can claim is that of my own per-
sonal interpretation. Despite Geertz's statements drawing a line between
cognitive and interpretive anthropology, my personal interpretation found
the approaches to be complementary rather than contradictory. Reading that
cognitive anthropologists were moving closer to Geertz's view of culture as
public helped justify my blending of the two. Although Goodenough influ-
enced my organization, Geertz's concept of thick description influenced the
way I collected data and what I included in the written case. When I was tak-
ing field notes, I was always conscious of recording sufficient detail to ensure
that my writing would be rich with description. As I observed social situations
or conducted interviews, I recorded words verbatim. When that was not pos-
sible, I recorded key phrases and returned to the text later on the same day to
complete the dialogue and add description. When I was present at key meet-
ings, I was particularly conscious of taking detailed notes of the conversation
and of the reactions of participants. Because I carried a small notebook with
me at all times, 1 was able to describe informal situations and record conver-
sations. In the final report of the case, I presented most of the information
as a narrative, a story of the year at Emerson High School, with an emphasis
on dialogue. Consciously working to provide "thick description" so that my
interpretation would be clearly supported, I also wanted to provide enough
description for my readers to be able to form independent interpretations.
Also, like Geertz, I fully acknowledged that the account is a personal inter-
pretation. In fact, in the last paragraph of the study I stated that "I cannot
promise this represents anyone's truth except my own" (Henstrand, 1991).
To tie the description back into my use of cognitive anthropology in my orga-
nization and analysis, I concluded with a reference to Goodenough's (1981)
concept of propriospect to support my research role and description as
one "propriospect in the culture pool of Emerson High School" (Henstrand,
1991, p. 270). In my own mind, at least, I synthesized the two approaches in

my interpretation and conclusion.
Theory and My Research Role

Theory not only contributed to the design, data gathering, and analysis of my
study, but also, quite unexpectedly, was critical in supporting my decision to
take on the role of complete participant observer and in managing several
problems that arose as a consequence of that role. Before I chose the subject
of my study, I had assumed that I would follow the advice and practice of
traditional anthropologists and sociologists who advocated that researchers
engaging in participant observation should be outsiders to the culture being
studied. Becoming too involved with the "natives" was considered a major
breach of the research role because it generally involved losing the analytical
perspective of the researcher (Agar, 1980; Becker, 1958; Goetz & LeCompte,
1984; Lofland & Lofland, 1984; Wax, 1971). My assumptions changed when
I had the opportunity to return to my work as a teacher and, simultaneously,
conduct ethnographic research for a case study of planned change. In other
words, I planned to be a "native" who would take on the role of participant
observer. I returned to the literature to seek justification and support for
becoming a complete participant observer.
I found that researchers had begun to support the position that full
membership in the social system can be advantageous (Adler & Adler, 1987;
Jorgensen, 1989; Peshkin, 1988; Wolcott, 1988). Bronislaw Malinowski (1984,
1987) was one of the first anthropologists to conduct his fieldwork as a
participant observer. He claimed that living with the natives enabled him
to develop a better understanding of their thinking and lifestyle. In the 1920s,
a group of sociologists known as the Chicago School also adopted participant
observation to study subgroups of American culture, such as medical students
or drug addicts; however, they also advocated the traditional stance by warn-
ing against over-involvement with the subjects (Lofland & Lofland, 1984;
Wax, 1971). More recently, existential sociologists have broken from the tra-
ditional stance of researcher as stranger. Researchers within the theoretical
school of existential sociology believe that people often act on the basis of
emotions. The job of the researcher, therefore, is to penetrate the surface to
discover insights into the emotions of the humans they study. This necessar-
ily leads to the involvement of the researcher with the subjects. Not troubled
by the possible subjectivity of the researcher, existential sociologists believe
that the ability to engage in self-reflection is more important than seeking
objective detachment: "They reject the claim thaI over familiarity leads
researchers to assume the self deception of the members. Self deception is not
caused by involvement per se, but by deep-rooted emotional conflicts within
the individual" (Adler & Adler, 1987, p. 23).
Proponents of ethnomethodology also advocate for the involvement of
the researcher with the group being studied. In order to understand contextual
meanings and avoid distorting the vision of the world, ethnomethodologists
believe they must participate "to the fullest degree" (Adler & Adler, 1987,
p. 32). For them, "going native is the solution rather than the problem"
(p. 32). They do not worry about the possibility of researchers altering the
setting because "good faith members will only alter settings in ways similar to
other members, so their actions are condoned" (p. 32). Armed with the sup-
port of at least two theoretical approaches and of contemporary researchers
such as Adler and Adler and Peshkin, I decided to go into the field as a
complete participant observer.
During my fieldwork, I followed Alan Peshkin's advice: I did not try
"to exorcise my subjectivity" but rather to "enable myself to manage it-to
preclude it from being unwittingly burdensome-as I progressed through
collecting, analyzing, and writing up my data" (Peshkin, 1988, p. 17). At first,
I used research strategies and personal reflection to manage the subjectivity.
I chose an overt stance so that everyone would know what I was doing. Using
Peshkin's subjective I's, I continuously monitored my own interactions
to maintain the same membership role I had before I began fieldwork; and
I took verbatim notes whenever possible. As I progressed into the year, how-
ever, I found that my conflicts of conscience required more than simple solu-
tions. Taking on a theoretical perspective helped me manage those conflicts.
The personal conflicts started when I realized that the reform was not
going well, and I observed conflicts between teachers and administrators.
Divisive behavior nearly became a norm in the organization. Despite the
fact that colleagues knew I was conducting field research, I worried about
publishing negative behaviors in my study. I worried when I memorized key
phrases from informal conversations and ran back to my office to record
what I had heard. I also worried about being disloyal to colleagues and won-
dered if they felt they were being exploited. Referring to theory was my chief
means of coping with these issues.
The theoretical frameworks of Goodenough (1981) and Geertz (1973,
1987) helped me to manage the subjectivity of my research role, including
numerous conflicts with my conscience as I recorded unflattering behavior by
members of the school. For example, as a teacher in the building, I found that
I shared many of the frustrations of my colleagues related to the changes in the
discipline system. Many of my colleagues made inflammatory comments that
actually reflected my own feelings when I was in my teacher role. I struggled
with recording their negative comments even though they were said in public.
On the other hand, I had a good working relationship with the principal.
I worried about recording behaviors and words that might bring criticism
his way.
To manage my subjectivity, I consciously retreated from my role as teacher
and stepped into my role as researcher by applying the theoretical model to
the situation. If, for example, I observed colleagues at the lunch table com-
menting energetically about the lack of discipline in the school, if I stayed in
my role as teacher I would tend to fully engage emotionally. During the field-
work, however, I consciously moved into the role of researcher. For example,
I would apply Goodenough's model for culture to the situation by looking for
the operating standards that were being revealed by the participants. In com-
mittee meetings, instead of becoming emotional over the conflict I saw, I con-
sciously worked to understand which standards the groups shared with the
Culture and what impact the groups had on the Culture. I was, therefore, able
to step back from seeing the people as friends and colleagues and consciously
assume the research role.
Using theory also presented challenges. A commitment to the use of theory
required that I develop knowledge of various anthropological and sociologi-
cal theories and read examples of the theory being used well. This required
time and I had to cope with the comments, made by several of my fellow PhD
candidates, urging me to do something simple so I could finish the degree.
Because the PhD program was more about learning than jumping a hurdle to
my next job, I spent a full year reading research theory before I gained enough
knowledge to choose a theory and start fieldwork. Once I announced that I
would use theory, I was accountable to apply the theory appropriately. Not
only did I frame my data collection and analysis around Goodenough's the-
ory of culture, but I also had to ensure that my analysis of the high school's
Culture, culture pool, and individual propriospects remained consistent with
the theory's framework. At one point, Harry Wolcott suggested that my use
of propriospect was rather superficial. Because Wolcott's (1987) article on
propriospect had initiated my inquiry into Goodenough's theory, I returned
to Culture, Language, and Society (Goodenough, 1981) to increase my under-
standing, and then I added clarification to my writing. I continued to return
periodically to Goodenough's texts to renew my understanding and reflect on
the application to my research.
Conclusion: A Professional and Personal Reflection

Despite the challenges of time and accountability, using theory benefited both
the process of doing the research and the product that emerged. The initial
research for culture theory and the review I wrote clarified my thinking and
provided the groundwork for the design and completion of the study. Before
I discovered a theory that helped me to frame my understanding of the culture
at Emerson High School, I was unable to start the study. The school appeared
to be a chaotic collection of actions and voices; I did not know how to look at
the situation or how to interpret what I saw. The application of Goodenough's
(1981) theory of culture provided a lens through which I could observe
and record. In addition, using theory enabled me to manage the subjectivity
involved in the full participant observer role I assumed as the researcher.
The importance of using theory in qualitative research goes beyond the ben-
efits I experienced in doing the study. Conscious and consistent use of theory
by researchers should improve the stature of qualitative research in education.
Researchers have long debated the relative worth of qualitative and quantita-
tive research; qualitative research is often criticized for its subjectivity and lack
of precise measurements. A leading cultural anthropologist, Clifford Geertz
(1973) argues in favor of developing and using strong theory because theory
helps elevate anthropology to the level of a science: "There is no reason why
the conceptual structure of a cultural interpretation should be any less for-
mulable, and thus less susceptible to explicit canons of appraisal, than that of,
say, a biological observation or a physical experiment" (p. 24). Similarly,
Goetz and LeCompte (1984) support the establishment of a theoretical frame-
work for qualitative research, especially ethnographic studies. The use of
theory, they believe, increases rigor and makes qualitative research more
understandable when read in other disciplines. By using theory to frame and
justify my work, I hope I have contributed to elevating qualitative research to
the level of a science.
The discovery and use of Goodenough's (1981) theory of culture also ben-
efited me on a personal level. In my career as a public school administrator,
I have been principal of two large high schools and director of instruction for
a medium-sized school district. All of my positions have involved leading the
organization through large-scale change. Those who have led organizational
change know only too well the struggles that occur in organizations. Despite
paying attention to change models and attempting to work systematically
through the change, leaders of change report resistance, blockage, and unin- .
tended consequences for many actions. Goodenough's theory of culture has
given me the tools to understand the variations in behavior of the large group
from smaller groups or individuals. When I think of applying a large-scale
plan for change, I frame it in terms of Culture, and I devise activities and
professional development based on the large group, but I have come to real-
ize that this large-scale planning is not enough. After seeing reforms fail, I
have been conscious of the roles of subgroups, not only for their official pur-
pose, but also for the beliefs of their members. I work to understand their
jointly held and individual views and to maintain communication that

addresses issues of importance to them. Perhaps most important, I seek a
partnership with members of the organization in the planning process so
that implementation of reform respects the sacred values and needs of teach-
ers and other staff. These efforts, in my experience, contribute to successful
change over time because they attend to the individual propriospects present
in the organization.
Attending to theory in research design and implementation in the field of
education still tends to be relatively rare, perhaps because of the time involved
in developing an understanding and the accountability that comes with apply-
ing theory during the process of research and analysis. In particular, doctoral
students who intend to pursue careers as practitioners might view the use of
theory as an exercise that will not yield personal benefit. On the surface, I
would not have expected my exploration and application of theory to go
beyond its usefulness in the completion of my dissertation. I hope this essay
has illustrated that the benefits of using theory can go far beyond research
applications and that knowledge of theory has relevance in the real world of
teaching and administering schools. Wolcott (1995) has listed a number of
benefits of using theory for the researcher, and I found several to be particu-
larly applicable to myself. The use of theory enabled me to ~'join [my] work
to some larger issues or accumulation of data" (Wolcott, 1995, p. 189). My
study was moved from simply an account of what happened in one school to
a more comprehensive generalization and understanding of culture and cul-
ture change. Moreover, as a researcher who returned to the role of educa-
tional practitioner, the use of theory has deepened my understanding of the
culture in which I operate.
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'1
2
Transformational Learning
and HIV-Positive Young Adults
Sharan B. Merriam
T he place of a theoretical framework in a research study can be compared

to the construction of a new building. There is a foundation upon
which the un~erlying skeletal structure is built. Once the building is framed,
certain materials such as outer sheathing, walls, insulation, flooring, and so
on are added to the framing; so, too, in the building of a research study. The
foundation is the disciplinary base out of which the theoretical framework
emerges. The theoretical framework of a study is anchored in a particular dis-
ciplinary base and its literature; it is in this literature that particular concepts,
models, or theories that structure the study are found. This structure, or
theoretical framework, then determines the problem to be investigated, the
specific research questions asked, the particular data that will be collected
to address the questions, and, of key importance, how these data are ana-
lyzed/interpreted. In the developing of a research study, the theoretical frame-
work forms the underlying structure.
In this chapter, I demonstrate how in the field of adult education, the
literature of adult learning and adult development were used to structure
research with HIV-positive young adults. All components of the research-
the concepts used, the particular literature and previous research consulted,
the data collection and analysis strategies employed-were derived from the
theoretical framework.
Overview of the Studies

The first study of HIV-positive young adults was conducted in the mid-1990s
(Courtenay, Merriam, & Reeves, 1998). The purpose of the study was to
understand how meaning is constructed in the lives of those diagnosed as
HIV-positive. In-depth interviews were conducted with a sample of 18 HIV-
positive men and women. Using the constant comparative method, an induc-
tive analysis of the data revealed a process of meaning-making that involved
a period of initial reaction to the diagnosis, a catalytic experience that sets
into motion the meaning-making process, and three distinct yet interrelated
phases of reflection and activity. The findings not only provided a clearly
delineated description of the meaning-making process, they also revealed
unique contributions that underscore the centrality of meaning-making in
transformational learning.
Two years after the original study, my colleagues and I located 14 of
the original 18 participants and interviewed them as to whether they had
maintained their change in perspective uncovered in the original study. In
other words, we were interested in whether a perspective transformation
is sustained over time. With the advent of protease inhibitors in the 2 years
between the studies, we wondered whether, with the threat of imminent death
removed, participants would revert to previously held, self-oriented, and
materialistic views of the world. Through an inductive analysis of the inter-
view data we found that for all 14 participants, the perspective transforma-
tions that they had undergone 2 years earlier had held. Second, there were
changes in meaning schemes that included the adoption of a future-oriented
perspective, greater attention to care of the self, and an integration of the
HIV-positive status into their self-definition (Courtenay, Merriam, Reeves, &
Baumgartner, 2000).
The Theoretical Framework
Our theoretical framework lay at the intersection of adult learning theory, in

particular transformational learning, and adult development theory. Trans-
formational learning theory as presented by its chief architect, Jack Mezirow
(1991, 2000), posits that significant learning in our lives involves meaning-
making that can lead to a transformation of our personality or worldview.
This type of learning is developmental in that it involves "movement toward
more developmentally progressive meaning perspectives" (Mezirow, 1991,
p. 192). l\tlezirow has proposed a lO-step process, beginning with a disori-
enting dilemma that sets in motion a self-examination of one's underlying
Transformational Learning and HIV-Positive Young Adults 25
assumptions, followed by sharing these thoughts with others, which leads

to exploring new roles, relationships, and actions, a trying on of new roles,
and finally "a reintegration into one's life on the basis of conditions dictated
by one's new perspective" (1991, p. 169).
Though popular and much referenced in the field of adult education,
Mezirow's (1991) theory of transformational learning had been little tested
when we began our study in the micl-1990s. We were indeed intrigued by the
theory's capacity to explain how adults make meaning of their life experi-
ences, and how this meaning-making can bring about powerful changes
or transformations in their view of themselves and their world. This type of
learning "produces more far-reaching changes in the learners than does learn-
ing in general, and ... these changes have a significant impact on the learner's
subsequent experiences. In short, transformational learning shapes people;
they are different afterward, in ways both they and others can recognize"
(Clark, 1993, p. 47).
Two years after the completion of the first study (Courtenay et aI., 1998),
using the same theoretical framework of transformational learning and adult
development, we conducted a follow-up study of the original participants. In
our first study, we found that all of our participants had undergone a trans-
formation in their perspective, as we would have predicted from Mezirow's
(1991) theory. Also part of his theory, but untested, was that such changes in
perspective are permanent. He is quite clear about this, saying that "the trans-
formative learning process is irreversible.... We do not regress to levels of
less understanding" (1991, p. 152). Other developmental theorists concur.
Kegan (1994), for example, says of cognitive development that "each succes-
sive principle subsumes or encompasses the prior principle.... The new prin-
ciple is a higher order principle (more complex, more inclusive) that makes
the prior principle into an element or tool of its system" (p. 33). We wanted
to examine the permanency of the perspective transformations after a 2-year
period. Also, in the intervening 2 years protease inhibitors (PIs) had become
widely used, causing remission/suppression of HIV. Thus, we wondered if the
changes in perspective seen in the first study held, or, given a new lease on life
through PIs, whether participants reverted back to old perspectives.
OUf theoretical framework of transformational learning and development
also led to a second question, that of ongoing changes in meaning schemes
and perspectives. The literature suggests that meaning-making is an ongoing
process and that although "at anyone point in time, a meaning has to be
fixed," it is "not the only meaning possible for all time" (Usher, 1993, p. 170).
Mezirow (1990) proposes that changes in meaning schemes (specific beliefs,
assumptions, values, feelings, and concepts) are quite common in dealing
with everyday experience. It is the "accretion of such transformed meaning
schemes" (Mezirow, 1990, p. 13) that can lead to changes in the larger
perspective. We were thus interested not only in whether their perspective
transformations had held, but also about the nature of ongoing meaning-
making. We wondered, for example, if the introduction of protease inhibitors
(PIs) may have served as a "disorienting dilemma" effecting yet another per-
spective transformation.
The Disciplinary Base of the Theoretical Framework

Transformational learning theory is firmly situated in the literature of
adult learning theory and adult development. It focuses on how adults make
meaning of their life situation and, in turn, how this meaning-making impacts
development. The theory has its roots in constructivism, which maintains that
learning is a process of constructing meaning; it is how people make sense of
their experience. Mezirow's (1990) version of transformational learning in
particular also draws from the German philosopher Jiirgen Habermas, who
proposes three types of learning, one of which is emancipatory and involves
rational discourse. In Mezirow's model, the key to transformational learning
is critically examining underlying assumptions and engaging in "a special
form of dialogue" where we "do our best to be open and objective in pre-
senting and assessing reasons and reviewing the evidence and arguments for
and against the problematic assertion to arrive at a consensus" (1995, p. 53).
The Theoretical Framework and the Design of the Study

Our interest in the theoretical framework of transformational learning
drove all aspects of our study from identifying the focus of our investigation,
to sample selection, to interpretation of our data. Our central research ques-
tion centered on uncovering the process of meaning-making, that is, we
wanted to know how meaning is restructured such that one's sense of self,
one's worldview or perspective becomes transformed. We thus needed to
select a situation where we could be fairly certain that one's perspective would
have been disrupted and challenged. We reasoned that being diagnosed with
a terminal illness would constitute a "disorienting dilemma" of such great
magnitude that one would be propelled into a struggle to make meaning or
sense out of the diagnosis. Further, it was believed that this meaning-making
would assume a particular urgency if the diagnosis meant that one's life might
end at an unnaturally early age. Hence, our sample selection was guided by
our research question about the process of meaning-making that was directly
derived from the theoretical framework of transformational learning. We
chose young adults under the age of 45 who had been diagnosed HIV-positive
and whose T-cell count was 500 or less, indicating a compromised immune
system. The interviews were conducted in late 1995 and early 1996 before
the advent of protease inhibitors; an HIV-positive diagnosis at that time
constituted a death sentence.
The theoretical framework also drove data collection. Having selected a
sample of HIV-positive young adults, we wanted to explore how they made
sense of this catastrophic news; that is, how does a young adult make mean-
ing of this threat to his or her existence? In-depth interviews were the only
way we could access their meaning-making process. The 10-step process
that Mezirow (1991, 1995) outlined informed our interviews, but only to the
extent that his process gave us a starting point. We wanted each participant
to tell us his or her story for making meaning of the diagnosis.
Data analysis proceeded simultaneously with data collection as is recom-
mended in qualitative research designs. As mentioned above, although the
meaning-making process delineated by Mezirow (1990) informed us, we
remained open to hearing about our participants' experiences. Our findings
confirmed some aspects of Mezirow's process, but expanded others. For
example, whereas Mezirow posits that a period of self-examination follows
the disorienting dilemma, we found there was first an initial reaction charac-
terized by cognitive, affective, and behavioral responses. Sam remembered
thinking, "My life's only a fourth over. So suddenly that window on the
future came slamming shut, shades drawn, black curtains" (Courtenay et aI.,
1998, p. 70)! Upon hearing the diagnosis, Tracy entered a crowded metro-
politan area "and I was just thinking of how was I going to do this [suicide],
was I going to jump in front of a bus or the train or a car" (p. 70)?
This initial reaction period lasted from 6 months to 5 years. Becoming dis-
lodged from this initial reaction period involved some catalytic event initiated
externally by family, friends, or a support group, or internally by realizing
that to not get on with life meant self-destruction. Jamie talked about a friend
who came to his house and yanked him out of bed:
And she said, "Do you want to die? Just lay there and I'll kick you to death right
now, and if you don't want to die then get up and live." ... And it just clicked
and I said, "That's right; you know that's the answer." That was the real turn-
ing point for me, when I realized that death was easy and anybody can do
it.... And so I just made up my mind that day that living life well is what
I wanted to do. (Courtenay et a1., 1998, p. 71)
The initial reaction and the catalytic event uncovered in our study are
two important components of the process not present, or if present, not expli-
cated in Mezirow's (1991, 1995) theoretical framework. In his model, a
self-examination and critical assessment of assumptions underlying one's
worldview follow the disorienting dilemma.
Our findings with regard to the process of meaning-making served to

underscore some of the weaknesses of using Mezirow's (1991, 1995) model
of transformational learning as the theoretical framework. First, Mezirow's
model is overly rational (Taylor, 2000); indeed, we found, not unexpectedly
given our participants' diagnoses, that there was a highly emotional, affective,
and spiritual component to their meaning-making. Second, Mezirow has been
criticized for describing perspective transformation as happening in isolation,
separated from other aspects of the individual's life context. Our data showed
that even the initial reaction to the diagnosis was affected by whether or not
the individuals suspected that they might be HIV-positive, by their lifestyles,
or by supportive others in their lives. Context shaped the entire meaning-
making process.
Despite these shortcomings, the framework overall did help us to under-
stand the meaning-making process and the resultant change in perspective
that each of our participants exhibited. Being diagnosed HIV-positive brought
about self-examination of their purpose in life. Participants reported recog-
nizing the importance of all life, and of their need to make a meaningful con-
tribution through service to others. Characterized by empathy and altruism,
their new perspectives included but went beyond Mezirow's (1991) descrip-
tion of the outcome of a perspective transformation (an empowered sense of
self, more critical understanding, and more functional strategies for taking
action).
In order to address these questions, it was necessary to interview the
same participants as in our initial study (Courtenay et aI., 1998). We were
able to locate 14 of the original 18 participants. In preparation for the inter-
views, we re-read, studied, and discussed the original interviews. This
reacquainted us with each respondent's particular story and the nature of his or
her perspective transformation; second, phrases or statements were occasionally
read back to the participants during the second interviews as memory prompts,
or for their comments. The interview schedule contained open-ended questions
regarding how participants were making sense of their lives today, the impact of
protease inhibitors, current physical and emotional health, the extent to which
they were still involved in service-oriented activities ... and so on. (Courtenay
et al., 2000, p. 106)
Two major findings emerged from this follow-up study. First, as we

speculated, the perspective transformation proved irreversible. People contin-
ued to make meaningful contributions manifested through numerous service
activities largely related to HIV/AIDS education, and to appreciate their lives
and the lives of others. They maintained the more integrated, inclusive, and
discriminating perspective that they had attained earlier. Interestingly, they

themselves recognized the irreversibility of their perspective transformation.
Joe, for example, had been an avid comic book collector until he was diag-
nosed HIV-positive. Once he began taking protease inhibitors and realized
he might "be around another 20 years to enjoy this" [collecting comic books],
he "indulged" in it again.
But I'd changed too much.... Ultimately, I realized these are just things.
If I'm collecting it to have just number 1 through 20 or something, you know,
why am I doing it? It didn't have the same meaning anymore ... it was one of
those unimportant things, ultimately. (Courtenay et aI., 2000, p. 110)
With regard to our second question of ongoing meaning-making, there

were changes in meaning schemes. The dramatic changes in health brought
about by PIs resulted in the adoption of a more future-oriented perspective
on life. Jamie, who, for example, had lived life in "2-year increments" prior
to PIs, commented that "now, suddenly, things are different.... I mean, it's
much easier to plan to die than it is to plan to live." He realized that "know-
ing you might live.... You've got to consider consequences way down the
road" (Courtenay et aI., 2000, p. 112). Other meaning scheme changes were
manifested by paying greater attention to issues pertaining to care of the self,
and integration of one's HIV-positive status into self-definition (Courtenay
et aI., 2000).
Thus, the theoretical perspective of transformational learning and adult
development structured both of these research studies. The questions asked
(What is the process of meaning-making and how stable is a perspective
transformation?) were directly derived from transformational learning theory
as proposed by Mezirow (1991, 1995). To best answer these questions, we
chose a sample (HIV-positive young adults) that would be driven to meaning-
making and we explored this process through a qualitative research design
that involved in-depth interviews with this purposefully selected sample. We
used concepts from the framework in analyzing and interpreting our data and
then tied our findings back into the literature derived from the theoretical
framework.
Related Theoretical Frameworks

and HIV..Positive Young Adults
Transformational learning theory is developmental in that changes in one's

perspective occur, changes that are "more developmentally progressive"
(Mezirow, 1991, p. 192). But in addition to developmental changes in

perspective, there were a number of developmental issues inherent in the
design of the study and in the particular selection of participants. Our over-
arching theoretical framework of adult learning and development was based
on several assumptions. First, life experiences in conjunction with the individ-
ual and social contexts in which they occur provide the potential for learning
and development. Second, although development refers to systematic change
over time, we assumed that the desired direction of development was toward
positive, growth-enhancing, mature responses, a position Bee and Bjorklund
(2004, p. 14) label "developmental progress." We saw this research as an
opportunity to address several of these related developmental questions. In
particular, we asked questions about the development of coping mechanisms,
faith/spiritual development, and psychosocial development. We saw each of
these three areas as subcomponents of the overall theoretical framework of
adult development.
The Development of Coping Mechanisms

Coping with the stress of being diagnosed HIV-positive was one of
the developmental issues we investigated with this same sample of 18 HN-
positive young adults (Reeves, Merriam, & Courtenay, 1999). Using an ego
psychological approach that is developmental in nature, it is posited that
some defense mechanisms are more mature than others. Vaillant's (1977,
1993) model presents a hierarchy of defense mechanisms with more mature
ones being, for example, humor or altruism, and less mature ones being for
example, repression and denial. Prior to our study, research on coping with
life-threatening illness, including HIV, focused on either identifying specific
coping mechanisms or plotting the relationship between coping and psy-
chological stress (Reeves et aI., 1999). We were interested in a developmental
focus, that is, how coping strategies evolved over time.
In our interviews with the 18 HIV-positive young men and women, we
included questions about their coping with the diagnosis and ultimately, the
disease. We asked about their initial coping mechanisms and how those may
or may not have changed over time. From the data, we evolved a model rep-
resenting "a developmental progression over time, from coping strategies that
are more reactive, evidence less control, and are more self-centered to those
that are more proactive, evidence more control, and are more other-centered"
(Reeves et aI., 1999, p. 350).
Immediately after diagnosis, participants reported affective coping
mechanisms ranging from complete denial to intense anger. Behavioral coping
included self-destructive behaviors such as "excessive use of drugs and alcohol,
sexual acting out, and 'automatic pilot' reactions" (Reeves et aI., 1999, p. 351);
less destructive behaviors involved keeping busy as they had before diagnosis,
learning about treatments, and so on.
After varying periods of time, participants came to realize that their initial
coping mechanisms were not effective in dealing with this life-threatening
disease. This realization initiated a transition period in which participants
squarely confronted their HIV-status, began taking control and responsibil-
ity, and began getting involved in activities such as joining a support group.
Finally, more mature coping mechanisms evolved for living with HIV, such
as the use of humor, faith, altruism, seeking the support of others, and seek-
ing a balance between attending to their HIV-status and other things in life.
Approaching coping mechanisms from a developmental perspective
allowed us to see a "clear developmental progression-from reactive to
proactive, less control to more control, and self-centered to other-centered"
(Reeves et aI., 1999, p. 358) not revealed in other studies. Further, the tran-
sitional period bridges the period between coping with the initial reaction to
being diagnosed HIV-positive, and learning to live with HIV. Whereas our
findings might be interpreted as "transformational coping" (Aldwin, 1994),
which posits change in positive or negative directions, our findings are more
in line with the adult development literature that popularly construes devel-
opment in a positive, growth-oriented direction (Bee & Bjorklund, 2004).
Faith Development
An adult development theoretical framework posits change over time.
But to be manageable, research using an adult development framework must
be further delineated to focus on some specific aspect of development. In the
examples above, the foci were on the cognitive process of meaning-making,
and on the development of coping mechanisms. Using the same sample of
HIV-positive young adults, we were also able to ask about the development
of faith. As with meaning-making and coping, there are specific models of
faith development that helped frame our inquiry. Reich (1992), who reviewed
many of the models of faith development, concluded that some factors such
as a supportive family climate or an active prayer life "favor religious devel-
opment" (p. 181); a life crisis such as a life-threatening illness was not one of
the factors listed. Fowler (1981), however, in his well-known model of faith
development does acknowledge that "growth and development in faith also
result from life crises, challenges and the kinds of disruptions that theolo-
gians call revelation. Each of these brings disequilibrium and requires changes
in our ways of seeing and being in faith" (pp. 100-101). Whereas others
have studied the link between a traumatic event and faith (Easley, 1987), and
even HIV-status and faith development (Backlund, 1990; Marshall, 1991),

these studies did not explicitly delineate the nature of this development.
Our research focus then, was on how a particular life-threatening event, an
HIV-positive diagnosis, influenced faith development.
In our interviews with the 18 HIV-positive men and women, we
incorporated questions dealing with faith development by asking about the
meaning of life for them, their faith, their purpose in life, and their concept
of a God or higher being before diagnosis, and then how those views had
changed (if they had) after diagnosis.
We found that there were three ways in which the HIV-positive diagnosis
had brought about change in their religious faith. First, there is a shift from
an unreflective, assimilated religious practice to a faith they have formulated
and assume ownership of. As John, a former Episcopal priest said, "I proba-
bly would have continued to play this game and to me it was a game.... The
illness made me get real about what I believed" (Courtenay, Merriam, &
Reeves, 1999, p. 209). Second, their concept of God shifts from an authori-
tarian, punishing "bully," to a loving and caring God with whom they have
a personal relationship. Finally, they reported a shift from a focus on the self
to realizing their real purpose in life was to help other people, and this shift
was part of their new understanding of faith. As Joe reported, "To me true
faith and belief in humanity is going out and doing something that's, well, for
others" (Courtenay et aI., 1999, p. 212).
Tying our findings back into the theoretical framework of faith develop-
ment and, in particular, Fowler's (1981) model, our study illuminated move-
ment in Fowler's stages of faith development from stage 3, characteristic of
most adults, to stages 4 and 5. Stage 3 has much more to do with the
expectations of others (as was characteristic of our participants before their
HIV-positive diagnosis); stage 4 is characterized by reflection and taking
responsibility for one's beliefs and actions, and stage 5 is an acceptance of other
worldviews and the centrality of other people, rather than self-absorption.
In summary, as with the development of coping mechanisms and more
mature perspectives, a particular model of faith development informed this
aspect of the research. Because we were interested in delineating a process,
however, and not testing a model or hypothesis, we approached the question
inductively and qualitatively. Our findings contribute to our understanding of
how a life-threatening event impacts development.
Erikson's Stages of Psychosocial Development

As a final example of how one's theoretical framework permeates the
research process, we refer to Erikson's (1963, 1968, 1982) eight-stage model
•
of life span development. Social, psychological, and biological factors interact

in shaping a person's development from infancy to old age. Erikson (1959,
p. 52), while stating that there is a "proper rate" and a "proper sequence" of
development, also agrees that his model allows for "variations in tempo
and intensity" (1963, p. 272). Although each of the eight stages becomes
prominent at a particular segment of the life span (trust versus mistrust in
infancy or generativity versus stagnation in middle adulthood, for example),
stages are not bound by chronological age; in fact, the tasks of all eight stages
are present throughout life. There is a sense of developmental progression,
however, as various stages "unfold" at various points in the life cycle. Erikson
(1963) also posits that resolution of one stage is dependent upon successful
resolution of previous stages. Successful resolution means achieving "a favor-
able ratio" (Erikson, 1963, p. 271) of the positive over the negative for each
stage.
Although there are hundreds of studies using Erikson's model or aspects
of his model as the theoretical framework, and these studies are generally
supportive of the timing and nature of the eight stages, only a few studies
involved terminally ill participants. Two studies involving HIV-positive
individuals employed instruments to measure the amount of resolution of
the eight stages (Marshall, 1991; Thomas, 1994). Ahmed (1992), however,
speculated that AIDS may well interfere with the resolution of life stages, in
particular the young adult and middle adult stages as 91 percent of persons
with AIDS are between 20 and 49 years of age.
Rather than asking a static question about someone's stage of development
as measured by an instrument, we were interested in how facing death affected
the movement through Erikson's stages of development. Are earlier, unresolved
issues revisited? Is there an accelerated movement through all the stages? Do
people skip to the final stage? Do they work on multiple stages simultaneously?
Our inductive, qualitative analysis of the interview data was informed by
Hamachek's (1990) criteria for each of the three adulthood stages. These crite-
ria, consisting of 10 "behavioral expressions" and 3 "implicit attitudes" for
each adulthood stage, were, according to Hamachek (1990, p. 678), "logi-
cally and clinically deduced from Erikson's discussions." Although we
acquainted ourselves with his criteria, we were not using them to necessarily
label our participants as being in one stage or another; rather, we were inter-
ested in the developmental question of their engagement with and movement
among the stages.
Our analysis yielded three findings with regard to how facing death affected
movement through Erikson's stages of psychosocial development. First, all
participants revisited Erikson's fifth stage of development-which typically
manifests itself in adolescence-that of identity versus role confusion. This
renegotiating of identity included coming to terms with a body that was

deteriorating as a result of contracting a virus through (possibly) socially stig-
matized practices, figuring out "where one is going" in terms of goals and
commitments, and deciding whose approval "counted." Kenneth, a 31-year-
old African American, for example, talked about "learning me. I really didn't
know me [before HIVl; I'm learning about being me today." Steve no longer
defined himself by his possessions and what others thought; identity now came
from within, "from my identity not having to be the way I looked and what
I drive and how much I make. That my identity is something else, my identity
is not those appearances" (Merriam, Courtenay, & Reeves, 1997, p. 226).
Our second finding with regard to Erikson's stages was that the three
adulthood stages were dealt with simultaneously with evidence of positive
resolution for each stage for most participants. The three adulthood stages are
intimacy versus isolation (dealt with in young adulthood), generativity versus
stagnation (characteristic of middle age), and ego integrity versus despair (the
main task of older adulthood). Because our participants were under 45 years
old, we would expect they would be grappling to varying degrees with
intimacy and generativity issues. Their HIV-positive status made issues of
intimacy particularly poignant. Jamie, for example, thought about who he
would want to be with him should he end up in a "hospital bed fixing to take
my last breath." ... and "There is still one person that I want there that
I don't have yet, and that's a life partner" for that "piece of intimacy that
I don't have with everybody else there [at his bedside]" (Merriam et aI., 1997,
p. 227). Elise, in fact, made HIV her "partner; it's closer than my physical
partner, closer than my husband. It's there. It's always with me" (Merriam
et aI., 1997, p. 227).
With regard to generativity versus despair, even the youngest members
of our sample were concerned about the world, about others, about making
a contribution. Twenty-six-year-old Dawn left a promising career in
Washington, D.C., to work for an AIDS education agency. The week we
interviewed her, she had spoken publicly on AIDS prevention at two univer-
sities and "to a gym full of 700 ninth graders, and then an hour later, 650
eleventh graders" (Merriam et aI., 1997, p. 228). She also noted the gap in
services to HIV-positive women and wrote a grant that was funded to address
this issue. Joe, who had left a lucrative computer company job because he
"didn't want to end up dead in the middle of a board meeting somewhere
talking about quality assurance," used his skills to edit and print an on-line
newsletter for HIV-positive readers:
If I know I can touch somebody in [the] rural [area of the state] somewhere and
get that feedback that "you touched my life," that's a significant job to me, not
how much money I get from it, or how much fame I get from it or anything like
that. Is it gonna make some kind of significant change in society that will benefit
other people, even if it's just one person at a time, and it's just one guy who helps?
(Courtenay et aL, 2000, p. 109)
Ego integrity versus despair is Erikson's eighth and final stage of the life
cycle. With the realization that death is inevitable, one reviews his or her life
and comes to accept "one's one and only life cycle ... that ... permitted of
no substitutions." Further, "the possessor of integrity is ready to defend the
dignity of his own life style" (Erikson, 1963, p. 168). The "virtue" of this
stage of life is wisdom. All of our participants seem to have achieved a sense
of peace and acceptance. Thirty-seven-year-old Tracy recounted for us how
she explained to her son why she wouldn't change anything about her life:
"Listen to me," she said to her son,
Everything that I have went through in my life has brought me to the place that
I am in today. I said, the only thing you're looking at is me using drugs and me
being HIV positive, I said, but part of that was part of my growing, part of my
learning to live, part of my healing within. If any of them pieces was missing out
of that puzzle, then I wouldn't be where I'm at and I wouldn't be the person
that I am. (Merriam et aI., 1997, p. 229)
Our third finding is that ego development is an interactive process. In

our study, grappling with intimacy and generativity enabled and supported
the resolution of the tasks of identity and ego integrity. That is, as participants
reached out, and connected with others (intimacy), in a caring and com-
passionate manner (generativity), service to others and the world became cen-
tral to their self-definition (identity). "Simultaneously, they evolved a sense
of integrity-they accepted who they had been and who they had become,
realizing they had the 'wisdom' to be of help to others" (Merriam et al., 1997,
p.231).
In summary, Erikson's model of psychosocial development structured our
inquiry by shaping our research question: how the threat of death affected
movement through stages of development, and, in particular, the three adult-
hood stages. What we discovered was that the movement is not as linear
or sequential as Erikson's theory implies. Our participants were involved in
an interactive process of development that meant simultaneously dealing
with intimacy, generativity, and ego integrity, the last of which was integrally
related to identity. Whether these findings are idiosyncratic to young adults
diagnosed HIV-positive at a time when such diagnosis constituted certain
death, or whether other catastrophic life events would trigger the same pattern
of development remains to be investigated. . .~ .
Some Reflections on the Role of

Theoretical Frameworks in Research
In this chapter, I have tried to demonstrate how one's theoretical frame-

work structures all aspects of a research study. Even to ask a question about
some phenomenon assumes some perspective, worldview, or disciplinary
orientation. Identifying a theoretical framework not only makes that world-
view explicit, but also provides the tools in terms of concepts and models for
structuring the investigation. The studies reviewed here all reflect an adult
developmental theoretical perspective; that is, we were interested in move-
ment, in change, and, in particular, in the process of change. Because we were
interested in change, we purposefully selected a sample of adults-those
diagnosed HIV-positive-whose pre-HIV status would have been disrupted
and challenged, thus initiating change.
The fashioning of a specific research question from the larger framework
of adult development involved focusing on a particular aspect of develop-
ment; this focusing process is necessary to make the inquiry manageable and
coherent. Mezirow's (1991, 1995) developmental theory of transformational
learning thus structured our questions about the process of perspective trans-
formation as well as the permanency of this transformation and ongoing
meaning-making. We also looked at coping mechanisms and faith changes
from a developmental perspective, citing relevant models in these areas.
Finally, in a sense, we "tested" Erikson's theory of psychosocial development
by asking questions of our participants about the presence and movement of
these stages in their lives. All of our research questions were thus derived from
the theoretical framework: how do adults make meaning, how do coping
mechanisms become more mature, how does faith develop, and how does one
engage in psychosocial development in the face of death?
These questions determined the research methodology. They could only
have been investigated through a qualitative design that allows for parti-
cipants' perspectives and understandings of a phenomenon to be revealed
(Merriam, 1998; Patton, 2000). Although a scale or instrument might identify
a participant's present state with regard to cognitive development, coping,
faith, or ego development, none would be able to access the process through
which one moved from one state or stage to another. In-depth interviews using
questions derived from our theoretical framework were used to "answer" our
research questions. And how we "answered" our research questions was, in
turn, driven by our theoretical framework; that is, we used the concepts and
models from the literature to inform our analysis of the data. These findings
were then discussed in relation to the literature from which the theoretical
framework was derived.
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3
Struggling With Theory:
A Beginning Scholar's Experience
With Mazzoni's Arena Models
Frances C. Fowler

In 1990, after successfully defending my dissertation at The University of
Tennessee, Knoxville, I began to work as an assistant professor in the Depart-
ment of Educational Leadership at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. At
that time, I was familiar with Tennessee and Tennessee politics, but Ohio
was new territory for me. My introduction to Ohio and its education politics
came during my first weeks in the state. Both my students and my colleagues
talked-or, more accurately, complained-a great deal about Senate Bill
(S.B.) 140, the Omnibus Education Reform Act passed by the Ohio General
Assembly in 1989. By and large, the state's educators were extremely angry
about this law, which contained a potpourri of reforms, including three forms
of school choice and mandatory phonics instruction. Most claimed that it
had been "railroaded" through the state legislature without any meaningful
input from educators or their organizations. In my classes, the students (who
were almost all practicing Ohio teachers and administrators) often referred
to S.B. 140 with considerable cynicism, calling it a classic example of the
arrogance of contemporary politicians, who do nut believe that educators
know anything important about children or schools despite their years of

professional practice. One student shared with me an amateur video that
someone had shot at a regional meeting of the Buckeye Association of School
Administrators, the state superintendents' organization. In it, superintendent
after superintendent lambasted S.B. 140 and the legislative body that had
enacted it. Angry comments and bitter laughter punctuated many of the
speeches.
Later during that first year, some of my students and I attended a briefing
session about the law, given by a high-ranking Ohio Department of Education
official. In the course of the meeting, he informed his audience that "The train
is leaving the station; you can get on board or be left behind." After this
meeting, I stood with a group of Miami University graduate students as they
angrily dissected this official's statements. Because I was greatly intrigued by
this conflict-filled situation and the theoretical questions it raised, I launched
a study of the passage of S.B. 140 in January 1991. My first trip to the state
capital to gather data coincided with the beginning of the first Gulf War. My
overall purpose in this study was to assess the extent to which the educational
community was correct in believing that the law had been rammed through
the legislature with little or no input from educators.
Earlier, during the fall of 1990, I had come across Tim Mazzoni's two
"arena models" of policy innovation in education. In his first model, a con-
ference proposal that I reviewed for the Politics of Education Association, he
recounted how he had developed a model for major policy changes, hypoth-
esizing that they usually result from a shift from the "subsystem arena,"
which is made up of education interest groups and politicians with a special
concern for education, to the "macro arena," in which the general public
exerts pressure on politicians to develop new policy.
After applying this first model to his study of the passage of a Minnesota
law that enacted interdistrict open enrollment, however, Mazzoni (1991)
found that the changes in Minnesota's education policy had resulted largely
from pressure exerted by high-ranking political figures, or the "leadership
arena." For several reasons, which I will detail below, this second theoreti-
cal stance seemed ideally suited for my study. Using Mazzoni's concept of
decision-making arenas and a shift from his first to second model, I developed
two research questions: To what extent did the Ohio events (surrounding the
passage of S.B. 140) conform to Mazzoni's first arena model? To what extent
did the Ohio events conform to Mazzoni's second arena model?
I chose qualitative case study as my research method, drawing heavily on
the work of Yin (1984), who defines a case study as an investigation of a con-
temporary social phenomenon within its real-life context, using multiple data
sources. I investigated the passage of S.B. 140 by the Ohio General Assembly,
Struggling With Theory 41
situating it within the social and political context of Ohio in the late 1980s.
I gathered several types of data. First, I obtained a copy of the legislation.
Next, I photocopied all the newspaper articles on the topic of S.B 140 that
had been published by the Cleveland Plain Dealer and the Columbus
Dispatch in January 1988 (when Governor Richard Celeste had called for
school reform in his State of the State Address) and from December 1988 to
July 1989 (when S.B. 140 was under consideration by the legislature and
eventually passed). I also photocopied relevant articles from the publications
of Ohio's major education interest groups, such as the two teachers' unions
and the Ohio School Boards Association, during the same time periods. In
addition, I obtained the three separate legislative commission reports that had
been published during the period under study as well as reports of briefing
sessions about the law by the Ohio Department of Education. After I had
thoroughly analyzed the documentary data, I conducted 20 in-depth, semi-
structured interviews with policy actors who had been involved in the passage
of the law. They included leaders of the major education interest groups in
the state, such as the Ohio Education Association, the Ohio Federation of
Teachers, and the Buckeye Association of School Administrators; two people
who had served on legislative commissions; several members of the state
legislature; and a member of Governor Celeste's staff.
My major conclusion was that Mazzoni's (1991) first arena model, which
hypothesized that education policy innovations are made in response to pres-
sure from the general public, or "macro arena," did not fit the Ohio data at
all. In fact, I found that Ohio's macro arena had remained inert throughout
1988 and 1989 in spite of the governor's energetic attempts to stir it to action.
Mazzoni's second arena model, however, which attributed key roles in policy
innovation to high-ranking leaders, came close to describing what had
happened in Ohio. Summing up my findings, I wrote in my Fowler (1994)
article:
[WJhen the policy process shifted away from the subsystem arena, it moved
1arge1y to the 1eadership arena. Ohio's innovative education reform was defined,
initiated, formulated, and pushed through the legislature by various high-
ranking state and national leaders. The players in the subsystem and macro are-
nas were reduced to reactive positions from which they provided relatively
minor input. (p. 347)
In other words, my study revealed that the state's educators were largely cor-
rect in believing that S.B. 140 had been "rammed through" the legislature.
I also found, however, that there were some weaknesses in Mazzoni's
(1991) theoretical framework. I felt that he had overestimated the indepen-
dence of the commissions that legislatures often appoint before developing
new legislation. I also thought that he had defined the leadership arena
too narrowly; my study suggested that the top business leaders in the state as
well as the top political leaders could participate in it. Finally, Mazzoni had
not mentioned the importance of the national political climate in shaping
what happened in Minnesota, perhaps because Minnesota has pioneered
the development of numerous innovative educational policies and therefore
has helped to mold the national political climate rather than being shaped
by it. In Ohio, however, the national education reform movement had clearly
led the state's politicians to put education reform on their agenda; in fact,
the three forms of school choice included in S.B. 140 had been directly copied
from Minnesota's law.
In 1992, I presented a preliminary version of my study (Fowler, 1992b)
at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association,
and in 1994 Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis published an article
based on it, entitled "Education Reform Comes to Ohio: An Application of
Mazzoni's Arena Models." This was the same journal that had published
Mazzoni's article about his arena models in 1991.
In the intervening years, since I first used Mazzoni's arena models, I have
used his theoretical framework for two other studies, both quite recent
(Fowler, 2002, 2005). In addition, Feir (1995) used Mazzoni's framework
in his investigation of state education policy innovation. Finally, in 2004, a
doctoral student who was using Mazzoni's arena models as the theoretical
framework for her dissertation study of the passage of a piece of higher edu-
cation legislation contacted me, seeking advice about her interview protocol.
Mazzoni's arena models are used rarely for two reasons. First, the politics
of education field has shifted strongly toward research on policy rather than
on the political process that produces it. Second, the field tends to be rather
atheoretical, a weakness that those of us who work in the politics of educa-
tion deplore. The theory itself is highly regarded, and was part of the reason
that Division L of the American Educational Research Association accorded
Mazzoni a lifetime achievement award when he retired in 2001.
Description of the Theoretical Framework
In order to understand Mazzoni's (1991) arena models of policy innovation,

one must first understand some fundamental facts about the American polit-
ical system at both the federal and state levels. The founding fathers of
the United States were quite skeptical about the intellectual maturity of the
general public, seeing it as susceptible to rapidly changing political fads
and as more likely to be swayed by emotion than by reason. They were also
suspicious of centralized power, which, because of their experience of living

in a British colony, they perceived as corrupt and tyrannical. As a result, they
designed a form of government that is very conservative in the sense of being
very resistant to policy change. Such American institutions as the Electoral
College, the bicameral legislature, the separation of powers, judicial review,
the executive veto, and other such "checks and balances" were adopted
primarily to achieve this effect. And when the states developed their own
constitutions and governance structures, with few exceptions they followed
the federal model of separated powers with numerous checks and balances.
The founding fathers were quite successful in their endeavor; the American
political system is, to this day, extremely resistant to change, especially when
compared to the more widely used parliamentary system of government
(Fowler, 2004). As a result, most change in American politics is gradual, or
incremental. This means that American politicians typically use the strategy
of passing a limited and weak version of the policy that they really want and
then spend years (or even decades) gradually amending it to bring it closer to
their ideal. This type of slow tinkering with policy is called incrementalism.
Occasionally, however, American governments do adopt policies that
represent an abrupt change from the past. An example would be the New
Deal administration of Franklin D. Roosevelt, which passed numerous laws
setting up such radically new policies as public works programs and Social
Security. Because such changes-known among political scientists as policy
innovations-are rare, they hold a special interest for those who study poli-
tics. Mazzoni's (1991) arena models were designed to explain how policy
innovations came about in education during the 1980s, a period of extensive
education reform, which started out as incremental change but became more
radical with the passage of time. Drawing on the political science literature,
he hypothesized that policy decisions are made primarily in two different
arenas: (1) a subsystem arena, which consists of the education committees of
both houses in a legislature, the state department of education, and the rep-
resentatives of the major education interest groups; and (2) a macro arena,
which is made up of the general public, top political leaders, and the mass
media. He theorized that incremental changes occur when political decision
making remains within the subsystem arena but that in order for a policy
innovation to occur, the conflict over the issue must expand to the macro
arena (Mazzoni, 1991). In other words, he believed that popular pressure is
instrumental in bringing about policy innovations in education.
Mazzoni (1991) tested his model by applying it to a real-life case-the
5-year struggle to pass an interdistrict open enrollment policy in Minnesota.
His analysis of events in Minnesota revealed that in that state, political elites
had been considerably more important in pressing for the adoption of a
school choice law than had been the general public, or the macro arena.
In fact, he wrote, "There was no public clamor in Minnesota for educa-
tional choice nor any parent movement having that as an objective" (p. 120);
indeed, surveys conducted in the state indicated that a "clear majority" of
Minnesota's citizens opposed school choice. Nonetheless, the legislature
passed a law that put such a policy on the books. As a result of his findings,
Mazzoni revised his model, adding two more arenas: a leadership arena and
a commission arena. The leadership arena included "top-level government
officials and ... the private groups or individuals-if any-who control
them" (Mazzoni, 1991, p. 125). The commission arena is a decision-making
site created by the government when it sets up a commission, task force, or
study group. In Minnesota, Mazzoni found that the Governor's Discussion
Group included representatives of numerous constituencies and that it had
ultimately recommended the adoption of a school choice policy. In his final
version of the theory, Mazzoni argues that in order for an innovative educa-
tional policy to be adopted, the central policy debate had to shift out of the
subsystem arena, but that it could shift to any of the other three arenas, or to
a combination of them. He concluded by saying
Though the revised model corrects the most obvious shortcomings in the
initial model, there is much work still to be done. Other likely arenas-for
example, state courts, education agencies, interest group coalitions, and private
elite networks-need empirical investigation and comparative analysis for their
innovative potential. (p. 132)
Origins of the Framework and Why I Chose It

In this section, I will explain where Mazzoni's arena models originated, tell
how I first encountered his framework, and discuss my reasons for deciding
to use his models.
Origins of Mazzoni's Models

As a professor of educational administration with a specialty in the
politics of education, Mazzoni was well-read in political science and related
fields. His reference section in his 1991 article lists no fewer than 43 books
and articles from the political science literature; in addition, he lists 24 books
and articles from the politics of education literature, 3 from organizational
theory, and 2 from sociology. Mazzoni was not just a prolific reader, how-
ever; in spite of the demands that his position as department chair at the
University of Minnesota placed on him, he maintained an active research
agenda, publishing numerous articles on educational politics and policy

making in Minnesota. Therefore, his arena models grew out of years of read-
ing, observing, and reflecting about how changes in education policy come
about. A closer analysis of the works that he specifically cites in the section
of his article that describes the arena models suggests that his political science
reading was especially critical in shaping his theory; all but 3 of those 17
sources are from the political science realm.
The term "arena models," however, appears to have been borrowed from
a sociological piece, Hilgartner and Bosk's (1988) "The Rise and Fall of Social
Problems: A Public Arena Model," published just 3 years before Mazzoni's
own article. In this work, the authors present a model of how publicly recog-
nized social problems first attract attention, grow in perceived importance,
and eventually are displaced in public consciousness by other problems.
In elaborating their theory, they describe how social problems compete for
attention and resources in such "arenas" as the mass media. Hilgartner and
Bosk define "arena" differently from Mazzoni, who specifies that by an arena
he means "a middle-range term, referring to the political interactions
characterizing particular decision sites through which power is exercised to
initiate, formulate, and enact public policy" (1991, p. 116). Mazzoni seems to
have developed his understanding of the term from such political scientists
as Allison, who refers to the "apparatus of government" as "a complex
arena" (1971, p. 144) and from Schattschneider, who refers to "the arena of
conflict where political alternatives are determined" (cited in Cobb & Elder,
1983, p. 5).
As I read through other sources cited by Mazzoni (1991), I was able to find
additional clear influences on his thinking. For example, Allison (1971) orga-
nizes his book about decision making during the Cuban missile crisis of 1962
around three "conceptual frameworks" or "lenses," which he calls "models."
Bardach (1972) uses the term "subsystem," and Cobb and Elder's (1983)
description of the "expansion" of a political issue resembles Mazzoni's
description of what happens when a shift from the subsystem arena to the
macro arena occurs. The closest parallel, though, comes from Cobb, Ross,
and Ross's (1976) models of agenda building. (In political science, "agenda
building" is the process by which specific social issues attract the attention of
the government and are placed on the list, or "agenda," of issues that the gov-
ernment seeks to address through its policy making [Fowler, 2004].) Cobb
et a1. propose three models of agenda building. Under the "outside initiative"
model, groups or individuals who do not work in the government succeed in
calling enough attention to a problem to cause the government to place it on
its agenda for action. This model seems to involve what Mazzoni calls the
macro arena. Alternatively, an issue may be identified within the government
itself, but politicians and government workers mobilize the general public
to become interested in it and to push for action. This model is reminiscent
of Mazzoni's arena shift from the subsystem arena to the macro arena. Cobb
et al. 's final model is one in which an issue is identified within the govern-
ment, but politicians and government workers never bring it before the gen-
eral public; instead, they seek to resolve it without public involvement. This
model resembles Mazzoni's description of incremental policy making within
the subsystem arena.
One question that particularly interested me as I reviewed Mazzoni's
sources was: Why did Mazzoni initially develop a model that did not accom-
modate the possibility of policy innovations imposed by a leadership elite?
Having cut my own political teeth in a Southern county where an entrenched
"good old boys'" network constantly tried to impose its will on everyone else,
I found this hard to understand. One possible explanation, of course, is that
Mazzoni is an idealist who believes that in a democracy all decisions are made
democratically. Another is that Minnesota politics are more open and more
democratic than policy making in some other states. In fact, this is probably
true since Minnesota's political culture resembles that of New England, which
is known for the town meeting and unusually "clean" politics. In contrast,
Southern politics is characterized by the heavy influence of elites (Fowler,
2004). My review of Mazzoni's sources, however, suggested another reason.
Many of the books that he drew on were written during the 1960s or 1970s
when some of the major policy innovations in American life were brought
about by the civil rights movement. As a result, the authors he used had firmly
in their minds the spectacle of huge masses of citizens mobilizing to march,
demonstrate, conduct sit-ins, and in other ways pressure the government to
break with the racially discriminatory past. In other words, they had in mind
the mobilization of a vast macro arena to bring about civil rights reforms.
Therefore, they may have tended to overestimate the extent to which the gen-
eral public mobilizes around innovative policy issues, and this overestimation
may have affected Mazzoni's perspective as he developed his arena models.
My First Encounter With Mazzoni's Arena Models

During my first 2 years as an assistant professor at Miami University, I was
the program chair of the Politics of Education Association, then a special
interest group of the American Educational Research Association. Therefore,
early in the fall of 1990 I received about 25 conference proposals, which I
scanned for appropriateness and then sent out for review. One of these was a
paper proposed by Tim Mazzoni, then a professor of educational leadership
at the University of Minnesota and a well-known scholar in the politics of
education. As I read the summary of his research on the adoption of school

choice policies in Minnesota and his description of his arena models of
policy innovation, I became very excited. His work fit in well with the
intellectual journey on which I had recently embarked and, because S.B. 140
had included three forms of school choice patterned on the Minnesota legis-
lation, which Mazzoni had studied, I believed that I had found a conceptual
framework that I could use to study the passage of S.B. 140 in Ohio.
Why I Chose Mazzoni's Theoretical Framework

I encountered Mazzoni's (1991) theoretical framework at a time when
I was wrestling with some of the great theoretical issues in my field. My
dissertation had been a historical policy analysis of government aid to private
schools in France between 1959 and 1984. At that time, the dean of my
college insisted that dissertations presented in partial fulfillment of the
requirements for the PhD be based on an established social theory (EdD
dissertations, in contrast, could be atheoretical). Because I was in the PhD
program, one of my key challenges during the early development of my
dissertation study had been finding an appropriate political science theory
to use. I can still remember the sense of relief that I felt when, after months
of scanning various political science works, I read two books by Robert
Dahl: Dilemmas of Pluralist Democracy (1982) and A Preface to Economic
Democracy (1985). Based on what I already knew about the development
and implementation of the French policy, I could see how Dahl's pluralist
theory could illuminate my research and facilitate my interpretation of the
French data. What I did not know at the time was that pluralist theory-
which posits that in democratic societies policies grow out of compromises
between competing political pressure groups-is controversial and that many
political scientists have seriously challenged its validity. The theory worked
reasonably well for my dissertation; I even entitled my study One Approach
to a Pluralist Dilemma: Private School Aid Policy in France, 1959-1985.
Even before I reached my defense, however, I was aware of some of its short-
comings. In particular, because France has a much stronger central govern-
ment than does the United States, its politics is not as pluralistic as American
politics is. So I realized that some of the events that had occurred in France
could not be fully explained by pluralist theory. My awareness of its short-
comings, however, was painfully intensified by several critical comments
made during my dissertation defense by the sole political science professor on
my committee. After recovering from my anger at him, I faced the fact that
before I attempted to write any articles based on my dissertation, I needed to
resolve some of the theoretical issues raised by pluralism.
Moreover, while doing my dissertation research, I had also become familiar

with another social theory that is prevalent in contemporary political science.
This was rational choice theory, which I encountered while doing my litera-
ture review. This review covered most of the literature on the debate over
school choice in the United States, and I found that many American pro-
ponents of school choice based their position on rational choice theory.
Basically, rational choice theorists believe that most social and political
phenomena can be understood as activities that play out in competitive mar-
kets. If individuals in those markets simply make decisions based on their
own self-interest, an "invisible hand" will guide society to the best outcome
possible. Thus, in advocating school choice these proponents argued that
parents should be able to choose their children's schools because education is
just another market commodity like food or automobiles. If people were
allowed to choose schools based on their own self-interest, the result would
be greatly improved education. For philosophical and religious reasons, I
strongly disagree. When reading such arguments, I often became so angry
that I just skimmed over the articles that contained them so that I could go
on to more congenial reading. Finally, realizing what I was doing and how
unscholarly it was, I forced myself to go back and read every word of the arti-
cles based on rational choice theory! I emerged from this experience con-
vinced that rational choice theory was far more problematic than pluralist
theory, but I wanted to have a stronger reason than my emotional reaction
for rejecting it, especially since it was-and still is-one of the dominant
theories in political science. In short, I realized more than ever that I needed
to have a well-thought-out theory to base my own work on.
My theoretical struggles were complicated after I accepted my position at
Miami University in February 1990. At that time, I began to read the works
of two of my future colleagues, Henry Giroux (1981) and Peter McLaren
(1980), who wrote within the tradition of critical theory, a form of Marxism.
I found their work and the Marxist frameworks they used intriguing. Their
descriptions of social injustice in capitalist societies were insightful and
contained a great deal of truth. I also thought that Giroux and McLaren were
right to emphasize the importance of thinking through the influence of the
structure of the economic system on social and cultural phenomena. Critical
theory and other forms of Marxism, however, also posed some serious theo-
retical problems for me. I was prepared to believe that the economy was
important, but not that it determined everything else in society as most
Marxists do. I did not believe that the historical evidence supported this posi-
tion. In addition, I was troubled by the fact that Giroux, McLaren, and other
Marxists diagnose the ills of American society brilliantly, but offer few con-
crete ideas about how to bring about positive changes. Moreover, they
seemed rather naively ignorant of practical politics, and therefore I did not see
how they could bring about reforms even if they had concrete ideas about
what reforms were needed. Thus, though interested in their work, I was
not convinced that Marxism offered an adequate explanation of political
phenomena.
By the fall of 1990, then, I was struggling with some major theoretical
questions. With the old adage of "publish or perish" in mind, I wanted to base
some articles on my dissertation and I knew that I needed a more solid theo-
retical grounding to do so. At that point, I was also preparing to teach my first
politics of education class, and Miami University students were relatively
sophisticated theoretically. It was imperative, therefore, that I decide which of
the grand social theories available in academia was the truest and learn more
about it so that I could use it to shape my own work.
Therefore, during my first year as an assistant professor, I launched a
program of intense reading. First, I explored a more recent work by Robert
Dahl (1989) and also discovered an important book by another pluralist,
Charles Lindblom (1977). Much to my gratification, I learned that they had
revised their original theory to respond to the criticism that they tended to
overlook the disproportionate power of business in the politics of capitalist
countries. Their revised theory, which they called "neopluralism," recognized
that business groups essentially trump all other groups in capitalist democra-
cies and therefore have a greater influence on policy than any others. Since
this revamped version of the theory seemed to address many of the weak-
nesses of pluralism that had concerned me, I based an article on it, using neo-
pluralistic theory and the French experience with school choice to argue that,
contrary to the claims of rational choice theorists, school choice could only
succeed in the United States if it was carefully regulated (Fowler, 1992a).
Meanwhile, as I prepared to teach the politics of education for the first time,
I encountered two more social theories. The first was a political theory called
"elite theory," originally developed by two Europeans of the late 19th and
early 20th centuries: the Italian political scientist Gaetano Mosca (1939) and
the German sociologist Robert Michels (1966). They argued that in any group
or society a small elite rises to the top and rules, making most of the important
decisions. Searching for contemporary American representatives of this
perspective, I found the works of Thomas Dye (1976, 1990) and G. William
Domhoff (1983, 1990). They argue that a small number of wealthy Americans
who control several interlocking institutions run the country. Finally, I
encountered the theories of the German sociologist Max Weber (1964). While
recognizing the importance of the economy and economic leaders, especially
in capitalist countries, Weber also insists that other forces, such as the gov-
ernment, the military, and widely believed ideologies significantly influence
what happens in society. The most convincing mooern presentation of Weber's
ideas I found in Michael Mann's The Sources of Social Power (1986). In this
book, the author draws on the sweep of Western history from prehistoric times
to 1760 to build his argument that
A general account of societies, their structure, and their history can best be given
in terms of the interrelations of what I will call the four sources of social power:
ideological, economic, military, and political relationships. These are overlap-
ping networks of social interaction, not dimensions, levels, or factors of a single
social totality.... They are also organizations, institutional means of attaining
human goals. (p. 2)
Looking back after 15 years, then, I can see why Mazzoni's (1991)
theoretical framework appealed to me. It was not a grand social theory; that
is, it did not seek to explain everything in society as rational choice theory,
Marxism, or Weberian theory do. It was a middle-range political theory that
was more limited even than pluralism or elite theory because it sought only
to explain how policy innovations come about in education. It was, however,
potentially compatible with pluralism, neopluralism, elite theory, Weberian
theory, or even Marxism. In fact, it actually provided a way for me to begin
to test all of these theories against the concrete data of a particular case, for
one of Mazzoni's models hypothesized that the macro arena (read "political
pressure groups") was instrumental in bringing about policy innovation
whereas the other attributed the major role to leaders (read "elites"), who
might even be business leaders, as Marxists and Weberians would predict.
I shaped my article as a test of Mazzoni's arena models, but it was also a
personal test of the various theories with which I was then grappling.
Having described the theoretical struggles of my early academic career in
some depth, it seems only fair to tell the rest of the story. My study of the pas-
sage of S.B. 140 indicated that elite figures were far more instrumental in the
passage of the bill than were pressure groups, and I found that this elite group
included both political and business leaders. This study, in conjunction with
other studies and much additional reading, led me to conclude that the most
accurate grand social theory is Weberian theory. I also concluded that elites
do run all societies, but that societies vary in the degree to which these elites
can be both influenced and replaced through democratic processes. One of
the problems faced by every democratic society is how best to devise struc-
tures that make it possible for the macro arena to challenge policy elites when
truly fundamental change is needed.
Effects of the Framework on My Study

Using Mazzoni's (1991) models as my theoretical framework shaped my study
in four ways. It helped me focus my research, develop my research questions,
plan my data collection, and structure my data analysis. I will discuss each of
these effects in turn.
Focusing the Study

Unless a scholar is doing a qualitative project based in grounded theory,
he or she is well advised to use a theoretical framework not only because it
situates the author within a scholarly conversation but also because it helps
to focus the study. I well remember how I felt about my dissertation project
before I had identified pluralism as a suitable theory for framing it. Over
a period of 4 years, I had gathered a huge amount of data; I had several books,
numerous articles, copies of the French legislation and the accompanying rules
and regulations, and hundreds of pages of parliamentary debate, arranged in
folders and stacked all over my spare bedroom. Frankly, I felt overwhelmed
and did not know where to begin to narrow the subject down so that I could
reduce this project to a manageable size. As soon as I read Dahl's two books
(1982, 1985) and began to apply pluralistic theory to my data, an amazing
thing happened. The theory acted as a giant sieve; most of my data simply fell
through it like sand, leaving behind a number of solid rocks that I could ana-
lyze from the perspective of pluralism. Clearly, I could-and should-ignore
the sand and focus my attention on the rocks as I continued data collection
and framed my research questions.
This was one of the reasons that I was so determined to find a suitable
theoretical framework for my study of the passage of S.B. 140. It was the first
study that I undertook after obtaining my PhD, and I knew that having a the-
oretical framework would enable me to narrow the subject and focus on only
those aspects of it that were truly relevant to my theory. I must confess, how-
ever, that I did not completely let the framework do its task of sifting my data.
In one of my interviews, a female respondent made some insightful comments
about the fact that most of the educational practitioners on the commission
on which she had served were women and suggested that because they were
women they were silenced and marginalized by the male business leaders
who served with them. These comments had nothing to do with Mazzoni's
(1991) arena models, but I believed that they made an interesting contribu-
tion to what might be called the micropolitics of commissions. Therefore, my
initial conference paper about my study (Fowler, 1992b) and the first draft
of the manuscript that I submitted to Educational Evaluation and Policy
Analysis (Fowler, 1994) included a page or two that presented these com-
ments and discussed them. Not surprisingly, one of the blind revievvers of the
article pointed out that that section was superfluous; and the editor asked me
to omit it in my revised version. In other words, the theoretical framework
so clearly focused my study that even other people could easily distinguish
5Z Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
relevant from irrelevant material! I should point out, however, what this
means. A theoretical framework both illuminates and conceals. This is why it
can be helpful to apply more than one framework to a set of data.
Developing the Research Questions

Another advantage of using a theoretical model is that it facilitates the
development of research questions. Those questions should always be firmly
grounded in the framework, and any questions that might be interesting but
do not relate to the framework should be eliminated. In the case of my study
of the passage of S.B. 140, I conceptualized my project as a test or application
of Mazzoni's (1991) arena models. Therefore, my two questions were rather
obvious. I asked to what extent each of the two models accurately described
what had happened in Ohio. With these two questions and the qualifying
words "to what extent," I could only reach three possible conclusions. Either
the Ohio data would conform to the first or the second arena model or would
not conform to either. Thus, I would either accept one of the models or reject _,
Mazzoni's framework as not fitting the Ohio data at alL Reaching the latter
conclusion would imply that the framework had extremely serious weak-
nesses as a model of policy innovation.
In retrospect, I probably should have used more than two research ques-
tions, basing the additional questions on each of the arenas. This is, in fact,
the approach that I used in my two more recent, and as yet unpublished, stud-
ies using the theoretical framework. Such questions would have focused my
attention more clearly on what was happening in each arena and might have
led to a more sophisticated analysis of my data. I was a novice, however, and
my two questions functioned adequately.
Planning Data Collection

Internet, search engines, and such tools as LexisNexis either did not yet exist
or were not widely accessible. As a result, I had to visually scan microfilms of
all the issues of the two newspapers that were published during the relevant
time periods. This effort, however, was well worth the time and eyestrain
involved. The newspaper coverage was not only helpful in permitting me to
identify what the top leaders had done and what had happened (or, rather,
not happened) in the macro arena, but it also alerted me to the fact that there
had been a commission arena, something I had not realized until then. Indeed,
three commissions, each representing a different faction of the legislature, had
met and each had produced a report. I therefore proceeded to procure copies
of the commission reports.
The second stage of my data c<;>llection consisted of 20 semi-structured
interviews. Using my documentary data, I identified a number of people I
might interview, including members of the legislature, people who had served
on commissions, leaders in education interest groups, and members of the
governor's staff. In planning my interviews, I also used my theoretical frame-
work, for I deliberately chose to interview members of the subsystem arena
first. My rationale was that they would be more accessible to me, who as a
professor of education in a public university was relatively close to them in
background and interests. I also believed that their recommendations could
help me select the best people to interview from the other arenas and help me
obtain access to them. As it turned out, my rationale was correct; my first set
of interviewees identified several key people from the other arenas whose
names had not emerged in the documentary data-such as the chief of staff
for the Republican Caucus in the legislature-and helped me set up interviews
with them.
Guiding Data Analysis

Finally, the theoretical framework guided my data analysis. In planning
the data analysis, I relied heavily on Miles and Huberman's (1984) Qualita-
tive Data Analysis. One of their suggested techniques was to compare and
contrast data from different "sites." Mazzoni's (1991) arena models provided
me with four obvious sites: the subsystem arena, the macro arena, the leader-
ship arena, and the commission arena. Therefore, in analyzing the data I iden-
tified who the major players had been in each arena and listed them. I also
identified all the events that had happened in each as well as which stages of
the policy process had occurred there. Two themes cut across all four arenas.
The first was the great lack of confidence in professional educators manifested
by political leaders from both parties. They saw professional educators, from
the classroom on up to the superintendent's office, as bumblers who were
out of touch with the real world. Not surprisingly, the other theme was that
S4 Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
the educators felt betrayed. It seemed to them that the rules had changed in
the middle of the game and that they had suddenly become the state govern-
ment's whipping boys. These themes illuminated the arena shift, suggesting
why it had occurred. In the final stage of analysis, I asked myself the key ques-
tions: Did an arena shift occur? If so, what was the nature of the shift? My
finding, of course, was that the policy process had indeed shifted away from
the subsystem arena. It had not, however, shifted to the macro arena, but to
the leadership arena.
Other Theoretical Frameworks Considered
Earlier in this chapter, I discussed the various theories that I encountered and
struggled with during my years as an advanced doctoral student and a begin-
ning assistant professor. As I searched for a theoretical framework for my
study of the passage of S.B. 140, I considered and rejected three of them. My
reasons for rejecting them were both intellectual and pragmatic.
First, I considered using Dahl's (1982, 1985) theory of pluralism, a frame-
work that is widely used among political scientists who study the policy
process and one with which I had grown very familiar during the writing of
my dissertation. My experience conducting my dissertation research, how-
ever, and the biting comments of the political science professor on my com-
mittee led me to hold grave reservations about using it. These reservations
were intensified because I already knew enough about how S.B. 140 had been
passed to suspect that pluralist theory would not work well for my case study.
)
As I understood the situation, the basic belief that lay behind the complaints ,;~,'. ,
of my students and colleagues about the way the law had been passed was t
precisely their conviction that some sort of pluralistic process that gave con- "!
siderable weight to the views of educators' organizations should have beenfl
~
followed. Obviously, it had not been. Therefore, I doubted that pluralist
theory would illuminate what had actually happened in Ohio.
Two other theories that had some appeal to me were elite theory and j
Marxism. Unlike pluralist theory, both of these theories included a definite ,::~
role for leaders, especially business leaders. I could not, however, visualize 1
i
how I could conduct a qualitative case study using either of these theories. I ~ ~
suspected that if a highly elite group, such as a few prominent CEOs, had "'~
been behind the passage of S.B. 140, they probably had kept a low profile.'~
~}
Therefore, it might not be easy to identify them; even if I were able to learn oj
.j
their names, I feared it would be difficult to obtain access to them for inter- :1 "
views. Moreover, phrasing an interview protocol in such a way that it got at

the deeper issues behind elite and Marxist theory also seemed problematic.
I could not imagine asking people lower down in the political hierarchy than
the elite or capitalist leaders questions like, "What capitalists (or corporate
leaders, or political elites) were active behind the scenes in pushing for S.B.
140?" In my opinion, it is no accident that people who do scholarship in these
traditions rarely do qualitative case studies. Elite theorists usually do docu-
n1entary or computer research to identify top leaders in various institutions
and trace their interconnections, whereas Marxists typically study broad
social trends, such as privatization or the de-skilling of teachers as revealed in
curriculum materials.
To be frank, another issue was completely pragmatic. I was a beginning
assistant professor who knew that she would go up for a third-year review in
2 years and a tenure and promotion review in 5 years. Both reviews would
involve external reviewers from my field. As I perused the top-tier journals
in which I hoped to publish, such as Educational Evaluation and Policy
Analysis, Education Policy, and Educational Administration Quarterly, I
became aware that none of their articles were based on either elite theory or
Marxist theory. In fact, with the exception of Laurence Iannaccone and Frank
Lutz's (1970) dissatisfaction theory, I know of no scholars in my field who
have ever used elite theory, and at the time only one person seemed to be
working in critical theory. Actually, much of what is published in my field-
both then and now-is atheoretical, although various versions of systems
theory are frequently used. Therefore, I feared that these journals would not
publish articles based on those two theoretical traditions and decided that
Mazzoni's middle-range theory of arena models, which could easily be seen
as compatible with systems theory, was more likely to be publishable. On
the other hand, my perusal of possible publishing outlets suggested that
those journals most likely to publish a study based on elite or Marxist theory
probably would not be interested in a piece about the passage of a law-in
general, they are interested in broader, more general analyses.
Using Multiple Frameworks
It is not uncommon for qualitative studies to be based on more than one

theoretical framework, as researchers often find that no single framework
adequately explains all their data. My study of the passage of S.B. 140, how-
ever, was, for the most part, based just on Mazzoni's (1991) arena models.
I employed multiple frameworks only in the sense that I used both versions
of his arena model. I chose to do so because I was interested in testing hoth
models and also because doing so permitted me to highlight my central find-
ing: the extremely important role played by government and business leaders
1. Issue definition
2. Agenda setting
3. Policy formulation
4. Policy adoption
5. Implementation
6. Evaluation
Figure 3.1 The stage model of the policy process
in the passage of Ohio's S.B. 140. I should also point out that in conducting
my data analysis, I employed a framework called the "stage model of the
policy process." This is a schematic, six-stage heuristic framework that is
commonly used in political science texts and courses (See Figure 3.1).
I applied it to all four policy arenas because it simplified my determination,
of which political processes had played out in each. As a heuristic model, it
merely describes political phenomena; it does not seek to explain them.
Refining the Framework
As a beginning scholar, I did not fully understand how theoretical frame-

works are used in qualitative research. Since I was a neophyte and Mazzoni
was approaching the end of a distinguished career, I accepted his models as
being indisputably valid and authoritative, even though in his own article
he had written, as I quoted above: "Though the revised model corrects the
most obvious shortcomings in the initial model, there is much work still to
be done" (1991, p. 132). Many years later, I am not sure what I thought that
statement meant, or even if I noticed it at the time. Regardless of what
Mazzoni himself had said, I approached my data analysis with the implicit
assumption that one of Mazzoni's models had to fit the Ohio data, or there
would be something seriously wrong with my study. I did not approach the
data with the idea that my study might contribute to the refinement and
further development of Mazzoni's arena models.
As a result, when I wrote the first draft of the article (Fowler, 1994) that I
submitted to Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis~ I exaggerated the
extent to which Mazzoni's (1991) second model fit my findings. Although
there were obvious discrepancies between my findings and the second model,
I did not acknowledge this in the article. Instead, I claimed that my study
confirmed the accuracy of Mazzoni's second model. Much to my surprise,

one of the blind reviewers pointed out several of these discrepancies and sug-
gested that instead of asserting that my study supported Mazzoni's second
model unequivocally, I should raise some questions about his model and sug-
gest possible revisions of it. With a reviewer and an editor's recommendations
to give me courage, I did indeed critique the second model and suggest ways
that it might be refined. Later, I learned through one of Mazzoni's former
doctoral students that he had actually appreciated my critique!
As a more mature scholar, I now realize that theory develops through
just such thoughtful critique and refinement as I carried out in the revision of
my article. No single researcher can apply a given theory to every conceivable
case. The development of useful theoretical frameworks depends on numerous
researchers using them in various contexts and suggesting further elaboration
or refinement. If enough scholars contribute to this process, a sophisticated
body of theory can be developed, laying a solid foundation for the growth of
a field of knowledge.
References
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Cobb, R. W., & Elder, C. D. (1983). Participation in American politics (2nd ed.).
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Cobb, R. W., Ross, ]. K., & Ross, M. H. (1976). Agenda building as a comparative
political process. American Political Science Review, 70, 126-138.
Dahl, R. A. (1982). Dilemmas of pluralist democracy: Autonomy vs. control.
New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Dahl, R. A. (1985). A preface to economic democracy. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Dahl, R. A. (1989). Democracy and its critics. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Domhoff, G. W. (1983). Who rules America now? Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice
Hall.
Domhoff, G. W. (1990). The power elite and the state. New York: Aldine.
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Upper Saddle River, NJ: Merrill.
Fowler, F. C. (2005, October). Swallowing camels and straining at gnats: The politics
behind Ohio's voucher and charter school programs. Paper presented at the
annual meeting of the Mid-Western Educational Research Association,
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Temple University Press.
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of local school districts. Columbus, OH: Merrill.
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beginning to AD 1760. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. "
Mazzoni, T. (1991). Analyzing state school policy making: An arena model. ,~:
Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis, 13, 115-138.
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!~~
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CA: Sage. ';1
Mosca, G. (1939). The ruling class. New York: McGraw-Hill. :1

Weber, M. (1964). Basic concepts in sociology. New York: Citadel. :\
"
Yin, R. (1984). Case study research. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage.
4
Liminality and the Study of a
Changing Academic Landscape
Pamela 1 Bettis
Michael R. Mills
Introduction
This chapter and the one that follows (Chapters 4 and 5) are companion
pieces. They both are the result of the same study of a college of education that
was reorganizing its departmental structure and, in particular, of faculty's
understandings of their professional identities in a new academic department.
We have produced two papers (Bettis, Mills, Miller, & Nolan, 2005; Mills,
Bettis, Miller, & Nolan, 2005) from the study, and the two papers employ
two different theoretical frameworks that we found useful in understanding
how faculty made sense of the reorganization.
Generally speaking, both papers (Bettis et aI., 2005; Mills et aI., 2005)
focus on social construction and sensemaking as the process by which people
create their social worlds and their identities. This broad theoretical orienta-
tion, along with a more specific interest in identity, is what guided our early
formulations of the project, the research questions, and data collection. As
the project proceeded, we refined and focused our conceptualization of
the research by referencing more specific theoretical formulations fronl OUf
varying academic backgrounds to explain our data and findings.
Study Overview: Who Am I in

This New Organizational Unit?
Like many qualitative research studies, this study was not necessarily planned.
Rather, it emerged out of the changes that were taking place in our daily work
lives. The two of us were colleagues in two different departments in a college
that undertook a major reorganization, which resulted in us being colleagues
in the same newly created department. Although the reorganization of depart-
ments, colleges, and entire universities is a common practice found in the
academic landscape, very few faculty members have formally studied these
changes. Michael, however, thought that our circumstance created an excel-
lent opportunity to examine how faculty members made sense of these
changes and how they constructed new forms of identity in their new organi-
zational home. This is the origin of our study.
First, Michael put together a team of five faculty members, one from
each of the former departments that contributed members to the new unit.
Thus, our research team was born. The guiding research questions were then
created for the study:
1. How did university faculty members experience and make sense of their
professional lives, identities, and work during a major reorganization in
their college of education?
2. What contributed to or distracted from faculty members' identity construc-

tion and organizational identification as faculty members from different aca-
demic programs came together in a newly organized academic department?
Michael asked that all five of us maintain a journal about matters sur-
rounding the reorganization during its first year. Further, he provided specific
prompts during the academic year to focus some of our journal entries such
as, "How has your former department manifested itself in the workings of the
department, college, and work life?" and "Compare your role in the current
structure to your prior role within your former department." Research team
members responded to these prompts and wrote journal entries that described
different facets of their work lives, which included college, school and depart-
mental meetings, the status of their research endeavors, and their yearly eval-
uations. The text of the journals became the study's major data source, along
with various documents (memos, e-mails, committee reports, etc.).
During the second academic year of the reorganization, we began the analy-
sis phase of the project. All four of us (by now one member had dropped out
due to time constraints but allowed us to include his data) coded the journal
and document texts, and analyzed the text fragments to establish connections
Liminality and the Study of a Changing Academic Landscape 61
and contrasts. Next, we came together and compiled our individual initial list
of codes into one list, which consisted of 178 codes. As a group, we then nar-
rowed the codes to a set that would encompass all of the selected text sections
in order to be as comprehensive and inclusive of the journal topics as possible;
that collapsed list consisted of 48 agreed-upon codes. These 48 codes included
such descriptors as: faculty governance, gender, emotional demands, decision
making, redundancy/inefficiency of meeting, paradigm wars, collegiality, and
values of professional life. The two of us then used these 48 codes to recode
the entire 150 pages of single-spaced journal entries and assorted documents
using HyperRESEARCH. The research team met biweekly for a semester, and
through group discussions and shared written summaries of our conversa-
tions, we conducted iterative analyses of the data to develop OUf interpre-
tations. These discussions resulted in a list of 12 descriptive categories that
included a general sense of anxiety and uncertainty over what work was to be
valued in the new department and leadership issues.
Our findings highlight the changing nature of our work during the
reorganization as well as the fragmentation, anxiety, and lack of trust within
the unit. We describe the uncertainty in which faculty members worked as
the organizational expectations changed, the contradictions that faculty faced
in terms of attempting to collaborate with new colleagues who were trained
in very different ways, and the withdrawal of faculty members from a
commitment to the new unit.
Like most researchers, we did not want to merely describe the reality
of academic reorganization and faculty identity. We hoped to describe and,
more important, explain why faculty held particular perceptions of reorgani-
zation and their professional identities. We wanted to contribute to the schol-
arly literature on faculty life during reorganizational activity as well as the
understanding of our own lives as academics.
Liminality: Theoretical Framework and Explanation
Pam used the concept of liminality (Turner, 1967, 1977; Zukin, 1991) as a the-
oretical vehicle to make sense of the dynamic interaction between individual
faculty members' responses to changes in their work lives and identities and
the changing political, economic, and social landscape of higher education.
Liminality provided a way to embed the day-to-day, micro context of univer-
sity life within that of the wider macro, social, and economic changes taking
place.
The origins of the term liminality are associated with Victor Turner (1967,
1977), an anthropologist whose work explores ritual and symbols in tradi-
tional African tribes. Turner's definition of liminality described a transitional
period and status during rites of passage. Turner argued that the liminal
period was an "interstructural stage" in which individuals or groups gave up
one social state but had yet to enter the new prescribed social state with
accompanying responsibilities and perspective. Thus, the individuals were
"betwixt and between" social statuses. Examples of the liminal stage included
times during girls' and boys' puberty rites when they were no longer children
but had yet to acquire the status of adulthood or when before the marriage
ceremony, the bride is neither single nor married. Although these rites of
passage and accompanying liminal statuses were found in all societies, Turner;~
maintained that they were expressed more fully in societies that were bound )
to biological or astronomical events as signs of change rather than to techno-
logical innovations.
Turner (1967) found that the symbolism surrounding people in liminal
states was often complex. The initiates were treated as both living and dead
and neither living nor dead; therefore, symbols used to represent liminal
people incorporated both images of life and death. For example, a waxing and
waning moon, a snake shedding its skin, and a hibernating bear all symbolize I
life and death and something other than these discrete categories. Therefore, .~
the social category of these liminal or transitional individuals was paradoxi- '
cal. "This coincidence of opposite processes and notions in a single represen-
tation characterizes the peculiar unity of the liminal: that which is neither this
nor that, but both" (Turner, 1967, p. 99).
Turner (1967) also found that the relationships among liminal individuals
were of extreme equality. Within the period of liminality, individuals often
assumed what Turner called "structural invisibility" (p. 99). They had no sta-
tus, property, kinship rank, or any marker that would distinguish them from
their fellow liminal individuals. There was no hierarchy within the group,
and, in fact, members often made lifetime friendships during the liminal
period. Liminal people did not have to act out any social or political part, and
everyone was in flux in terms of their individual identity. Turner found, how-
ever, that typically there were guides who helped individuals negotiate this
undefined status or liminal state and prepared them for the transition
to their new status, such as married womanhood or adulthood. Thus, there
was some stability offered to these individuals embarking on a journey to the
unknown.
Later on in his academic career, Turner (1977) revisited the concept of
liminality with another anthropologist, Colin Turnbull (1990), and argued
that he had missed the transformative possibilities embedded in the liminal
state, one in which individuals can tryon new ways of being. The lack of
social status and fixed identity offered opportunities to explore new identities
and ways of being that were not allowed in the society at large. ,
Since Turnees (1967) use of the term, the concept of liminality has been
expanded and applied to other "betwixt and between" conditions. Educational
sociologists Kathleen deMarrais and Margaret LeCompte (1999) applied the
term to the entire time period of adolescence in industrialized societies. This
age group is seen as neither children nor adults and occupies a precarious posi-
tion in modern society, at times vulnerable, privileged, and often segregated
from the rest of society. Sharon Zukin (1991), a critical urban sociologist, used
liminality to describe the current historical, social, political, and economic
context. Drawing from Schumpteter's notion (as cited in Zukin, 1991) that
an essential fact of capitalism is its constant ability to reinvent itself, Zukin saw
the landscape of advanced industrial societies as one that was always varied
and changing due to this continual process of creative destruction. Specifically,
she argued that neither the language of deindustrialization nor postindustrial-
ism "captures the simultaneous advance and decline of economic forms, or the
sense that as the ground shifts under our feet, taller buildings continue to rise"
(Zukin, 1991, p. 5). Zukin used Turner's anthroplogical concept of liminality
to make sense of the current transitional social and economic landscape of
industrialized nations:
In the abstract, economic restructuring can be thought of as a process of

Iiminality. It socially reorganizes space and time, reformulates economic roles,
and revalues cultures of production and consumption. What is always new
about these processes is their mutual impact on specific groups. Once it is cul-
turally mediated, the experiences of relative gains and losses inflict a general
consciousness of change. (Zukin, 1991, pp. 28-29)
Just as Turner (1967) saw liminality as representing neither this nor that
but both and more, Zukin argued that neither deindustrialization nor postin-
dustrialism explained the current dynamic economic and social changes and
that these changes were more than either of these explanations combined.
Further, Zukin explored how the characteristics of both modernism and
postmodernism were in evidence simultaneously in this liminal space.
This notion of liminality-articulated by Zukin (1991) as a transitional
social and economic period between industrialism and postindustrialism,
and modernism and postmodernism-provided a conceptual framework for
explaining the macro intellectual and economic changes in all of higher edu-
cation. Although Zukin is referring to the creative destruction inherent in a
capitalist economy and the implications of this in terms of American culture
writ large, her argument makes sense when applied to universities in their
current context. The university in which the five of us worked is a part of the
global economic restructuring taking place along with all of its incumbent
social changes as well. At the same time, we drew from the original meaning
of liminality and its anthropological roots, which explore individuals in

societal transition. These two understandings helped us make sense of our
data and our lives as faculty members.
Locating the Theoretical Framework
Since the two of us have been trained in different subfields of education, we

have been immersed in different theoretical orientations. Therefore, it should
come as no surprise that when we came to read deeply in the literature, make ~ , i
journal entries, and finally to make sense of the data, we did so in somewhat
different but overlapping ways. Pam's training in the social foundations of .j
education exposed her to the disciplines of anthropology and sociology as i

they relate to education and encouraged her to embed all of her research, par- lJ
ticularly her qualitative endeavors, in the wider political, social, and economic \1
context. For both published papers (Bettis et aI., 2005; Mills et aI., 2005), the I
theoretical framework came from the discipline orientation of the lead authoL)
Although Pam did not enter the study with the expressed purpose ofj
drawing from the conceptual vehicle of liminality, there were several factors J
that made its infusion and ultimately explicit use not surprising. First, PamJ
had used the concept of liminality, in its micro and macro forms, in her dis- .~
sertation, which explored urban high school students' understandings of their I
lives and futures amid a rust belt city that was deindustrializing (Bettis, 1994)'.',1'.:..
Thus, she carried a heightened sensitivity from her dissertation review of ~
the literature concerning the transitional status of the U.S. economy, and in .•..j'
fact all industrialized economies. Further, she was attentive to any group of ,
individuals living between two social worlds, and she had begun to notice ~;
that being adrift between two world views and/or contexts was not limited to
adolescents.
After Pam had thoroughly coded and recoded her dissertation data and
completed the best preliminary analysis she could without a strong theoreti-
cal explanation of what she had found, she "sat" on the data, read new mate-
rial, and reread books that she thought were significant. One of these was
Sharon Zukin's (1991) Landscapes of Power: From Detroit to Disney World,
which explores the changing political economy of cities and uses the concept
of liminality to describe that changing landscape. This had been a useful con-
cept in considering how cities were changing and what impact that might have
on how urban students understood their lives. Most of Zukin's work, how-
ever, remained at the macro level and did not move into the micro or every-
day lives of urban inhabitants, and this is what Pam wanted to do. When she
was rereading Zukin and considering the liminal economy, she traced Zukin's
use of the term to a footnote where Zukin cited the work of Victor Turner,
whose work she then read. Turner's discussion helped to explain what the
kids were saying and doing in her data; it provided the micro understanding
that Pam needed.
Therefore, Pam had the background knowledge of the liminality concept
when she began this study with Michael. Its use, however, was not triggered
fully until she began reading Stanley Aronowitz's The Knowledge Factory
(2000), which explores the changing political and economic landscape of
higher education. Reading Aronowitz while coding the data led her to
consider the data and their relationship to the macro political, economic,
and social changes taking place throughout universities across the nation.
Thus, the direct applicability of the multiple meanings of liminality came into
play fairly early in the analysis phase of the project. The similarities in social
disruption and shifting identities that described transitioning adolescents,
the socioeconomic conditions of late capitalism, and the changing organiza-
tion of our college drew us to this line of explanation. Furthermore, whereas
the administrators championing the reorganization did not clearly articulate
their motives in terms of the pressures on the modern university in a post-
modern era, it did not take much of a leap of logic to frame the reorganization
in those terms.
Effects of the Theoretical

Framework on the Research
Although liminality was not explicitly named as the theoretical framework

that Pam would employ in the beginning of this study, you can see her height-
ened sensitivity to how the individual negotiates the liminal period as well as
an awareness of the changing macro contexts even in the study's early stages.
In fact, various understandings of liminality can be seen throughout Pam's
early thinking and writing about the research project. Obviously, part of the
reason for that was her explicit familiarity with the concept. Part of its use,
such as attention to the macro political economic context of higher educa-
tion, however, emanates from her doctoral training and subsequent reading.
Therefore, Aronowitz's arguments in The Knowledge Factory (2000) easily fit
into her awareness and understanding of the larger global economic shifts. All
of these sensitivities led Pam to notice and write about issues regarding the
status of colleges and universities in American society, the external pressures
they face, and how those get translated into the work and daily lives of fac-
ulty members amid the organizational shift we were experiencing. This even
became an explicit focus at times in her journal writing, as these two passages,
written on September 8, 1998, exemplify. The first is a reflection on our first

faculty meeting of the newly created department:
When the HRD (Human Resource Development) woman started the meeting,
she had an overhead that could be read several different ways. Her point was
the multiplicity of our perspectives ... you know the kind of thing I taught to
my 9th graders in 1984 in rural Arkansas. And here we are in 1998 amidst
a whirlwind of economic, social, and political changes and the university is
dynamically connected to them all. How obsolete can we be? Perhaps, this reor-
ganization and its incumbent changes point to our inherent anachronism.
Perhaps, Lyotard is right in saying that the Professoriate is dead and that
the university can no longer be viable in a postmodern, postindustrial era. This
meeting made that point to me clearly.
This second journal entry frames the everyday mundane administrative .~

tasks as political in n a t u r e : J
Sometimes I feel like Giroux's "clerk of the empire" and it is very discombobu-
lating. I teach with passion about schools being the last public institutions
besides malls where democratic possibilities exist. But I don't feel that way
in my own institution. Democracy can flounder when participants are over-
whelmed with minutiae and detail; when the big decisions are lost in the every-
day administrivia. }.
Although most of Pam's journal entries were much more descriptive in nature
and less explicitly analytical, the point is that her training and reading were
already evident in how she made sense of her everyday life in the newly
formed academic unit.
Pam's sensitivity to the broader social, economic, and political changes
that were playing out in universities across the nation could also be found in
her literature review, which was an ongoing process throughout the entire
research endeavor. Although all of the research team members read broadly
in the area of higher education and the contemporary changes in which it
was embedded, Pam was drawn to particular literatures, which she explored
more deeply. For example, she read more deeply on the impact of the crisis
of knowledge within university life in terms of the blurring of disciplinary
boundaries, the challenges to rationality, and the history of universities.
Further, she read about how these changes were manifested in university life-
such as the university's greater technical and/or vocational thrust; a decline in
the importance of the humanities and challenges to the Western canon; a loss
of the university's role in preserving democracy and civic discourses; an expo-
nential increase of knowledge; a heightened managerialism in the operation of
institutions; a decrease in public funding and increased reliance on corporate

and private monies; and changing roles for faculty members and their demor-
alization (Aronowitz, 2000; Bender, 1997; Bloland, 1995; Davies, 1999;
Giroux, 1999; Lueddeke, 1999; Manicas, 1998; Paden, 1987; Popkewitz,
1998; Tierney & Rhoads, 1993; Ward, 2003; Welch, 1998). These kinds
of readings provided her with the macro landscape in which to embed the
actions and everyday understandings of faculty members who live within
them, the data of this study.
So far, the heightened awareness of liminality and its characteristics could
be found in Pam's journaling and her literature review. Its most explicit use,
however, could be found in the analysis phase of the project. As was men-
tioned earlier in the study overview, after the 178 initial codes were collapsed
into 48 and the entire data set was recoded by both of us, we then collapsed
these 48 codes into 12 categories based on the similarity or relatedness of
the topics. These 12 groupings consisted of (1) a general sense of anxiety;
(2) uncertainty over what work is to be valued in the new department;
(3) getting to know each other in the new department; (4) how and why par-
ticipation in the new unit is difficult; (5) external pressures on the university;
(6) nine programs or a coherent unit? (7) leadership issues; (8) the difficulties
of curricular integration due to paradigm differences; (9) how faculty will
be evaluated; (10) weak organization and administration support; (11) the
discouraging of governance activities; and (12) evaluation. Then, all of the
quotes for each group were printed as a set, and each set became the focus of
a meeting to interpret, derive themes and differences, and apply theoretical
formulations based on the content of the text units. Michael produced a
written summary of the conversations, along with the relevant textual frag-
ments, which became the subject of further conversation, sorting and recom-
bining the interpretations within and among the original code groupings.
The resulting discussions of these 12 larger descriptive categories resulted
in three analytic themes that the group characterized as central to the data:
(1) the changing context of higher education; (2) the dysfunctionalities and
contradictions of the reorganization and the resulting new academic unit; and
(3) the changes in faculty identity. Pam made sense of these three analytic
themes through applying the concept of liminality. It helped explain the
changing context of higher education and the anxiety and uncertainty that
individual faculty expressed regarding their professional identities, and the
dual understandings of liminality provided by Turner (1967, 1977) and
Zukin (1991) linked these two analytic themes.
Faculty members are not mere puppets of the macro economic and social
changes that Zukin (1991) and Aronowitz (2000) describe. They live within
and amidst them, are shaped by them and, in turn, their own thoughts and
actions reshape the university in which they live. This is where Turner's
understanding of liminality came into play. Turner (1967) maintained that
when individuals entered the liminal period, they shed previous roles but did
not yet take on new ones. Thus, liminal individuals experience a type of para-
dox in which they let go of their previous roles and responsibilities but have
not transitioned to the new social state and its accompanying social roles and
responsibilities. This understanding of liminality helped explain why faculty
members were so confused and anxious as they negotiated the contradictions
of their professional lives. Liminality mediates the world of macro economic
and social changes with that of the daily lives of faculty. It is a synergistic
concept in that characteristics of the macro world and micro world playoff
of each other. Turner's notion of liminality and the nlultilayered concep-
tualization prompted by Zukin's formulation are helpful in understanding
how faculty negotiate the changes brought about by a college of education's
reorganization and the larger context of higher education.
Further, the concept of liminality provided a way to frame our suggestions
for approaching change and alternative futures for higher education. Turner
(1967) and another anthropologist, Turnbull (1990), both revisited their ini-
tial understandings of the liminal period and recognized the missed opportu-
nity of seeing this betwixt and between time as one of possibilities, of trying
on different identities and embracing play. They argued that the transforma-
tional facets of the liminal period were just as important as the uncertainty it
engendered. We took their second reading of the liminal period as a way to
wish for and dream about "doing" higher education differently in a rapidly
changing social and economic landscape, and offered that discussion as the
conclusion of our paper.
Critique of the Theoretical Framework

transition was situated around professional and career changes in identity.

Second, Turner found that liminal individuals were typically guided with help
from those appointed to shepherd them through this interstructural stage so
that they could begin to learn about their new way of life. There were clearly
no guides to help faculty negotiate the changes wrought by the reorganization
of their professional lives. In fact, we argued in our paper that administrators
were in the same liminal state as faculty without much guidance. Further,
Turner's use of the term liminal is individual and related to role, so the trans-
formation refers more to personal identity than to social change. The adoles-
cents he studied know they are returning to the same culture they came from
and, in addition, their transition is to be guided by the familiar adults of
the village. The rules and roles of their new status are established within
the culture and known by their guides, who pass their knowledge on to the
adolescents during their transition.
It is Zukin's (1991) shift of the term to an economic and cultural sphere
that emphasizes the social and organizational elements of the change and
alters its character in important ways. Here, the transformation is in not only
individual role but also in culture. Things will be different (even if there is
likely to be some continuity of arrangements), and past experience does not
provide a clear picture of what a new order will hold. There are no knowl-
edgeable guides, or an established culture to look forward to, or any firm
sense of how the future will shake out.
Another way in which Turner's (1967, 1977) conceptualization of a limi-
nal transitional process did not match what was taking place in our college of
education reorganization was that there was not a clear demarcation between
the old and new roles and responsibilities of the liminal individuals. The roles
and responsibilities of the old culture continued to be part of faculty members'
lives, which existed simultaneously with the effort to develop new roles and
culture. Thus, faculty members were expected to maintain some of their pre-
vious professional habits as well as to construct and adapt to the rules and
habits of a new culture without a guide to what was coming. The demands of
these two worlds weighed heavily on all five faculty members' professional
lives.
Finally, Turner (1967, 1977) argued that liminal individuals experienced a
sense of equity since past statuses and privileges dropped away. In line with
this, one stated goal of the reorganization was to standardize and make
faculty workloads more equitable in the college. Our journal entries, however,
revealed mistrust and unease with attempts at reworking the new departmen-
tal culture and the college through collaboration. In fact, one of the fi.nal three
themes focused on the dysfunctionalities and contradictions of the reorgani-
zation and the resulting new academic unit. This included the inability of
faculty to collaborate, for example, which is the opposite of what Turner

described in his liminal groups. In fact, the lack of rules and fixed institutional
culture did not facilitate new and different ways to imagine our work and our
interactions with colleagues. Certainly, it did not engender many new friend-
ships, much less lifetime friendships, among faculty members.
The above are examples of how the concept of liminality did not "fit" our
data exactly. The purpose of a theoretical framework, however, is not to pro-
vide comfortable clothing for data. As Michael discusses in the companion
chapter that follows, a theoretical framework offers a vehicle to make gener-
alizations to other contexts and provide an explanation for why people do
and say what they do and say.
References
Aronowitz, S. (2000). The knowledge factory. Boston: Beacon.
Bender, T. (1997). Politics, intellect, and the American university, In T. Bender &
C. Schorske (Eds.), American academic culture in transition (pp. 17-54).
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Bettis, P. J. (1994). Constructing futures on fault lines: Urban working high school
students' perceptions of school, work, and the future in a post-industrial city.
Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Toledo, Ohio.
Bettis, P. J., Mills, M., Miller, J., & Nolan, R. (2005). Faculty in a liminal landscape: A
case study of a college reorganization. Journal of Leadership and Organizational
Studies, 11 (3), 47-61.
Bloland, H. (1995). Postmodernism and higher education. Journal of Higher
Education, 66(5), 521-559.
Davies, ]. (1999). Postmodernism and the sociological study of the university. The
Review of Higher Education, 22(3), 315-330.
DeMarrias, K., & LeCompte, M. (1999). The way schools work. White Plains, NY:
Longman.
Giroux, H. (1999). Vocationalizing higher education: Schooling and the politics of
corporate culture. College Literature, 26(3),147-161.
Lueddeke, G. R. (1999). Toward a constructivist framework for guiding change and
innovation in higher education. Journal of Higher Education, 70(3),235.
Manicas, P. (1998). The radical restructuring of higher education. Futures, 30(7),
651-656.
Mills, M., Bettis, P. J., Miller, ]., & Nolan, R. (2005). Experiences of academic
unit reorganization: Organizational identity and identification in organizational
change. Review of Higher Education, 28(4), 597-619.
Paden, R. (1987). Lyotard, postmodernism, and the crisis of higher education.
International Studies in Philosophy, 19~ 53-58.
Popkewitz, T. (1998). The culture of redemption and the administration of freedom
as research. Review of Educational Research, 68(1), 1-34. 1
;
Tierney, W. G., & Rhoads, R. (1993). Postmodernism and critical theory in higher
education: Implications for research and practice. In ]. C. Smart (Ed.), Higher
education: Handbook of theory and research (VoL 10, pp. 308-343). New York:
Agathon.
Turnbull, C. (1990). Liminality: A synthesis of subjective and objective experience.
In R. Schechner & W. Appel (Eds.), By means of performance: Intercultural
studies of theatre and ritual (pp. 50-81). New York: Cambridge University Press.
Turner, V. (1967). The forest of symbols. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.
Turner, V. (1977). Variations on a theme of liminality. In S. F. Moore &
B. G. Myerhoff (Eds.), Secular ritual (pp. 36-52). Amsterdam: Van Gorcum.
Ward, K. (2003). Faculty service roles and the scholarship of engagement. San
Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
Welch, A. (1998). The end of certainty? The academic profession and the challenge
of change. Comparative Education Review, 42(1), 1-14.
Zukin, S. (1991). Landscapes of power: From Detroit to Disney World. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
'i, "
5
Organizational Identity
and Identification During a
Departmental Reorganization
Michael R. Mills
Pamela J Bettis
A s noted in the previous chapter, Chapters 4 and 5 are companion pieces.

This chapter shifts the focus to a second article (Mills, Bettis, Miller, &
Nolan, 2005) produced from our research project on faculty members' reac-
tions to a reorganization of their academic department. Here, the focus is on
organizational identity and organizational identification as exemplified in the
new academic unit.
Study Overview
The origins of the research project and the methods used are presented in
the previous chapter and are not repeated here. In the article that is the focus
of this chapter (Mills et aI., 2005), the findings and analyses highlight the
dysfunctional interaction patterns of the new department, referred to as the
Department of Educational Studies (DES), as indicated by the mode of debate,
lack of trust, and fragmentation within the unit. We describe a departmental
faculty that had substantial difficulty working together toward important

collective decisions regarding matters like curricular consolidation and pro-
motion and tenure guidelines. Themes in our analyses include truncated com- ',:
I
munications, conflict avoidance, dysfunctional decision-making processes,
~
and our own withdrawal from participation in the unit. 1
Under these conditions, the department became a weak unit within which
to develop an organizational identity and identification. Given the lack of
mutual processing of issues, faculty members were impeded in their ability to
negotiate an agreement on the identity of the unit. This inhibited sensemak-
ing, which, in turn, hampered our identification with the new department.
Theoretical Framework:
Organizational Identity and Identification 'I,;,,'
' .
We started the study with the notion that the new unit would have to create
a new organizational culture and become home to people who had not pre-
viously shared an organization. In effect, culture is the internal and symbolic
context for organizational identity. Thus, the same processes of social con-
struction and sensemaking are involved in developing and perpetuating
both organizational culture and organizational identity. As such, both con-
structs become susceptible to reinterpretation and shifting meanings as the
context for identity is reframed. Much as recent conceptions of culture have
moved beyond an integrationist view to emphasize the internal variation and
fragmentation (Martin, 1992), the conception of organizational identity has
also moved beyond something that people take to be central, distinctive, and
enduring about an organization (Albert & Whetten, 1985) to thinking
about identity as a social construction susceptible to change and incoherence
(Gioia, 1998).
Organizational culture and identity, in turn, become prime considerations
in organizational identification. In effect, the affiliations that we use to define
ourselves are often the organizations in which we participate (Pratt, 1998).
Organizational culture sets the context for organizational identity, which,
in turn, says a lot about who organization members are and how they would
like to think about themselves. Through organizational identification, orga-
nization members get psychological needs such as safety, affiliation, self-
enhancement, and self-actualization fulfilled while the organization gets
members who are more likely to act in ways congruent with organizational
goals and needs. The process of identification is complicated, however,
because neither the individual nor the organization has a singular identity or
even consistency among multiple aspects of identities.
Organizational Identity and Identification 75
Alvesson and Willmott (2002) suggest that we have not moved much
beyond these recognitions to more fully grasp the identity constitution
processes in organizations. They attempt to address that shortcoming in the
interpretive literature, and they provide an overview of four ways individuals'
identities are influenced and changed in organizations. The interactions
within organizations serve to define (1) the employee by directly defining
characteristics; (2) action orientations by defining appropriate work through
motives, morals, and abilities; (3) social relations by defining belongingness
and differentiation; and (4) fit with the social, organizational, and economic
terraIn.
In addition to this general framework, the paper (Mills et aI., 2005) used
more specific theories focused on Alvesson and Willmott's (2002) third item,
explanations of identity formation via belongingness known as social identity
theory (SIT) and self-categorization theory (SCT). These formulations focus
on how group norms, stereotypes, and individual prototypes serve to define
identities and influence identification with groups, and examine factors such
as groups' homogeneity, prestige, distinctiveness, and permeability. These
theories have been more formally derived and tested in broad sociological
contexts, and a body of literature has grown out of attempts to extend the
insights of SIT and SCT (see Hogg, Terry, & White, 1995, for an overview
of the theories and literature) to the identities of organizations (Ashforth &
Mael, 1989; Gioia, 1998) and identification within organizations (Pratt,
1998). Working from these theories, researchers hypothesize that clear and
distinct differences between groups, a high salience for organizational cate-
gories in accounting for differences between groups, and membership in an
attractive or prestigious group will enhance identification with a social group
and organization (Hogg & Terry, 2001; Pratt, 1998). Conversely, identifi-
cation with an organization is likely to be more difficult if members are
highly heterogeneous or if they are too much like members of other organi-
zations, and the theories incorporate notions of ambivalent identification or
disidentification.
Of particular interest for our study, these theories have also been used
in research on mergers in organizations. Mergers are problematic because
the social foundations for prior identifications usually remain intact, reducing
the need for individuals to develop commitment to a new group identity.
Instead, "employees of merged organizations tend to act on the basis of
their premerger identity ... rather than on the basis of the identity implied
by the merger" (Van Knippenberg & Van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 251). This
literature suggests that, for example, issues of in-group and out-group mem-
bership and status differentials will cause problems for organizational identi-
fication among members of the "out" or lower-status organization. Success
in organizational mergers has been connected to conditions that promote

interaction, such as equal status, intergroup cooperation, egalitarian orienta-
tion, and personal acquaintance. Given these conceptual foundations, this
paper focused on the organizational factors that promote identity formation
and identification within organizations and how those were manifest in a new
department created by the college reorganization.
Locating the Theoretical Frameworks
The theories of organizational identity and identification have developed

within the field of organizational studies, which was a major component
in Michael's degree program and is the focus of his teaching in higher educa-
tion administration. Much of his past research revolves around the concept
of social construction of reality and sensemaking in organizations. Identity is
directly involved in these processes, and the view of identity in organizational
studies parallels the development of the concept of identity as a social con-
struction in other social sciences. In this sense, the focus on organizational
identity in this study does not stem from a theory in the specific sense of a
formal model of relationships between variables or constructs. Rather, it is
better thought of as a framework within which the topic is being discussed
in the academic literature. It is this interest in questions of organizational
identity and their association with organizational culture and sensemaking
that preceded and motivated the entire research project.
In an edited book, Whetten and Godfrey (1998) chronicled the develop-
ment of approaches to identify in the field. The chapters in that book helped
shape our initial steps in applying the concepts in our study. It helped us bring
together the postmodern formulation of identity and how it applies to orga-
nizational identity and the concept of identification. We continued our review
of related literature as the research project progressed and, in the interest of
being comprehensive and responsive to the literature, further investigated the
notion of organizational identification and the more formal theoretical for-
mulations of SIT and seT in organizational studies. The theories specifically
were the subject of a review article (Hogg et aI., 1995) and an edited book
(Hogg & Terry, 2001), which included good summaries of the literature.
Several directions within that literature, including the application in instances
of organizational mergers and the development of a notion of "disidentifi-
cation," led to optimism about the theories' applicability to our project. As
discussed later in this chapter, however, that optimism later dimmed in the
analysis phase of the project, when it became clear that the theories were not
rich enough to explain some aspects of our findings.
In sum, locating the framework arose from Michael's prior knowledge

of the literature in the field. Further, the location of a couple of extensive
literature reviews helped to summarize specific theoretical formulations and
to pinpoint sets of literature for deeper review.
Effects of the Theoretical Framework on the Research
As indicated previously, the focus of the research from the beginning was on
questions of identity and identification in a shifting organizational context, so
we conceived of ourselves as the subjects of our research project. This made
journaling appear to be the natural choice for our data gathering technique.
We also wanted to avoid a situation in which the research project would
significantly alter the course of the department's development. Thus, we made
a deliberate attempt to keep the research project, other than the journaling,
as low impact an activity as possible during the year of data collection. This
meant that another data gathering technique, such as constituting ourselves
as some version of a focus group at various points during the year, seemed to
invite too much influence on the events we were studying. In fact, we only met
as a group twice during the year, and while we did discuss substantive issues
(They were hard to avoid!), the main focus was to encourage continued atten-
tion to the journaling task. We also responded to a set of common questions
in our journals, as described further below.
Clearly, we had the broad framework of social construction and identity
from the beginning of the study. Our specific instructions in data collection
were to write about the issues the department faced and the interactions we
had with faculty in formal (for example, committee meetings) and informal
(hallway conversations) occasions as well as our own reactions and feelings
about what we experienced.
The concern for organizational identity and identification focused journal
entries on instances of interaction when members of the department were
discussing issues and negotiating new understandings and expectations for
their department and themselves (or finding ways not to do so). Our journal-
ing often focused on work issues in which there were explicit discussions of
the values and norms the department would embody. These instances related
to both the meaning of membership in the department and how members
defined their identification with DES. We also used our journals to discuss
how we were feeling about the events we experienced and whether they
engendered our own association with the department or people in it.
Typically, the reorganization work was either tedious or acrimonious, so the
journals included expressions of our disengagement with DES.
For example, Michael-in a journal entry written December 14, 1997-

portrayed a faculty meeting in which committee members prepared briefing
papers on issues to be resolved while drafting promotion and tenure (P&T)
guidelines.
The P&T committee members kept quiet unless prompted by the faculty to
discuss a topic. Even then, they seemed reluctant to speak and did not say much
to help the conversation. Predictably, we spent a lot of time on the first few items
and the later items got little attention at the meeting. The result is that we some-
times voted on questions that we may not have fully understood or appreciated
the complexity of, and we did not always have the benefit of a full discussion
to inform our vote. Thus, this exercise in pseudo-democracy really turned out to
limit our ability to have full and informed input into some important decisions.
The result is that I feel, and I have heard others express, that we still have not
had sufficient time to discuss and deal with the issues that the P&T document
raises. This also served to limit the value of the vote and conversation for
the members of the committee, since they now have to interpret written votes
I
on paper, and they do not have the "rich media" of face-to-face conversations
to inform them of how the faculty thinks about an issue.
It is easy to see how the attention to certain events and the way they are
framed in the journals reflect the theoretical framework for the study, as the
journal entry itself noted the missed chances at interaction that could have
promoted a greater sense of shared participation in the department.
One aspect of our journaling that we adopted was that, at five points
during the year, Michael asked the group members to respond to specific l~',
questions in the journals. The questions were meant to prompt some reflec-
tion on common subject matters in the journals, and the effects of the theo-
retical frames are evident in the questions themselves. We were asked to
comment on topics such as changes we were experiencing in our professional
identities, our perceived influence on our academic program and the new
department, and the continuing role of our former departmental affiliations.
In the analysis phase, the specific theoretical frameworks also played
explicit roles in the project direction. The analysis process began with
members of the research group reading their own and another full journal and
coding sections of text with a term that characterized the main idea being
expressed. As a group, we then narrowed the list of codes to a set that would
encompass all of the selected text sections in order to be as comprehensive and
inclusive of the journal topics as possible. We then applied those codes to all
the journal entries. Thus, this inductive and inclusive form of coding allowed
the influence of the theoretical frame on the data collection process to roll
through to the coding and sorting of the textual fragments. The codes selected
focused on the (1) topical areas that promoted interaction in the department
(promotion and tenure guidelines, selection of a chair, curricular integra-
tion), (2) modes of participation and communication among former and new
colleagues, (3) roles in the new department, (4) our professional identities,
(5) the view of DES from inside and outside, and (6) the status and relations
of the degree programs that constituted the department. All of these issues
highlight aspects of building an organizational identity for the department
and our identification with it.
As the next step in the analysis process, we gathered the codes into 12
groupings based on the similarity or relatedness of the topics. Then, each
set became the focus of a group meeting to interpret, derive themes and
differences, and apply theoretical formulations based on the content of the
text units. Michael produced a written summary of the conversations, which
became the subject of further conversation, sorting and recombining the inter-
pretations within and among the original code groupings. Eventually, the
focus on interaction and sensemaking in the process of identity formation led
the analysis to focus on how difficult it was to interact and create a new iden-
tity for the department. We were also led to stress missed opportunities for
(and even avoidance of) communication and interaction to build a depart-
mental identity and the retreat of faculty into the separate programs that
constituted the department. Thus, in the analysis of our journals, the themes
and concepts of the theoretical frameworks took on greater and more direct
relevance to the data and our modes of understanding them.
Critique of the Frameworks
The events in DES reinforce the SIT/SeT position that mergers encourage the
airing of differences and separation within a new unit because they heighten
attention to the differences and tensions between subgroups. In addition, the
general connection between the permeability of subgroups and the success of
mergers is supported by negative example, since, in this unsuccessful merger,
the unit quickly becomes characterized as a collection of separate programs
rather than a coherent department. The role of prestige factors in this case,
however, is more complicated than the SIT/seT literature suggests. For
example, the literature says that low-prestige groups would emphasize
alternative characteristics related to their identity that would de-emphasize
characteristics on which they were relatively weaker. In this case, research ori-
entation and productivity--elements of academic prestige-were central
issues in the conflict over promotion and tenure standards. Both high- and
low-prestige programs within the department, however, opposed including
stricter standards in the criteria language, opting instead to emphasize values

of autonomy, collegiality, and egalitarianism-also highly prized among
academics-in order to reinforce the independence of the various programs
in the department. Thus, in this context, prestige was less of a factor in
members' orientation to and identification with the new unit than these
theories suggest, and egalitarianism promoted subgroup autonomy rather
than group permeability.
Ultimately, the DES case urges us to think beyond the models and
hypotheses of SIT/SCT approaches to organizational identity. Even while
acknowledging the multiplicity and variability of identity in both people and
organizations, SIT/SCT conceptions still focus identification upon the primacy
of defining or prototypical characteristics and assume an integrationist view
of a dominant organizational culture and identity. A broader and more com-"
prehensive view of identity suggests, however, that there are inescapable mul-
tiplicities, complications, and even contradictions in identity. Furthermore,
individuals have multiple sources of identity and different aspects of them-
selves that they apply with different salience in the contexts of each of their
affiliations. Thus, in DES the multiple values and meanings must be combined i
in ways that an integrationist theory of identity would overlook.
Alvesson and Willmott's (2002) list of identification modes presented
previously suggests some of the value, environmental, and contextual dimen-
sions that are part of the identity development process and thus represents
a broader viewpoint for thinking about the identity construction and identi- .• .j• .
fication processes in DES. This theoretical formulation led us to high-
light the lack of engagement in the department and to locate the problem in
the constricted communication that curtailed sensemaking and, therefore,
the formation of organizational culture and identity. The framework that
acknowledged the multiplicity and ambiguity of identity, without also mak-
ing it an inherent problem, allowed us to look beyond differences as the
source of disidentification and to suggest that the problems of interaction
chronicled in our journals limited the faculty's ability to build organizational
identity while still accepting differences and contradictions within the organi-
zational culture.
Possible Alternative Theoretical Frameworks
Various frameworks for the notion of organizational culture would have

clear applicability to this case, as the close association of culture and identity
discussed above makes apparent. From early in the study, however, we con-
sidered the unit of analysis to be us-the five journal keepers-rather than the
department or college as a culture. Although we did comment and interpret

aspects of the units and the faculty as a whole, thus approaching a cultural
analysis, the real focus was our perspectives and experiences of the new unit
and their effect on our organizational identification.
We also could have used frameworks and theories from leadership and/or
organizational change literatures. In fact, presentation and article reviewers
have questioned why we have not made fuller use of theories from these
sources. From the beginning, however, our attention was focused on the ques-
tions of faculty members' identity and how it was tied to and affected by the
organizational change we were experiencing. Regarding the questions about
leadership, for example, our response has been to focus on the faculty's own
responsibility for developing the identity of the department and our own fail-
ures in accomplishing this, rather than on the shortcomings of the adminis-
trators involved in the organizational changes.
The Use of Multiple Theoretical Frameworks

As discussed previously, we used different theoretical frameworks in two
articles from our project (see the previous chapter). Although they describe
the conditions in the new department in very consistent terms, the different
theoretical frameworks pushed the articles to focus on different aspects of the
case and produced notable differences in the conclusions of the papers. The
notion of liminality applied in the first paper (Bettis, Mills, Miller, & Nolan,
2005) directed the focus to the social, political, and economic contexts of the
departmental change and to an externally derived definition of faculty work.
The focus on organizational identity and identification in the second paper
produced an emphasis on the internal construction of values, expectations,
and belonging that resulted in greater attention to the formation of internal
agreements such as the debate over the department's promotion and tenure
policies.
Weick (1995) and Chapter 4 make the point that there are really two
different types of problems during sensemaking in organizations-one when
there are not enough interpretations for members to work with and the other
when there are too many interpretations floating around. In our department,
we experienced both problems, and the two different theoretical frameworks
each highlight one of the problem types. The article on liminality (Bettis et aI.,
2005) showed that the faculty was constrained, in part, by the fact that
there were only two characterizations of the faculty job that we were stuck
between-the modernist searcher for Truth and the postmodern laborer in
the knowledge factory. The article concludes by discussing the need to
develop more interpretations of what the faculty job can be, something we
were not successful at accomplishing during the reorganization. The paper on
organizational identity and identification (Mills et aI., 2005) showed that the
new department's faculty had many different perceptions and values to bring
to discussions about promotion and tenure, curriculum, and other internal
matters. That article concluded that we needed to have better conditions for
communication in order to work together to negotiate and better reconcile
the different approaches to and interpretations of our organization and its
purposes.
Thus, the use of different frameworks allowed us to have greater breadth
in our analyses of the situation we studied. In effect, we were able to con-
sider several of Alvesson and Willmott's (2002) different ways identities are
:
...
influenced in organizations: (1) the fit with social and organizational con-
texts through the liminality framework, and (2) orientation through values
and belongingness through organizational identity and identification. In addi-
tion, the two versions exposed how the lack of imagined alternatives in one "
realm limited choices for identity, whereas the wealth of alternatives and con- ;
stricted interactions in another realm constrained sensemaking and identity
constructIon.
Additional Comments
In addition to the pervasive influence theoretical frameworks have on
the conduct and focus of the research, we also want to emphasize ways
in which they contribute to one type of problem as well as provide a solution
to another problem for qualitative research. On the one hand, the impact of
theoretical frameworks on every phase of qualitative research contributes to
one of the stickiest problems for the trustworthiness of qualitative research.
On the other hand, theoretical frameworks provide the pathway to overcome
the local, contextualized nature of data collection and to allow a form of
generalization that some say qualitative research lacks.
If we are as beholden to our theoretical frameworks as the premise of this
book and this chapter suggests, then we also have to be concerned that these
frameworks become self-fulfilling prophecies. There is a real danger that they
guide our data collection by determining where we direct our attention as
well as the very terms we use to characterize what we see, and they turn the
analyses toward conclusions that could be theorized before the research
began. In qualitative research, our mechanisms for analytical skepticism are
not as strong or explicit as those developed for quantitative research (and
even in quantitative research, the mechanisms are limited and also serve to
hide certain preconceptions). This places an extra obligation on qualitative

researchers to question ourselves; to seek out alternative data, interpretations,
and explanations; and to doubt our framings and understandings. We need
to search out data that may contradict our expectations and promote change
in our own understandings. Obviously, this does not mean that the theo-
retical framework stops directing the study. On the contrary, it suggests that
the framework directs the study in two directions-both toward and away
from the perceptions and concepts of the framework. Only when we do
that can we push our analyses to more nuanced stages that go beyond what
our frameworks provide us. And when qualitative researchers have accom-
plished this, we can be assured of the restored trustworthiness of our data and
analyses.
Theoretical frameworks also contain the breadth that our data do not
have. Theories allow our intense, specific data collection and contextualized
interpretations and conclusions to speak to broader issues and conceptual
formulations. As Wexler (1992) noted,
The theory is really a 'fusion of horizons' between the elements of the analytic
fields as I blended them and what the subjects of the study said and did. I let the
subjects lead me to the language and understandings that could only be found
on the field of perception for which I had prepared. (p. 6)
By working back and forth between the detailed data and the broader
concepts of the framework, researchers and readers can highlight why
research can be relevant for other contexts and social settings. Qualitative
researchers often talk about the continual comparisons and multiple itera-
tions they perform with their data during analysis, but the theoretical frame-
work is also part of this iterative process-the part that adds greater weight
to the mundane data we gather and pore over.
Another way to think about this expansive process is to consider the
researcher at the conjunction of two different communities of discourse.
In effect, the researcher is involved in social constructions via interactions
with the participants in the study and with intellectual colleagues that have
helped formulate the framework being used in the study. The study involves
both making sense of the research site and the participants' meanings in
the context of larger theoretical ideas as well as making sense of the larger
theoretical framework in light of the specific things learned in the research.
Each perspective informs the other as the researcher brings both to bear in
the interpretive process, and the multiple layers of the conversation make
the research context speak to issues and in terms meaningful beyond its
boundaries.
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6
Chaos and Complexity: A
Framework for Understanding
Social Workers at Midlife
Irene E. Karpiak
I magine for a moment that you are a graduate student embarking on

a chosen research path. You may be among those searching for ideas, meth-
ods, perhaps an approach that would set your work apart from others', some
feature that would express your unique interests and aptitudes. You may be
going through periods of wonder and bewilderment-do I know enough, will
I know enough, will it be enough, will I ever find those precious materials?
Sometimes it would surely feel like a state of chaos, of being overwhelmed, puz-
zled, uncertain, or overcome by the mountainous array of information. Such
feelings and fears might bubble up at the most inopportune times. But above
all, if you were in this space, you would be in a state of alert awareness and
attentiveness to matters related to your research. Materials and ideas would
crop up in the most unexpected way-an article presents itself, a comment
strikes a chord, a phenomenon takes a new slant, an image or idea emerges;
and suddenly a sense of order, a new confidence is born. And even this is likely
to be short-lived as you find yourself in the cycle of chaos and order.
Chaos and complexity theory can be seen as akin to these experiences.
Its defining features include uncertainty, unpredictability, stress, dynamism,
chaos, and the emergence of a new order. It mirrors human experiences and
societal happenings in ways that connect these more closely, and reveals the
parallels that exist in the behaviors of individuals, society, and nature. This
chapter explores chaos and complexity as a still novel, yet promising, frame-
work for qualitative research. It begins with an illustration of its application
to a study that took me into the processes of midlife adulthood, chosen for
this chapter because it represents my introduction to chaos and complexity
theory and the beginnings of my work with it. Whereas I have since under-
taken other research projects, this study and this framework endure as
having defined my scholarship as a teacher and researcher.
An Overview: An Interpretive
Study of Social Workers at Midlife
Introduction and Purpose of the Study

At the time of my study (Karpiak, 2000), I was a social worker and
director of a continuing education program for social workers, as well as a
doctoral student in adult education. I was fascinated with the theories of adult
development that had been part of my graduate studies, and, being myself
a midlife adult, I was attracted to this period in the adult life course. I was
curious to know the ways in which social workers traverse this develop-
mental period, what changes they might undergo, and how these changes
might be expressed in their personal lives and their professional practice. My
research questions were: What happens to these professionals in their work,
their personal relationships, and their sense of self during the midlife transi-
tion? How do they manage the changes and transitions during this period?
Finally, for those for whom this period has ushered in major changes, what
events triggered them?
Method and Analysis

Based on an initial survey that I conducted to identify social workers who
had some experience of a midlife transition, 11 women and 9 men between
the ages of 35 and 55 were selected for the study. They were interviewed on
two occasions with the material tape-recorded and transcribed. In order to
allow each individual to express in his or her own terms what the experience
of the midlife transition was like for them I chose "clustering"-a unique tool
developed in creative writing by Rico (1983) as an ideal technique to elicit
images and feelings, and facilitate the individual's telling his or her own story.
Accordingly, participants were asked to cluster around the phrase, "Me,
Chaos and Complexity 87
Myself at Midlife." They were then left to generate phrases, words, or images
that came to mind. Then I asked them to "take me through the clusters,"
allowing them to go as deeply as they wished into the material of each clus-
ter. These clusters, then, provided the guiding framework for the first portion
of the interview, with an interview schedule of open-ended questions consti-
tuting the second part.
In studying the data, I paid close attention to the language of the partici-
pants, the areas they chose to focus upon, and the significance they attributed
to particular aspects of their life experiences. Analysis consisted of searching
for patterns and major themes, which were examined through a template of
relevant theory composed of Jung's (1966, 1969) model of personality devel-
opment; Levinson, Darrow, Klein, Levinson, and McKee's (1978) model of
the midlife transition; and Prigogine and Stengers's (1984) theory of chaos and
complexity. The findings were developed through this theoretical template, or
theoretical "sieve."
Study Findings: The Processes of Change

My study (Karpiak, 2000) revealed that there is no single way in which
midlife change occurs. Rather, change appears to come about in several rather
distinct ways that relate to the nature of events that individuals experience at
midlife and their responses to those events. The three processes of change,
representing also the three subgroups of individuals in the study, are described
in the following sections.
Change Through Transformation. Transformative change is qualitative

change leading the individual to a new view of self and the world. In the study
(Karpiak, 2000), 5 individuals underwent some transformation that led to a
shift in their view of self, which became reflected in their personal priorities,
relationships, and work. These individuals showed the most evidence of
attending to the tasks of midlife and to the individuation process that lung
(1966, 1969) and Levinson et al. (1978) had identified. In their work, these
social workers were exemplary, revealing a deep appreciation of their pro-
fession, a strong sense of compassion for those they served, and authenticity
in their work. Significantly, they were very much aware of their own changes,
voicing this awareness through such phrases as, "I am different now," or "I
used to be .... " Finally, their language conveyed not stability nor stagnation,
but rather a movement toward something. For most this was a stronger
self-definition.
Change Through Self-Renewal. The second way of change was through self-
renewal. In this mode, individuals, of which there were 11, when faced with
challenges from within or without, behaved in ways that maintained their

present state of their life and sense of self. Small adaptations served to offset
or forestall the need for larger, more encompassing changes. These individu-
als maintained a lifestyle distinguished by stability, continuity, and control.
They demonstrated less evidence of undertaking the tasks of the midlife
transition than was witnessed among the 5 "transformers." For instance, in
the self-renewers there was considerable focus on achievement in work and
work roles (a primary task of the first half of life), and comparatively little
focus on reappraisal of the self and life structure (a primary task of the
second half of life).
Whereas the self-renewers appeared to live their lives in a way that is
generally satisfying, this method of change had its negative aspects for 4 of
the 11 individuals. This was especially the case when individuals persisted too
long, trying to adapt to difficult work circumstances. They showed evidence
of boredom, burnout, and even breakdown. One individual in this situation
summed it up, "One person can only give so much, and I burnt myself out.
I didn't know quite what I was doing."
Being on the Threshold of Becoming. Being on the threshold of becoming, the

third way of change, was characterized by the presence of struggle and flux
in people's lives in relation to work, relationships, and self. Things felt like
they were coming apart. The fluctuations were experienced as a push and pull
in relation to work, intimacy, or spiritual renewal. Four individuals experi-
enced a sense of disengagement from work (primarily the women) and from
family relationships (primarily the men). Though outwardly stable, their
inner world was in a state of flux, struggle, and ambivalence. One individual
expressed it thus: "All of a sudden I was quite sick of work.... Is it me or the
nature of work?" These fluctuations, however, were met with an equally
powerful push toward maintenance of the present state of affairs. One indi-
vidual determined, "I'm going to be very cautious, because I could lose some-
thing." In contrast to one "transformer" who observed, "Life is change,"
these individuals felt that change is disruptive, negative, and potentially
hazardous.
The Power of Transformative Change

The findings suggested that the most powerful means to effect trans-
formative change is the shocking and sudden critical event, "not of one's
choosing," as one woman noted, such as a sudden life-threatening illness
or the death of a loved one. Individuals who underwent this kind of event
felt "pushed against the wall," and overcome with their assumptions and
illusions. Then new insights and new behaviors followed. An externally
generated CrISIS, however, was not the only way for transformation to
happen. Transformation came about also when inner "rumblings" and
demands were felt and given attention. Choices and changes followed; and
changes made in one area of life led to changes in others. One individual
described it in this way: "You jump off a diving board and you don't know
who you are going to become." Regardless of the precipitating event, whether
external or internal, whether shocking or subtle, transformation appears to
entail the following process: the experience of turmoil, then a period of self-
reflection, making hard choices, and finally, an integration of that experience.
Individuals emerge with some shift in their view of self and of the world.
A New Look at Change

This study (Karpiak, 2000) promoted a new look at change and at crisis
events-those troublesome, chaotic moments that disturb prevailing patterns
of behavior. It suggested that it is not the stable eras and the comfortable
times that yield transformative change; rather, it is the shocks and sudden
innovations that become the major triggers for psychological developmental.
It became dear, too, however, that change at midlife is intensely difficult to
make. Formidable forces operate against change, both from within and with-
out. Defensive efforts of avoidance and distraction awaken to curtail change
and maintain a stable state. On the other hand, when transformative change
does occur, it can lead to a new level of consciousness, which, in turn, is
expressed in work, love, and identity. Those individuals who underwent
transformative change, and who experienced a shift in their sense of self, were
able to look back now to a happening that was important, even essential to
them-as "the worst of times and the best."
Principles and Concepts of Chaos and Complexity
"Science is a dialogue between mankind and nature, the results of which

have been unpredictable" (Prigogine, 1996, p. 153). This observation by
Nobel Laureate IIya Prigogine captures the spirit of chaos and complexity
theory that provided the major orientation to my study. Prigogine appropri-
ately titles his book The End of Certainty (1996) to highlight his charac-
terization of the world as following more probabilistic processes than
mechanistic predictability and determinism. The framework he presents is
one of dynamic openness, interconnectedness, and emergent properties.
Moreover, Prigogine insists that time matters immensely. "The notion of time
and what it preserves, creates, and destroys, is central to complexity. That is,
that time changes a phenomenon" (Prigogine, 1996, p. 154). These ideas of a
limited predictability of future events, due to events that occur in the space
of time, have challenged traditional science and its assumptions concerning
prediction and control (Prigogine, 1996; Williams, 2000).
Chaos and complexity is not a single theory, but rather a composition
of various theoretical frameworks and concepts, variously conceptualized
by theorists in several fields. "Chaos" refers to the "dynamic instability" of
even simple systems and their tendency toward complex behavior that may;
~
look erratic and random (Halmi, 2003). It is a term used to describe not the
absence of order, but rather a more complex relation to order. "Complexity,"
in turn, involves the study of living, adaptive systems; their elements and
patterns of relationships; how they are maintained; and how they self-
organize, evolve, and change. A more contemporary term for this theory is
simply "complexity" or "the sciences of complexity." I have continued with
the use of the term "chaos" to highlight the substantial way that I continue
to draw on Prigogine's ideas concerning chaos, order, and transformation.
Complexity defines not only those systems that have a number of compo-
nents or parts, but also where those parts relate to and depend on one another.
The more interdependent and interconnected the parts of a system, the more
complex the system, and the less likely that its future is predictable (Cilliers,
1998). Whereas simple systems may be represented by an element such as
a grain of sand or a rock crystal, complex systems, because of the complex
interrelationships of their components, are exemplified through phenomena
such as a tornado, a cell, a developing embryo, a caterpillar-pupa-butterfly, a
human organism, a rainforest, a town or city, a planet. Paul Cilliers (1998)
outlines 10 characteristics of complexity: (1) the large number of elements in
a system, (2) the dynamic interaction among elements, (3) the rich interaction
among elements, (4) the interactions are nonlinear, (5) the interactions have a
short range, (6) the interactions involve feedback loops, (7) the systems are
open, (8) the systems operate under conditions that are far from equilibrium,
(9) the systems have histories, and (10) the individual elements of the system
are ignorant of the whole system.
According to the theory, living systems-from one-celled organisms to
human beings, groups, and social systems-are described as "self-organizing,"
that is, operating according to their own internal principles of organization.
These systems are called "dissipative structures" referring to their tendency
to lose energy over time. At the same time, being open systems, they make up
for this loss through constant response, interaction, and "dialogue" with their
environment (Prigogine & Stengers, 1984). These interconnected subsystems
themselves are evolving and have the capacity to transform, that is, to spon-J
taneously reorder their structure in ways that are unexpected and unpre- l\:
dictable (Cilliers, 1998; Prigogine & Stengers, 1984). When faced with change 1
they may adapt in order to maintain their self in a stable state. They may even
collapse into chaos and destruction. Most strikingly, however, systems have
the capacity to respond to change by evolving into a new, more complex form.
Disturbed order does not necessarily lead to chaos-higher levels of organiza-
tion are possible.
Whereas Prigogine and his colleague, Isabella Stengers, worked with
transformation of chemical and biological systems, more recent authors have
related these principles to human and social systems. Both earlier (Jantsch,
1981; Prigogine & Stengers, 1984) and contemporary (Briggs & Peat, 1999;
Cilliers, 1998) scientists have identified several major properties associated
with chaotic systems: self-organization, emergence, fluctuations, and sensitiv-
ity to initial conditions, bifurcation, and transformation. The following para-
graphs briefly describe these concepts and principles.
Central Concepts of Chaos and Complexity Theory

Self-Organization. Self-organization or self-reference refers to the capacity
of living systems to make meaning out of randomness (Montuori, 2003), to
change and develop from less structured beginnings to more complex struc-
tures (Cilliers, 1998), and to create order out of chaos (Montuori, 2003;
Prigogine & Stengers, 1984). As an example, the economic system of a
country changes its structure in response to factors such as political changes
or natural disasters; in nature birds form into flocks; tornados form funnels;
and a dripping faucet develops a regular rhythm. Montuori observes that
chaos theory as a field of study itself may be viewed as a self-organizing
process, being "the spontaneous emergence of a coordinated and collective
behavior in a population of elements (researchers), making meaning out of
(apparent) randomness" (p. 242).
Emergent Properties. Ours is a world not only of systems, but also of emer-
gent and evolving systems. Complex systems manage through the processes of
interaction and accommodation to develop new properties and patterns that
are more complex, more integrated, and more coherent. This means that when
we look at systems of increasing complexity and ordering, from molecules to
living cells to organisms to brains, we find emerging on each level of com-
plexity properties that are inherent characteristics of that level of complexity
and not the lower one (Cilliers, 1998).
The Critical Role ofFluctuations. Complex systems (such as the human body,
or a family) are composed of subsystems that are continuously fluctuating.
These systems experience numerous such fluctuations and stresses that
threaten their stability. They appear to manage to avoid chaos by diffusing

the fluctuations through communication and interaction among the various
parts of the system (Prigogine & Stengers, 1984). On those occasions, how-
ever, when the system allows itself not to diminish but to embrace a novel,
destabilizing fluctuation, the new elements may lead to a new pattern of
behaviors and relations. Moreover, at times a single fluctuation adding its
strength to other fluctuations may become powerful enough that the whole
system reorganizes into a new pattern.
Sensitivity to Initial Conditions. In stable systems slight changes lead to slight

effects. But in dynamic, unstable systems "small perturbations in the initial
conditions are amplified over the course of time" (Prigogine, 1996, p. 30), so
that even the smallest difference in initial starting values could lead to very
different behaviors and outcomes. Moreover, small changes at crucial points
anywhere in the system could result in major effects; this is sometimes
referred to as the "butterfly effect," where the flapping of a wing in the
Amazon may lead to storms in the United States.
Bifurcation. As a system moves further and further from equilibrium, it

reaches a point of decision or "bifurcation," beyond which a new set of
phenomena and several possible paths arise (Prigogine, 1996). The choices
made at that moment are indeterminable and unpredictable. "As the system
approaches the critical point, it 'decides' itself which way to go, and this
decision will determine its evolution" (Capra, 1983, p. 288). In fact, the
further the system has moved from equilibrium, the more options will be
available to it (Capra, 1983). Jantsch (1981) describes these choices as "trum-
pet-shaped" openings, suggesting the many options that open to a system at
the point of decision.
Self-Renewal Versus Transformation. Development of structures can occur

in two ways: (1) through self-renewal, wherein the system, in response to
fluctuations, makes an effort at error-correction, thereby increasing its
complexity, while maintaining the same structure; and (2) through trans-
formation, which occurs when the existing structure reaches a critical point,
at which time the system transcends its structure and leaps to a higher level
of self-organization.
Transformation: Order Out of Chaos. Transformation refers to the capacity

of systems to reach out creatively beyond their boundaries and to create novel
forms. Prigogine and Stengers (1984) describe transformation in the following
way: When a system is far-from-equilibrium, that is, when it is not stable,

which suggests a comparatively high level of perturbation and flux, the system
is inordinately sensitive to events from within or without. A comparatively
small trigger may propel the system out of its current structure and into a
new order. The authors actually describe the process whereby a system, at
the point of seeming chaos and imminent destruction, suddenly and unpre-
dictably restructures itself into anew, now more complex whole. Prigogine
and Stengers (1984) have called this type of transformation "order through
fluctuations" or "order out of chaos" to emphasize the important role of
disturbances in the creation of a new order.
Strengths and Limitations of This Framework

Chaos and complexity theory represent the efforts of researchers to incor-
porate theory and method from the natural sciences into the social sciences
(Halmi, 2003). In recent years, the concepts associated with the theory have
continued to be refined and other concepts and frameworks have been added,
as more researchers in various disciplines turn their attention to this orienta-
tion. Halmi sums up the strength of this theory: "Chaos theory appears to
provide a means for understanding and examining many of the uncertainties,
non-linearities and unpredictable aspects of social systems behavior" (p. 88).
Moreover, it mirrors the nature of qualitative research through its concepts
of nonlinearity, interdependence, emergence, process, and transformation.
Nonlinearity expresses itself in qualitative research through the inputs
and outputs of the process, which may not always be balanced or predicable
(Cilliers, 1998). For instance, one comment by a participant in a study may
take that study into an unanticipated direction, which, in turn, may require
improvisation that may lead to even more unpredictability (Montuori, 2003).
On this point, Hill (1993) points out that in the case of archival research, the
effort of the researcher may not at all be reflected in the outcome, because the
flow of this research may be frequently interrupted, whereby its outcomes
become unpredictable. Whereas this aspect may be viewed as undesirable in
traditional research, it is acknowledged as prevalent in complexity.
Chaos and complexity theory affirms the unique role and behavior of a
qualitative researcher, who is frequently placed at the edge of chaos, with
little to rely upon with respect to guidelines, instructions, and responsibility
for the direction of the interview. The situation may demand surrendering
control and embracing the unpredictable and evolving nature of the research.
Further, Casti (1993) notes that because complexity research is "observer
dependent," its outcomes are "extremely sensitive" to the capacities of the
researcher to be aware, attuned, and perceptive, and therefore requires these
qualities in the researcher. Doll (1993) maintains that the theory's emphasis
on relationship, dialogue, and connectiveness reinforces the centrality of
the relationship between researcher and participant and the nature of the
authentic dialogue that transpires. DoH further contends that transformation
of understanding is at the cornerstone of both complexity and qualitative
research, whereby inquiry and dialogue may lead to heightened consciousness
and an enlarged vision.
In their book, Metaphors We Live By, Lakoff and Johnson (1980) con-
tend that more than 90 percent of our language and our thought processes
are metaphorical. Waldrop (1992), a member of the Santa Fe Institute-
specifically established to explore with mathematical rigor the science of
complexity in the light of chaos theory-notes that science works less by
deduction, as is generally assumed, and more by metaphor. Chaos and com-
plexity theory has introduced a shift in metaphors, from mechanistic to bio-
logical, metaphors more akin to the growth of a plant, or the flocking of
geese, or a spider-like web of relations (with each thread affected by the slight-
est motion of the web). More recent authors have advocated music metaphors
to describe leadership, jazz metaphors to inspire improvisation in our work
(Montuori, 2003), the "turbulent mirror" to highlight the irregularity and
unpredictability of our world (Briggs & Peat, 1999), and "life as a river" to
reflect the life task of learning to become better navigators in a world in which
humans and nature interact. Thrift (1999) suggests that these metaphors
of complexity may be signaling a wider cultural change toward greater open-
ness and possibility concerning the future. Finally, Ron Padgham (1988)
summarizes the power of these novel metaphors for the field of education:
When I view the world through the lenses or images provided by these [chaos
and complexity theorists], I begin to see the world in a very different perspec-
tive. This is the power of the imaginal. It provides us with new perspectives:
it gets us out of the framework of the accepted and the known-that which is.
When we are operating in the imaginal realm, we can act "as if." I can think
about curriculum "as if" these theories were true. (p. 135)
Whereas in the past this theory's usefulness has been limited to its meta-
phorical applications, more and more methods have been developed that use
complexity-based methodologies for research in the social sciences (Murphy,
2000). One consists of the qualitative interpretations of phenomena byapply-
ing principles of chaos and complexity to unexpected or unintended out-
comes (Murphy). A second involves the application of computer simulations
to study patterns and ramifications of empirically derived data around certain
complexity-related concepts, such as "emergence" or "self-organization."
Halmi (2003) examines its use in modeling strategies in social work research,
and Warren, Franklin, and Streeter (1998) apply it to the processes associated
with human change. Finally, Walters (1999), who analyzed crime patterns
through the complexity framework, observed that it provides alternatives to
the positivist view and permits closer analysis of the interactive and interde-
pendent aspects of human behavior.
One limitation of the framework arises from the nature of complexity
itself-that complexity-based analysis does not lead to easy predication or
timing of future events and requires a stance of the researcher that can accom-
modate the unpredictability and uncertainty of the findings (Murphy, 2000;
Williams, 2000). Further, chaos and complexity theory is still undergoing
refinement of principles and concepts; it is a theory still in the making, still
being adapted by various disciplines, including the natural and social sciences
and various professions, such as education, management, and psychology.
No one knows yet what the full impact of the theory will be (Waldrop, 1992).
Thrift (1999) notes that complexity theory has thus far enjoyed only partial
success and its future as a scientific paradigm is still uncertain against the
forces of reductionism. Doll (1993) has further observed that until the social
sciences accept such a framework it is unlikely that education will. Much
more research in this area needs to be carried out before more definitive state-
ments can be made concerning the utility of chaos and complexity theory.
Origins and Discovery of the Framework
Although it is generally assumed that chaos and complexity theory arose from
research in the physical and the natural sciences, there are actual references
to this orientation in earlier philosophical works, including the writings of
Spinoza, Bergson, Goethe, and Whitehead (Neuman, 2003). Prigogine (1996)
himself attributes his orientation to science to the childhood influence of
Henri Bergson, and he notes that nonequilibrium thermodynamics accords
with the view expressed by both Bergson and Whitehead. As a product of
the physical and biological sciences, chaos and complexity theory's roots
date back to the loss of scientific faith in the 1900s, when certain facts
could not be explained by traditional physics. Its development was furthered
by Einstein's theory of relativity and Heisenberg's "uncertainty principle," as
well as the second law of thermodynamics, which challenged the Newtonian
view of the universe as orderly and predictable. The first chaos theorists,
the scientists who set the discipline in motion, shared certain sensibilities;
attended to pattern, randomness, and complexity; and questioned many of
the prevailing notions of scientific reductionism and certainty.
General Systems Theory

In the late 1920s, German-Canadian biologist and philosopher Ludwig
von Bertalanffy began to describe what was more than a theory, but rather
an organized body of knowledge, a new perspective, a new way of doing
science that some have called a new paradigm. He challenged the view thatj
biological phenomena could be reduced to the physical domain, and resolved ~~
this concern through his formulation of the organismic system theory, which ~
later became known as general systems theory (GST). General systems theory
(Von Bertalanffy, 1968) conceived the world as a pattern of parts in relation, I
of open systems, of integrated wholes, and of relationships and intercon-

nections. Bertalanffy began with a general definition of systems as a "set of
elements standing in interrelations" (p. 55), noting that whereas it is impor-
tant to study parts and processes in isolation, it is also necessary to consider
their organization, their order, and their dynamic interaction. His theory was
in effect a general science of wholeness; and the often quoted phrase "the
whole is more than the sum of its parts" was to say that the characteristics
of a system could not be explained by examining its isolated parts, since
these characteristics appear or "emerge" out of the interactions of the various
parts. In other words, something new would be added by the relationship
of the parts. For example, the human body could not be explained solely
through a description of its organs, because through their interactions new
qualities would emerge.
Evolutionary Systems Theory

Sharing many of the features of general systems theory, evolutionary
systems theory, which came into being in the 1970s, extended its focus beyond
systems and their structural entities and onto the processes through which
they evolve (Jantsch, 1981). According to ]antsch, evolutionary theory looks
for commonalties in the way that all systems-simple, complex, physical,
human, and social--evolve. In contrast to a static, survival-oriented, adaptive
view of systems, the theory highlights "self-organization" as a feature of sys-
tems, which are always "at work," either renewing themselves or naturally
evolving or transcending their own boundaries. Unlike the neo-Darwinian
model that focuses on gradual adaptation, this theory focused on the "sudden
innovative changes" in complex systems (Jantsch, p. 117). Evolutionary
theory added to systems theory a critical dimension-that of transformation,
gradual or sudden, leading to a whole new form or order. Ilya Prigogine and
his colleague, Isabella Stengers, have been the central proponents of this
theory, outlined in their book, Order Out of Chaos (1984).
1
Chaos and Evolutionary Systems

Prigogine and Stengers (1984), Jantsch (1981), and Capra (1983) chal-
lenged the prevailing views concerning science and the growth of knowledge.
They disputed the primacy of classical science, its determinism, and its implied
possibility of absolute knowledge, and they challenged the mechanistic, ratio-
nal, logical world described in most of the traditional scientific literature.
In contrast to a world of order, predictability, and control, these theorists
depicted the world as complex, indeterminate, turbulent, open, and evolving,
a world rich with probabilities, not certainties, characterized by interconnect-
edness, interrelatedness, and interdependence of all phenomena-cultural,
biological, psychological, and sociological. Moreover, they depicted nature to
be less machine-like, as viewed by traditional science, but rather, intriguingly,
more human-like-unpredictable, highly sensitive to the surrounding world,
and altered by even the slightest variations.
Fritjof Capra's work as a physicist, outlined in The Turning Point (1983),
echoed the work of Bertalanffy, as biologist, and Prigogine, as chemist.
Although Capra's (1983, 1988) research had been in the field of quantum
physics, his writing outlined a systems view of the universe in which all phe-
nomena are interdependent and interrelated. He urged the advancement
beyond conventional disciplinary distinctions, and the use of whatever language
becomes appropriate to describe different aspects of the multileveled, interre-
lated fabric of reality. Capra (1996) emphasized that descriptions associated
with the "new sciences"-"non-reversibility," "non-determinism," "non-pre-
dictability," and "instability"-are all suggestive of an opposition to what was
assumed before.
Chaos and Complexity in Other Disciplines

Chaos and complexity theory is increasingly receiving support in various
disciplines. Many have written metaphorically of social chaos or have noted
its presence in diverse phenomena. It has been found in organizational behav-
ior (Wheatley, 1994), and it is noted in social work (Germain & Gitterman,
1980; Halmi, 2003), in human relations (Gordon, 2003), in aging (Schroots,
1996), in psychology (Skar, 2004), and in literature (Hayles, 1991). Doll
(1993) envisioned the chaotic, transformative learning situation in which
both learner and teacher are transformed. Cavanaugh and McGuire (1994)
have demonstrated the usefulness of the framework to interpret life span
cognitive development and lifelong learning by integrating the concepts of
bifurcation and chaos. In the field of adult education, Domaingue (1988) and
Karpiak (2000) have outlined new principles, practices, and perspectives
arising from complexity thinking.
Finding Prigogine
I came across this work largely by chance while in graduate studies at
the University of Minnesota. I had by this time been exposed to the ideas of
general systems theory through a course of that name led by educator/
anthropologist Dr. Marion Dobbert. In the process of searching out various)
educational journals, I came upon Theory Into Practice, from which I plucked '/.~:.;
the article "Prigogine: A New Sense of Order, A New Curriculum," by Doll j
(1986). Doll heralded the changes occurring in the "new sciences," specifi- J
cally in chaos theory. He interpreted Prigogine and Stengers's (1984) model'j
1
of transformation, and drew on both Piaget's (1977) model of development )
..~
as well Dewey's (1964) conception of experience to build and articulate his

own new vision of education, the learner, and learning.
William Doll (1986) anticipated the emergence of a new curriculum
from the "new order" that Prigogine and Stengers (1984) had outlined. In the
self-organizing, transformative open-systems framework that Doll envisioned,
every aspect of education would be affected: educational goals, the teach-
ing/learning process, and the teacher/student relationship. Challenge and
perturbation, qualities that in the traditional curriculum are assumed to be
disruptive and inefficient would, in the emerging paradigm, become essential.
Learning would occur not in the zone of comfort, but in the zone of
confusion. Teaching would rest not on student compliance, but on student
challenge. The goal of teaching would be not to transmit knowledge, but
to transform it. And finally, the role of the teacher would be not to instill
the known, but to inspire a desire to explore the unknown and to keep the
dialogue going.
At the time of reading Doll's (1986) paper, I had already been introduced
to the work of Dewey (1964), specifically his description of the process of
transformation, a unique happening made possible through having "an expe-
rience"--one that stands out for the individual as something unique and endur-
ing. Correspondingly, I had been reading the work of adult educator Mezirow
(1981), who was proposing for adult education the theory of transformative
learning, a theory and method of enlarging the learner's perspective and most
specifically suited to adults and their level of cognitive and experiential devel-
opment. In my view, Doll had taken the concept of transformation that
Mezirow and Dewey had presented as a psychological phenomenon, and posi-
tioned it within science, or rather within nature and the natural world.
Its effect was to universalize the concept of transformation to every living
system-human, biological, physical, and social. This is why the article
"Prigogine: A New Sense of Order, A New Curriculum" compelled me as it did.:!
I immediately acquired Prigogine and Stengers's Order Out 0/ Chaos and .1
devoured it. As Arthur Miller had once proclaimed on reading Henri Bergson, J
..~
it was "a moving day for the soul." Prigogine and Stengers's (1984) detailing
of their experiments provided me with the link that would connect chaos
theory to human processes and action, and it spoke to my interest in adult
learning and development and the role of crisis to promote transformative
change. Doll's connection of these ideas to education affirmed the importance
and value of this theory for my changing perspective and aspirations to
become an educator. Attending conferences and reading authors such as
Capra (1983, 1988) and Jantsch (1981) led me further into this exploration
and discovery, an interest that has persisted to the present day. These authors
offered a different language of education, that spoke to my sense of what was
possible-a call for humanness, even the Divine. The metaphors that were
guiding them were unique, being not mechanistic but biological, not static but
dynamic and emergent, not adaptive but generative and transformative. Like
David Suzuki (1988), a Canadian scientist, who once characterized his per-
sonal growth as a process of metamorphosis through "maggothood," these
writers and their words inspired me to find avenues through which to further
explore.
The writings of the authors associated with chaos and complexity became
for me like twigs, connected to branches, with the promise of a base that
brought these together into a coherent whole. Such joy I felt when, in reading
one author, I found him or her referring to another whom I had also read. I
sensed that I was on the right track. I began to feel that I had in some way
appropriated these authors. They were now part of my inner circle. I felt pro-
tective and possessive of them, vigilant of their being accurately interpreted by
colleagues who spoke of them. These writers became part of me, part of my
writing, and in time, part of my teaching. Later, I would feel the joy of
having my students voice their ideas of what was possible in education and
hearing them say that these authors were reading their thoughts, too, and
were speaking to them.
How Chaos and Complexity Affected My Study

What could be more affirming to a qualitative researcher than to read the
following lines by scientists in a field where the hallmarks of research require
quantification, measurement, and prediction?
As scientists we are now beginning to find our way toward the complex
processes forming the world in which living creatures and their societies develop.
Indeed, today we are beginning to go beyond ... "the world of quantity" into
the world of "qualities" and thus of "becoming." (Prigogine & Stengers, 1984,
p.36)
These researchers are proclaiming the growing appreciation of complexity,

development, qualities, process, and emergence.
Effect on the Study Design

The above-mentioned features supported both the rationale and the
methodology of my study, which took an approach that was both inter-
pretive and qualitative. The qualitative, interpretive methodology permitted
an "inside view" into the subjective, complex, and varied experiences of these
people. Through personal narratives, the social workers were able to share
their images, give individual expression to their own stories, and describe
their experiences of change and growth-of Becoming, a concept associated
with chaos and complexity (Jantsch, 1981; Prigogine & Stengers, 1984). My
study design echoed the observations of Prigogine and Stengers, above,
through its focus on the qualities of peoples' lives, concerning their develop-
ment, critical incidents, developmental tasks, and emergence of new qualities
that found expression in their current personal and professional spheres.
Accordingly, my research questions focused on three areas: the present state
of midlife social workers, the precipitators and processes of their changes and
transitions, and the potential outcomes of the changes and possible future
directions for growth.
The interview schedule consisted of open-ended questions concerning
individuals' experiences (actions, feelings, attitudes) in particular areas. One
such area was the "marker event," any significant precipitator event that may
or may not have been experienced as a crisis. The marker event was under-
stood to be a "bifurcation point," a chaos and complexity concept that was
to constitute a crossroads, wherein the path of the past was no longer an
option and where new avenues emerged. One question concerning "stepping-
stones" was expected to identify main points of development and emergence
in each individual's professional career. And the question concerning "valued
images" (role models) encouraged reflection on their future direction and on
what they might yet become.
The chaos and complexity theoretical framework supported my use of
interview methods that would allow individuals to determine the direction,
content, and emotional tone of the interview. I began with the "clustering"
exercise that asked them to generate feelings, images, and experiences around
the phrase, "Me, Myself at Midlife." This tool enabled their self-directedness
in terms of the information they provided, but it also advanced the emergent,
uncontrollable, and unpredictable direction of the interview process itself. That
is to say, I as the researcher would take the risk that, prompted to respond to
"Me, Myself at Midlife," they could direct their attention to the unexpected,
focus solely on a tangential aspect, or say little or nothing at all.
Effect on Data Analysis

I began my analysis by arranging my findings according to a theoretical
"template" comprised of ]ung's (1966, 1969) theory of personality develop-
ment, Levinson et al.'s (1978) theory of midlife transition, and Prigogine
and Stengers's (1984) chaos/complexity theory of system change. I found that
Jung and Levinson's psychological theories helped me to appreciate the cur-
rent state of my study participants and their concerns and issues in work and
personal relationships. Chaos and complexity theory, however, provided a
way to attend to the processes through which personal changes occurred-
through self-renewal, through self-transcendence, or through being "on the
threshold." Moreover, through this framework I gained an understanding
of the features that underlay each kind of change-the fluctuations, the
stresses, the "bifurcations" or crossroads, the efforts to resist or dampen
change, and the experience of undergoing a perspective transformation.
As I approached the discussion section related to the experiences of the
midlife transition, Prigogine and Stengers's (1984) theory of Becoming pro-
vided both a metaphor and a model for exploring how the stresses of midlife,
how being in flux and far-from-equilibrium, could hold the potential for
reordering the individual at a higher state or stage of development. Following
their model, I could begin to speculate that intrapsychic stresses (fluctuations
from within) and environmental stresses (fluctuations from without), touched
by a comparatively small precipitating factor, could usher the individual into
a higher state of development-into a self-transformation. Moreover, their
description of a system as being in a continual state of change, of Becoming,
fit with Jung's (1966) concept of individuation. Finally, Prigogine and
Stengers's theory supported the view that midlife stress, so often dismissed
jokingly as a "midlife crisis," a passing fancy, could actually have functional
import, possibly signaling or initiating the individual's evolution toward
higher stages of development.
Effect on the Findings and Interpretation

My findings revealed the three ways in which one group of social workers
were traversing the midlife transition: through transformation, through
self-renewal, and through being "on the threshold of becoming." From the
perspective of chaos and complexity theory, the latter pattern-of being "on
the threshold of becoming"-developed as the most fascinating, since these
individuals, being in such a state of flux, of questioning, and exploration,
intimated that their future was the most uncertain, that they were possibly the
most vulnerable of any group to change, and therefore "on the threshold" of
further development. Readers may recall from chaos and complexity theory
(Prigogine & Stengers, 1984) that when a system is in a state of flux, it is

highly sensitive to stimuli from within and without; a small event can have
major effects. It would follow that in the case of these individuals no one
can predetermine or predict what events might occur and how these individ-
uals might respond. Would they shift to become transformers or would they
restabilize as self-renewers?
Were one to interpret the study findings through a traditional paradigm
that values certainty, predictability, and rationality, the individuals in this
study would likely be viewed perhaps in a reversed fashion from the way that
they have been depicted in this chapter. In the case of the transformers, it
could be said that they had suffered too much. Of the self-renewers, it could
be said that they were fortunate, indeed, being blessed with stable lives.
Of those "on the threshold of becoming," they might have been advised to
stay put and to count their blessings. Through the chaos and complexity lens,
however, those who have suffered have been privileged, their hardships being
the soil for their growth; those who have been spared self-confrontation have
been perhaps constrained in their own evolution or transformation; and those
who are now undergoing flux and struggle have new information, clues as it
were, as to who they are and who they can yet become.
Another Framework: Developmental Stage Theory
My research into the lives of social workers and how they experience and
resolve the midlife transition rested on several theoretical frameworks that
seemed to take, in turn, greater and lesser importance as the study proceeded.
The initial literature underlying the study incorporated several theories of
adult development, each providing a unique perspective on the midlife period
of adulthood. Developmental stage theory, represented by Kohlberg (1981)
on moral development and Kegan (1982, 1996) on cognitive development,
each provided the initial theoretical framework, with their detailing of the
various stages or centers of development throughout adulthood. Develop-
ment was described as continuous hierarchical growth from simple to more
complex forms, from lesser to greater complexity. Accordingly, each devel-
opmental stage emerged through its previous stage, added new elements, and
integrated these into a more complex whole. Moving through each stage, indi-
viduals would gain greater levels of inclusiveness, complexity, and integration
of personality. This theory served early to support the rationale for this study,
since stage theory mapped out what was possible for psychological develop-
ment throughout the human lifespan. It did not, however, illuminate the
actual processes and dynamics of change, a limitation that was noted also in
the research of Warren, Franklin, and Streeter (1998).
Multiple Frameworks: lung and Levinson

Several other theoretical frameworks maintained a central place through the
various phases of the study. The first was depth psychology that drew most
heavily on the developmental psychology of lung (1966, 1969). His views
served this study because he outlined the course of human personality devel-
opment as an individuation process, and described the possible states of
further development. The second framework focused more directly on the
various transitions throughout the adult life span, including the midlife tran-
sition. Daniel Levinson's pioneering work provided this material, and since
his research had drawn heavily on lung's work, many parallels existed
between the two. Each of these will be examined briefly before turning to the
way in which chaos and complexity theory brought fresh insights into the
developmental process of this group of social workers.
lung: The Voice of Depth Psychology

Carl lung has been called the "father of adult development" for his insis-
tence on the continuation of personality development throughout the adult
life cycle. Being in association with theorists in the natural sciences, he was
influenced by the early systems thinkers to utilize principles from physics and
systems theory in his conception of energy and psychic balance (Jung, 1966).
His basic concepts clearly transcended the mechanistic models of classical
psychology and brought his science much closer to the conceptual framework
of modern physics than any other psychological school (Capra, 1983). lung
viewed the human psyche as a self-organizing system that progressively
evolves from a less complete stage of development to a more complete one.
The center of the personality is the self that becomes increasingly accessible as
the personality differentiates itself from the personal unconscious as well as
from the collective mass, and then integrates these newly acquired perspec-
tives. He described this process as "individuation"-the coming to selfhood.
In lung's (1966) view, individuation did not occur simply as a natural con-
sequence of age, but rather followed from the working through of life's
problems; and more often came about through suffering, abandonment, and
sudden shock. Jung believed that life's problems and shocks were not nega-
tive events to be avoided and dispelled; rather these painful struggles became
the soil for growth of personality.
lung's (1966) constructs were particularly useful when analyzing the inter-
view data in the following ways: They helped me to appreciate the nature
of the crises that individuals were experiencing and the significance of these to
the tasks of the second half of adult life. Second, they helped me to understand
the specific issues with which the individuals were coping-the integration of
opposites, the recovery of what was lost, and the struggle for authenticity.
Third, they illuminated the actual tasks of the "noon of life," that is, of the
midlife transition. Finally, they provided directionality for development-the
growth of personality toward individuation and selfhood.
The Life Course and the Midlife Transition

The nature and tasks of the midlife period, described earlier by lung
(1966), became concretized through the research of Levinson and his col-
leagues (1978). Although these researchers set out to study adulthood and
the eras of adulthood, their study of 40 men, representing four diverse
professional fields, surfaced an unexpected finding-the presence of a midlife
transition, occurring between the ages of 40 and 45. Levinson et al. (1978)
identified the midlife transition as the most critical one in the life cycle, its
function being to terminate the period of early adulthood and to initiate the
era of middle adulthood. Levinson et al. identified several major tasks of the
midlife period: The first was to appraise one's life. The individual may ask,
"What have I accomplished?" "Where am I going now?" Long-held assump-
tions and beliefs about self, work, and the world are reevaluated; talents and
strengths are reexamined. The second task is to modify the life structure to
bring it into accord with newfound values and perspectives. The individual
may make major changes in family or career, or these changes may be less
dramatic and internal. A gradual shift occurs from present to future and to
planning for the next era. The third task is to begin the work of individua-
tion, described earlier in the section about Jung. This involves confronting
the opposite tendencies or major polarities-young/old, masculinelfeminine,
attachment/separation)-that coexist within each individual, and reintegrat-
ing these. The individuation process as described by Levinson et al. closely
paralleled the features of Jung's individuation process. His framework served
my study by delineating the features of midlife and the midlife transition, and
it permitted comparison of the individuals in my study group, both to each
other and to the tasks and qualities that Levinson's schema had outlined.
The Study as an Evolving Process

Like evolutionary systems theory, which views life as an evolving process,
my study, too, took on an evolving quality. Initially, I had expected that the
data analysis would draw most heavily on the ideas of Jung (1966, 1969) and
Levinson et al. (1978), since both had focused on midlife as an important
period developmentally (and since midlife was the focus of my study). As
the data were collected and the analysis proceeded, however, the chaos and
complexity framework became the most informative because it helped to
illuminate the nature and processes of change that these individuals were
undergoing or not undergoing. Through the lens of this theory, I could see the
possibilities for human evolution that may follow from disorder, turbulence,
chaos, and crisis. The hazardous event becomes an opportunity; an unfor-
tunate happening becomes a gift; the bewildering and puzzling tensions and
struggles become harbingers of the individual's Becoming. Chaos and com-
plexity theory afforded insights into the ways in which changes and transfor-
mations could come about in human systems.
The End of Certainty

Readers rna y be familiar with the ancient rhyme
For want of a nail, the shoe was lost;

For want of the shoe, the horse was lost;
For want of the horse, the rider was lost;
For want of the rider, the battle was lost;
For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost;
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.
(Lobel, 1986, p. 53)
The rhyme captures the possible and unforeseen consequence of something

so inconsequential as a nail dropped from a soldier's shoe. It highlights an
essential feature of chaos and complexity and that is nonlinearity-how a
small occurrence can precipitate huge consequences. In our own experience,
we can surely recall singular moments that altered our lives-a phone call,
a chance meeting, a missed appointment, inattentiveness while working, a
second of distraction while driving. At these moments, we are diverted down
a path we could hardly have predicated, nor even envisioned.
The chaos and complexity perspective presents a challenge to the tradi-
tional and taken-far-granted view of the world as somehow being orderly,
controllable, and predictable. It portrays a world that at one moment reveals
order and in the next, chaos, and then again a new order. In one moment
something appears with clarity; in the next it is blurred. In one moment, indi-
viduals with whom we interact profess their love of their career; in the next
moment they have left it. This orientation allows for the instance where at the
start of a research interview an individual may express feelings of disappoint-
ment and loss regarding his or her career, whereas at the end, some new
insight has surfaced, and with it new hope. Chaos and complexity alerts us to
the inexactitude and dynamism of our environments and the lack of certainty
and assuredness of our methods. It advocates a certain level of tentativeness

concerning our findings and conclusions and humility regarding our discov-
eries, in the knowledge that something new, something yet unknown is just
around the corner, still to emerge. The following is a summary of some of the
features of a chaos and complexity framework:
• It moves us to see parts as being "holons," as pan of a whole;

• It reveals how everything is related to everything else;
• It suggests that seemingly insignificant events can have momentous effects;
• It encourages us to become curious about stress and flux as information;
• It demonstrates that what we do does make a difference;
• It reminds us that we cannot control nature, or much of anything;
• It encourages attention to minute detail and subtle occurrences;
• It reminds us to be humble about outcomes, since many factors come into play;
• It affirms that growth does happen; that selves can change.
Montuori (2003), who earlier introduced the concept of improvisation to

complexity-based work in social science, provides a fitting closing that sums
up the chaos and complexity of doing qualitative research:
Perhaps one key challenge is to find, like jazz musicians, a voice or voices, that
incorporate both subjective and objective, rational and emotional, theory and
experience, risk and trust. This makes the task of being a social scientist/artist
also a task of self-development, of finding one's identity in dialogue with and
through the world one is studying. (p. 17)
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7
A Look Through the
Kubler-Ross Theoretical Lens
Kerri S. Kearney
Adrienne E. Hyle
Impetus for the Study

This study (Kearney & Hyle, 2003), like many studies, was born of a series
of what appeared to be only vaguely related experiences of Kerri Kearney that
eventually collided with similar research interests of Adrienne Hyle. This
"collision of common concern" ignited a series of collaborative research pro-
jects that will quite likely be ongoing well after this book has been published
and found its way into the hands of aspiring researchers. The foundation for
this chapter, however, is provided by the original study as it presents the best
backdrop for discussion of the consideration and selection of a theoretical
framework for research, as well as all of the associated consequences of that
decision.
Because students often wonder where the ideas for research come from, it
seems wise to start at the beginning. The original impetus for this study was
a series of change management efforts made at WorldCom~ Inc., during its
merger with Mel in 1999. At that time, this was the largest corporate merger
in U.S. history and, as senior corporate trainer, Kerri was charged with the
109
development and implementation of change management traInIng for

the company's domestic locations. It was through her struggle to find some-
thing meaningful for "managing" this massive change that she realized that
grief models could be very powerful tools for both the understanding and
management of the individual grief with which she suddenly found herself
surrounded. The suicide of one employee-who left a suicide note that men-
tioned the merger as a factor in the decision--eertainly seemed to validate her
suspicion that individual emotions were major factors in the change, and this
event greatly solidified her determination to address the role of individual
emotion and organizational change.
A year later, Kerri left WorldCom to obtain her doctorate and return to
the field of education; her experiences, however, continued to fire a desire to
study the relationship between individual emotion and organizational change.
She soon encountered a faculty member, Adrienne, who had a similar desire,
created from her work with organizational change in schools, and so began a
collaboration that continues today.

Our initial expectations regarding grief and organizational change were
quite similar. We expected to find grief in the educational setting just as
Kerri had observed it in the for-profit world because both undergo an inor-
dinate amount of change. Change efforts traditionally focus on rational
process issues, strategic decision making, or external behaviors while avoid-
ing the emotion that is natural to an organization of people (Fineman, 1993;
Marshak, 1996; Vince & Broussine, 1996). The focus of our study was
specifically on educational organizations. Although schools have attempted
to change, they have not been considered successful by most (Fullan, 1999;
Fullan & Hargreaves, 1996; Sarason, 1996). We speculated that the lack of
success in change was based on a lack of attention to individuals and their
emotional experiences during the processes of change. Therefore, our study
focused on individual loss and grief for those who stay with the organization
as possible key factors in the failure of educational change.
Purpose of the Study

Because the study of individual, change-related emotions in organizations
is not particularly common, we decided that the use of a grief construct as
a theoretical framework would be very helpful, if not critical, in finding
direction for both collecting and understanding our data. OUf initial intent
was to use a grief construct, or model, to examine the emotional impacts of
imposed organizational change on individuals as a potentially integral, yet
A Look Through the Kubler-Ross Theoretical Lens III
mIssIng, piece of most organizational change strategies. Although the

decision to use an individual, change-related emotions theoretical framework
to guide our study was made very early in the process, our challenge became
to identify the appropriate framework. Our efforts in this area resulted in
the selection of the Kubler-Ross (1969) model; the details of this selection
process and its impact on all facets of our study are discussed in detail in a
later section.
Although we have additional research that uses Kubler-Ross's (1969)
work as a theoretical framework, the information discussed within this
chapter is based upon our original study (Kearney & Hyle, 2003) of individ-
ual emotions and organization change. Two peer-reviewed articles resul-
ted from this research. The first, "The Grief Cycle and Educational Change:
The Kubler-Ross Contribution," was published in Planning and Changing
(Kearney & Hyle, 2003). This article specifically addressed the application
of the Kubler-Ross grief construct to an organization (as described in the
next section) undergoing broad-ranging change. The second, "Drawing Out
Emotions in Organizations: The Use of Participant-Produced Drawings in
Qualitative Inquiry," was published by Qualitative Research (Kearney &
Hyle, 2004). This second article resulted from the same original study but
was a methodological article about the use of participant-produced drawings
to access the types of emotional data needed for analysis using the Kubler-
Ross framework. The details of this drawings methodology, and why it was
used to produce data that could be analyzed by our theoretical framework,
are discussed in a later section.
Study Site and Focus

One of our first steps for this study (Kearney & Hyle, 2003) was to find
a site that was willing to be the subject of our inquiry. Our efforts resulted
in our study being conducted at a technology training school that was part
of a larger state system of technology school districts located in the south-
western part of the United States. The school district met training needs for
high school students (who were concurrently enrolled at their "home" or
public high school), adults, and business and industry clients.
The school was situated in a close-knit, rural community of 5,500 people,
which was also home to the main campus of a 4-year, regional university. The
school was overseen by a publicly elected, five-member board of education
and served a district that included parts of seven counties. Training classes
were both short and long term, might be ongoing during both day and
evening hours, and culminated in certifications, licensures, or college credit.
Funding came from a variety of sources including local and state taxes, rev-
enues from tuition and fees, federal grants, and loans. The school had had a
single superintendent with 17 years' tenure who was nearing retirement and
beginning to prepare the organization for transition.
Approximately 18 months prior to this study, one of the school's "own,"
a man who had been raised from childhood in the area but spent 15 years
"downstate," took the assistant superintendent's position at this school cam-
pus. As a possible "heir apparent" for the system, he brought new philoso-
phies and practices that had resulted in far-reaching changes. The primary
focus of this study was the impact of those changes on employees of the
school; however, information provided by participants early in the study led
to the addition of a secondary focus on Widespread changes that had been
proposed at the state level of the technology school system.
Methods
The partners in this study, the respondents, voluntarily participated in a
four-phase process. Each was asked to complete a brief demographic profile
that captured both personal (i.e., age, etc.) and organizational (i.e., position,
etc.) information. Additionally, respondents were asked to create two draw-
ings about their experiences of organizational change. These drawings were
used as entry points to unstructured interviews and will be discussed in more
detail in a later section.
Unstructured interviews began by asking each participant to explain their
drawings; the researchers asked follow-up questions to further clarify this
explanation, focusing specifically on the identified emotions, as well as other
needed information. As an additional tool for capturing emotions-based
data, interviews also incorporated the use of lists of feelings from which the
participants were asked to identify those that resonated with them. Follow-
up interviews were conducted for the purposes of asking clarifying questions,
conducting member checks (confirming tentative interpretations with the
respondents as outlined by Merriam [1988]), and addressing a separate
methodological issue-the efficacy of the drawings methodology itseH. The
data collection was intended to address, in theory, a single point in time as it
related to the overall changes. In practice, the process of data collection
extended over 8 weeks.
Data Analysis Using the Kubler-Ross Lens

Because we chose to use the Kubler-Ross (1969) grief construct, which
provides five stages of grief that are directly associated with specific emotions,
our data were first organized by like emotional clusters. We coded interview
transcripts line by line following our review of participant drawings and
emotions lists. We then examined and compared the clusters to the categories
A Look Through the Kubler-Ross Theoretical Lens 113
provided by the Kubler-Ross grief model. This comparison process, as

described by Merriam (1988), directs that the "database is scanned to deter-
mine the fit of a priori categories and then the data are sorted into the
borrowed categories" (p. 137). In this way, examination of the data produced
both what fit the Kubler-Ross grief cycle and what did not.
Findings
Based upon the Kubler-Ross (1969) model, grief reactions were clearly
found for employees who had experienced organizational change as well as
for those who anticipated organizational change at a local level. In addition,
a tremendous amount of participants' energy was being absorbed in dealing
with naturally occurring, change-related emotions-many of which the par-
ticipants themselves were resistant to. Reactions, however, were unique to the
individual and did not necessarily include all stages of the Kubler-Ross grief
construct. Every participant in this study reported that most of the organiza-
tional changes at the local level were "good." Their emotional reactions lend
support to Barger and Kirby's (1995) assertions that grief occurs even in
response to change that is perceived to be "good."
Like the emotions reported at the local level, it appeared that emotions
associated with grief were present within these participants' responses to pro-
posed state-level change, although perhaps in early stages. These data support
the idea that grief can be anticipatory, or occur prior to the actual loss itself, a
premise originally reported by Kubler-Ross (1969). Again, the loss found at the
state level was similar to grief descriptions for death and dying (Bowlby, 1980;
Kubler-Ross, 1969), as well as grief found in other organizational change stud-
ies (Clapper, 1991; Humphrey, 1997; Massey, 1991, 1992; Perlman & Takacs,
1990; Schoolfield & Orduna, 1994; Stein, 1990a, 1990b; Triolo, Allgeier, &
Schwartz, 1995).
Description of the Theoretical Framework
The Kubler-Ross (1969) model was the result of a collaborative research

project by the author and students at the Chicago Theological Seminary on
the experience of death. This project included a multitude of real-life inter-
views with dying patients on the various defense and coping mechanisms that
surface during different periods of time-replacing each other or existing side
by side, depending upon the individual and his or her unique perspectives.
The stages discovered and identified by Kubler-Ross and her students include:
denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, :lnd acceptance. Hope
was also included, not as a stage in the process, but rather as an underlying
feeling that threaded throughout the dying process. This process was viewed
by Kubler-Ross not as a linear progression of grief but as stages that may
replace each other, repeat themselves, or exist side by side.
.~
I
Denial and Isolation 1
'.
Denial in Kubler-Ross's (1969) death and dying arena refers to the patient's
denial or refusal to accept the diagnosis of a terminal illness; this denial may
lead to isolation from others. Kubler-Ross considers denial a healthy reaction.
Schoolfield and Orduna (1994) carry this position over into their work in
a medical organization quoting Kubler-Ross (1969), "Denial functions as a
buffer after unexpected shocking news, allows the patient to collect himself
and, with time, mobilize other, less radical defenses" (p. 52) and "Denial can
give individuals needed time to understand that the change is going to occur
and what it may mean for them" (p. 60). Barger and Kirby (1995) character-
ize denial as the most prevalent response to organizational loss and grieving.l
Anger l
In the stage of anger, Kubler-Ross (1969) includes feelings of anger,
rage, envy, and resentment associated with impending death and loss. This
stage can be difficult to cope with as emotions may be "displaced in all direc-
tions and projected onto the environment at times almost at random" (p. 64).
Wherever the person looks, he or she will find reason for complaint.
Bargaining
Best described as attempts to trade one action for avoidance of death or
loss, bargaining, says Kubler-Ross (1969), is only helpful for brief periods of
time. This grief response stems from the temporary belief that "there is a slim
chance that he may be rewarded for good behavior and be granted a wish for
special services" (p. 94). In organizations, bargaining may be subtle and is
often designed to weaken the proposed change so that it can more easily be
condemned or sabotaged (Schoolfield & Orduna, 1994).
Depression
Depression or overt sadness signals the replacement of anger with a sense
of great loss (Kubler-Ross, 1969). It occurs when the patient can no longer
deny the impending outcome of an illness, grieves the losses accompanying
the illness (i.e., the opera singer's loss of ability to perform), and begins to pre-
pare for death. Daugird and Spencer (1996) state that overt sadness is usually
acknowledged and honestly expressed-but likely only to trusted friends or

colleagues or to no one at all.
Acceptance
Acceptance is described by Kubler-Ross (1969) as a stage where anger and
depression about "fate" have dissipated; in fact, it is described as a stage
almost devoid of feelings. Those who have applied the Kubler-Ross model to
those who chose to stay in the organization see this as a time that peace has
been made with the change as well as a time in which creative work around
the change can commence (Daugird & Spencer, 1996; Schoolfield & Orduna,
1994). In the realm of Kubler-Ross's work, death follows the state of accep-
tance and the grief cycle ends for the patient him- or herself. (Kubler-Ross
maintained a focus on the patient's grief cycle and gave little time to the post-
death grief of family and friends of the patient, although her work has since
been extensively applied to the post-death grief of others.)
As mentioned previously, Kubler-Ross posits that hope is threaded
throughout the grieving process. Perhaps it is during the stage of acceptance,
then, that hope re-asserts itself as the primary emotion for the stayers who
have experienced grief as a result of imposed organizational change.
Origins of the Theory and How It Was Selected

Our selection of Kubler-Ross (1969) resulted from a search for assistance in
understanding and awareness of individuals in the change process. Because
we chose to focus on individual emotions and grief that we believed were
present in the organizational change process, we reviewed a broad variety of
grief constructs in the field of death and dying (an obvious place to look for
emotions and grief models) and other life loss, as well as those that have
resulted from limited efforts to apply grief models to organizational change.
We have often been asked about the applicability of using a death and
dying framework for organizational change. Woodward and Buchholz (1987)
address this question very succinctly and also appropriately for our study:
At first ... to compare change and death seemed a little heavy. But the more
we thought about it, the more we realized that the process was, indeed, very
similar. In many ways, it is identical to it.... When loss occurs, the people
who remain have to go through some basic states-denial, anger, bargaining,
depression-to finally achieve acceptance. (p. 66)
Because the use of any individual grief model in an organization was, itself,
not prevalent in the current research literature, we believed it was important
to identify a framework that was well-researched and well-accepted as an

emotions and grief model, even if it had not been used in the organizational
environment. It was also important that the model selected lend itself to a
practical ability to apply it as a framework for analysis. A useful theoretical
framework in our opinion can be easily visualized and therefore brings guid-
ance as to organization and approach in terms of data collection and analy-
sis. The theoretical framework need not be linear necessarily although this
helps in judging stages or progression. We believe it is essential that a frame-
work be able to be drawn in picture form where components and their rela-
tionships can be clearly defined because we need to know how to categorize
or code data according to theoretical components. Following is a brief review
of our process in reviewing grief models we considered in the areas of life loss,
as well as others that have been used in organizational environments. I
J
Grief Constructs Related to Life Loss

We looked first at the also well-known work of Bowlby (1980) who attrib-
uted four stages to the process of adult grieving. Although Bowlby's work was
certainly well-known and well respected, we did not believe that his model
was easily operationalized for research. It did not have great enough detail to
facilitate distinctions necessary for data collection and analysis. In a later com-
parison to the Kubler-Ross (1969) model, it seemed clear that Kubler-Ross's
work, which identified a specific emotion at each stage of grief, was more
practical for our specific purposes.
Although other life loss models we reviewed had certain strengths or
positives that drew our attention, all had certain aspects that made them
less desirable for our particular research than that of Kubler-Ross (1969). For
instance, whereas we liked the nonlinear approach of the Solari-Twadell,
Bunkers, Wang, and Snyder (1995) pinwheel model of grief, it was clearly not
as well researched or supported as Kubler-Ross's model. Worden's (1991)
work, again, did not meet our requirements for ease of operationalization.
Perlman and Takacs (1990) actually used the Kubler-Ross (1969) construct
as a foundation but added five additional stages, doubling the number of
stages in the original model. Although this level of detail was desirable, again
the model drew most of its positive standing in the literature from the use of
the original Kubler-Ross model. We believed the original model was a better,
and better-supported, place for us to start.
Crosby, Gage, and Raymond's (1983) study into divorce-related grief
showed that grief resolution that results from divorce is similar to the bereave-
ment that follows death, and Trolley (1993-1994) sought to link the death-
related grieving literature to a number of traumatic life events. Although
both studies further affirmed our desire to apply a traditional grief model to
A Look Through the Kubler-Ross Theoretical Lens 11 7
non-death-related grief, neither of these two authors produced a working

model that we believed could be successfully applied to our work.
Following this broad review of existing individual grief models, we looked
to organizational change literature to determine which, if any, grief models
had been applied. We then reviewed each of these studies, again looking
for a grief model that was well researched, well supported, and that could be
operationalized for studying individual grief in organizations.
Grief Constructs in Organizations

Most of the efforts to apply grief models to change in organizations
were based upon anecdotal reports and observations (Barger & Kirby, 1995;
Jeffreys, 1995; Kaplan, 1991; Owen, 1987; Perlman & Takacs, 1990;
Schoolfield & Orduna, 1994). Others used varying levels and types of both
qualitative and quantitative inquiry (Clapper, 1991; Humphrey, 1997;
Kavanagh & Johnson, 1990; Massey, 1991, 1992; Stein, 1990a, 1990b;
Triolo et aI., 1995). Although some anecdotal efforts did not produce clear
empirical data, the reported insights in organizational change, loss, and grief
were remarkably similar to the empirically based studies. In none of these
cases, however, did we find a model that met our criteria as well as did the
Kubler-Ross (1969) model.
Organizational Change With the Kubler-Ross Model

It was at this point in our review that we began to feel somewhat certain
that the Kubler-Ross (1969) model-although perhaps not ideal, primarily
because of its tendency to be misinterpreted as a linear process-would be
our best choice for a theoretical framework for our study. To confirm our
thoughts, however, we conducted a review of the use of Kubler-Ross's work
in the organizational setting. Although we did not expect to find many
studies, a few efforts caught our attention.
Perlman and Takacs (1990) used a modified version of the Kubler-Ross
construct in a medical organization, and Schoolfield and Orduna (1994)
combined the Kubler-Ross model with other models for their analysis of the
individual impacts of restructuring a major hospital oncology unit. We also
discovered that others had used models that were incredibly similar to Kubler-
Ross (Barger & Kirby, 1995, 1997; Bridges, 1991). A few researchers chose
to use the Kubler-Ross model very much as it was originally developed in the
death and dying literature for their work in organizational change, again, with
the exception of Clapper (1991), primarily in health-related organizations
(Daugird & Spencer, 1996; Kavanagh & Johnson, 1990). Our review led us
to the conclusion that, whether it is used in part or in whole, the Kubler-Ross

model is one of the most broadly applied models to organizational change
(in addition to arguably being the most well known and well accepted in
the field of life loss). This review also gave us some information about the
operationalization of the model for collecting and analyzing emotional data,
critical factors for our study.
Final Selection of Kubler-Ross as Our Model

It was with the review and consideration of all of the grief models,
constructs, and suppositions noted above that we chose to proceed with the
Kubler-Ross (1969) model. From our review, we believed it had the greatest
depth and breadth of research as its foundation, as well as broad acceptance
of its practical applicability. In considering the purpose of our research, to
identify the emotional impacts on individuals who had experienced organiza-
tional change, this theoretical framework seemed the best choice.
Effects of the Framework on the Study's

Questions, Design, Analysis, and a Critique
After selection of Kubler-Ross's model (1969) as the lens to be used for

our study, we did a full review and revision of our original study questions.
Instead of focusing on traditional components of change such as leadership
strategies, processes, outcomes, initiation, implementation, and institutional-
ization, we took a very fine focus specifically on the emotions that are related
to educational change as operationalized through the individual grief focus
of the Kubler-Ross model. It would not make any sense to use this model
to address traditional components of change because the focus of these mod-
els is institutional or organizational whereas Kubler-Ross's is individual and
emotional.
Specifically, the following research tasks were addressed:
1. Describe the emotional responses of individuals impacted by imposed

change.
2. Analyze these responses through the lens of the Kubler-Ross grief cycle.
3. Report other findings that may evolve from the data.
Additionally, we used knowledge gained by our review of the limited

number of applications of the Kubler-Ross (1969) work to organizations to
add an additional research question about the viability of the Kubler-Ross
construct. Clapper's (1991) study of grief and change in the schools used the
Kubler-Ross model, without additions or modifications, as a tool. Although
Clapper found evidence of grief at the school site, the issue of whether the
Kubler-Ross grief model was an appropriate tool for this type of work was
never clearly addressed. This observation and our decision to use the Kubler-
Ross construct caused us to add a fourth research task:
4. Assess the usefulness of the Kubler-Ross grief cycle for understanding change
in organizations.
Impact on Methodology
The use of the Kubler-Ross (1969) framework impacted methods for this
study in multiple ways. The major impacts were created because of the huge
challenge of unearthing the individual emotions for which the framework
could be used for analysis. We knew from both experience and research in the
field that getting individuals in organizations not only to access personal emo-
tions but also to share those emotions is extremely difficult. The ability of
the individual to access, recognize, and effectively label emotions, even if they
are willing, is challenging and something few are ever asked to do openly.
Knowing that U.S. organizations tend to create environments in which emo-
tions are unwelcome or devalued in terms of organizational decision making
(Fineman, 1993; Vince & Broussine, 1996) heightened this challenge. This
led to the addition of the use of participant-produced drawings and lists of
feeling words as methods for quickly accessing individual emotions.
The drawings were deliberately placed at the beginning of the interviews
in the hope that they would set a stage for emotion retrieval and discussion.
The lists of feelings served to confirm and add to our understandings of indi-
viduals' emotional experiences in the change process. This list also allowed
for the assumption that different people would use different words for a vari-
ety of emotions. We believed that language might be a powerful limiter and
were working to find ways to bridge these limitations. The details of each of
these methods are discussed below.
Use of Drawings. The ability of drawings to surface unspoken thoughts and

feelings has long been accepted by art therapists who have used this tool for
many decades. "Drawings offer a different kind of glimpse into human sense-
making than written or spoken texts do, because they can express that which
is not easily put into words: the ineffable, the elusive, the not-yet-thought-
through, the subconscious~' (Weber & Mitchell, 1995, p. 34). In the limited
amount of research avaiia bie on the use of drawings in organizations, it has
also been found that drawings may be a more specific or direct route to the
120 Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research ,
.'
..
'"'
emotions and unconscious responses or feelings underlying behaviors during

organizational change (Vince, 1995). Imagery can "bridge the gap between
the apparently individual, private, subjective, and the apparently collective,
social, political" (Samuels, 1993, p. 63). In his 1988 study, Zubroff found
that, for clerical workers experiencing organizational change, "pictures
:j
functioned as a catalyst, helping them to articulate feelings that had been j
implicit and hard to define.... These simple drawings convey feelings thatj
'~
often elude verbal expression" (pp. 141-142). J
We used participant-produced drawings in this study (Kearney &:~
Hyle, 2003) for two reasons. First, both the literature (Vince, 1995; Vince &
Broussine, 1996; Weber & Mitchell, 1995; Zubroff, 1988) and our previous
organizational development experience suggested that drawings were a way
to tap quickly into the emotional lives of participants. With the selection of
the Kubler-Ross (1969) model as our study lens and our concern about the
natural resistance to sharing emotions in the organizational setting, drawings
appeared to be a way to access the needed data. Second, the use of drawings
as a catalyst for unstructured interviews, an integral part of the study design,
afforded participants every opportunity to frame their own experiences, unen-
cumbered by our biases about people and organizational change (Kearney &
Hyle, 2004).
Recognizing that both the participants' and the researchers' perspectives
on the drawing methodology are culturally rule bound, we chose to include
both perspectives as an important foundation for our findings. The experi-
ences created by the use of participant-produced drawings in this study, com-
bined with the experiences reported in the literature, led to a number of
observations about the application of this methodology as it relates to both
the use of the Kubler-Ross (1969) construct as well as to qualitative research
in general.
1. Participant-produced drawings appear to create a path toward participant

feelings and emotions, making them viable tools for researchers who seek
access to this type of data.
2. The cognitive process required to draw leads to a more succinct presentation

of the key elements of participants' experiences.
3. The personal experience depicted by participant-produced drawings could

only be considered complete with additional interpretation of the drawing
by the participant.
4. Whether the drawing activity encourages or discourages participation in the
research process is dependent on individual and situational characteristics,
and its impact may be unpredictable for any given study.
.
"} ,
5. The prOViSiOn of little structure in the drawing activity allows for

participants' unique experiences to be communicated. This lack of bound-
aries helps to combat any preconceived biases of the researcher that other-
wise might have been unintentionally imposed.
6. The amount of researcher-imposed structure on the drawing process is a

determinant in how the drawings may be interpreted.
The demonstrated ability of drawings to create a path to participant feel-

ings and emotions, and to lead to succinct presentations of their experiences
appeared to create the opportunity for more meaningful and honest verbal
reports-arguably the methodology helped respondents reveal more than
what may have been captured with only the unstructured verbal interview. It
was our belief that this methodology allowed as to more adequately collect
the crucial emotional data that was needed for successful use of the Kubler-
Ross (1969) model.
Use of Feelings Lists. In building on one of the few eXlstmg Kubler-

Ross-based studies, Clapper (1991), we provided participants with a preset
list of emotions and asked them to identify those that they either had experi-
enced or were still experiencing as a result of the local change. The sponta-
neously produced emotions (those that did not appear on the preset list but
evolved through the drawings and interviews) were also compiled from the
interview data.
Impact on Data Analysis

One of the greatest challenges in qualitative research is finding a starting
place for sorting the masses of data that are collected. The Kubler-Ross (1969)
construct was critical to our finding a place to start with analysis as well as
playing an essential role in our final understandings of individual change.
The Kubler-Ross (1969) grief model provided an initial working plan for
us to follow. The stages of grief bounded our initial review of the data and
afforded a scaffold from which to begin. From other work, we knew that this
initial scaffold would change as we discovered additional emotional compo-
nents of the change process for individuals. (As you can see from our study
results [Kearney & Hyle, 2003] as published by Planning and Changing, we
ultimately proposed modifications to the framework that we believe are
important components in the development and refinement of theory and its
application to organizational change.)
One difficulty in the data analysis process emerged almost immediately.
We had deliberately collected emotions that were both contained within
1ZZ Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research
the preset lists of emotions as well as those that arose spontaneously through
both the drawings and interview processes. As a result, we had a number of
emotions that had not been categorized within the Kubler-Ross stages via
one of the few organizational studies that used Kubler-Ross as a lens
(Clapper, 1991).
We returned to the Clapper (1991) study to review how feelings had been
categorized within the Kubler-Ross (1969) grief stages. This categorization
had occurred through a series of field tests in a study by Michael (1984).
In order to categorize the spontaneous emotions occurring in our study, a
process similar to Michael's was used, although with slightly more rigor. ~
A regionally based review panel of 13 professionals who were both for-'

mally trained, as well as experienced in working with individuals and grief,
served as a review panel. Seven of the reviewers were either counseling or clin-
ical psychologists. Three others provided counseling services through various
religious associations-one was a minister, one was a deacon and a trained
Stephen minister (trained to deal with long-term care), and one was a bereave-
ment and spiritual care coordinator with a doctoral degree in counseling.
Two additional reviewers were patient liaisons in the medical field-one of
those was certified for long-term care. The final reviewer was the executive
director of a regional hospice unit that specializes in nursing and support care
of the terminally ill and their families.
Reviewers worked independently and were asked to place each sponta-
neously reported emotion in the grief stage in which the emotion, from their
training and experience, was most likely to be found. Reviewers were also
asked to indicate those reported emotions that did not seem to fit within the
categories identified by Kubler-Ross (1969). A category for "hope" was not
included as a part of previous organizational research (Clapper, 1991) but,
as it was presented by Kubler-Ross as "the one thing that usually persists
through all these stages" (p. 148), it was added as a potential category for this
set of reviewers.
Each of the final categories used by the current study included those
emotions that had been placed in the same stage by 62 percent or 8 of the 13
reviewers. This requirement was intentionally higher than the Michael (1984)
study, which required only 33 percent of the reviewers to agree on an emo-
tion's placement. With the completion of this process, we were able to move
forward with our data analysis using the Kubler-Ross construct.
Strengths and Weaknesses of the Theoretical Framework

As a result of our study, we found both strengths and weaknesses in apply-
ing the Kubler-Ross (1969) model to our research problem. The reality that
we needed an "emotions" framework to study change in organizations and
the paucity of known options in the field of organizational change caused us

to look to other fields for proven models. The death and dying field may seem
a strange place to go but knowing from our own experiences that loss is part
of every change led us to Kubler-Ross. The strength of this model was its
proven appropriateness and usefulness for understanding emotions and grief
and the potential for it to be operationalized in a way that made it useful for
guidance in study design, data collection, and analysis. What we did not know
at the outset was its appropriateness for the specific context or situation we
wanted to explore. In part, this became (as it does in all of our theoretical
research) part of the research problem and findings.
In considering any theoretical framework for a particular context, some
questions always remain as to whether or not it will be a perfect fit. All any
responsible researcher can do is make their best effort to remove questions
and design a "fit" between the problem, theoretical framework, methods, and
analysis. We believed that the Kubler-Ross model would work and was the
best "fit" available. We also believe we were right-it did work.
From our data, it was dear that participants reported a full spectrum
of emotions that appeared to fit within the Kubler-Ross (1969) stages. Each
individual's experiences, however, seemed to be as unique as the individu-
als themselves. This brought up the question of whether a representative
"process" of grief can actually exist for humans who have such different
experiences and perspectives. In some ways, this question, also set forth by
Hagman (1995), Solari-Twadell et a1. (1995), and Schwartzberg and Halgin
(1991), is about the way that "grief models" in general have been both
presented in the literature and practiced in the field.
The literature has, in some ways, attempted to simplify Kubler-Ross's (1969)
work by presenting it as a process that each individual moves through and comes
out at the end having processed their grief. From her original writings, it appears
this is a gross oversimplification of the intent of Kubler-Ross, who said the
defense mechanisms or stages "will last for different periods of time and will
replace each other or exist at times side by side" (1969, p. 147). The only visual
depiction of her grief stages (p. 265) depicts anger as partially crossing over with
denial, elements of denial throughout anger, anger and depression sitting almost
on top of one another, and so on. This mixing and meshing of emotions was cer-
tainly found to be true for this organization, although some employees did refer
to the "processing" of their emotions.
Evidence of "processing" and the individuality of this process seemed to
be present in some of the most reported emotions. For instance, feelings of
apprehension were reported by six of the nine respondents; however, five
reported that these feelings had "passed." Those who reported emotions
like "peaceful" and "contented" identified them as present, not past, feelings.
Eight respondents reported feelings of excitement but only in the present;
respondents had "grown into" these feelings. Six described feelings of

happiness; only one reported they had been happy about the change in the
past. Feelings of optimism were reported by eight respondents, four of whom
said this was a recent feeling, whereas the other four said they had been
optimistic throughout the change.
One respondent noted that, although there had been ongoing frustration
in the process of change, it had recently gotten better. Another agreed that
there had been a process of getting back to a place of comfort. Two drawings
also suggested a process of grief, and this was supported by the verbal expla-
nations of the participants who produced them.
No linear process or order of emotions, however, was clear in the data.
In this organizational setting, it appeared that each change brought new and
very individualized feelings. Changes came one on top of another so, even had
there been a specific path for processing a particular change, it would have
been highly unlikely that an individual could have fully processed one change
before being hit with another. Organizational life for the individual was
simply not that organized, no matter how llluch these employees would have
preferred that. For some, the emotions became individual overall responses
to ongoing and complex organizational change--ehange that could not be
defined by one event or decision. Another respondent described anxiety as just
a general feeling. So, in some ways, the usefulness of the Kubler-Ross (1969)
model for individuals experiencing organizational change is very dependent
on how the construct is applied-as a process or as a collection of emotions
that are common in response to change.
One additional concern, as discovered during the process of categorizing
spontaneously reported emotions at the local level, dealt with the difficulties
of placing some emotions, such as pleased, positive, and happy, into the
stages of Kubler-Ross's (1969) grief construct. These emotions were shown to
occur within different stages across the model, depending on the context the
emotion occurred within. This is an important consideration when using the
Kubler-Ross grief model for the study of individual reactions to organiza-
tional change.
Other Theoretical Frameworks Considered

As noted in the previous discussion describing how the Kubler-Ross (1969)
construct was selected, other grief frameworks were considered. None, how-
ever, had a foundation of either research or practice that we believed appro-
priate for use as a theoretical lens for a qualitative research study. A brief
review of the other theories considered from the literature on individual grief
and grief in organizations follows.
We did not believe the work of Bowlby (1980) and Worden (1991) could
be easily operationalized for our research. The work of Crosby et a1. (1983)
and Trolley (1993-1994) affirmed our desire to use a grief model, but neither
of these works produced a model that we believed could be used for our own
work. Solari-Twadell et a1. (1995) did produce a model but it was not based
in a deep foundation of research-a criterion we believed important for our
study. Studies that used grief models in organizations were primarily anec-
dotal and did not produce grief frameworks that would be usable for our
research. Other non-anecdotal organizational research did not produce a
model that appeared to better fit our work than Kubler-Ross's (1969). Other
frameworks (Barger & Kirby, 1995, 1997; Bridges, 1991; Perlman & Takacs,
1990; Schoolfield & Orduna, 1994) were either extremely similar to the
Kubler-Ross model or clearly stated that the framework was based upon
the work of Kubler-Ross. Ultimately, none of the other frameworks had
a research foundation comparable to that of the Kubler-Ross framework.
Likewise, none of the other frameworks appeared to present a model that
could be more easily operationalized for our work-a factor that was impor-
tant for both study design and data analysis.
Free Response
Some have criticized our work for it is an a priori application of a theory
within the context of qualitative research. The qualitative purists believe that
notions flow only from the data and analysis is done with a completely open
mind. We, however, know that each researcher brings to the research process
biases, frames, beliefs, and experiences that bound and color his or her per-
spectives. We believe that the use of a framework affords clarity in design,
data collection, and analysis that is impossible to get in any other way. For
students and other less-experienced researchers, this is particularly important
and helpful because a roadmap is provided for data collection and analysis.
Instead of having to "blindly" come up with categories and themes emerging
from data sets, these individuals have before them a clearly defined and
detailed strategy for analytically viewing the data.
Another important component of the use of theoretical frameworks is
the requirement to both present the data and analyze it. In this way, the thick,
rich description provides information that allows the reader to determine
whether transferability applies for other environments. This requires that the
data be presented independently of the framework; a view through the frame-
work lens is analytical. In this way, others may be able to apply a different
framework to the same data presentation and gain great insights and trans-
ferences. It is incumbent on the researcher (student or academic) to analyze
the data through their framework lens as well. Although we earlier made a
convincing case that the framework guided virtually all aspects of data col-
lection and analysis, we believe that there is nothing to support the position
that only one framework is the best for analysis. Whether or not that frame-
work was used to design the research questions or study design, other frame-
works may also be applicable and provide remarkable insights. The
importance of thick, rich description is paramount! Transferability comes
from this essential component of any study.
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8
Mary Douglas's Typology
of Grid and Group
Edward L. Harris

In this chapter, I describe social anthropologist Mary Douglas's typology
of grid and group (1982) and address various ways grid and group theory
can be useful in qualitative research. I also highlight a principal resource for
this chapter, "Toward a Grid and Group Interpretation of School Culture"
(Harris, 1995) published in the Journal of School Leadership, which intro-
duced grid and group theory to the field of educational leadership. The use of
a theoretical framework has influenced significantly the depth and integration
of my teaching, research, and service activities. I discuss some of those bene-
fits and boundaries below as well as the evolution of my understanding and
use of grid and group analysis in qualitative inquiry.
Purpose and Research Question

At the time of writing "Toward a Grid and Group Interpretation of School
Culture" (Harris, 1995), the notion of school culture had gained popularity
in educational literature. In many cases, however, culture was viewed in either
homogeneous or figurative terms, and cultural comparisons were difficult
to make.
The purpose of the article and research questions that guided the content
was rather pragmatic. In studies conducted by various authors, grid and
group theory had previously been used to explain a variety of social arrange-
ments, including political cultures, ethnic groups, work environments, and
religious contexts (Douglas & Wildavsky, 1982; Ellis, 1993; Lingenfelter,
1992; Rayner, 1984). In Harris (1995), I desired to explore the framework's
utility in educational settings and determine whether grid and group theory
was a viable means of explaining nuances of school culture. The purposes of
the publication were to explain school culture in terms of grid and group and
to determine the framework's applicability to educational settings. Central
research questions included
• How can a social context be suitably interpreted, explained, and compared with
other contexts?
• How effective is Douglas's typology in accomplishing those tasks?
Methods
Much data collection and analysis for the article (Harris, 1995) occurred
prior to my discovering Douglas's (1982) work. For example, from 1989 to
1993, my graduate students and I conducted numerous qualitative studies
concerning school culture that used either a grounded theory approach or no
particular formalized theory at all. 1
In these initial studies, data were gathered through qualitative strategies
such as interviews, observations, and document analyses. From each respec-
tive school context, chief informants included teachers, students, central office ' :
administrators, and community members. For those original explorations,
constant comparison methodology, as outlined in Lincoln and Guba's (1985)
:'~
Naturalistic Inquiry, was used in data analysis. 2 ;i
This foundational research resulted in various narrative case studies that:;,!
portrayed schools and their dynamic cultures. My discovery of grid and group .t
theory occurred in 1993, after many of these narratives had been written. ~
Douglas's (1982) framework provided a fresh lens to examine those existing
data sets and narratives.
Grid and group theory also offered a means to explore new explanations
for each research setting, and, in general, was useful in revealing and com-
paring distinct cultural forms. Because data were collected and analyzed prior
to my knowledge of Douglas's (1982) typology, application and exploration
of the model's utility in Harris (1995) were a posteriori considerations.
Four fundamental cultural categories constitute Douglas's (1982) typol-
ogy. As I wrote in Harris (1995), criteria describing these categories were used
to select four schools from the existing databases. A collection of case studies
Mary Douglas's Typology of Grid and Group 131
was chosen that suitably represented Douglas's cultural prototypes. My

understanding of grid and group was elementary and developing at the time.
Therefore, considerations for classification were somewhat rudimentary and
included
• How are rules and role expectations defined?

• How are activities and objectives directed?
• How are values and norms manifested?
Essential classification criteria, grid and group dimensions, as well as

Douglas's four prototypes are explained further in the following section.
Detailed Description of the Theoretical Framework
Mary Douglas (1982) offers a typology that helps educators meet conceptual
and methodological challenges inherent in cultural inquiry and educational
practice. Her typology of grid and group is useful, as it
• provides a matrix to classify school contexts;

• draws specific observations about individuals' values, beliefs, and behaviors;
• is designed to take into account the total social environment as well as interre-
lationships among school members and their context; and
• explains how constructed contextual meanings are generated and transformed.
The theory helps bring order to experience and provides a common

language to explain behaviors and interactions in a school setting. According
to the typology, one may find him- or herself in one of four, and only four,
distinctive cultural contexts. Two dynamic dimensions, grid and group,
define each of those four prototypes. 3
The Grid Dimension of the Structural Frame

In Douglas's (1982) frame, grid refers to the degree to which an individ-
ual's choices are constrained within a social system by imposed prescrip-
tions such as role expectations, rules, and procedures. For instance, in some
schools, autonomy is constrained by bureaucratic rules that regulate curricu-
lum, teaching methods, and grading procedures. In other schools there are
nominal regulations, and teachers have freedom of choice in most areas of the
teaching and learning process.
Grid can be plotted on a continuum from strong to weak. At the strong
end of the grid continuum, roles and rules domInate the environment, and
• Minimal autonomy
• Specifically defined roles, rules,

and responsibilities
• Centralized power and authority
• Maximum autonomy
• Loosely defined roles, rules, and

responsibilities
• Decentralized power and authority
Figure 8.1 The grid dimension of school culture.
explicit institutional classifications regulate personal interactions and restrain

individual autonomy.
In strong-grid environments, teachers typically do not have the freedom
to select their own curricula and textbooks, and many decisions are made at
upper levels of administration. Strong-grid environments also contain many
role distinctions at the teaching and staff levels with proportionately fewer
distinctions farther up the organizational ladder.
For example, in a classic strong-grid school system, the superintendent
is at the pinnacle of a regulated chain of command. Significant power and
authority are delegated by the school board to the superintendent. In this reg-
ulated chain of command, each layer of authority in the hierarchy has specific
communication and job procedures, which insulate it from other layers and,
positions.
At the weak end of the grid continuum, teachers experience significantly 1
more autonomy in choosing curricula, texts, and methods. In weak-grid
schools, roles are achieved rather than ascribed, and individuals are increas-
ingly expected to negotiate their own relationships and professional choices.
There are few role distinctions, few institutional rules, and individuals are
valued for their skills, behaviors, and abilities. Also, value is placed on indi-
vidual success in an openly competitive environment. Salient features of grid
can be seen in Figure 8.1.
The Group Dimension of the Structural Frame

Group represents the degree to which people value collective relationships
and the extent to which they are committed to the larger social unit. Group
• Weak allegiance to school • Strong allegiance to school
• Minimal pressure to consider • Strong pressure to consider

group goals and activities group goals and activities
• Minimal social incorporation • Strong social incorporation
• Individual's interests prioritized • Group's interests prioritized

over group's interests over individual's interests
Figure 8.2 The group dimension of school culture.
deals with the holistic aspect of social incorporation and the extent to which
people's lives are absorbed and sustained by corporate membership. Like grid,
group has a continuum of strong to weak.
In strong-group environments, specific membership criteria exist, and
explicit pressures influence collective relationships. The survival of the group
is more important than the survival of individual members. An extreme case
of strong-group strength can be seen in a monastic or communal environ-
ment. In such settings, private property is renounced upon entering, and cul-
tural members rely on the unit for physical, emotional, and social support.
Private schools provide good illustrations of membership criteria with
their explicit admission requirements. Many public schools, however, exhibit
implicit, de facto criteria for group membership and allegiance through fea-
tures such as elite neighborhoods and exclusive cliques or gangs. In strong-
group environments, the goal of group interaction is to perpetuate the life of
and allegiance to the whole school rather than its individual members.
In weak-group environments, pressure for group-focused activities and
relationships is relatively low. Members of social and working subgroups
tend to focus on short-term activities rather than long-term corporate objec-
tives, and their allegiance to the larger group fluctuates. When group strength
is low, people are neither constrained by, nor reliant upon, a faction of others.
The dynamic forces of grid and group are simultaneously at work in
any school setting. Figure 8.2 depicts some pertinent features on the group
continuum.
Schools as Ecosystems: Four Cultural Prototypes

An analogy that illustrates the symbiotic relationship between grid and
group is a rain forest. 4 In a rain forest, grid is analogous to the unique "roles"
and particular "rules" that govern individual plants, animals, and insects
(i.e., the law of the jungle). Group is analogous to the interrelationship and
holistic incorporation of these living organisms.
The dynamic interaction among the unique forces of any rain forest
constitutes a unique, biological community, which is greater than the sum of
its parts. Moreover, there are different categories of rain forests, which are
determined by their overall make-up and location. For instance, there are
cloud forests, tropical rain forests, subtropical rain forests, and temperate
rain forests. Likewise, in the social realm, based on the simultaneous consid-
eration of grid and group, Douglas (1982) identifies four distinct prototypes
of social environments:
• Individualist (weak-grid and weak-group)

• Bureaucratic (strong-grid and weak-group)
• Corporate (strong-grid and strong-group)
• Collectivist (weak-grid and strong-group)
The Four Environments and Their Social Games .1' .".: It: ~"l )~.
. ii
Although the dynamics of human life are highly variable, when grid and .~.
group coalesce over time, certain themes and dominant patterns of thought )
and behavior tend to define a particular setting. These patterns are referred \'
to as prevailing mindsets or social games, which influence the entire cultural
environment. 5 Knowledge of the different social games helps to
• identify roles and relationships in a school setting, H'i

• understand how those roles and relationships are structured, a n d ' ·
• interpret how and why each member of the school engages in educatiodkl
activities. ;'
'/
Figure 8.3 categorizes the four social games with their respective grid and
group enVIronments.
Individualist (Weak-Grid, Weak-Group) Environments .1:_

In individualist environments, relationships and experiences of the _
individual are not constrained by imposed formal rules or traditions. Role sta-
tus and rewards are competitive and are contingent upon existing, temporal
standards.
Bureaucratic Corporate
Social game: Social game:
Authoritarianism Hierarchy
Individualist Collectivist
Social game: Social game:
Individualism Egalitarianism
Figure 8.3 Types of social environments and their social games.
The emphasis on social distinction among individuals is submerged,

there are few insider-outsider screens, and little value is placed on long-term
corporate survival. The predominant social game in this environment is
"individualism," which encourages members to make the most of individual
opportunities, to seek risks that result in personal gain, and to be competitive
and proactive in carving their future in life.
Bureaucratic (Strong-Grid, Weak-Group) Environments

Bureaucratic environments offer little individual autonomy. They are often
hierarchical, and the classifying criteria focus on such factors as race, gender,
family heritage, or ancestry. Individual behavior is fully defined and without
ambiguity. Cultural members have meaningful relationships and life-support
networks outside of the group, and little value is placed on group goals or
survival.
The social game in this environment is "authoritarianism." Authoritari-
anism promotes limited opportunity for advance:ment, compliance with rules
and procedures, lack of control of school goals and rewards by teachers, and
autocratic rule by administrators.
Corporate (Strong-Grid, Strong-Group) Environments

In corporate contexts, social relationships and experiences are influenced
by boundaries maintained by the group against outsiders. Individual identi-
fication is heavily derived from group membership. Individual behavior is
subject to controls exercised in the name of the group. Roles are hierarchical; ,I
at the top of the hierarchy, roles have unique value and power (generally ',~
limited to a small number of experts).
There are many role distinctions at the middle and bottom rungs.,i,
Perpetuation of traditions and group survival are of utmost importance. The
social game valued in this environment is "hierarchy," because the members
understand that in a hierarchical system what is good for the corporation is
good for the individual. Central office administration, site administration,
teachers, students, and parents work in a cohesive, integrated system for the
benefit of all involved. All share in the opportunities, risks, and future of the
school.
Collectivist (Weak-Grid, Strong-Group) Environments

Collectivist contexts have few social distinctions. Role status is competi-
tive, yet because of the strong-group influence, rules for status definitions and
placement are more stable than in weak-group societies. The perpetuation of
group goals and survival is highly valued.
"Egalitarianism" is valued as this environment's social game. Egalitari-
anism places a high value on unity, equal distribution of teaching supplies and I
space, suspicion of those outside the school community who may want to
help, conformity to the norms of the group, as well as rejection of authori-
tarian leadership and hierarchy. ,', b ;~:
~.; .
Disciplinary Origins of Grid and Group Analysis

Grid and group analysis originated in the field of social anthropology. Social
anthropologist Mary Douglas earned a doctorate from Oxford University
and conducted her early fieldwork in the Belgian Congo. Her academic career
included appointments at Oxford University, University College London,
University of London, Northwestern University, Princeton University, and
the Russell Sage Foundation, where she served as Director for Research on
' . .1
Culture. She advanced grid and group theory in three major works: first and
second editions of Natural Symbols: Explorations in Cosmology (1970,
1973) and In the Active Voice (1982).6
In Natural Symbols (1970), Douglas builds on Bernstein's (1964, 1970)
work on language codes, social control, and relationships. She uses Bernstein's
blueprint to hypothesize that individual cosmology, the set of concepts and
relationships that bring order to one's world, is largely shaped by one's expe-
rience of social control.
In the second edition of Natural Symbols (1973), she further develops
the notion of grid and the role of individual choice in grid and group theory.
In her third treatise, In the Active Voice (1982), she presents a symbiotic
relationship between grid and group, redefines the two concepts, and offers
criteria to distinguish and classify social systems.
.;:
Discovering Douglas
In the late 1980s, I became interested in the dynamics and potential of school
culture. At the time, the concept of school culture was gaining increased
attention in a broad range of educational literature and practice. I was
intrigued with notions such as cultural leadership, values, organizational cul-
ture, and the interrelationship of these conceptions with school improvement
strategies.
The more I delved into cultural issues, the more questions arose. For
instance,
• What is the interrelationship of school culture and school improvement?

• How can we best comprehend, compare, and contrast variant school cultures?
• Why is school culture important to the educational process?
Three Views of Organizational Culture

In my quest for comprehending the various complexities of school culture,
I realized the field of education, as well as other fields, lacked a clear and con-
sistent definition of the term. Culture was often used interchangeably with a
variety of concepts, including climate, ethos, and saga (Deal, 1993).
Educational literature regarding culture was influenced heavily by anthro-
pology, as well as popular writings on corporate culture, such as In Search
of Excellence: Lessons from America's Best-Run Companies (Waterman &
Peters, 1988). The concept of culture was, and still is, approached from at
least three differing perspectives: holistic, symbolic, and dualistic. 7
The holistic perspective, as the name implies, is broad and encompassing

in its explanation of culture. It proposes that culture should be conceptual-
ized as part of what an organization is rather than what an organization has.
That is, schools don't have cultures, they are cultures.
The symbolic view proposes that schools are social organizations
composed of people with a set of shared beliefs, complex rituals and rela-
tionships, as well as collective verbal behaviors. Symbols, or manifestations of
these behaviors and beliefs, are keys to understanding shared meanings, val-
ues, and activities. They are expressions of how people interact and conduct
business from day to day.
In this approach, school culture is viewed simply as "the way things
are done around here" (Deal & Kennedy, 1982, p. 4), and things are done
through such symbols as
• stories,
• heroes and heroines,
• myths and metaphors,
• rituals and ceremonies,
• facility decor, and
• special language or jargon.
Due to the works of Terrence Deal, Kent Peterson, Allan Kennedy, and
others, this approach is popular in many educational circles. It emphasizes
that at the heart of any educational environment is a set of shared beliefs and
values, which are personified by its heroes and heroines, maintained and rein-
forced by its rituals and ceremonies, shaped by the school environment, and
communicated through the informal network.
A third approach, cultural duality, has roots in both of the above views. ~
Theories that emphasize the duality of culture propose that in any given social f
context a person's professed knowledge, feelings, beliefs, and values are
important, but his or her actions mayor may not coincide with those
espoused beliefs. Thus, to understand culture, one must divide it into dualis-
tic categories:
1. the espoused beliefs and knowledge of the cultural members, and

2. the interrelationships and actions of the cultural members.
In practical terms, what cultural members espouse and what they actually
do in an operational sense can be distinguished, analyzed, and explained.
From this perspective, culture is a combination of ideas or theories that
people use collectively and the way they act out those ideas or theories.
Culture as Seen Through Douglas's Lens

To a degree, Douglas (1982) utilizes principles and ideas from all of
the above approaches. I first learned of Douglas's typology of grid and group
while critiquing Lingenfelter's (1992) Transfonning Culture: A Challenge
for Christian Mission for the Criswell Theological Journal (Harris, 1993).
In reviewing Lingenfelter's treatise, I was intrigued by the framework's value
in addressing problems inherent in understanding, explaining, comparing,
and contrasting cultures.
In Harris (1995), I explained how Douglas's (1982) typology enables a
researcher to meet the conceptual and methodological challenges inherent in
cultural inquiry:
The idealist can use the model to better understand and explain how constructed
contextual "meanings are generated, caught, and transformed" (Douglas, 1982,
p. 189). The variable culturalist is provided a matrix to classify contexts and
draw specific observations about individuals, their value and belief dimensions,
and behavioral and symbolic variables manifested in particular environments.
One of the model's most beneficial aspects is its holistic, comprehensive nature.
It is designed to take into account the total social environment and individual
member relationships among each other and their context. (p. 619)
Effects of the Theoretical

Framework on My Research
As mentioned, I first used Douglas's theoretical framework to explore exist-
ing data and case studies generated from previous research (Harris, 1995).
Consideration of using Douglas's typology or any theoretical frame in the
process was a posteriori.
Initial Reluctance
In the original studies, data were organized into emergent themes or codes
and constantly revisited after initial coding, until it was evident that no new
themes were emerging. For Harris (1995), Douglas's (1982) theory provided
alternative categories to sort various themes as well as fresh vernacular to
explain cultural phenomena. In the article, although I presented direct
accounts of informants and data, I selected salient excerpts from the original
studies according to Douglas's prototype criteria. Also, data I deemed super-
fluous to illustrating grid and group were omitted from the original data sets.
A major reason for those omissions was space, as I needed to explain grid and
group theory and portray four environments in a space-constrained, article

format.
Thus, for the construction of the article's (Harris, 1995) final case narra-
tives, emergent topics derived from constant comparison methodology were
evaluated by Douglas's (1982) criteria, and descriptive portraits representing
each of the four grid and group prototypes were constructed. This a posteri-
ori categorizing and case study construction combined authentic emergent
design with the functional structure of preexisting patterns.
My next venture was to utilize and consider grid and group from other
vantage points. Initially, I was reluctant to use a theoretical framework in
qualitative research. I feared a priori theory and inductive inquiry might be 1
oxymoronic. I desired neither to commit research heresy nor appear to suffer :,:1',.1
from paradigm schizophrenia. .

Qualitative research asserts distinct paradigmatic assumptions regarding,
among other things, the nature of reality, emergent design, transferability of
findings, and holistic consideration of cause and effect relationships. For
instance, qualitative researchers typically reject the notion of linear-sequential,
cause-and-effect relationships and embrace the notion that entities are in
a continual state of mutual, simultaneous shaping. In qualitative inquiry, dis-
tinguishing between initial cause and consequent effect is a futile effort. So, is I'
it antithetical to use a constant, predictive framework in a research paradigm;

that asserts multiple constructed realities, time- and context-bound findings, : .
and interrelational causation? .'
Although grid and group structure allows for a moderate degree of
predictability in understanding causal relationships among culture, behavior,
and thought patterns, it is not deterministic or linear in its approach to those
causes. A central feature of grid and group theory is the symbiotic, mutually
supportive relationship between the dimensions of grid and group as well
as among the concepts of culture, behavior, and values. Moreover, Douglas
(1982) has been careful to say that her theoretical framework does not call
for deterministic causation. Notions of free will, choice, subjectivity, and indi-
vidual worth are interwoven in the fabric of grid and group theory. An exam-
ple of some of these themes can be seen in Stansberry and Harris (2005),
when they explain the interrelationship between instructional technology and
cUI:~e'reluctance to use a theoretical framework waned somewhat as my ~,'

knowledge increased about grid and group and how Douglas's (1982) typol- ••
ogy and qualitative research could be used complementarily. I also discovered
a rich history of theory use in social anthropology. Not all social scientists
agree, however, on the extent to which theory is valuable in anthropolog-
ical research. In The Art of Fieldwork (see pp. 170-190), Wolcott (1995)
provides a balanced discussion of theory and its significance to qualitative

research and the social sciences. Although Wolcott (1995) clearly expresses
caution in over-employing theory in fieldwork, he grants that theory offers
strategies for coping with "the dual problem of purpose and generalization"
and a means to cope with "the underlying issue tersely summarized in
a two-word question always at the tip of some skeptic's tongue: So what?"
(p. 189).
In my evolving use of grid and group, the framework allowed me to
address the perennial "so what" question as well as provided structure and
definition to research experiences. Reiterating some of Wolcott's (1995)
grounds for appropriate theory use, I explain below various ways grid and
group theory has influenced my research. For example, use of Douglas's
(1982) typology of grid and group has
• provided convenient labels, categories, and vernacular, which has helped

in expressing and comparing cultural phenomena, as well as developing thick
description for broader application for single case studies and transferability
Issues;
• allowed for the development of a web of inquiry (I prefer to use the term, "web
of inquiry," rather than "line of inquiry," as "web" connotes networks, inter-
relationships, and simultaneous shaping), which 1 can expand upon and link to
prior research, use to relate my work to the larger body of literature on school
culture, and better integrate my teaching, research, and service activities;
• offered a way to gain a broader perspective of cultural research and appreciate
school culture in the larger context of social anthropology;
• afforded a means to strengthen research design, better organize and present
data, and recognize and convey relevant aspects of my research experience; and
• provided a lens to better perceive and identify my own biases and constructed
realities 1 bring to each research experience.
All these factors, and especially the last, have not only enriched my
research, but also deepened my understanding of qualitative inquiry. Quali-
tative inquiry is a value-bound enterprise. The primary instrument in qualita-
tive inquiry is human; therefore, all data collection and analysis are filtered
through the researcher's worldview, values, perspectives, and, yes, theoretical
frame(s).
Either consciously or unconsciously, we all carry biases and reality
constructions to research experiences. Theoretical frameworks are examples
of specific constructions of reality with definite form and substance. In using
grid and group theory, I have tried to be sensitive to biases in the data col-
lection and analysis process, because any construction of reality can blind me
to certain aspects of phenomena under study. I realize all observations and
analyses are filtered through my worldview, values, and perspectives, which

are all influenced by my extensive use of the framework.
I have had many students who, after using the theory in their dissertation
say, "I now see everything through a grid and group lens." This realization is
important. When using any theoretical framework, the researcher must
understand how biases shape the inquiry and its findings and be open to those
areas that may fall outside the purview of the framework's lenses. A theo-
retical framework, while potentially clarifying, is also imperfect and can be
distorting.
As a qualitative researcher, I do not view theory as deterministically
predictive. It is simply one construction of reality that might provide order,
clarification, and direction to a study. In any qualitative study, the reality
construction one brings to the research experience interacts with others' con-
structions. Therefore, a central task of the researcher is to negotiate through
the layers of meaning, rather than pigeonholing individuals into particular
constructions and categories of any particular framework (Merriam, 2001).
Effect on the Research Questions

Using a theoretical frame has also influenced the types of research ques-
tions I formulate. Questions addressed in much of my research have been
derived from the dilemmas presented in the cultural literature. For instance,
although school culture has gained amplified consideration in an expansive
range of educational literature and practice, questions still exist regarding
how to best understand, explain, and compare cultures.
Teacher leadership, for example, is a topic of interest for many of my
students. An overarching question in a qualitative study using grid and group
theory to explain teacher leadership might be: "What is the interrelationship
between school culture and teacher leadership?" Correspondingly, "How is
teacher leadership manifested (andJor defined) in various school contexts?"
More specifically, a typical set of research questions designed for studying
teacher leadership in several schools might look like the following:
• What is the grid and group make-up of each school?

• How is teacher leadership practiced (or defined or manifested) in each school?
• What is the interrelationship of grid and group and teacher leadership?
• How useful is grid and group theory in explaining teacher leadership?
The last research question, or a derivative thereof, is vitally important to

research processes. In a qualitative study, a critique of the framework's utility
allows the researcher to assess theoretical constructions in light of the themes
that were developed. Invariably, if rigor is employed, some phenomena may
be addressed and explained directly by the theoretical framework and some

data may fall outside the framework's purview. An appraisal of the frame-
work's usefulness is crucial in explaining a particular study's significance to
research, theory, and practice, thereby building upon the existing body of
literature.
There is little doubt that it is useful to view schools as cultures, and
an abundance of definitions attempt to explain the elusive concept. Still,
problems exist in explaining how to best improve schools through, or espe-
cially, in spite of, their cultures. In order to successfully envision and enhance
cultures of learning, certain questions must be examined, such as
• How can educators best comprehend school culture?

• Why is school culture important to the educational process?
• How can educators apply school improvement strategies to their particular and
unique school cultures?
These questions have guided much of my research using grid and group
analysis. The evolution of my research has recently resulted in a book, Key
Strategies to Improve Schools: How to Apply Them Contextually (Harris,
2005), dealing with adapting improvement strategies in schools with various
grid and group dynamics.
Strengths and Weaknesses of Grid and Group Analysis
In using Douglas's (1982) frame in cultural inquiry, I have found both bound-
aries and benefits. When I began using grid and group theory, an initial lim-
itation was my lack of anthropological training. Consequently, I conferred
with experts in the fields of sociology and anthropology, corresponded exten-
sively with others who use the theory, and embarked on an intense reading
program.
I realized quickly I could spend a large part of my career exploring
intricacies and applications of the framework. This realization was not daunt-
ing, but very stimulating and motivating, because it gave direction, focus,
and meaning to my work. I had a foundation from which to construct a web
of inquiry and integrate various strands of my roles and responsibilities in
academe.
I found many practical advantages to using Douglas's (1982) theoretical
framework. For instance, grid and group theory offers four finite categories
of reference, terminology to express behavioral forms, and a graphic struc-
ture to understand inter- and intra-organizational behavior. Once a category
is known, with some degree of assurance, forms of behavior within each
prototype can be anticipated, variance in intra-organizational actions will be

reduced, and intercultural comparisons can be made. Various school cultures
can be seen as corresponding to a range of ideal types, which is why grid and
group theory is useful in broad analyses of school organizations.
Whereas Douglas's (1982) frame is not intended to be the summum
bonum of all theoretical constructions, it does provide a helpful lens through
which to view human dynamics as well as vernacular to understand, compare,
and explain different school cultures. Other benefits particular to theory,
research, and practice are discussed below.
1 [1
Theory I
Douglas's (1982) typology draws on the assertion that culture is a consis- ,!;•.~
l.
tent construction of thought and action that is integrated into a unified social
system. It allows researchers to view holistically the entire social system of . ~
an educational environment. Grid and group dynamics have parallels to other
theories with which educators may be familiar. For instance, the Getzels-
Guba (Getzels & Guba, 1957) model has been useful in conceptualizing
the dynamic interaction of personal (idiographic) and organizational (nomo-
thetic) dimensions of an open system, and has served as a framework for
scores of studies. Various versions of systems theory include role theory,
sociotechnical theory, and contingency theory (Owens, 2004).
Douglas (1982) offers a complementary addition to social systems' theory
base. Not only are grid and group inherent in open systems, but these two
coordinates also offer a mutually exclusive continuum of categories for deal-
ing simultaneously with social behaviors in varied contexts. While grid and
group theory requires a similar contextual approach to systems theory, its
four classifications also provide a more variegated conception of social life
within a particular social system.
Categorizing, however, can also be misleading. For instance, grid and
group theory can appear to be rigid in its categorization schemes and coun-
terintuitive to highly variable dynamics of human life. The boxes that mani-
fest the four types may appear to suggest discrete positions, rather than
dynamic social interaction. In both theory and practice, however, the dimen-
sions of grid and group are continuous, interactive, and symbiotic.
When explaining a cultural context in terms of grid and group, it is impor-
tant not to insinuate discrete, static categories, nor compartmentalize a certain
school or person in a quadrant without consideration of variation. Qualitative
case studies are time and context bound, and the researcher must realize that,
as in any portrait of life, although the description is written to capture a par-
ticular moment in time, the actual context is continually changing. Human
.,j
behavior is dynamic, complex, and extremely difficult, if not impossible,

to contain and predict. Thus, the frame is not intended to portray social
environments as static or motionless, but rather as vigorous and precarious
dynamic processes.
Similarly, another caveat in using the theory is attempting to overclassify
a system or unit of analysis. That is, while it is theoretically correct to say, "I
work in a collectivist environment," this does not imply that one works in a
group composed exclusively of collectivists.
Grid and group proponents are quick to mention that almost all social
systems incorporate all four prototypes of social games, but not necessarily in
equal proportions. Whereas an environment likely has a predominant social
game, it also incorporates three other social games in complementary and/or
antagonistic relationship with one another.
In my preliminary and rudimentary understanding of Douglas's (1982)
method, I thought it worked best in explaining hierarchical situations. As
my understanding has evolved, however, I have discovered that it also has
comparable utility in theoretically reflecting situations where hierarchy is
absent. I have found grid and group theory, while not a cure for all theoreti-
cal problems, works very well in reflecting and portraying a comprehensive
and complex sequence of social conditions.
Research
In using a theoretical frame, one must be consciously aware of when
and how the frame makes its entry into the research process. Wolcott (1995)
refers to this as choosing between "theory first" or "theory later" (p. 187).
He advises that the best use of theory is near the conclusion of a study,
"where a self-conscious but genuine search for theoretical implications and
links begins rather than ends" (Wolcott, p. 187).
While there is merit in this advice, I also recognize that data collection and
analysis are very interactive and inclusive processes. Making sense of data
occurs at the very beginning of data collection and continues throughout the
study to facilitate emergent design and developing structure. Whether one
chooses "theory first" or "theory later," one must allow the framework to
guide and inform~ rather than determine and force the emerging research
design and process.
I have used grid and group analysis in a priori (i.e., "theory first") and a
posteriori (i.e., "theory later") modes as well as a guide in theory construc-
tion. As mentioned, my first application of the model was a posteriori. The
research for my dissertation was completed in 1990. Since I knew nothing of
grid and group, I depended heavily on the cultural literature popular at the
time, especially the works of Deal and Kennedy (1982), Deal and Peterson
(1990), Goodlad (1984), Lightfoot (1983), and Schein (1985).
When I subsequently discovered the typology, I directly incorporated grid
and group language to express prior research findings. For example, some of
Douglas's (1982) criteria for grid (such as autonomy, role, and rewards) and
for group (such as group allegiance and social incorporation) were useful in
distinguishing particular aspects and explaining past research findings.
I was able to expand on thick descriptions with a new vocabulary.
For instance, the Jewish day school was not just a school with many role
distinctions and a good deal of community support, it was a "strong grid/ 'j.'
strong-group" environment, which emphasized "achieved" rather than
"ascribed" role status, where roles were "hierarchical" and "social incorpo- J'
ration" was strong.
Grid and group analysis has been fruitful, not only for me, but for a ';
number of researchers. Research areas where others have incorporated;
the theoretical frame include interpretation of environmentalism (Douglas &"
Wildavsky, 1982), risk perceptions (Rayner, 1984; Wildavsky & Dake, 1990),
religious communities (Carter, 2002; Lingenfelter, 1992), technology policy
(Schwarz & Thompson, 1990), high-tech firms (Caulkins, 1999), work cul- ."
tures (Mars & Nicod, 1983), career expectations (Hendry, 1999), and higher'
education (Lingenfelter, 1992).
Practice
The implications for practice follow closely on those of theory and ,~
research. Grid and group analysis is valuable to practicing educators, as it
draws specific application about the value and belief dimensions of their spe-
cific context. I have found that many practicing educators identify with the . •1
. .:.'
•..•.::'.
way the theoretical framework explains how roles and institutional pressures
constrain or confer individual autonomy and how collective participation is
deemed either essential or marginal to effective work in schools. .':I ·.~' ,
Key Strategies to Improve Schools: How to Apply Them Contextually
(Harris, 2005) is designed to help practicing educators understand the grid
and group make-up of their particular school in order to employ specific
school improvement strategies. Those in the day-to-day world of schooling
can see that, although the dynamics of human life are highly variable, when
grid and group coalesce over time, certain themes and dominant patterns
of practice tend to define a particular setting. The structure and vernacular
inherent in grid and group theory help educators recognize and clarify the
dissonance and complexity of everyday life in educational settings.
Utilization of Another Theoretical Framework

I have considered and used one other framework in my research, Wallace's
(1970, 1979) typology for revitalization movements. Anthropologist and
historian Anthony Wallace (1956) developed a structure for understanding
stages of acculturation under the influence of technological change. Wallace
describes these stages in terms of cultural revitalization. A revitalization move-
ment is a "deliberate, organized, conscious effort by members of a group to
create a new culture" (Wallace, 1956, p. 265).
These movements are reactionary and often begin with discontented
cultural members, because traditional institutions are unable to adapt and
respond to social changes. The process stages of a revitalization movement are
I. Steady State
II. Period of Increased Individual Stress
III. Period of Cultural Distortion
IV. Period of Revitalization
1. Mazeway (Worldview) Reformulation
2. Communication
3. Organization
4. Adaptation
5. Cultural Transformation
6. Routinization
V. New Steady State
I have used Wallace's (1956) frame in two research endeavors. The first
applied his concepts of revitalization movements to the evolving field of
educational administration (Burlingame & Harris, 1998). The purpose was
to demonstrate how Wallace's revitalization movement is a better frame than
Kuhn's (1962) notion of paradigm shift, which is often used to explain the
cultural changes in educational administration during the last century. In that
article, we made reference to the fact that Douglas's (1982) typology could
also add significant insight into how pressures influenced evolutionary trans-
formations in leadership thought over the past 100 years.
The second undertaking explained technology adaptation in variant orga-
nizational cultures (Stansberry, Haulmark, & Harris, 2001). The twofold
purpose was to demonstrate complementariness between Douglas's typology
and Wallace's stages, as well as to reinforce Wallace's stages by analyzing
them according to grid and group dimensions.
In Stansberry et al. (2001), we used both Douglas's (1982) framework and
Wallace's (1956) stages. The dual employment of the frameworks allowed us
to detail the stages of technology adaptation as well as explore the social

barriers and pressures that affected those stages. Moreover, Douglas offered
a means to compare and contrast significant features of the environments
through the process of each cultural stage.
Free Response
Social anthropology, the study of human beings, their group relationships,]

and cultural forms, is where educators first borrowed conceptualizations to 1
explain school culture. Schools are social organizations, dynamic organisms "
whose effectiveness is often influenced by cultural forms. Douglas's (1982)
theoretical framework has deepened my understanding of and helped explain
the complexities of human dynamics.
As mentioned, when I discovered Douglas's typology, I was reluctant
to extensively use the framework. To my knowledge at the time, theoreti-
cal frameworks were utilized predominantly in quantitative, not qualitative,
studies. The rage in qualitative research was grounded, ex post facto theory,
not a priori theory.
Grounded theory is still an important feature of qualitative inquiry. Many
novice researchers desiring to use qualitative methodology, however, lack
the experience and preparation necessary to erect theoretical constructions
from the ground up and are unfamiliar with the complexities of ex post facto
theory development.
,
Theoretical Frameworks and Metaphor .
Theoretical frameworks help shape and direct a study as well as offer means
to build upon and link a study to the broader body of literature. Morgan
(1997) offers a useful comparison of theory with the notion of metaphor.
Metaphor is used to understand one frame of reference with another.
For instance, when we say, "he is as strong as a bull," we relate muscular
characteristics of a bull to those of a person. This relational comparison offers
both insight and distortion. The bull metaphor evokes images of strength,
power, and robustness. Metaphor, however, can also distort the fact that the
person may possibly also be slothful or overweight. To carry the idea further,
to say "he is bullheaded," suggests new meaning altogether. Like theory,
metaphor evokes ways of thinking and seeing, which shape our perceptions
of reality.
Morgan's (1997) theory as metaphor premise has important implica-
tions for qualitative researchers. Theoretical frames, like metaphors, can offer
valuable insight to a study and, at the same time, be restrictive, biased, and
potentially misleading. In this sense, a theoretical frame is inherently

paradoxical. In reference to similar paradoxical aspects of metaphor, Morgan
(1997) explains: "It can create powerful insights that also become distortions,
as the way of seeing created through a metaphor becomes a way of not
seeing" (p. 5).
Also implied in the theory-metaphor assertion is that no single theoretical
framework will ever offer a flawlessly clear view of any studied phenom-
ena. A theoretical frame will highlight certain interpretations, but will also
force other interpretations into the background. Nonetheless, qualitative
researchers should not be dissuaded from using theory. Rather, as Morgan
(1997) further elaborates on metaphor, "the challenge is to be skilled in
the art of using metaphor: to find fresh ways of seeing, understanding, and
shaping situations that we want to organize or manage" (p. 6).
Theoretical frameworks can be extremely helpful. In qualitative inquiry,
the consideration should not be whether or not to use a theoretical frame, but
rather, as Wolcott (1995) reminds, how and when theory can be best utilized
in a study.
Focusing on One Theoretical Framework

In the seminary I attended, I often heard the adage: "Deepen your message
before broadening your ministry." I have found this advice to be beneficial in
many areas of life, including academe. To improve and deepen my research,
teaching, and service activities, I have explored and employed one primary the-
oretical frame. Douglas's (1982) typology has become the lens, the organizing
system through which I view school culture, as well as prioritize and integrate
all aspects of work. It has allowed me to, in essence, deepen my message as well
as offer language to communicate that message to a broad audience.
I have been, and continue to be, both student and teacher of grid and group
typology. Many topics, such as teachers' voice, shared decision making, site-
based management, and technology adaptation in educational systems have
been explained via grid and group vernacular. For instance, cultural theory
has been useful in seeking explanations to problems concerning
• why some educational practices are successful in some contexts and not suc-
cessful in others; and
• how faculty and administrators from various educational environments can
attend the exact same seminars and workshops, yet return to their respective
settings and apply interventions in wildly variant ways.
Many courses I teach deal with some aspect of organizational theory,

leadership, or qualitative research methods. I integrate grid and group in
course content in a variety of ways, such as
• demonstrating the interrelationship of situational leadership and an

environment's grid and group composition,
• allowing students to critique either work I have done in the area of cultural
theory or an idea that could affect leadership practice,
• comparing Douglas's (1982) concepts with classical organizational theory or
systems theory, and
• expanding the notion of theory use in qualitative research.
My service and consulting activities include many of Douglas's (1982)

concepts, especially
• comparing an organization's grid and group composition with individual

members' social game,
• emphasizing the contextualization of school improvement strategies, and
• demonstrating how variant grid and group orientations can result in conflict in
educational settings.
I am, as all educators are, in the business of making sense of things.

Douglas's (1982) typology of grid and group has given me direction, structure,
and a holistic, integrated sense of my research teaching and service activities.
It has helped me to see how concepts and actions make sense and sometimes
"fit together. "
I realize, however, that this notion of "fitting together" can also be a
pitfall. We cannot always comprehend how all variables correlate. A qualita-
tive researcher learns to live with a certain degree of ambiguity in his or
her research endeavors. Grid and group theory functions as a useful guide to
inform and clarify, not determine and coerce. In using Douglas's (1982) the-
oretical frame, I strive continually to make the crucial distinction between
understanding how some things might fit and insisting that everything does
fit in the theoretical frame.
Although my focus has been primarily on one typology, I realize that
no single theoretical framework offers a flawless, universal view of the world.
If a perfect framework did exist, my own biases, imperfections, and reality
constructions would distort the research process, anyway.
Notes r".
1. In those studies, specific research topics included: decentralization, shared

leadership, teachers' voice, instructional technology adaptation, inclusion, applica-
tion of school improvement strategies, and other areas dealing with school leader-
ship. A central, two-fold assumption in all these studies is that organizational culture
exerts a powerful force on its members and activities; and understanding an

environmenes interconnected roles, rules, and relationships requires a framework
that considers and explains the pressures and dynamics of culture.
2. In Doing Naturalistic Inquiry (Erlandson, Harris, Skipper, & Allen, 1993),
we detail methodological steps of selected case studies.
3. In Douglas's (1982) treatise, a fifth alternative, "the hermit," is presented.
Hermits live out the social game of total self-reliance and separation from all group
interaction (i.e., zero grid, zero group). Thus far, I have not used this category in
research, as my unit of analysis is typically school organizations rather than indi-
viduals, per se. For an understanding of the hermit lifestyle in grid and group theory,
I direct the reader to Ellis's (1993) American Political Cultures and Thompson, Ellis,
and Wildavsky's (1990) Cultural Theory.
4. In Key Strategies, I also use sports illustrations to explain the variant social
classification inherent in grid/group analysis.
5. I use the terms "prevaiting mindset" and "social game" interchangeably. Both
refer to Douglas's important notion of "cultural bias," which concerns interpreting
and judging phenomena in terms particular to one's own culture. People of a culture
tend to make assumptions about conventions, including conventions of language,
dress, customs, and other cultural symbols. Often they can mistake these notions for
universal norms or laws of nature. Social games are much more than games or parts
in a play. They reflect a particular bias that we have about the right way to live our
collective life. S. G. Lingenfelter (1992) offers an expanded explanation of the term
social games, which is, in part, below:
Each of the social games has far reaching implications for our life and world-
view.... The structure of a social game leads participants to adopt a related set
of assumptions and values that are elaborated in their worldview.... Each
social game has a peculiar cultural bias, and only one bias can be right. (p. 35)
6. I offer a detailed discussion of the evolution of Douglas's theory in Toward

a Grid and Group Interpretation of School Culture (Harris, 1995). For further read-
ing on the subject, I direct the reader to Thompson, Ellis, and Wildavsky (1990),
Gross and Rayner (1985), Lingenfelter (1992), and Spikard (1989).
7. I detail and evaluate these three approaches in both publications cited
(Harris, 1995,2005). Culture can be explained from a variety of vantage points. The
reader may obtain further insight from the following works: Marshall Sashkin and
Herbert Walberg's, (1993) Educational Leadership and School Culture; Tomoko
Hamada and Willis Sibley's (1993) Anthropological Perspectives on Organizational
Culture; Lee Bolman and Terrence Deal's (2003) Reframing Organizations: Artistry,
Choice, and Leadership; and Sonja Sackmann's (1991) Cultural Knowledge in
Organizations: Exploring the Collective Mind. Sackmann explains cultural perspec-
tives in terms of (1) holistic, (2) variable, and (3) cognitive. She also reminds the
reader that "the boundaries between these three perspectives are not completely
clear-cut. Overlaps exist ... " (p. 18), and application depends heavily on purpose
and context.
References
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J
Wolcott, H. F. (1995). The art of fieldwork. London: AltaMira.

9
Adapting Bourdieu's Field Theory
to Explain Decision-Making
Processes in Educational Policy
Carol A. Mutch
Introduction
This chapter outlines the way a particular theoretical framework-that of
field theory-has come to permeate my research and thinking to the point
where I constantly visualize settings, from everyday encounters to complex
power plays, in terms of field, capital, and habitus. This chapter will outline
how I have adapted and used Pierre Bourdieu's framework and I will discuss
several pieces of research in which I have used the social field model, to illus-
trate the usefulness of this theory to my areas of interest and research. I will
conclude with an analysis of the model's strengths and limitations and
indicate aspects of the theory still to be explored.
An Overview of the Study: Social

Studies in the New Zealand Curriculum
The main study I will describe (Mutch, 2004a) focuses on the writing of
the highly controversial 1997 social studies document, Social Studies in the
New Zealand Curriculum. In this study, I was able to supplement historical

research and document analysis with a series of semi-structured interviews
with curriculum writers, ministerially appointed advisers, reference groups,
and social studies educators all involved in the development process. My aim
was to document the path that this document took before it reached comple-
tion. This particular curriculum development was highly convoluted and coo- )
tested. The document was fully rewritten three times before all parties were J
satisfied. I saw this development of interest not only to the New Zealand edu- :4-
cational community but also to scholars interested in wider issues of curri- ~'
culum development. The social field model allowed me to express the themes :,
of my study--eontext, complexity, and contestation-in a vivid manner. ~.
I reconfigured the idea of a social field as a model of "curriculum construc-<
tion as a social field" and developed a diagrammatic representation in which
the players were portrayed along a "line of tension," vying for control over
the object of the process-in this case, determining the contents of the social
studies curriculum.
Briefly (as it is explained in more detail in the next section), a "social field"
needs to have clearly delineated boundaries. Each setting of the field in this
study has a temporal boundary, a particular purpose to be achieved in that
time frame, and a recognizable set of players. Players use "capital" to gain
access to and to position themselves on the field. 1 "Habitus" determines the
rules by which the game is played and the way players communicate and
interact. The time frame for the first setting-the writing of the first version
of Social Studies in the New Zealand Curriculum (Ministry of Education,
1994)-was from late 1993 until late 1995. The purpose was to prepare a
new social studies curriculum for the compulsory schooling sector in New
Zealand and the players included those who set, monitored, completed, and
evaluated the task. The second setting of this field occurred in 1996 (Ministry
of Education, 1996). The task this time was to revise the newly published cur-
riculum and the players had similar roles but the field included new individ-
uals holding those roles. The final setting was 1997 (Ministry of Education,
1997)-the task to prepare a version of the social studies curriculum that '~
would meet favor from both sides of the hotly contested debate. Again, there 'l
were similar roles but changed membership. The external forces at work weret
historical, political, economic, and social. The notion of curriculum presage '.'.,I,.lj
(Print, 1993) highlights the personal, professional, and wider social and polit- "..
ical influences thar shape rhe thoughts and actions of curriculum developers. I]
For example, the writers of the first version were influenced by a range of his- ' ' ;
torical forcefs-NewlZealdand'ls liberal prodgrehssiv1e educatfi~nafl] hist.or , dPrior .,•',.:•. :.•!t. ~.

y
processes ° curricu urn eve opment, an t e egacy 0 In uentla1 e uca- l
:;.i;,.::.
tionalists. In more recent history (since 1984, in particular), there has been a
Adapting Bourdieu)s Field Theory 157
strong economically driven political influence over curriculum decision

making. In the New Zealand context, the treasury produced lengthy briefing
papers for governments in the 1980s, giving their suggestions for improving
educational outcomes and efficiencies. Socially and culturally, the writers-
especially of the first (Ministry of Education, 1994) and final (Ministry of
Education, 1997) versions-were influenced by their responsibilities under
the Treaty of Waitangi (the recognition of Maori, the indigenous people,
as equal partners), their awareness of the growing multicultural popula-
tion, the importance of gender issues in education, and their commitment
to the need for equal educational opportunities and outcomes for all sectors
of society.
On the field, the major groups vied for control over curriculum content.
The Ministry of Education, reporting to the politically appointed minister of
education, was one powerful group. Educational institutions and organiza-
tions of varying kinds were also influential groups-hut often with widely
divergent factions. Smaller players included the various social and political
lobby groups, the strongest at this time being the Business Roundtable. The
major line of tension was political-between the supporters of new right eco-
nomic policies and those opposing this ideology, described in this study as the
liberal left.
Version 1: Social Studies in the

New Zealand Curriculum (Draft)
In 1993, the Ministry of Education called together a Policy Advisory
Group to set the parameters for the development of Social Studies in the
New Zealand Curriculum (Ministry of Education, 1994). Two conveners
were then appointed to set up a writing team.
At this point, the notions of field, capital, and habitus allow important
aspects to be elaborated upon. Who was granted entry to the field and why?
Which ideological positions were favored and why? Who was excluded and
why? What particular capital did members bring and how was this valued?
Once the field was set, how was consensus achieved and what factors kept
dissension at bay? What forces from outside this micro-field influenced what
happened within?
Figure 9.1 shows, by placement of the main players, that the main line of
tension was between the Ministry of Education and the writers. The ministry
wished to prepare a curriculum that would meet the needs of all sectors
of society but, in particular, would be in line with the pervasive ideology
that focused on improving New Zealand's economic competitiveness. The
writing team, on the other hand, represented the other end of the ideological
Context: New Zealand educational setting, circa 1994
"Historical
Government influences, e.g.,
, prior curricula
/-----------
Field: Development of the first version of SSiNZC (1994)
line of tension: Political ideologies

...
Political right Political left
Teachers
Business
and their
Roundtable
organizatiQf"}~,
.: ~~:::: ::~" .
CUltural ~:. ..
and other
\Ioi:>by groups
'['I
Figure 9.1 Setting of the field for the writing of the first version of Social
Studies in the New Zealand Curriculum (SSiNZC, 1994).
continuum, coming from liberal-progressive, feminist, critical, postcolonial,

and postmodern theoretical perspectives.
Personnel within the ministry began as the most powerful group. They
selected the Policy Advisory Group and the successful proposal team. Control
over the framing of communication resided with the ministry. Every working
draft was reviewed by the ministry's Contract Review Committee and the
Policy Advisory Group. Members of the first version writing team proved to
be equally powerful, however, in promoting the version of social studies clos-
est to their views of current New Zealand society and best practice in social
studies pedagogy. The writing team conveners took great care to select a writ-
ing team that was culturally inclusive, gender inclusive, and representative of
location, discipline, and sector. Entry to the field was granted, therefore, to
Adapting Bourdieu's Field Theory 159
people who met these inclusive criteria. Capital included attributes such as
actual classroom experience, expertise in a relevant area, research in related
fields, the ability to work on a team, and particular value was placed on
knowledge of Maori culture and protocol.

New Zealand Curriculum (Revised Draft)
After extensive trials in schools, public submissions, and media debate, this
second version of Social Studies in the New Zealand Curriculum (Ministry of
Education, 1996) was withdrawn. There were strong critiques from conserv-
ative and business groups. In terms of framing the communication, the min-
istry regained control, directing all feedback on the document to be forwarded
to them to be analyzed by their appointee. In response to the feedback, the
ministry appointed a single writer to amend the first draft. Again field theory
helps describe how the field came to be set differently, how the power balance
had altered, why the consultative, collaborative model was discarded, and
the capital that was most highly valued in the new setting. In this setting of
the field (see Figure 9.2), we can see that the ministry is still powerful but the
new writer has entered the field. The original writers have, however, been
marginalized, and the Policy Advisory Group (PAG) has minimal influence.
The newly commissioned writer was, at that time, an educational consul-
tant who brought capital such as her considerable experience in curriculum
development, and was seen by the ministry as being able to provide an objec-
tive stance in relation to the revision process. As a newcomer to the setting of
the field, she was not bound by the habitus of the previous writing team and
could, therefore, set up her own procedures and consultation process. The
Business Roundtable also entered the field of play. Their education watchdog
group, the Education Forum, ran a highly visible campaign to discredit the
first version of the curriculum. As stated earlier, the first version (Ministry of
Education, 1994) writing team and the Policy Advisory Group were sidelined.
The publication of the second version released a backlash of criticism,
most notable of which was a well-known social studies educator taking a case
to the Race Relations Conciliator on the grounds that the second version was
racist in its portrayal of Maori history and culture.

New Zealand Curriculum (Final)
As outlined earlier, the second version of Social Studies in the New Zealand
Curriculum (Ministry of Education, 1996) was not to be the last. This time

..::~::,.
Academic·· .;,;
institutions and!~
: fH~
"'... disciplines\!:'
~
Field: Development of the second version of SSiNZC (1996)
,- ... , ' '. ~~::';

j
I First
"'~X:
Second r version
version
\
, writers ,-
I
...
writer -- - -
I ,
\ PAG I
...
-- - ./
Line of tension: Political ideologies
Critical Cultural and

submissions lobby groups
Figure 9.2 Setting of the field for the writing of the second version of Social
Studies in the New Zealand Curriculum (SSiNZC, 1996).
Note: PAG =: Policy Advisory Group.
there was more dissatisfaction from the liberal left (especially teachers; teacher
unions; subject associations, such as the Federation of Social Studies Asso-
ciations; and more liberal-minded academics). Members of the Business
Roundtable, however, were still not content-they wanted social studies
removed from the curriculum altogether. The Ministry of Education con-
vened a third writing team. The version this team compiled was to become
the final one (Ministry of Education, 1997). How does field theory help us
li
interpret this new setting of the field? What capital was valued this time?
What was the habitus of the new group? Who was included and who was
excluded and why? Figure 9.3 shows the changes in field placement.
i" AcademiC:
:
i
disciplines'"
.......... ----.-/
institutions and . . ".
Field: Development of the final version of SSiNZC (1997)
Ministry of
Education
Line of tension: Political ideologies
Cultural
and lobby
groups
Figure 9.3 Setting of the field for the writing of the final version of Social
Studies in the New Zealand Curriculum (SSiNZC; 1997).
The capital that the next writing team brought was that most had been
involved in the first version (Ministry of Education, 1994) or later consulta-
tion, that is, they were knowledgeable about social studies and they under-
stood the nature of the task. They also provided broader representation in the
way that had been so highly valued in the composition of the first writing
team. The habitus of the new team came, therefore, to mirror that of the first
version writing team.
The internal and external influences have changed in this setting of
the field. Teachers' voices are stronger and the Business Roundtable has been
removed, but the ministry's publications branch, Learning Media, which
attempted to exercise editorial control over both the content and format, has
appeared. In the end, however, the writers claimed victory over the framing
of communication and control over the object of the task-determining the
content and format of the social studies curriculum.
The Theoretical Framework:

Bourdieu's Social Field Theory
The model of a social field, as I have used and adapted it over the years, is syn- .
thesized from a selection of theoretical literature. The notions of a social field, ~
capital, and habitus are taken from Bourdieu (1990, 1993, 1999; Bourdieu & t
Passeron, 1977). The notion of framing is taken from Bernstein (1971,2000).
I have also, at times, used the notions of "insiders" and "outsiders" from Lave
and Wenger (1991) and discourse (for example, from Foucault, 1981). The
idea of using Bourdieu's notions of field, capital, and habitus in relation
to educational policy is taken from Ladwig (1994), but I have extended
this notion of the social field and adapted and refined Bourdieu's notions, in
particular, to explicitly delineate positions and actions within this field.
A "social field" is similar to a field of play. Bourdieu (cited in Earle, 1999,
p. 185), in fact, describes habitus as "what in sport one calls a feel for the
game" and in Bouveresse (1999) as "Ie sens du jeu," so this analogy is not
inappropriate. Bourdieu (1993), describing it as game and the participants as
players, writes,
The new players have to pay an entry fee which consists in recognition of
the value of the game (selection and co-option always pay great attention to
the indices of commitment to the game, investment in it) and in (practical)
knowledge of the principles of the functioning of the game. (p. 74)
The field is a common ground on which the action occurs and this ground
has boundaries where entry is blocked by existing holders of power. Within
the field, players have positions that have both roles to be enacted and status
carried with them. These positions, however, can be challenged at any time.
There is a network of negotiated actions and relations between positions, and
the players (be they individuals or institutions) vie for possession of, or influ-
ence over, the object at stake (for example, control of educational policy mak-
ing or curriculum content). How the players are invited to participate, or
allowed access, uses the notion of "capital." This capital is specific to the field
and could be social, political, economic, cultural, or symbolic. Who has what
capital, and in what amounts, sets up the hierarchically distributed power
structure. As Bourdieu (1993) explains,
The structure of the field is a state of the power relations among the agents
or institutions engaged in the struggle, or, to put it another way, a state of the
distribution of the specific capital which has been accumulated in the course of
previous struggles and which orients subsequent strategies. (p. 73)
Habitus is a set of dispositions that are commonly held by members of a

social group and these subjectively created attitudes, beliefs, and practices
bind the members together so that they can identify and communicate with
each other. It also allows them to recognize, and be recognized by, outsiders.
As Bourdieu (1990) explains, "habitus is an infinite capacity for generat-
ing products-thoughts, perceptions, expressions, and actions-whose limits
are set by the historically and socially situated conditions of its production"
(p. 443). Similarities can be seen between Bourdieu's concepts of field, capi-
tal, and habitus and those of Bernstein (1971, 2000), who refers to the peda-
gogical relationship in similar terms. He talks of the places in which action
takes place as sites that are identifiable by their distinct boundaries and
practices. He also talks of the frame of the relationship. This determines the
selection, organization, timing, pacing, and direction of the transmission of
information. "Framing is about who controls what. ... Framing is concerned
with how meanings are to he put together, the forms by which they are to be
made public, and the nature of the social relationships that go with it"
(Bernstein, 2000, p. 12; emphases in the original). The elements of my
adaptation of the model of a social field (see Figure 9.4) are as follows:
• The social field model is used to portray the complex, contextual, and contested
interactions at a particular time or during a particular process-for example, in
the realms of educational policy or curriculum construction.
• A social field can operate at a macro-level (for example, in national and inter-
national contexts) or at a micro-level (within a particular group or setting) and
there will be overt and covert links to wider social contexts and related fields.
• The field sits within a context. The context needs to be adequately described.
What are the historical, social, cultural, political, or economic factors that have
led to this setting of the field?
• The field also needs to be clearly described. What are its boundaries? Who
is allowed access? Who determines who has access? What is the capital that
the players bring? How does this allow them entry to or position them on the
field?
• The reason for the field's creation needs to be explained. What is the purpose
that brings this setting of the field into being? What is expressed as being "at
stake" both explicitly and implicitly?
• How the field operates also needs explanation. What is its "habitus"? How are
rules made? How are decisions made? How are conflicts handled?
• The positioning of the players on the field needs to be described. How do
they position themselves in relation to one another? Where are the alliances?
Who are the players (or factions) in the stronger or weaker positions? How
might these positions change? How might these positions be displayed along a
continuum or line of tension?
Or.
.€:'. .•
Context: For example, the social, political, historical, or educational setting
ExtElr~.·
•...•.•..•.•.',
:.. mfluencesJ
----- "
Field: For example, policy or curriculum development
· '· · · · ·
0:'".0:.". _.
A large,
Minor player o
o An alliance of
smaller players
cohesive team
of players Minor player
00 0
line of tension: Political ideologies
• Political right Political left
•
External External
influences influences
Figure 9.4 A generic diagram of a social field.

.. i:
My Introduction to the Theoretical Framework :t
Bourdieu's field theory comes from the discipline of sociology and

Bourdieu, himself, was chair of sociology at the College de France, although
he is often considered to have been a philosopher (see, for example,
Shusterman, 1999). I took sociology in my undergraduate degree in the
early 19705 and became familiar with the work of Durkheim and Weber
and terms such as culture, society, and role. Later as a teacher in schools,
I eagerly embraced the 1977 New Zealand social studies curriculum, which
was strongly influenced by the "new social studies" movement in the United
States (especially Man: A Course of Study, Bruner, 1966, and the work of
Taba, Durkin, Fraenkel, and McNaughton, 1971). In the United Kingdom
the work of Lawton, Campbell, and Burkett (1971) was influential. I taught
the themes of cultural difference, interaction, social control, and social change.
In the 1980s, my career path turned from being a teacher to being a teacher
educator.
As I upgraded my qualifications, I was introduced to critical theory, with

its emphasis on who gains and holds the power in social and political inter-
actions and how this is used to advantage some groups and disadvantage
others. As I was teaching social studies education, it seemed logical that
I should review these theoretical concepts and their relevance to the devel-
opment of the social studies curriculum. I first met Bourdieu's theory in
1996 when conducting historical research into the early development of the
New Zealand curriculum, and social studies, in particular (see Mutch, 1998).
I was looking for a theoretical explanation for the tensions within society that
seemed to pull education in conflicting directions. A colleague gave me a copy
of an article by James Ladwig (1994), an Australian educational researcher,
in which he proposed a model of "educational policy as a social field" based
on Bourdieu's notion of a social or cultural field. Ladwig claimed that the
educational reforms of the 19805 revealed the maturation of educational
policy as a social field with its own autonomy and rewards. I read and pon-
dered how this might relate to my study. I went on to read some of Bourdieu's
work in more detail (for example, Bourdieu, 1993; Bourdieu & Passeron,
1977) and then experimented with these ideas by representing the "field" two
dimensionally and the groups on it diagrammatically. In my initial study, field
theory allowed me to show how groups placed themselves on the field in rela-
tion to each other and how this changed over time. I could then theorize
around the changing fortunes of the various groups and the factors that influ-
enced these changes.
The first study I undertook using this model as an analytic framework
(Mutch, 1998) examined educational decision making in the early days of
New Zealand's formal education system (1814-1877). As this was my first
attempt at using a visual portrayal of the model, I had not yet developed it as
thoroughly as in the explanation earlier in this chapter, but the two settings
of the social field in this study showed clearly how the power and influence
of particular groups changed over time, and, in this particular case, how
the number of players and complexity of their interactions also increased
over tIme.
My next piece of historical research (Mutch, 2000) looked at particular
developments in social studies and used the development of the 1977 social
studies syllabus as a case study of how individuals within a curriculum writ-
ing team similarly positioned themselves and sought to keep their own agen-
das to the fore. This study (Mutch, 2000) drew mainly upon a report by Jim
Lewis (1980) and focused on a social field at a micro-level. Lewis was a key
participant in the writing of the 1977 social studies syllabus (Department of
Education, 1977). His knowledge of the participants, their roles, their influ-
ence (and factors that had influenced them), and of the lines of communica-
tion and interaction provided an illuminating insight into the inner workings
of the group. Exploring the social field at a micro-level highlighted thel

hierarchical distribution of people within a narrower context. It also showed i~'I
more dearly the outside influences, an idea I was to explore more fully in later ,~
research. /
Effects of the Framework

on the Research I Undertake
My most recent research (Mutch, 2004b) has moved away from social
studies education back to educational policy making in a more general sense;
but in contemporary settings. As part of a wider international comparative ~
study of educational policymakers and their conceptions of education for the·
future, I interviewed elite policymakers in New Zealand. In this case, I did not
attempt to find alternative models, as I knew the social field model would
be adaptable for my purposes, and, indeed, the project was conceived and
the interview questions framed with such an analysis in mind. The interview;
questions referred to such concepts as power, influence, and control. In this
case, when conducting the analysis, I returned to the earlier "educational pol-
icy as a social field" form and portrayed the findings without a line of
tension. Outlining the study here shows how the concepts of social field, cap-
ital, and habitus were to the fore all the way through the project. The context
for this study is temporally located in New Zealand in 2003, the year the
interviews were conducted. Influences from outside include the effects of the
prior decades of educational reforms and the influence that these reforms are
still having nationally and worldwide.
In this research, the government of the day was politically center-left. In
the field diagram (see Figure 9.5), the government is shown alongside the
Ministry of Education (its bureaucratic machine) as the key policymakers,
with the secretary for education as the intersection between the two organi-
zations. The other stakeholders in the process-the community and the
education sector-are shown as broken lines to represent the fact that they
are loose amalgamations of various groups whose members are sometimes at
odds with each other. Research providers are shown as an emerging group
that policymakers saw as becoming a more integral part of the process.
In terms of the capital that granted access to the field at the time, the gov-
ernment had access, and pole position, due to the public mandate that it had
through democratic elections. The personnel at the ministry were granted
access to the field as they were employed as public servants to carry out the
government's wishes, but at the same time they were able to exert some influ-
ence of their own. The community was entitled to a say because it elected the
government. The education sector's relationship to policy making was by
Context New Zealand, circa 2003
Historical influences,
. e.g., Westminster style
.of government; Treaty of
Waitangi
Field: Educational policy _~~~~I~~_~~~~ : The ;e~r~t~rY :

I for education I
- - - - - - - - ~
The
The
government
bureaucracy:
of the day and
Ministry of
its mInister of ,
education
Education '~ ...
I
- '
I
~.:f - '"
,,'" Research
...
...... '" providers
I " .. '
Education ~
I
r+----.~I t
\ sector I
" " " "
The sociocultural Economic

context influences
Figure 9.5 Educational policy in New Zealand as a social field.
virtue of the expectation that it would be the day-to-day implementers of the

policy. The research organizations gained access because of their emerging
relationship to educational policy. Within the community sector, particular
individuals or groups had a place because of their relationship to other stake-
holders, because of their lobbying ability, or because of the government's
wish for representative consultation and involvement.
Habitus, which ensures that players are able to remain on the field and
adequately communicate with other participants, is related in this setting to
knowing what, knowing who, and knowing how. First, knowing what
includes knowing the legislation, knowing the channels for participating in
policy making, and understanding the process and its variations and vagaries.
Second, knowing who means getting beneath the surface and knowing who
the "movers and shakers" are and who to talk to to make your voice count.
Third, is knowing how: how to approach the right people; how to use the
submissions process to your advantage; and how to keep abreast of current

initiatives and emerging issues.
The final aspect is the framing of communications. The arrows on the
diagram represent the flow of communication. Although shown here as a
reciprocal flow, depending on the times, the circumstances, and the issues,
this can vary. Sometimes, the communication can cease altogether and some-
times alliances can form that effectively undermine or silence other voices. '
At other times, less prominent voices can make themselves heard.
This study (Mutch, 2004b) shows how the social field framework can
underpin research from beginning to end. The aim of this aspect in the larger
project was to ask quite explicitly for the elite policymakers to outline the
process as they saw it, to indicate who played a part in these decisions, and
where they felt the balance of power lay. The questions were framed with the
outcome of displaying the findings on a social field diagram. How it might
look and what adaptations might be necessary were not yet determined, but
the selection of the topic, the questions to be asked, and the analytic frame-
work to be employed all arose out of my interest in the social field model.
Incorporating Other Theoretical Frameworks
Being a qualitative researcher in the main, I do not always start out with a ,
theoretical framework-a theoretical position, yes, best described as tending
toward social constructionism, that is, the belief that our versions of the world
are socially, culturally, and historically constructed and situated (Burr, 1995).
Once I have gathered my data, extracted my themes, and begun the analysis,
I usually ask that typically qualitative question, "What does this remind me
of?" I have not always used social field theory in answer to this question.
In the study of the 1997 social studies curriculum described earlier (Mutch,
2004a), I explored a range of other theoretical models-Walker's (1972, cited
in Print, 1993) naturalistic curriculum development model, Marsh's (1997)
stakeholder classification, and McGee's (1997) dynamic curriculum develop-
ment model. These all illuminated parts of the process, but none allowed me
to explore and express the positioning and repositioning of the key players
and the influences on them and their decisions in the way the Bourdieu model
did, especially given the nature of the research topic. When I wanted to
explain the curriculum development process, and why the Bourdieu model
faltered in this particular case, I looked at a model that more clearly outlined
the steps in the process and hence chose the McGee (1997) model with its
situational analysis stage to make my point clearer. When I wanted to show
"curriculum presage" (what curriculum developers bring to the process in
terms of their beliefs, understandings, and aims), this was where the Walker
(1972, cited in Print, 1993) model proved useful as it outlined the stages of
platform, deliberation, and design. When I wanted to specify who the players
were that made up the groups, factions, and alliances, I used the Marsh
(1997) stakeholder classification as a way of detailing players and their roles.
In the end, however, the social field model was the only one that allowed me
to adequately describe, analyze, and visually portray the development of
Social Studies in the New Zealand Curriculum as a highly contested process
with constant changes in personnel.
Displaying settings of the field diagrammatically helped to identify changes
in the locus of power over time, and to trace the changing fortunes of groups
inside and outside the field. A model such as this supports the view of Ozga
(2000), who takes "a different more diffuse view of policy as a process rather
than a product, involving negotiation, contestation, or struggle between
different groups who may lie outside the formal machinery of official policy-
making" (p. 2). The social field model highlighted the official forces
(for example, the Ministry of Education) and the unofficial forces (i.e., the
Business Roundtable) that were to impact the process. This model best
portrayed the fluidity of individuals and/or groups competing for positions
of strength or influence in the decision-making process. In this study, the
players were described as using strategies of compromise, contingency,
and expediency. The model also allowed me to discuss other themes arising
out of the study-those of polarization, factionalization, collaboration, and
marginalization.
This model does not always resonate with my research findings and other
theories or models may need to be used in its place; but where the research
findings show interactions, power plays, tensions, or contested decision mak-
ing, I find it difficult to go past the concept of a social field. In fact, I now sit
in meetings or follow events in the news, viewing them in my head as indi-
viduals or groups placing themselves on a particular field. I then watch their
strategies to advance their causes, defend their current positions, set up
alliances, or discredit other players. I have even tried to explain the notion of
a social field to my son who was watching one of those reality television
shows where people are left to survive by their wits in some exotic location!
Strengths and Limitations of

Bourdieu's Social Field Model
The studies outlined in this chapter (Mutch, 1998, 2000, 2004a, 2004b)
show the usefulness and flexibility of the field model for the kinds of research
I undertake. One strength of this model, therefore, is that it is not prescrip-
tive; it is descriptive. Rather than telling how things should be done (as in my
area where many traditional curriculum development models do), it allows '/ '~.
multiple processes and complex interplays to be described. This means that

'.. ~
it can be adapted to a range of contexts to explain what is happening inter-

nally and externally. The three key elements are very important. The concept
of field allows the researcher to detail the context in which the action is tak-
ing place and to put boundaries around the place of action. The concept of
capital explains who gets to play, why, and how. The concept of habitus can
be used to describe and analyze the strategies of the players in each particu-
lar context.
The model can show a snapshot in time or it can show changes over time.
The diagrammatic expression of the model makes the theoretical framework
visually clearer and argumentatively stronger. The model can be expanded
to include complementary notions such as framing (Bernstein, 1971, 2000) or
insiders/outsiders (Lave & Wenger, 1991). The placement on the field can indi-
cate positions and relationships (i.e., ideological stances). The size of the rep-
resentations can indicate the size (quantitatively) or the strength (qualitatively)
of the group on the field. The use of the line of tension allows settings where
powerful ideological forces are pitted against each other to be portrayed.
Limitations of the model are that it can appear a little dense and complex
at the outset and needs careful explanation-but this is where the diagram-
matic version comes into its own. The diagrammatic representation, which
I generally find to be a strength, can also be seen as a limitation. It could be
seen as too reductionist in that it takes away the "authentic voices" and "rich . ~ri
description" so highly prized by qualitative researchers. It could reduce a ,:

whole interview transcript, for example, to a small dot on a diagram. A par- ,
ticipant's passionate and emotionally charged story could end up being por-
trayed as a geometric shape, the complex interactions displayed as an arrow.
In order to overcome this concern, it is necessary to support the theorizing
with authentic data (excerpts from transcripts, field notes, or documents). It
is also important that a reader is convinced that the theorizing is credible, that
the researcher has not just selected data that fits the model. The contradic-
tions and anomalies must also be discussed and portrayed. The diagrammatic
representation could be considered too static. Shusterman's words (1999, dis-
cussing Dyke's assessment of Bourdieu, 1999) could be used to critique my
interpretation:
Bourdieu's theory of the dynamics of habitus (not a rigidly fixed or mechanical

habit) and of field (not a stationary space but a dynamic field constituted
by struggles over changing positions) demonstrates that social structures must
be understood not as static, typological and hard-edged but rather as dynamic
formations of organized diachronic complexity, poised between stability and
change. (p. 8)
Another limitation of the social field model is that it could be seen as too
functionalist. Participants are reduced to their roles-their unique individual-
ities and personalities become anonymous. Their words are portrayed as
coming from a position rather than from a living, breathing human being.
The social field model, especially my variation with the line of tension, can
be seen as too polarizing, pitting ideologies against each other. Reducing indi-
viduals or groups to positions and then portraying them statically on a dia-
gram sets their stances in concrete, so to speak. The vacillations, waverings,
and overlaps as people reconsider and adapt their views and positions cannot
be easily shown.
It is also difficult to show the complexities within a group or individual
(without going into micro-micra-levels). As participants can only be shown
once for each setting, their position is determined, placed, and labeled. In real
life, people are much more complex and multifaceted than they appear on
these field diagrams. Critics of Bourdieu, in fact, raise several of these con-
cerns about Bourdieu's theory as he applies it in his own writing. Margolis
(1999) critiques Bourdieu's use of the dualisms and binarisms he sought
to challenge. Bohman (1999) finds his explanations "functionalist" and his
theory unable to explain "theoretical reflection, cultural conflict, and social
change" (pp. 220-228), whereas Butler (1999) claims that Bourdieu privi-
leges the social field in a way that fails to recognize opportunities for social
transformation.
Despite these limitations-which must be acknowledged but can be less-
ened with awareness, careful consideration, and explanation-social field
theory has much to offer in terms of portraying complex positioning and
interaction. There are also boundless ways this model could be developed.
I find the static nature of the presentation limiting and would love to explore
computer-generated, three-dimensional moving images. Although technol-
ogy can do this, the academic world is not yet set up to receive and embrace
such nontextual representations as the norm. Within the limitations of two-
dimensional portrayal, there are still possible nuances to explore, for exam-
ple, displaying influential forces on an axis or matrix rather than by a single
line. As Ire-read Bourdieu, I am struck that there are other concepts that
could be included in my model, for example, "cultural production" or "field
of reception." For the time being, there is plenty to keep me interested in, and
challenged by, the social field model.
Conclusion
In this chapter, I have demonstrated the usefulness of a theoretical model
for moving research findings out of the case-bound specifics into broader
understandings of human interactions. It is also helpful if the selected model

is flexible enough to suit a range of contexts and adaptable enough to include
complementary notions from other theorists. In my case, the theory I have
chosen to discuss, social field theory (drawing mainly on Bourdieu), has come
to influence how I visualize everyday interactions, as well as determining
relevant research topics and influencing their design. The three important
concepts of field, capital, and habitus have helped me to detail the place '~
of action, the players, and their strategies in contested decision-making;
processes. In this chapter, I have also promoted the usefulness of visual'
portrayals of complex theories. Although this, and any theory for that
matter, has limitations, and in this case the visual portrayal could be seen to
exacerbate these, they can be overcome or minimized by the supporting
discussion and with sound evidence from the data. For this model, I have sug-
gested the limitations as over-reduction of data; a static representation; a
seemingly functionalist approach; the polarization of the forces being dis-
played; and the inability to show the complexities within players or groups as
well as between them.
Finally, I think too often we are frightened of theories (and theorists,
especially ones as esteemed as Bourdieu); but I would like to argue that if we
use their theories or models with sensitivity, adapting them to suit our pur-
poses while keeping their integrity intact, they are wonderfully illuminating
tools. Bourdieu, himself (1992, cited in Webb, Schirato, & Danaher, 2002),
has argued about his theories that
These tools are only visible through the results they yield.... The ground for 'j'
these tools ... lies in research, in the practical problems and puzzles encoun- ::,1,
tered and generated in the effort to construct a phenomenally diverse set of

objects in such a way that they can be treated, thought of) comparatively. (p. 47)
My use of Bourdieu's field theory has certainly been employed within ~'
such a spirit of inquiry. Theories are always evolving, and should be tested,;. :i!.
adapted, updated, and challenged. This is our contribution as qualitative

researchers to understanding and explaining our world in multiple and diverse
ways.
Note
1. Although Bourdieu and others speak of being "in" a field, I found that once "
J had visualized it diagrammatically and compared it to a field of play, in the sense (
of a game or sport, "on" seemed more appropriate. ;
References
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10
On Politics and Theory:
Using an Explicitly
Activist Theory to Frame
Educational Research
Catherine A. Lugg
Remember, when you wake up in bed with a person of the same

sex you are now in politics. (Rivera 1999b, p. 1198)
j j
S ometimes, publishing opportunities for your research can literally fall

into your lap. And, if you are very lucky, you can be given the profes-
sional opportunity of a lifetime. In November of 2001, I was asked to develop
a manuscript that examined the issues of gender, sex, sexuality, and the
politics of U.S. education to be included in a special issue of Educational
Administration Quarterly. At the time, I had been reading for well over
10 years in the areas of law, social history, the politics of education, and how
these relate to the lives of queer Americans. History, sociology, psychology,
EDITORS' NOTE: Quotations from Valdes, F. (1995) are reprinted from California
Law Review, 83( 1) by permission of the University of California, Berkeley.
Copyright © 1995 by the California Law Review. t"·· -.-. . . . .
law, and social work all have wonderfully rich research literatures. Little
could be found, however, in the educational administration and educational 1
policy literatures on lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered, transsexual, and/or .;
intersexual people (i.e., queer people); their issues; and how these can
influence the politics of education. More specifically, these two professional
areas were remarkable-if not notorious-for their near absolute silence on
queer issues. For example, the first queer-positive law review article appeared
as early as 1979. By contrast, in educational administration, the first queer-
themed and broadly available article appeared in 1999. It was written by
Colleen Capper and published in Educational Researcher, which is not
dedicated to educational administration per se.
My article (Lugg, 2003b), "Sissies, Faggots, Lezzies and Dykes," was part
of a special issue of Educational Administration Quarterly devoted to look-
ing at new paradigms in the politics of education research. Traditionally, the
politics of education literature has been dominated by theories imported from
political science. Furthermore, although gender had been addressed, the
politics of education literature had long ignored educational politics and pol-
icy as they related to sexuality. My charge was to incorporate issues of sex" '::~
sexuality, and gender, and draw possible implications for educational politics~)~
1
and policy in the United States. ;,
I also had my own agenda, which included demonstrating how anti-queer'
prejudice was part of the woof and weave of public schooling, and, in partic-
ular, how devastating this prejudice can be for queer and non-queer children ;(
and adults. After presenting the overwhelming evidence on this specific point,
I then offered some realistic-to-idealistic options for better school policies
and practices. Such an activist policy agenda is, again, atypical for most social ;'
science research. As Rhonda Rivera's pungent quote presented at the begin- .
ning of this chapter underscores, however, I had a duty to take an activist
stance. Whether I liked it or not, my status as an OUT Queer American aca-
demic working in a professional field that has been defined by homophobia
(Blount, 1998, 2005; Lugg, 2003a) means that whatever research I do, it will
be seen as inherently political. Consequently, I long ago decided I had best
define the work I did before someone else did it for me.
Unlike other chapters in the present book, which are based on more
typical qualitative research, my chapter represents a historical approach to
educational research. To put a bit of a crass gloss on this, unlike most quali-
tative researchers, many historians, including the present author, prefer their
research subjects to be quite dead.! Consequently, a historian is forced to
look for artifacts or primary sources such as diaries; personal and profes- ~
sional correspondence; newspaper accounts; government documents, inc1ud-;,\.. •.
ing memos, minutes of meetings, arrest reports and criminal complaints, . ~.
health and safety data, public health records, and court decisions; church,
On Politics and Theory 177
synagogue, and mosque records; as well as unedited sound and video record-
ings. Historians also rely on secondary sources, which include scholarly
accounts such as biographies; political, social, and/or legal histories; film
and audio documentaries; but also autobiographies and memoirs. "Doing"
historical research involves sifting and sorting through these literatures
using both primary and secondary sources, shifting back and forth between
the two large sets of materials. Historians ultimately weave these disparate
sources together to build a coherent story. Thus, my study, on which this
chapter is based, is somewhat analogous to a review of the literature-if
an inordinately large literature review. Nevertheless, the present chapter
demonstrates clearly how theory might affect and be used in the conduct of
historical research.
Overview of the Framework

Queer. Sissy. Dyke. Tomboy. What do these vulgar terms have in common?
Why do they sting? And, perhaps more curiously, why do they carry a
common sting?
Our childhood memories confirm that these epithets, and the stereotypes
that they invoke, travel through American society as synonyms. For many, these
words resonate in memories harkening back to days in the school yard. They
conjure remembered peers, or perhaps youthful selves, who were chosen to
sustain and survive the common ridicule of their perceived transgressions
against a sex-ordered world. Clearly, the synonymity of these terms, and others
like them, informed the social order into which we were inducted as children
(Valdes, 1995, pp. 5-6).
For this article (Lugg, 2003b), I had to "frame" the wide-ranging material
in a manner that would be understandable to people who might be totally
ignorant of queer issues, history, and politics-much less the incredible
complexities of "queer theory," writ large. Because the article seemed most
directly related to educational policy and political issues, I chose queer legal
theory as the theoretical framework for making the issues understandable.
By design, it is user-friendly-as much as any postmodern theory can be
considered "user friendly."
Queer legal theory, as a theoretical lens or set of lenses, emerged in the
mid-1990s in response to larger political and legal events (Valdes, 1995). It is
part of a larger movement within the U.S. academy of legal scholars who are
concerned with issues of social justice. Unlike many theoretical frames found
in the social sciences, queer legal theory does not expect the researcher to
remain "neutral" on issues of social justice and queer Americans. As such,
queer legal theory embraces an explicitly activist stance, which is consistent

with some contemporary legal theories (Kairys, 1998).
Queer legal theory (QLT) springs from the intersection of several strains
of progressive thought in legal theory, including feminist legal theory,
critical race theory, critical legal studies, and gay and lesbian legal theory
(Valdes, 1995, 1997, 1998). It draws on feminist legal theory's commitment
to disestablishing patriarchy, critical race theory's dedication to unmasking
the deep racist structures within U.S. society and life, critical legal theory's
examination of how class structures are perpetuated and reinforced, and gay
and lesbian legal theory's understanding of how heteronormativity (the
notion that the entire world is non-queer-or that it should be) is reproduced,
while queer identity and individuals are eliminated (Hutchinson, 1997, 1999,
2000, 2001; Valdes, 1995, 1997, 1998).
QLT moves beyond these theories in distinct and important ways. The the-
ory rejects the tendency toward gender essentialism that underpins much of
feminist legal theory (Harris, 1990; Valdes, 1995), the heteronormativity
reflected in early critical race theory's analyses (Hutchinson, 1999,2001), the
over-reliance on class as the sole analytic variable in critical legal theory
(Valdes, 1995), and the inherently racist and classist assumptions reflected in
gay and lesbian legal theory, and gay legal theory in particular (Hutchinson,
1997, 1999, 2000; Valdes, 1995, 1998).
QLT is dedicated to eliminating those U.S. legal and social structures that
privilege and enforce heterosexuality, patriarchy, white supremacy, and class
advantage, with the legal and social liberation of sexual minorities-queers-
as its principal focus (Valdes, 1995). Furthermore, queer legal theory acknow-
ledges many different ways "to be," and it is fiercely anti-essentialist in its
theoretical outlook. Drawing on the burgeoning medical research on sex, sex-
ual identity, and sexuality, and the explosion of research that considers gen-
der as performance, QLT understands that orientation, identity, sex, and
gender are highly variable. U.S. law, however, considers sex as the only
proper jurisdictional category-both fixed and dichotomous (Valdes, 1995,
1998). According to QLT, there is no one way to be female or male, or queer,
or for that matter, African American or white (Hutchinson, 1997, 1999,
2000, 2001; Valdes, 1995, 1997, 1998).
Two concepts of QLT that are critical to understanding its anti-essentialist
stance are intersectionality and multidimensionality. Intersectionality comes
from the work of those critical race theorists who examine the unique lives
of women of color who have experienced discrimination and violence. Many
times, women of color experience discrimination because of their race and
because of their sex (Crenshaw, 1991). Yet, courts tend to recognize only the
racism or the sexism in the discriminatory and/or violent acts, negating
the fact that these women live at the intersection of both race and sex
(Hutchinson, 1999, 2000, 2001). Intersectionality theorists argue that
disentangling sex from race (or race from sex) becomes an act of essentialism.
Intersectionality theorists also disavow the common assumption of more
mainstream legal theorists, which include notions that there is one way to be
"raced" (African American male),2 and one way to be "sexed" (white female;
see Hutchinson, 1999, 2000).
Multidimensionality moves beyond intersectionality by pushing the analy-
sis to be more inclusive, considering class and orientation as well as sex!
gender. Multidimensionality acknowledges that to be "queer" can hold mul-
tiple meanings and can be experienced quite differently from person to per-
son. It also posits that individuals have multiple identities: One is not just
"queer"-one also may be male, working class, and Asian. Similarly, people
who are "non-queer" also hold multiple identities, and some of these may
be held in common with queer people. Other aspects are distinct to a given
individual's own multilayered position and life experiences (Hutchinson,
1999, 2000, 2001). Queer legal theory adherents have used both intersec-
tionality (Valdes, 1995) and multidimensionality (Hutchinson, 1997, 1999,
2000, 20001; Valdes, 1998) as analytic tools.
Finally, queer legal theory questions the cultural and legal demands
that individual members of a given minority group, or members of multiple
minority groups, assimilate, convert, cover, or "pass"-hide or distort one's
identity-particularly queers (Rush, 1997; Yoshino, 1998, 2002). "Passing"
has been a survival strategy for many oppressed people, at least for those who
could pass as white, male, Protestant, and/or non-queer. Hence, when the
United States was governed by strict racial apartheid, some light-skinned
blacks passed as "white" to gain access to jobs and decent housing (Rush,
1997; Yoshino, 1998, 2002). Likewise, some Jews and Catholics have been
forced to pass as Protestants.
Queer legal theorists view such demands "to pass" as inherently discrimi-
natory, undermining personal integrity and autonomy while eroding and
denying an individual's legal and political rights (Hutchinson, 1999; Valdes,
1995; Yoshino, 1998,2002). Queer people, in particular, are told repeatedly
they must pass as non-queer to be hired, to visit their partners in the hospi-
tal, to not be bullied and harassed in school (Nabozny v. Podlesny, 1996),
and so forth. In somewhat more enlightened situations, queers are cautioned
that they must "cover" their identities (Yoshino, 2002). They do not have to
hide or deny their identity-they just cannot talk about it. Mere mention is
considered "flaunting." The U.S. military's ban on queer personnel under the
rubric of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," would be one example of covering. The
final and most regressive form of assimilationist bias would be "converting,"
where a queer person undergoes some sort of "reparative" therapy, to change

their identity from queer to non-queer. While converting is not as common ·1··
for queers as it once was (Katz, 1992), queer children remain at risk for}
compulsory conversion (see Cruz, 1999; Goishi, 1997; Hicks, 1999).'~
Like other social justice-oriented legal theories, QLT aims its theoretical . ~
analyses at legal and regulatory systems (like public schools), in hopes of
disestablishing those structures and practices that oppress queer people. It is
expressly future-oriented in its approach (Valdes, 1995). One strategy for
working toward a progressive future is to re-examine history and legal prece-
dents for important clues as to how homophobic and heteronormative struc-
tures have been woven into governmental institutions. It is this final point
that made QLT particularly helpful in my examination of educational politics
and policy.
A final appeal of QLT specifically, and queer-positive legal research in
general, is the tradition of provocatively titled law review articles, which i
range from "OUf Straight-Laced]udges" (Rivera, 1979/1999a), to "Reasoning !'
About Sodomy" (Halley, 1993), to "Queers, Sissies, Dykes, and Tomboys"
(Valdes, 1995). Not only are these titles arresting-to-incendiary, but also
the content of each pushes readers to expand their analytic horizons.
Consequently, each time I have employed QLT, I have made a rhetorical and :i
analytic nod to these theoretical and activist roots.
Sifting and Sorting Considerations

Queer legal theory can be positioned as a race-inclusive enterprise, a class-inclu-
sive enterprise, a sex-inclusive enterprise, and a gender-inclusive enterprise, as
well as a sexual orientation-inclusive enterprise.... Queer legal theory must
connote an activist and egalitarian sense of resistance to all forms of subordi-
nation, and it also must denote a sense of unfinished purpose and mission.
(Valdes, 1995, p. 354; emphasis added)
I was convinced QLT was appropriate for educational policy and politics
because both are influenced by the law-particularly judicial decisions.
Because the judiciary, at both the federal and state levels, has been driving
most of the civil rights gains and losses for queer Americans, it was vital that
I examine landmark court decisions, the reasoning behind them-particularly
Bowers v. Hardwick (1986)-and explore how the educational politics and
policy environments reacted to these events.
Another compelling point regarding the use of QLT is its commitment
to liberatory practice-not just for queers, but also for all historically
marginalized peoples (Valdes, 1995). Sexual minorities do remain a central

focus, but given QLT's understandings of how unstable, fluid, and multidi-
mensional identity can be, it also pays attention to issues of race, class, sex,
gender, religion, dis/ability, and so on. Again, QLT rejects the traditional
notions of research neutrality or objectivity, noting that U.S. law has distrib-
uted very real benefits and punishments that historically have favored some
identity groups over others (Crenshaw, 1991; Eskridge, 1999; Kairys, 1998;
Novick, 1988; Valdes, 1995). Justice has not been blind; rather it has been
selectively myopic.
Queer legal theory draws on two aspects of scholarly research: history and
detailed case analysis. QLT also builds a strong narrative, which can include
storytelling that is rooted in both fiction and nonfiction (see Valdes, 1995),3
court cases, and legal opinions. As Francisco Valdes wrote,
Queer legal theory must supplement the use of social science scholarship with
narrative scholarship. Queer legal theory must compile and employ narratives,
or counter-narratives, to air in legal venues the stories of sexual minority lives
caught in the legal system for one reason or another. Using narratives, like using
social sciences data, can help combat conflationary prejudice and stereotypes by
focusing decisionmakers on facts and weaning them away from fictions, but its
special power is in the capacity of stories to elicit a sense of empathy with
sexual minority equality claims and in its corollary ability to root both action
and theory in reality.
By capturing the humanity, complexity, and diversity of Queer lives and
Queer legal issues, the use of narratives can dramatize in concrete, compelling,
and undeniable ways the injustice of heterosexism to help inform and guide the
actions of legal decisionmakers. But narratives also can help ensure that Queer
legal theory is grounded in and textured by the everyday realities of sex/gender
inequality and discrimination. The use of narratives on the whole thus serves to
make Queer legal scholarship both persuasive to decisionmakers and responsive
to lived realities. (1995, p. 366)
Because of its use of history, a strong narrative, and legal precedent (stare
decisis), QLT greatly appealed to my own sensibilities as a historian and pol-
icy scholar. Consequently, for "Sissies, Faggots" I needed to write a historical
component as well as sketch the legal complexities involved (Lugg, 2003b).
On the actual materials used, I drew heavily on the law review literature
and case law, as well as scholarship in education, gender studies, history,
media studies, psychology, political science, science, sociology, and selected
materials by queer activists. Due to time constraints, most of my data came
from secondary sources, with court decisions largely serving as my primary
sources. This material was organized both thematically (at the beginning
and conclusion of the paper) as well as chronologically (see Lugg, 2003b, the
section entitled "A Short Queer History of U.S. Public Education").
Using QLT, I sifted the wide-ranging materials focusing on the topics of
U.S. public education, gender, sex, and sexuality. Remember, for over 10
years I had been reading in the area of sexuality. When I would read anything
that covered queers and public education (students, teachers, policies, etc.),
I tended to underline the passage in pencil and then note the page number
in the front of the book or beginning of the article. I also had been using
the search engine LexisNexis to search the law review literature on common
QLT terms, including "gays and lesbians," "public schools," "homophobia,"
"queer theory," "queer legal theory," and "sodomy laws." Those articles
that received "matches" were downloaded to my computer archive. Then,
court cases discussed in the law review literature were downloaded. I con-
ducted similar searches using the academic search engines ProQuest,
EBSCOhost, and JSTOR, 4 as well as the search engine in the weekly periodi-
cal Edweek (from 1980 to 2002), downloading the pertinent materials to my
hard drive. Using such a wide-ranging and longitudinal approach gave me
more materials than I could hope to use.
I further filtered the results using a differing aspect of queer legal theory.
These materials (largely secondary, but with some primary sources) had
to take a liberationist or social justice approach to issues of sexuality, sex,
gender, and U.S. public schools. This quickly limited the materials I could
use. For example, the gay conservative columnist Andrew Sullivan (1996)
authored the book Virtually Normal, which is a politically conservative argu-
ment for gay rights (his language). As such, one could argue that he employs
a "social justice" approach. Yet, his stances on gender and sex (biology) verge
on being regressive, and I found his views on race and class profoundly dis-
turbing. Sullivan is also dismissive of the radical roots of queer activism in
the United States, which are found in the late 1940s Communist Party (see
D'Emilio, 1983). Consequently, I excluded Sullivan's writings. s
Some Cautions
Unlike social theory that is rooted in sociology, political science, and/or
psychology, QLT is not predictive in a quantitative sense. In the quantitative
social sciences, the goal for research is to have a strong enough sample (or
samples) so that one can generalize to larger populations. In legal research,
one can and must draw implications from a single court decision (case), or
multiple court decisions, or in some instances, seemingly disparate and unre-
lated decisions, and then apply these findings to the entire jurisdiction (a state,
region, and/or nation-depending on the court involved). Law and legal

reasoning are all about establishing legal precedence from court decisions
(stare decisis)6 and then applying these analyses to larger jurisdictional units.
Ultimately, one looks for legal precedence-even in a solitary court case-on
which to base policy recommendations and decisions.
Furthermore, whereas the use of legal precedence might seem at first
blush comparable to qualitative notions of "transferability" of findings (given
similar contexts and research questions; see Marshall & Rossman, 1999),
applied legal theories have a function all of their own. Because they have
immediate real-world applications, legal theories go in areas no social scientist
(either quantitative or qualitative) would dare to tread. Consequently, for
conventional social scientists another weakness of queer legal theory is its
embrace of storytelling, particularly the use of fictitious moral parables. Also,
QLT's embrace of postmodern theory, which posits that all human identity is
unstable and contested (e.g., Judith Butler, 1990) can be migraine inducing.
"Predictability," or the power to forecast how a given court will decide a
future legal case, has been highly problematic for any legal theory, and this
includes QLT. This is an ironic situation given the legal doctrine of stare
decisis-relying on and adhering to prior court decisions. But another tradi-
tion of the u.s. judicial system is independence, and judicial independence has
been zealously guarded by the judiciary for well over 200 years. For example,
u.s. Supreme Court justices, on their own and working collectively, have
been surprisingly unpredictable at times-much to the angst of legal theorists
(see Kairys, 1998). Even originalists-who claim to hold the most predictable
and constitutionally consistent approach and who view legal challenges
from the standpoint of "How would the founding fathers decide this case?"-
can arrive at wildly divergent decisions regarding the very same case. 7 Never-
theless, the majority of the justices deciding any case establishes the precedent
that must be followed. Unlike social science, legal decisions ultimately come
down to a matter of votes. 8
An example of using a single decision as a basis for practice can be drawn
from the U.S. Supreme Court's recent decision in Lawrence v. Texas (2003).
This landmark decision invalidated all laws banning consensual sodomy, over-
turning the prior Supreme Court decision in Bowers v. Hardwick (1986).
Lawrence has significant implications for educational politics and policies
because states that maintained bars on consensual sodomy usually did so to
harass queer Americans (see Eskridge, 1999). Prior to Lawrence, states with
laws barring consensual sodomy had the legal right to revoke the licensure
for queer educators because they were, by definition, self-confessed criminals,
and in some instances, self-confessed felons (Lugg, 2003a, 2003b, 2005).
Of course, felons are barred from holding any state-approved license, from
working as a surveyor to beautician, lawyer, teacher, principal, or school

superintendent. Yet, drawing on Lawrence, all of these policies and regulations
limiting queers in public employment are now invalid. My reasoning is drawn
from a solitary case-an N of one-which is normally dangerous ground for a
social scientist. Nevertheless, I can be fairly confident in my analysis because
there is no legal method to enforce what has been ruled unconstitutional. 9
Other limitations with employing QLT include some surprising logistical
problems. At one point, as I was e-mailing versions of the manuscript back and
forth to Educational Administration Quarterly's then-editor, Jane Clark Lindle,
her e-mail account was frozen for 3 hours. We discovered that we had run afoul
of the University of Kentucky's "net nanny, "10 which prohibited certain words
or terms to be used when using e-mail and accessing the World Wide Web.
Because I had used the title "Sissies, Faggots, Lezzies and Dykes" (Lugg, 2003b)
in the subject line at one point, the software automatically closed her account.
Professor Clark Lindle could neither send nor receive any e-mail. How many
other scholarly theories can claim such real-world disruptive power?
Some Final Observations

on History, Law, and Theory
All historians, including those who pretend to be objective, write with an
agenda for their own times: to promote or prevent social change, to glorify or
vilify particular people or societies. (Pencak, 2002, p. 3)11
Given my training as a historian, I am inclined to use social theory as

a hypertensive patient uses salt: judiciously and very sparingly. Contrary to
Marx's, Engels's, and Santayana's pronouncements, history does not repeat
itself (Burke, 1992). That said, social, political, economic, and cultural struc-
tures; themes; categories; and understandings are remarkably long-lived and
span generations of human existence (Foucault, 1982). Whereas individual
events do not reoccur, important themes, ideas, regimes, and beliefs continu-
ally play out in expected, as well as in novel and unexpected, ways (see
Foucault, 1982; Sharpe, 2001). Furthermore, laws, like history, develop and
evolve within specific contexts--eontexts that can be surprisingly idiosyn-
cratic, yet inextricably bound to a given political culture. And these cultures
do develop their broader themes, icons, symbols, and metaphors (Edelman,
1995; Lugg, 1999; Pencak, 2002).
As I see it, the historian's task, to the best of her/his ability (Novick, 1988),
is to reconstruct a broken mirror that once reflected a given reality or sets
of realities. Theory can aid this task in helping sort out which fragments are
likely to fit together, sometimes in novel and unanticipated ways. It can also
distort the shattered lens, however, by filtering out critical pieces.
Consequently, the final product, which is a reconstruction, can be aided
or further muddled by the use of theory (Burke, 1992; Pencak, 2002). As
the historian Peter Burke observed in his book History and Social Theory,
"Sociologists, for example, are trained to notice or formulate general rules
and often screen out the exceptions. Historians learn to attend to concrete
detail at the expense of general patterns" (1992, p. 3). The goal for historians
is to use theory to uncover these patterns that occur over time-without
losing too much of the unique detail of specific people and events.
As a historian, I also need to be aware of my own assumptions and,
presumptions as I undertake any historical exploration. Although objectivity
is an impossible ideal, I am obligated to be fair to the material and individuals
I present (Novick, 1988; Pencak, 2002). It is also imperative that I present my
own understandings and approach to the research project near the start of any
manuscript, if for nothing else, to give an unsuspecting reader "fair warning."
These were the theoretical lenses, under Queer legal theory, that I brought
to "Sissies, Faggots, Lezzies and Dykes" (Lugg, 2003b). Given my training as
a historian, queer legal theory appealed to me because of its sheer utility in
linking law, educational policy, and u.S. public schools to the larger political
and historical environments.
Notes
1. Historians who employ oral history are obviously exempt from this
observation.
2. The majority of white Americans do not see themselves as "raced"-although
this notion flies in the face of history and u.s. jurisprudence. There is burgeoning
research in this area called, "critical white studies" (see Delgado & Stefanic, 1999).
3. Some strands of history have also embraced storytelling. I do not mean "oral
history," which relies on eyewitness accounts of past events. Beginning in the 1970s,
historian Hayden White advocated that history become more like literature, with
historians striving to tell "plausible stories" and worrying less about the rules of
evidence (see Novick, 1988).
4. During the time of my data collection and writing, Sage publications
(Educational Administration Quarterly, Education and Urban Society, Education
Policy, etc.) could be found via EBSCOhost or ProQuest. With the advent of its own
proprietary database, however, Sage has withdrawn its publications from these
academic databases.
5. I did use a few primary sources that were profoundly queer-hostile, but they
were used as examples to demonstrate a larger political point of queers viewed as
"social contagion" (see Lugg, 2003b). ,
6. Stare decisis is a Latin term meaning "to stand by things decided." In U.S.
jurisprudence, this means lower courts are bound by Supreme Court decisions.
Furthermore, the U.S. Supreme Court will generally, but not always, uphold prior
decisions unless the justices can be provided compelling evidence as to why the prior
precedent was incorrect. This was the case in the Lawrence v. Texas (2003) decision,
which overturned Bowers v. Hardwick (1986; see Lugg, 2005).
7. Which was the case in Lawrence v. Texas. In the 6-3 decision, the Supreme
Court justices generated four separate opinions: five wrote with the majority
(Kennedy, with Ginsberg, Breyer, Stevens, and Souter); one wrote a separate
concurrence (O'Connor), and there were two separate dissents (Scalia, with
Rehnquist; and Thomas, writing separately).
8. One of the best judicial vote-counters was Supreme Court Chief Justice
Earl Warren, who carefully shepherded the U.S. Supreme Court's decision making of
Brown v. Board of Education (1954). Because the Court was going to overturn the
legal precedent of segregation established in Plessy v. Ferguson (1896), Warren care-
fully lobbied all of his fellow justices until he was sure the Court's decision would be
unanimous. In contrast, Chief Justice William Rehnquist presided over a highly fac-
tionalized court marked by numerous 5-4 decisions. This situation has implications
vis-a.-vis stare decisis. It is fairly daunting for successive courts to invalidate 9-0 deci-
sions-and this is why Earl Warren lobbied mightily for the Brown decision to be
unanimous. Overturning a 5-4 decision is a far more manageable prospect.
9. This does not mean that some misguided individuals will not try to enforce
these bans. And the U.S. law review literature is rife with examples of extrajudi-
cial enforcement of unconstitutional practices. If the ensuing case went to a federal
court, however, the court would have to bow to the strictures of Lawrence v. Texas
(Lugg, 2005).
10. University "net nannies" are the bane of any queer researcher's existence
because they can effectively block any Web-based searching, including surfing through
university databases. Not surprisingly, I use my own computer hardware, software,
and Internet account, doing the vast majority of electronic research at home.
11. Bill Pencak, Professor of History at Pennsylvania State University, was one
of my mentors as a doctoral student, and he introduced me to the world of semi-
otics. Over the last 15 years, I have taken many of my methodological and theoret-
ical cues from his work. I have been fortunate to have him as both a colleague and
dear friend.
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Conclusion: Coming Full Circle
Norma T. Mertz
Vincent A. Anfara, fr.
A ny serious consideration of research methods in social science runs

squarely into basic issues of the relationship between theory and the
research process. Whether one approaches the research process from a quan-
titative or qualitative perspective, theory has an important role to play. This
.book was designed to highlight that role, to step into the conceptual con-
fusion and misunderstanding surrounding the nature and role of theory in
qualitative research and to address, directly and by example, what a theoret-
ical framework is, how it is used in qualitative research, and how it affects
such research. The contributing authors provide accessible, understandable,
self-conscious descriptions of the use of theoretical frameworks in a wide
range of qualitative studies. In this way, they allow the reader to "see" con-
textually how such frameworks are used, and to be able to then go to the pub-
lished research on which the descriptions are based, to assess what has been
said against what has been reported. It is clear from their descriptions, that
theory makes an enormous difference in how we practice qualitative research.
We see the role of theory in qualitative research as basic, central, and foun-
dational, whether consciously recognized or even identified. It influences the
way the researcher approaches the study and pervades almost all aspects of
the study. It is a "lens," as two contributors (Harris, Chapter 8; Henstrand,
Chapter 1) note, framing and shaping what the researcher looks at and
includes, how the researcher thinks about the study and its conduct, and, in
the end, how the researcher conducts the study. Other contributing authors
used equally powerful metaphors to describe the role theory plays in quali-
tative research: a sieve (Fowler, Chapter 3), a roadmap (Kearney & Hyle,
Chapter 7), and reconstructing a broken mirror (Lugg, Chapter 10). These
\.
,.. lQQ
metaphors are powerful devices for understanding the relationship of

theory and research and providing insightful "ways of thinking" and "ways
of seeing" (Morgan, 1986, p. 12). To greater and lesser extents, the contribu-
ting authors demonstrate the pervasive nature of theory in their qualitative
research studies. Clearly, not every contributor speaks to the effect of the
theory they used on every aspect of their study, but some do, and collectively,
they make this pervasiveness evident.
Although an increasing number of educational researchers practice and/or
are being trained in the use of qualitative methods, we are mindful that the
role of theory in such research has long been denied or obscured. Indeed, if
acknowledged, theory was perceived to be the product of qualitative research.l
We live now in a period characterized by the "loss of theoretical innocence" j
.~
(Flinders & Mills, 1993, p. xi). Our faith in "immaculate perception," as '
Flinders and Mills so eloquently put it, is on the wane. Qualitative researchers j
-~
cannot opt out of attending to theory or of examining the role it plays in their J
research. Research cannot be conducted without the conscious or uncon-,I
scious use of underlying theory (Broido & Manning, 2002; Papineau, 1979).1
Indeed, Garrison (1988) contends that those who claim to do atheoretical
research do one of the following: hold the theories tacitly; hold them explic-
itly but do not make them public; or "pack structural concepts that properly
belong to theory into their methodology where they are hidden from their
view" (p. 24) and ours.
As suggested by the contributing authors, the role of theory in qualitative
research extends beyond the confines of a particular study. It situates quali-
tative research clearly within the scholarly conversation, adds subtlety and
complexity to what appear at first glance to be simple phenomena, and allows
for building a repertoire of understandings, diverse perspectives, of the same
phenomenon. Interestingly enough, this positions social science research more
in line with research in the natural sciences. "Philosophers of science have
repeatedly demonstrated that more than one theoretical construction can
always be placed upon a given collection of data," although noting that "the
invention of alternates is just what scientists seldom undertake except during
the pre-paradigm stage of their science's development and at very special
occasions during its subsequent evolution" (Kuhn, 1970, p. 76).
Let us turn now to a discussion of what the contributors to this book offer
readers in their quest to more fully understand the role of theory in qualita-
tive research. This concluding discussion is structured around two questions
posed in the introduction:
• How do I find a theoretical framework?

• What effects does it have on my research?
... ~'.,. ;"

Conclusion: Coming Full Circle 191
In addition to answering these questions, we offer some suggestions for

accomplishing what has been discussed.
How Do I Find a Theoretical Framework?

The problem of finding a theoretical framework is not confined to students or
neophyte researchers. Even seasoned qualitative researchers have been known
to have manuscripts returned to them with questions about the theoretical
framework that guided their study. Students of qualitative research as well
as experienced researchers sometimes find themselves at a loss in the process
of selecting a theoretical framework. They often expect it to appear or to mag-
ically drop into their laps. Admittedly, finding a theoretical framework, espe-
cially one that works well for the phenomenon being studied, is not always an
easy process. Although you may be lucky and find one quickly and painlessly,
or even have one handed to you by a professor for your thesis or dissertation,
the fact remains that in all likelihood you will have to actively search for a
theoretical framework. No doubt, this pursuit will be characterized by much
reading, possible discussion with colleagues, and finding, reflecting upon, and
discarding several potential theoretical frameworks before one is finally cho-
sen. And whereas some researchers use a particular theoretical framework for
an extended period of time (Harris, Chapter 8; Merriam, Chapter 2), others
change frameworks with each study undertaken.
In response to the dilemma of finding a theoretical framework, the
contributing authors in this book offered a wide spectrum of "hows"-from
total chance (Karpiak, Chapter 6), to a suggestion from a colleague (Mutch,
Chapter 9), to putting two heads from two different fields together (Bettis &
Mills, Chapter 4; Mills & Bettis, Chapter 5), to being well-read in education
and other fields of study, for example, economics, political science, sociology,
anthropology, psychology, and so on (Harris, Chapter 8). In short, there is
no one tried and true way of finding a theoretical framework.
Many of the authors report that an ~'ah-ha" experience accompanied the
finding of the theoretical framework they used-that it fit, made sense, and
resonated with their thinking. They revealed that the theoretical framework
they had found provided "ways of thinking" and "ways of seeing" (Morgan,
1986, p. 12) that unveiled understandings of the phenomena being studied in
novel and interesting ways.
A good approach to beginning to find a theoretical framework might be
to study a scholarly journal that requires its authors to identify the theo-
retical framework used. One journal that fits this criterion is Educational
Administration Quarterly. If readers were to look at volume 37, issue 1,
published in February 2001, for example, it is interesting to note that the

Pounder and Merrill article uses job choice theory to study job desirability
of the high school principalship; Ortiz applies the theory of social capital to
interpret the careers of three Latina superintendents; Nestor-Baker and Hoy
employ practical intelligence and tacit knowledge to study school superinten-
dents; and Geijsel, Sleegers, Van den Berg, and Ke1chtermans use professional
development, decision making, and transformational leadership to analyze
conditions that foster the implementation of large-scale innovation programs
in schools. Each of these articles has a section entitled theoretical framework
or conceptual framework, two phrases that are often used interchangeably, in
which the researchers describe the theory they used. We encourage readers
to spend some time looking at published research and identifying the theo-
retical frameworks used as a way to stimulate thinking about theories and
their relationship to research projects.
Qualitative researchers are encouraged to be persistent in the search for
theoretical frameworks and to think beyond the confines of their disciplinary
focus. Consider how theories from economics, sociology, political science,
anthropology, and other fields of study might thoughtfully be used to study
phenomena in interesting and distinctive ways.
What Effect Does the Theoretical

Framework Have on My Research?
In discussing the effects of a theoretical framework on the research process,
the contributors to this book offered interesting insights. A theoretical frame-
work has the ability to (1) focus a study, (2) reveal and conceal meaning
and understanding, (3) situate the research in a scholarly conversation and
provide a vernacular, and (4) reveal its strengths and weaknesses.
Focus a Study. The ability of a theoretical framework to focus a study involves

a number of issues. First, qualitative researchers often feel overwhelmed by
the mountains of data (e.g., interview transcripts, documents, observation!
field notes) that can be collected. By acting as a "sieve" (Fowler, Chapter 3)
or a "lens" (Harris, Chapter 8; Hendstrand, Chapter 1), the theoretical frame-
work assists the researcher in the process of sorting through these data.
Second, the theoretical framework "frames" every aspect of a study from
the questions asked (Mutch, Chapter 9), to the sample selected (Merriam,
Chapter 2), to the analysis derived (Hendstrand, Chapter 1; Merriam,
Chapter 2). The concepts, constructs, and propositions that are part and
parcel of a theory help the researcher in formulating these component parts
of the research process. Third) qualitative researchers are keenly aware of the
existence of subjectivity and bias in their research. The theoretical framework

helps the researcher to control this subjectivity by the self-conscious revisiting
of the theory and a concomitant awareness that one is using a particular per-
spective (Harris, Chapter 8; Hendstrand, Chapter 1). Fourth, the theoretical
framework provides powerful concepts that may be used in the coding (Mills
& Bettis, Chapter 5) and the analysis of the data (Merriam, Chapter 2).
The degree to which the contributing authors recognized and were
able to write about the effects of the theoretical framework on their research
varied. As stated earlier, we hold that every aspect of the qualitative research
process-from the questions asked to the analysis of the data-is affected
by the theoretical framework. It influences every choice we make during the
research process and guides the researcher's thinking about the phenomenon
under investigation. In short, the theoretical framework forces the researcher
to be accountable to ensure that the methodology, the data, and the analysis
are consistent with the theory.
In considering what advice might be useful, we encourage qualitative
researchers to thoroughly understand the theoretical framework chosen to
"frame" their study. Consider potential problems you might encounter in
attempting to import and apply a theory from another field {e.g., economics,
political science}, in particular its applicability and fit. Investigate how other
researchers have used the theory to see if and how it has been applied to
research in your field. Be self-conscious about the ways the theoretical frame-
work affects every aspect of the research process. Indeed, it might prove use-
ful to document these effects in a journal kept during the research project.
Reveal and Conceal Meaning and Understanding. The contributing authors

noted the ability of the theoretical framework to reveal and conceal meaning
and understanding. As Eisner (1985) reminded us, "When you provide a
window for looking at something, you also ... provide something in the
way of a wall (pp. 64-65). Although we acknowledge that theories can allow
us to see familiar phenomena in novel ways, they can also blind us to aspects
of the phenomena that are not part of the theory. As part of theory's ability
to reveal and conceal, we are cognizant that a theoretical framework can
distort the phenomena being studied by filtering out critical pieces of data
(Lugg, Chapter 10).
Researchers need to recognize this characteristic of a theoretical frame-
work and give serious thought to what is being concealed. This ability to
reveal and conceal makes it all the more important for researchers to tell
their readers, if possible, what is concealed. This is, after all, the essence of a
study's delimitations. Although the choice of a theoretical framework clearly
delimits a study, we have seen little recognition of this fact in theses and
dissertations or in journal articles.
In the real world, few have time to engage in the following activities, but
we feel it important to mention them nonetheless. Consider designing a study
with one theoretical framework and then redesigning it using an alternative
framework. What effect does this have on the questions asked? What effect
might the differing frameworks have on the analysis derived? How will your
data collection strategies change? A little more realistic exercise would involve
getting a colleague to study the same phenomenon using a different frame-
work (see Bettis & Mills, Chapter 4; Mills & Bettis, Chapter 5). Again, how
did the different frameworks affect the research processes? One would imag-
ine that the more "ways of thinking" and "ways of seeing" (Morgan, 1986,
p. 12), that is, theoretical frameworks, that are employed in our attempts to
understand some reality would ultimately bring us closer to an understanding
of that reality, an ontological issue we do not want to debate at this time.
Situate the Research in a Scholarly Conversation and Provide a Vernacular.

In the process of advancing knowledge, the theoretical framework allows
researchers to situate their research and knowledge contributions in a schol-
arly conversation (Bettis & Mills, Chapter 4; Fowler, Chapter 3). It allows
us to talk across disciplines (Hendstrand, Chapter 1) using the known and
accepted language of the theory. It is this established language that assists
in making meanings of the phenomena being studied explicit. The theoreti-
cal framework also provides convenient labels and categories that help in
explaining and developing thick descriptions and a coherent analysis (Harris,
Chapter 8).
In reflecting upon this effect of the theoretical framework, it is important
for qualitative researchers to learn the language of the theory being used and
to use it precisely and clearly. It is also necessary to make every attempt to
state your contributions to the scholarly conversation without overreaching
appropriate parameters-parameters that will be dictated by the data you
have collected and the analysis you have formulated. Part of participating in
this scholarly conversation and documenting your contribution involves look-
ing carefully at the relationship between your study and the theory you have
used. Does your research support the existing theory, does it advance the
theory in some meaningful and important way (Fowler, Chapter 3), or does
it refute the theory? These are important questions that should not be avoided
in this discussion.
Reveal Its Strengths and Weaknesses. As the contributing authors reflected

on the effects of the theoretical framework on their research, it became
evident that no theoretical framework adequately describes or explains any phe-
nomena (Fowler, Chapter 3; Merriam, Chapter 2). Some of the contributors
expressed concern about the power of a theoretical framework to be too

reductionistic, stripping the phenomenon of its complexity and interest
(Mutch, Chapter 9), or too deterministic, forcing the researcher to "fit" the
data into predetermined categories (Harris, Chapter 8). Indeed, others have
been concerned about the power of the existing literature on a topic to be
"ideologically hegemonic" (Becker, 1986), making it difficult to see phenom-
ena in ways that are different from those that are prevalent in the literature.
Other contributors to this book discussed the fact that strengths and weak-
nesses provide sufficient reason to employ multiple frameworks in one study
(Kearney & Hyle, Chapter 7).
Researchers need to be prepared for the strengths and weaknesses being
revealed during the process of conducting a research project. Questions will
be raised that need to be addressed. Whereas the "fit" of the theoretical
framework for a study may become evident, it may in fact become necessary
to discard the theoretical framework and start the process of searching for a
new one. Researchers need to be wary of dropping data in light of assessing
the strengths and weaknesses of any theory. It could be these data that help
in the advancement of the theory or in its being refuted.
The relationship between theory and qualitative research remains
complicated. We hold it is impossible to observe and describe what happens
in natural settings without some theory that guides the researcher in what is
relevant to observe and what name to attach to what is happening. As noted
by Schwandt (1993), the theory allows us to "enter the field with a theoreti-
cal language and attitude" (pp. 11-12). Qualitative forms of inquiry demand
that theory (i.e., theoretical frameworks) be used with imagination and flexi-
bility. As John Dewey (1934) noted, it is part of our need to reeducate our
perceptIons.
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Index
A Barger, N.]., 113, 114

Aagaard, L., xvii Barnes, George, 4-7
Academic reorganization study Becker, H.S., xxiii
data collection/analysis in, 67, 77-79 Bee, H.L., 30
findings of, 69-70 Bentz, V.M., xxv
liminality in, 61-70, 81 Bergson, Henri, 95
organizational identity and identification Bernard, H. Russell, 3
in, 74-82 Bernstein, B., 137, 162, 163
overview of, 59-61, 73-74 Best, ].W., xx
theoretical framework for, 61-70, 74-82 Bjorklund, B.R., 30
using multiple theoretical Bohman, ]., 171
frameworks for, 81-82 Borg, W.R., xx
Adler, P., 16 Bosk, c., 45
Adler, P.A., 16 Bourdieu, Pierre, 155, 162-165,
Adult learning theory. See Transformational 168, 170-172
learning Bouverasse, ]., 162
Agenda building, 45 Bowlby,]., 116, 125
Agnew, N., xvii Bricoleur, xxi
Ahmed, P.r., 33 Broido, E.M., xix
Airasian, P., xx: Buchholz, S., 115
Alexander, ].c., xvii Burke, Peter, 185
Allison, G., 45 Butler, ]., 171
Alvesson, M., 75, 80, 82 Butterfly effect, 92
American political system, 42-43, 46
Arena model case study C
data collection/analysis for, 52-54 Capper, Colleen, 176
findings of, 41, 50 Capra, F., 97, 99
focus of, 51-52 Case study
overview of, 39-42 arena model. See Arena
research questions for, 52 model case study
stage model used in, 56 (figure) defined, 40
theoretical framework for, 42-44, 47-57 qualitative research and the, xxii, 40
See also Mazzoni's arena models school culture. See School culture study
Argyris, c., xiv school reform. See School
Aronowitz, Stanley, 65, 67 reform case study
Art of Fieldwork, The, 140-141 Casti, J., 93
Celeste, Governor Richard, 41
B Change
Balkanization, 5 midlife. See Social workers at
Bardach, E., 45 midlife study
197
organizational. See Grief and school, 2-15, 142-143, 148. See also.
organizational change study School culture study
process of, 87-89 symbolic, 137-138
transformative, 87-89. See also theory, 8, 10, 11, 17-18, 149
Chaos/complexity theory, See also Grid and group theory; School
transformation and culture study
See also Chaos/complexity theory Culture of the School and the Problem of
Chaos/complexity theory Change, The, 2, 12
bifurcation in, 92 Culture, Language, and Society, 12, 17
defined, 85-86, 90
emergent properties and, 91, 94 D
evolutionary theory and, 96-97 Dahl, Robert, 47, 49, 51, 54
fluctuation and, 91-92 Darrow, CN., 87
general systems theory and, 96 Daugird, A., 114-115
origins of, 95-99 Death and dying. See Kubler-Ross model
other disciplines and, 97 deMarrais, Kathleen, 63
principles of, 89-93 Denzin, N .K., xxi
self-organization and, 90-91, 94, 96, 98 Development theory, 24-25, 29-36,
sensitivity to initial conditions 102-104. See also
in, 92, 102 Transformational learning
strengths/limitations of, 93-95, 105 Dewey, J., 98
time and, 89-90 Dilemmas of Pluralist Democracy, 47
transformation and, 92-94, 98-99, 101, Dissatisfaction theory, 55
105-106 Doll, W.E., 94, 95, 97, 98, 99
use of, 86-89, 95, 99-102, 104-105 Domhoff, G. William, 49
See also Change; Social workers at Douglas, Mary, 129-130, 134, 136-137,
midlife study 139-141,143-150
Chicago School, 15 Drawing Out Emotions in
Cilliers, Paul, 90 Organizations, 111
Civil rights movement, 46 Dye, Thomas, 49
Clapper, A.T., 121, 122
Clark Lindle, Jane, 184 E
Cobb, R., 45, 46 Education Reform Comes to Ohio, 42
Cognitive anthropology, 8-9, 11, 14 Educational Administration Quarterly,
Cognitive dissonance, xvi-xvii 175, 176, 184, 191-192
Complexity. See Chaos/complexity theory Educational Evaluation and Policy
Concepts, xiv-xvi Analysis, 42, 51, 56
Conceptual context, xxiv Educational leadership, 142, 147
Conceptualizing Qualitative Research, xxiv Eisner, E.W., xvii, 193
Constant comparative method, 24 Elder, CD., 45
Constructivism, 26 Elite theory, 49, 50, 54-55
Constructs, xiv-xvi Emerson High School. See School reform'
Creswell, j.W., xxii-xxiii case study
Critical theory, 165 End of Certainty, The, 89
Crotty, M., xxi-xxii Epistemologies, xxi-xxii, xxvi
Cultural revitalization, 147-148 Erikson, E., 32-36
Culture Ethnographic research, 2-3, 8, 11-12, 15,,18
defined, 9, 137, 143 Ethnomethodolgy, 16
dualistic, 137-138 Evolutionary systems theory, 96
holistic, 137-138
model of, 9-10 F
organizational, 74, 80-81, 137-139, 149 Faith development, 31-32
propriospects and, 9, 10, 13-14, 17, 19 Feir, R.E., 42
-.. ~.
Index 199
Festinger, Leon, xv-xvii Halmi, A., 93, 95

Field theory. See Social field theory Hamachek, D., 33
Flinders, D.]., xiv, xxv Harris, E.L., 130, 139, 140
Fowler, F.e., 41 Hilgartner, 5., 45
Fowler, J.W., 31, 32 Hill, M.R., 93
Franklin, e., 95 History and Social Theory, 185
Fullan, Michael, 2, 5 HIV ~positive young adult study
coping mechanisms in, 30-31, 36
G data collection/analysis for, 27
Gall, J.P., xx design of, 26-29, 36
Gall, M.D., xx faith development in, 31-32, 36
Gay, L.R., xx overview of, 24
Geertz, Clifford, 11, 12, 14, 16, 18 psychosocial development
General systems theory model and, 33-35
(GST), 96, 98 theoretical framework for, 24-36
Getzels, J.B., 144 transformational learning and,
Gilmore, J., xviii 24-29,36
Giroux, Henry, 48 Hoenack, S.A., xxvii
Godfrey, P., 76 Hord, S.M., 2
Goodenough, ~ard, 8-14, 16, 17, 18 Huberman, A.M., xxiv, 53
Grid and group theory
defined, 131-132 (figure), 133 (figure), I
134-136, 144-145 Iannaccone, Laurence, 55
four environments of, In the Active Voice, 137
134-135 (figure), 136 Incrementalism, 43, 46
origins of, 136-137 Interpretive anthropology, 11, 12, 14
schools as ecosystems in, 134
social games and, 134 J
strengths and weaknesses of, 143-146 James, William, xxv
structural frames and, 131-133 Jantsch, E., 92, 96, 97, 99
use of, 129-130, 139-146, 148-150 Johnson, M., 94
See also School culture study Jung, e.G., 87, 101, 103-104
Grief and organizational change study
data collection/analysis for, 112-113, K
121-122 Kahn, J.V., xx
findings of, 113 Kegan, R., 25, 102
Kubler-Ross model and, 111-113, Kerlinger, F.N., xiv
115-124 Key Strategies to Improve Schools,
methodology, 119-121 143, 146
overview of, 110 Kirby, L.K., 113, 114
purpose of, 110-111 Klein, E.B., 87
site and focus, 111-112 Knowledge Factory, The, 65
theoretical framework for, 110-111, Kohlberg, L., 102
115-125 Kubler-Ross model
use of drawingslfeelings lists in, origins of, 113-117
119-121, 124 stages of grief in, 114-115
Grief Cycle and Educational strengths and weaknesses of,
Change, The, 111 122-124
Guba, E.G., xx, xxvii, 130, 144 use of, 111, 115-124
See a/so Grief and organizational
H change study
Ha bermas, J urgen, 26 Kubler-Ross, E., 111-125
Hall, G.E., 2 Kuhn, T., xviii
L Mezirow, Jack, 24-28, 36, 98

Ladwig, j., 162, 165 Michael, R.O., 122
Lakoff, G., 94 Michels, Robert, 49
Landscapes of Power from Detroit to Midlife transition model, 87, 101,
Disney World, 64 103-104. See also Social workers
Langenbach, M., xvii at midlife study
Lave,]., 162 Miles, M.B., xxiv, 53
Lawrence v. Texas, 183-184 Mills, G.E., xiv, xxv
LeCompte, M.D., xiv, 18, 63 Monk, D.H., xxvii
Levinson, D.]., 87, 101, 103, 104 Montuori, A., 91, 106
Levinson, M.H., 87 Morgan, G., 148, 149
Lewis, jim, 165 Mosca, Gaetano, 49
Liminality Motivation, theory of, xvi (figure)
defined, 61-63
structural invisibility and, 62 N
use of, 63-70, 81 Natural Symbols, 137
weaknesses of, 68-70 Naturalistic Inquiry, 130
Lincoln, Y.S., xx, xxi, xxvii, 130 Nelson, Linda, 7
Lindblom, Charles, 49 Neopluralism, 49, 50
Lingenfelter, S.G., 139 New Zealand curriculum study
Lortie, D.C., 12 document versions in, 157-161
Lutz, Frank, 55 field theory in, 155-172. See also Social
field theory
M overview of, 155-161
Malinowski, Bronislaw, 15 theoretical framework for, 166-172
Mann, Michael, 49-50
Manning, K., xix o
Margolis, P., 171 Ohio Senate Bill 140. See Arena model
Marsh, c., 168-169 case study
Marxism, 48-50, 54-55 One Approach to a Pluralist Dilemma, 47
Maslow, Abraham, xv-xvi Order Out of Chaos, 96, 98
Maxwell, j.A., xxiv Orduna, A., 114
Mazzoni's arena models Organizational identitylidentification,
defined, 40, 43, 44 74-82
origins of, 44-46 Ozga, J., 169
testing of, 43-44, 50, 52
use of, 42-54, 56-57 P
weaknesses of, 41-42, 56-57 Padgham, Ron, 94
See also Arena model case study Paradigm shift, xviii
Mazzoni, T., 40-47, 50-53, 55-57 Participant observers, 15-16
McCracken, G., 3 Patton, M.Q., xxiii
McGee, c., 168 Personality development model, 87, 101
MCl, 109 Peshkin, Alan, 16
McKee, B., 87 Pluralism, 47,48, 50, 51, 54
McLaren, Peter, 48 Policy innovations, 43, 46
McMillan, ].H., xvii Pounder, D.G., xxvii
Meaning-making process, 24, 25-29, 31 Preface to Economic Democracy, A, 47
Mergers, 75-76, 79, 109-110 Preissle, J., xiv
Merriam, S.B., xix, xxiii, xxiv, 113 Prigogine, 1., 87, 89, 91-93
Merrill, R.]., xxvii Propositions, xiv-xvi
Metaphors We Live By, 94 Psychosocial development,
Methodology. See Theory, stages of, 32-36
methodology and Pyke, S.W., xvii
Index 201
Q School culture study

Qualitative Data Analysis, 53 grid and group theory and, 130-131,
Qualitative inquiry, 141 139-146, 148-150
Qualitative research methodology for, 130-131
case study. See Case study overview of, 129-131
literature review of, xix-xxv research questions for, 142-143
role of theory in, xix-xxvi, 18-19, theoretical framework for, 130-131,
82-83, 140-142, 189-195 139-150
theoretical frameworks and. See also Culture, school
See Theoretical frameworks School reform case study
See also specific studies culture and, 2-11. See also Culture,
Queer legal theory (QLT) school
"passing" and, 179 findings of, 4-8
activist stance of, 177 methodology for, 2-3
defined, 177-179 objectivity in, 13, 14, 15-17
intersectionality of, 178-179 participant/observer in, 15-17
multidimensionality of, 178-179 purpose of, 1-2
narrative use and, 181 strategies used in, 3
origins of, 177-178 theoretical framework for, 8-19.
predictability of, 182-183 See also Culture
use of, 180-184 Schoolfield, M., 114
weaknesses of, 182-183 Schoolteacher: A
See also Queers and educational policy Sociological Study, 12
study Schram, T.H., xxiv
Queers and educational policy study Schumacher, S., xvii
activism and, 176-177 Schwandt, T.A., xxv
compleXities of, 177 Self-categorization theory (SCT),
historical approach to, 176-177, 75, 76, 79-80
181-182, 184-185 Sensemaking, 59, 74, 76, 81. See also
origins of, 175-177 Academic reorganization study
overview of, 177-180 Sergiovanni, T.]., 5
queer legal theory and, 180-185 Shapiro, lJ., xxv
theoretical framework for, 180-185 Shusterman, R., 170
See also Queer legal theory (QLT) Silver, P., xiv, XV
Sissies, Faggots, Lezzies and Dykes,
R 176,181
Rational choice theory, 48, 50 Social anthropology, 148
Reich, K.H., 31 Social construction, 59, 74, 76-77. See also
Reorganization. See Academic Academic reorganization study
reorganization study Social field theory
Revitalization. See Cultural adaptations of, 163
revitalization defined, 156, 162-164 (figure)
Rico, G.L., 86 field, capital, and habitus in, 155-172
Rise and Fall of Social Problems, The, 4S framing and, 163, 168
Rivera, R., 175, 176 strengths and weaknesses of, 169-172
Ross, ].K., 45 use of, 155-172
Ross, M.H., 45 Social identity theory (SIT), 75, 76, 79-80
Social Studies in the New Zealand
S Curriculum, 155-161, 169
Santa Fe Institute, 94 Social workers at midlife study
Sarason, Seymour, 2, 7, 12 change and, 87-89
Schon, D.A., xiv chaos/complexity theory and,
School choice, 48 86-89,95,99-102,104-105
data analysis for, 101 research process and, 189

design of, 100 social science, xvii-xix, xxiii
developmental stage theory and, 102 useful, xvii, xx, 141-142, 145
findings of, 87-89, 101-102 See also Theoretical frameworks
overview of, 86-89 Theory and Concepts in Qualitative
theoretical framework for, 86-89, 95, Research, xxv
99-106 Theory Into Practice, 98
See also Chaos/complexity theory Theory of Cognitive Dissonance, A, xvi
Sources of Social Power, The, 49 Thick description, 14
Spencer, D., 114-115 Thrift, N., 94, 95
Spradley, J., 3 Toward a Grid and Group Interpretation·
Stansberry, S.L., 140 of School Culture, 129
Stengers, I., 87, 91-93, 96-101 Transformational learning, 24-30, 36, 98 Jj\
Stiegelbauer, S., 5 Transforming Culture: A Challenge for
Strauss, A., xiv Christian Mission, 139
Streeter, c., 95 Turnbull, Colin, 62, 68
Sullivan, Andrew, 182 Turner, Victor, 61-63, 65, 67,
Systems theory, 144-145 68,69,70
Turning Point, The, 97
T
Teachers Versus Technocrats, 12 V
Theoretical frameworks Vaillant, G.E., 30
defined, xxvii-xxviii Valdes, Francisco, 181
effect on research of, 192-195 Vaughn, c., xvii
examples of, xxvii-xxviii, xxix. Virtually Normal, 182
See also specific studies von Bertalanffy, Ludwig, 96, 97
finding, 145, 149-150, 191-192
focus and, 192-193 W
importance of, 23, 36, 57, 70, 82-83, Waldrop, M., 94
125-126, 140-142, 148-150, Wallace, A.F.G., 147
171-172 Walters, G.D., 95
meaning/understanding and, 193-194 Warren, K., 95
scholarly conversations and, 194 Weber, Max, 11, 49, 50
strengths and weaknesses of, 194-195 Weick, K.E., 81
theory and, xxiii-xxvi, 83, 139-142, Wenger, E., 162
189-195. See also Theory Wexler, P., 83
See also Theory Whetten, D., 76
Theoretical traditions, xxiii Wild centers, 5-6
Theory Willmott, H., 75, 80, 82
as metaphor, 148-149 Wolcott, H.F., 2, 8, 10-11, 12,
building blocks of, xiv-xv (figure) 17, 19, 141, 145
defined, xiv-xvii, xxv, 83 Woodward, H., 115
examples of, xv-xvii, xxvii. See also WorldCom, Inc., 109-110
specific theory
levels of, xviii Y
methodology and, xx-xxiii Yin, R.K., xxii, 40
natural science, xvii-xviii
paradigms and, xx-xxi, xxvii Z
qualitative research and. See Qualitative Zubroff, S., 120
research, role of theory in Zukin, Sharon, 63, 64-65, 67-69
About the Editors
Vincent A. Anfara, Jf., is Associate Professor of Educational Administration

and Supervision at The University of Tennessee, Knoxville. He received his
PhD in educational administration from the University of New Orleans in
1995. Before entering the professoriate, he taught for 23 years in both mid-
dle and high schools in Louisiana and New Mexico. His research interests
include middle school reform, leadership in middle schools, issues related to
student achievement, and qualitative research methods. He is past President
of the American Educational Research Association's Middle Level Education
Research Special Interest Group and the Chair of the National Middle School
Association's (NMSA) Research Advisory Board. His research has been
published in Educational Researcher, Education and Urban Society, School
Leadership, Leadership and Policy in Schools, and the NASSP Bulletin. His
most recent books include From the Desk of the Middle School Principal:
Leadership Responsive to the Needs of Young Adolescents (2002, Scarecrow
Press) and The Encyclopedia of Middle Grades Education (2005, Informa-
tion Age Publishing). He is the Series Editor of The Handbook of Research
in Middle Level Education, copublished by Information Age Publishing and
the NMSA.
Norma T. Mertz is Professor of Higher Education at The University of
Tennessee, Knoxville. She received her EdD in curriculum and teaching from
Teachers College, Columbia University, with a collateral in anthropology and
education. Before becoming a faculty member in educational administra-
tion at The University of Tennessee, she prepared teachers to work in urban,
inner-city schools in Michigan and New York City as an Assistant Professor at
Eastern Michigan University and Hunter and Brooklyn Colleges; and was an
Assistant Director of the Race Desegregation Assistance Center and Director
of the Sex Equity Assistance Center. Her research centers on gender and lead-
ership, mentoring, and organizational socialization, and has been published in
Educational Administration Quarterly, Urban Education, Journal of School
Leadership, Planning and Changing, and Communications of the A eM.
203
About the Contributors
Pamela J. Bettis is Assistant Professor in the Cultural Studies and Social

Thought in Education program at Washington State University. Her areas of
research include the social context of education and how gender operates in
schools. She is the coauthor of Cheerleader! An American leon (2003) and
Geographies of Girlhood: Identities In-Between and has had work published
in Sociology of Education, Gender & Society, Educational Foundations, and
Sex Education.
Frances C. Fowler was a classroom teacher and union leader in Tennessee
before she received her PhD in educational administration from The
University of Tennessee, Knoxville, in 1990. In that same year, she accepted
a position in the Department of Educational Leadership at Miami University
of Ohio, where she is currently Professor and the Director of Graduate
Studies for her department. She teaches courses about the politics of educa-
tion and education policy and has published extensively in this area. Her text-
book, Policy Studies for Educational Leaders: An Introduction, is in its second
edition
Edward L. Harris has served as teacher, coach, and administrator in public
and private schools as well as Associate Dean for the College of Education at
Oklahoma State University. He earned a PhD in educational administra-
tion from Texas A&M University and currently holds the Williams Chair of
Educational Leadership at Oklahoma State University. His research, teaching,
and service activities focus on school culture and leadership. He is the author
of Key Strategies to Improve Schools: How to Apply Them Contextually
(2005).
Joyce L. Henstrand has been a language arts teacher, department chair,

and high school principal. In her current role as Director of Instruction in
the Reynolds School District in Fairview, Oregon, she focuses on improve-
ment of instruction especially in reading and writing. She earned a BA in
205
English literature at SUNY at Buffalo and a PhD in educational policy and

management from the University of Oregon. Her case study described in this
book was given the annual dissertation award by the American Education
Research Association Division A in 1992.
Adrienne E. Hyle received her doctorate from Kansas State University in
1987 and began her faculty career at Oklahoma State University that same
year. Her research interests include change and gender issues in K-through-
20 educational settings. Theory has played a large part in the design and
analysis of explorations in these settings, as well as in her students' doctoral
research. Current research interests include exploring our understandings of
learning in cohort and off-site contexts.
Irene E. Karpiak is Associate Professor of Adult and Higher Education in
the Department of Educational Leadership and Policy Studies, University
of Oklahoma. She teaches graduate-level courses on the adult learner, adult
learning and development, transformative learning, and chaos and com-
plexity in adult education. Her scholarly interests draw on qualitative, inter-
pretive, and narrative methods. Her research into autobiography and the
life stories of adult learners have enriched her understanding of learning,
transition, and change, and have furthered her appreciation of the ways
in which crises, crossroads, and chaos can further personal growth and
transformation.
Kerri S. Kearney has a professional background in both education and cor-
porate America and began her faculty career at Oklahoma State University
in 2004. She holds an MBA in management and an EdD in educational
administration. Her research interests focus on leadership and change across
a variety of organizational and individual contexts. Current research inter-
ests include exploring the role of individually held values in leadership and
the use of arts-based methodologies in qualitative research.
Catherine A. Lugg is Associate Professor of Education at the Graduate
School of Education, Rutgers University, and serves as an Associate Director
for Publishing, University Council for Educational Administration. She is
also a Senior Associate Editor for the Journal of Gay and Lesbian Issues in
Education. Recent publications include "One Nation Under God? Religion
and the Politics of Education in a Post 9/11 America" in Educational Policy.
Sharan B. Merriam is Professor of Adult Education at the University of
Georgia in Athens, where her responsibilities include teaching graduate
courses in adult education and qualitative research methods, and supervising
graduate student research. Merriam's research and writing activities have
About the Contributors 207
focused on the foundations of adult education, adult development, adult

learning, and qualitative research methods. For 5 years, she was coeditor
of Adult Education QuarterlYJ the major research and theory journal in
adult education. She is a three-time winner of the prestigious Cyril O. Houle
World Award for Literature in Adult Education. In 1999, she was a Senior
Fulbright Scholar to Malaysia.
Michael R. Mills is Assistant Professor of Higher Education at the University
of South Florida, where he teaches courses on the organization, administra-
tion, and finance of universities and colleges. His research and writing focus
on the role of organizational culture, sensemaking, and identity in institu-
tional responses to external stimulations such as policy changes. He earned
his doctorate from the University of Michigan, his master's degree from the
New School for Social Research, and his baccalaureate from Centre College.
He had 10 years of experience in institutional research and academic admin-
istration before entering the professoriate.
Carol A. Mutch is currently an administrator at the Christchurch College
of Education in Christchurch, New Zealand. She has oversight of research
and postgraduate programs in teacher education. Her research interests
relate to educational policy, curriculum development, and social education.
Carol has recently published a research text, Doing Educational Research:
A Practitioner's Guide to Getting Started (New Zealand Council for Educa-
tional Research Press, 2005), which aims to provide a step-by-step guide
for teacher-researchers to make sense of and engage in research in their
classrooms.

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v

Copyright © 2006 by Sage Publications, Inc.

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Theoretical frameworks in qualitative research / editors, Vincent A. Anfara,

Acquiring Editor: Lisa Cuevas Shaw

List of Figures and Tables

1. Seeking an Understanding of School Culture:

2. Transformational Learning and HIV-Positive Young Adults 23

3. Struggling With Theory: A Beginning Scholar's Experience

4. Liminality and the Study of a Changing Academic Landscape 59

5. Organizational Identity and Identification During a

6. Chaos and Complexity: A Framework for Understanding

7. A Look Through the Kubler-Ross Theoretical Lens 109

Table 1.1 Chapters in Theoretical Frameworks in

Figure 1.1 The building blocks of theory xv

Figure 1.2 Hierarchy of needs as used in Maslow~s

Figure 3.1 The stage model of the policy process 56

Figure 8.2 The group dimension of school culture 133

Figure 9.4 A generic diagram of a social field 164

T he idea for this book developed from our experiences as teachers of

• "How do I find something that fits what I'm doing?"

As students attempted to explore the literature on this topic to answer

We were excited to receive a quick, positive response from Lisa Cuevas

S tudents as well as experienced researchers who employ qualitative

The Building Blocks of Theory

Figure 1.1 The building blocks of theory.

Working from the most concrete level of sensations and experiences,

(to develop iota what one is capable of becoming, autonomy, self-direction)

(self-esteem and recognition by peers)

(love, belonging, acceptance by others)

Security and Safety

(physical safety, financial security)

Basic Physiological Needs

(food, water, shelter, sex, air)

Figure 1.2 Hierarchy of needs as used in Maslow's theory of motivation.

One of the most powerful ways of understanding human motivation was

when elements of knowledge follow from one another. Dissonant cognitions

What Constitutes Good and Useful Theory?

A useful theory is one that tells an enlightening story about some

Theories in the Social and Natural Sciences

sciences. Indeed, because the natural sciences-physics and biology, for

A Review of the Literature on

Theory as Nearly Invisible

Theory as Related to Methodology

methods exclusively, or at all" (p. 250), clearly relating to methodology in

"lies behind the methodology in question," to the epistemology that "informs

may, in addition, bring ideological perspectives (postmodernism, critical

Among the advocates of the position that the theoretical or conceptual

Where Does That Leave Us?

A Definition of Theoretical Frameworks

Organization of the Book

The headings and subheadings in the chapters in this book correspond to

Table 1.1 Chapters in Theoretical Frameworks in Qualitative Research

Theoretical Field of Chapter

Culture Cognitive Organizational change; Chapter 1

to compare and contrast the responses of the various contributing chapter

Festinger, L. (1957). A theory of cognitive dissonance. Evanston, IL: Row, Peterson,

Mills, G. E. (1993). Levels of abstraction in a case study of educational change.