Theory and Methods in Political Science - 2 Version - p5
Theory and Methods in Political Science - 2 Version - p5
Theory and Methods in Political Science - 2 Version - p5
Why compare?
The ‘method of difference’ involves studying two very similar cases, which
differ only in respect of the variables whose relationship to each other one
is studying. To use Mill’s example (1875: 472), if we were interested in
establishing the beneficial effect of commercial protectionism on national
prosperity, then we would have to find two cases similar in all respects
except that one was rich and had protective tariffs, and the other was poor
and espoused free trade. As Mill pointed out, even if such a clear causal
relationship did exist, finding two cases similar in every respect except
these two variables would be impossible. Alternatively, the ‘indirect
method of difference’ would require a third case (or more) to be sought
out, similar to the first in a number of respects, and to the second in others.
If this third case was also open to trade and poor, the theory would receive
further support; if however it was open to trade and rich, the theory would
have to be revised.
For this reason Przeworski and Teune argued strongly that the ‘most
different systems’ approach was preferable. This approach draws from
Mill’s ‘method of agreement’ and seeks out similarities between cases in
spite of the potentially confounding differences between them. The under¬
standing behind this approach is that, if a hypothesised relationship
between two or more variables is replicated across a wide variety of
different settings, then there are stronger grounds for arguing that there is
a causal link between the variables. This implies that attention should be
shifted from the ‘intersystemic’ level, where variables such as the type of
political regime are often examined, to the ‘intrasystemic’ level, in the hope
of eliminating system-level variables (such as the political regime) from the
inquiry and establishing generalisations valid across different settings. If
well-educated individuals are shown to be more likely to vote in elections
than the rest of the population in samples drawn from, say, Britain, Russia,
Japan, Thailand and Madeira, then we can exclude variables such as the
form of the state, the level of economic prosperity, religious tradition,
population size and probably many more from a theory on the relationship
between levels of education and political participation. Because the ‘most
different systems’ approach requires a sample of cases from a wide variety
of settings, the unit of analysis should be at the lowest possible level -
individuals, rather than groups or countries. As a result, this approach
implies a preference for ‘large N’ (a large number of cases) rather than
‘small N’ (a small number of cases) research (Hague et al. 1998: 281).
Other scholars have built on Lipset’s work using even larger Ns.
Diamond (1992) tested the Lipset hypothesis with new data from 142
countries, taking advantage of the much wider availability of data sets in
the 1990s. Diamond’s research used different variables and different
indicators. His explanatory variable was a measure of broad material
well-being: the UN Development Programme’s Human Development
Index, a composite variable consisting of adult literacy, life expectancy,
and per capita gross domestic product. For the dependent variable,
Diamond replaced Lipset’s democracy/dictatorship dichotomy with an
ordinal variable of ‘democraticness’ (measured on a seven-point scale)
drawn from Freedom House’s annual survey of political rights and
freedoms in the world. Using this approach, Diamond was able to show
a correlation coefficient between development and democracy of 0.71,
suggesting that around half of the variation in the ‘democraticness’ of
regimes can be predicted by the variation in their material quality of life
(by squaring this correlation coefficient and multiplying by 100 we can
generate, as a percentage, the proportion of the variation in the dependent
variable predicted by the independent variable: in this case 50.41 per cent).
These studies, and many others in the same tradition (for example,
Cutright 1963; Moore 1995; Vanhanen 1997), provide an insight into the
advantages and drawbacks of the quantitative comparative approach. On
the one hand, they do provide strong empirical support, accumulated over
a period of time and using a range of data sets and statistical techniques,
for the generalisation that economic development, broadly understood, is
related to democracy, broadly understood. That these findings can be
replicated through comparative analysis of very different cases, following
the advice of Przeworski and Teune, strongly suggests that the relationship
is a causal one. Empirical support for such a parsimonious theory would
have taken much longer to assemble and may well have been less
compelling, if quantitative analyses had been shunned. Similar techniques
have been used to study, to name but a handful of examples, the
relationship between political parties and public policy outcomes (Castles
1982), the impact of electoral systems on party politics (Lijphart 1994) and
the impact of globalisation on the sustainability of social democracy
(Garrett 1988). However, the quantitative comparative literature in
political science also reveals some important limitations of the approach.
Limited cases
One of the most obvious limitations is the paucity of available cases and
the even greater paucity of available data on cases. Przeworski and Teune’s
recommendation to focus on individual-level data is difficult to apply to
research on many of the concerns of political science, such as the role of
political institutions, or the formulation of public policies. If we want to
study the impact of electoral systems on party politics, there are relatively
few cases of electoral systems (for example, Cox (1997) takes 77 country
cases). This problem can be surmounted to some extent by using
periodisation within each country to ‘create’ more cases (so each election
in each country becomes a case). But even so, the results of statistical
analysis are likely to be less reliable than in the cases of survey data, where
samples will sometimes include thousands of individuals.
Limited data
Data reliability
Careless conceptualisation
particular regions or types of cases (Mair 1996: 317). For example, much comparative political
economy research pays little attention to nations outside the OECD (for an exception, see Lane
and Ersson 1997). In this sense, much of the quantitative work published in contemporary
political science implicitly relies on the ‘most similar systems’ research design often used in
‘small N’ qualitative comparative studies, which aim to control for some variables whilst
detecting concomitant variation in others. This undermines arguments that quantitative design
should whenever possible be preferred to qualitative design in comparative research (as has been
argued, for example, by Smelser 1976).
2000: 699). Charles Ragin has argued that qualitative research often
involves ‘complex, combinatorial explanations’ which ‘are very difficult
to prove in a manner consistent with the norms of mainstream quantitative
social science’ (1987: 13). Qualitative comparative research tends to
explain political phenomena in terms of the combined effect of several
factors, and there are usually insufficient cases in which these combina¬
tions occur to test such explanations statistically. The key strength of large
N analysis - that if a pattern is repeated often enough within a randomly
selection population it is unlikely to be a coincidence - is denied to such
qualitative small N studies, and the reliability of their conclusions can be
challenged on these grounds.
The Boolean method, like its rivals, is not without its weaknesses. A
significant disadvantage of the Boolean approach is that it requires all data
to be presented in binary form, as dichotomous variables. Some data - for
example continuous variables, like per capita GDP - are not particularly
conducive to such treatment, and researchers have to rely on potentially
arbitrary cut-off points in order to contrive a dichotomous variable. For
instance, Hicks chooses to measure his dependent variable (early or late
welfare state development) by assessing whether four key welfare provi¬
sions had been established by a particular date (1920). Although he
Further reading
Part III
Issues
Chapter 13
STUART McANULLA
Most objections to the debate broadly fall into the two positions
outlined above. Put crudely, one perspective suggests the debate is too
complex and abstract, the other that it is merely an everyday truism. Here,
I will argue that ultimately both types of objections may be dismissed.
However, it is worth looking closely at the nature of each criticism.
Objection Type One : At one level such an objection has strong validity.
The structure—agency question does indeed relate to the most perplexing
philosophical questions in history. For example, within Marxism the
debate has tended to be couched in terms of voluntarism—determinism.
However, elsewhere it is reflected in other dualisms, including: micro¬
macro, individualism—collectivism, subjectivism—objectivism and holism-
individualism. Consequently, it may be grandiose, if not foolish, to engage
with a debate which is notorious for yielding confusion, even madness.
Certainly, I think it would be very problematic to believe that one might
find a ‘solution’ to the problem of structure and agency. One of the key
problems is that some contemporary literature on structure-agency,
particularly that of Anthony Giddens (see later section), does sometimes
seem to suggest that it offers such a solution. In contrast, I believe the
debate should not focus upon an effort to find the Holy Grail of a solution.
Rather the structure—agency issues should be acknowledged as an un¬
avoidable problem . Put another way, it is an issue on which we cannot
avoid adopting a position. We can easily, but perhaps not wisely, avoid
ever using the terms ‘structure’ and ‘agency’, just as we may consciously
avoid reading any of the dense philosophical literature relating to it. Yet,
as political scientists of whatever kind, we are bound to appeal to some
understanding of structure-agency whenever we offer explanation of
political events. Whether we are explaining the fall of the Berlin Wall or
the rise of feminism we will inevitably make reference to the causal powers
of interest groups, decision-makers or protest movements (agency) or
contextual factors such as economic recession, patriarchy or the environ¬
ment (structures). Equally, we will, of necessity, adopt some view on the
relative importance of different factors: in other words we will take some
view as to the relative significance of structural or intentional factors. Thus
understood, we cannot ‘opt out’ from the structure—agency issue.
Objection Type Two : Again, at one level, we may accept this objection.
It is indeed part of everyday experience that we are constrained by
conditions around us, but within these we have at least some opportunity
to influence our futures. Thus, in a sense we have an intuitive under¬
standing of the importance of both structural and intentional factors in
social reality. A couple of points must be made here. First, there are
influential bodies of social science literature which would in fact reject this
common-sense understanding of the world and, indeed, argue that we
should adopt quite different assumptions when actually studying the world
(Bhaskar 1994). Put simply, we should not assume that what causes events
in the social world is a straightforward matter. As we will see, some
authors believe that what individuals do may be a consequence of deep
underlying structures which they may have no conscious awareness of
(ibid.: 6, 16). Second, even if the everyday understanding of the issue is
accepted as valid there are further considerations. Whilst most would sign
up to the statement that agency affects structure and vice versa (see later
discussion of dialectical approaches) this does not mean that there is
agreement about how we actually explain events. Suppose we ask the
question: what has caused mass unemployment? Some will answer with
reference to economic change (structure), others to feckless, immoral
individuals unwilling to work (agency). Ultimately, we are forced to take
a stance on the relative importance of different factors. Moreover we are
compelled to take a position on the relative importance of structural and
intentional factors.
Overall, one can argue that the structure—agency issue is one with which
we cannot help but grapple. Rather than seeking a solution to the problem
in the way one might look for the answer to a riddle, the best we can do is
look for accounts which usefully conceptualise how structure and agency
relate. The next section is devoted to examining perspectives which
attempt such a task. First, I consider positions which give priority to
structure; second, positions which give priority to agency; and, finally,
positions which give a crucial role to both structure and agency.
Structuralism
Structuralism as a 'movement'
For political scientists, perhaps the most influential author within the
structuralist movement was the Marxist Louis Althusser (see the later
discussion of this work). In Althusser’s view, social reality is governed by
the complex interaction of economic, political and ideological structures
which have their own relative autonomy from one another. However,
individuals, or agents, have no autonomous power, they only have a role in
as far as they are the ‘bearers’ of structures. Althusser and Balibar state:
never anything more than the occupants of these places, in so far as they
Structuralism as tendency
Hay argues that, since the 1970s, structuralism is now little more than a
term of abuse within social and political theory (Hay 1999b: 38). Certainly,
the label ‘structuralist’ tends to be used by critics interpreting other
authors’ work, rather than being a term openly embraced by authors for
their own work. The label is usually applied to literature, which either
privileges, or appears to privilege, the role of structures over the role of
agency as explanatory variables. Such literature thus shares key theoretical
characteristics with the structuralist ‘movement’. Again, the emphasis is on
the way unobservable structures either constrain or determine human
action. Such structuralist-oriented positions explain political change by
examining the development and interaction of structures. Agency is thus
reduced to the status of an epiphenomenon. For example, the work of
Anderson and Nairn regarding British economic decline is often described
as structuralist (Hay 1996). These authors attempt to explain why Britain
has slowly lost its former economic power, suggesting this is because the
structure of the British state has survived intact in essence since the feudal
era. The attempts of some governments to reform these structures have
been ineffectual against such embedded institutions. Consequently, actors,
such as the UK Government, have lacked the means to address Britain’s
decline in a rapidly changing world.
Intentionalism
Dialectical approaches
Structuration theory
Giddens came to reflect on this whole issue because of his frustration with
the tendency of much social science to locate itself on one side or other of
this basic structure-agency dualism (Giddens 1979, 1984). Consequently,
he attempts to transcend this dualism through what he terms ‘structura¬
tion’ theory. His basic argument is that structure and agency are not
separate entities: they are mutually dependent and internally related.
Structure only exists through agency and agents have ‘rules and resources’
between them which will facilitate or constrain their actions. Giddens, like
structuralists, recognises that such structures do constrain what individuals
can do. However, unlike the structuralist, Giddens argues that these ‘rules
and resources’ also enable particular actions. For example, citizens living
within the European Union (EU) are subject to particular rules and
resources. These constrain people living in the EU: for instance, they may
have no option but to abide by decisions reached in the European Court of
Justice. However, such rulings can be enabling for citizens. For example,
directives on working conditions can help employees take action against
employers who force people to work in unsafe circumstances. A key point
of Giddens’s model is that particular actions can lead to the reconstitution
of the structure, which will, in turn, affect future action. For example, in
the 1980s many European states perceived the need for greater economic
and institutional integration in order to be more competitive within global
markets. Accordingly, in 1986 member states signed the Single European
Act in order (amongst other things) to liberalise economic transactions in
Europe. In doing so, they effectively reconstituted the structure of the EU,
giving greater powers to supranational insititutions to regulate the
European economy. This revised structure then affected future decisions
of individual EU states who now had considerably diminished scope to
veto decisions reached at a European level. Overall, structuration theory
provides a balanced model in which structure and agency closely interact.
Giddens’s metaphor for this is that, rather than being distinct phenomena,
structure and agency are in fact two sides of the same coin.
In his own work, Giddens for the most part adopts an agency-centred
analysis, leaving structural or systems-based analysis for other work.
Critics argue that this is indicative of the inadequacy of structuration
theory which offers no obvious guide as to how it may be applied in
practical research (For a critique of Giddens’ definition of structure and his
practice of ‘methodological bracketing’ see Hay 1995: 198).
Relatedly, Hay (1996) and Jessop (1990) stress the ability of agents to
alter structural circumstances through an active process of strategic
learning : ‘agents are reflexive, capable of reformulating within limits their
own identities and interests, and able to engage in strategic calculation
about their current situation’ (Hay 1996: 124). For example, a job seeker
may make several unsuccessful attempts to gain employment. However, by
gaining feedback from employers, and perhaps from interviews, they may
adapt their future approach to finding a job and, consequently, prove
successful. Therefore, the individual has learned from past failure and
adapted their job-seeking strategy accordingly. The strategies which
individuals or groups adopt will yield effects; some of these may be
intended, but there are also likely to be unintended consequences. For
example, a government may adopt a strategy aimed at reducing unemploy¬
ment. However, although it may be successful in achieving this it may find
that inflation increases as a side effect. Frequently then, actions can lead to
changes in the structural context which are unanticipated or unwanted.
There are now few political scientists who are unaware of the growing
influence of postmodernism in recent years (see Bevir and Rhodes,
Chapter 6). Indeed, it is now one of the most recognisable (if by no means
easily accessible) general perspectives within university departments.
Postmodernism tends to provoke enthusiasm and condemnation in equal
measure. However, there is little doubt that many of the key ideas
associated with it have become highly influential, often even on those who
‘out there’ to discover; they are merely concepts within a discourse through
which we apprehend and construct the world around us. In a sense
postmodernist authors such as Laclau and Mouffe (1985, see also Howarth
1995) can claim to have transcended or outflanked traditional terms like
structure and agency through their promotion of the all-embracing
category of discourse.
The key question, however, is to what extent we are willing to accept the
epistemological stance adopted by advocates of such an approach. It is
possible, for example, to go along with the postmodernist’s basic
epistemological scepticism: that there is no privileged site from which
knowledge can be constructed. However, we need not agree with
postmodernists that all knowledge is merely discursive. Rather, we may
argue that phenomena such as structure and agency are more than
arbitrary discursive constructs, but do refer to phenomena which are
indeed ‘out there’ with their own particular characteristics and properties.
Jessop, for example, argues that if the only properties which entities have
are those described in discourse then you would surely be able discursively
to turn base metal into gold or else convince those laughing at the
emperor’s new clothes that he really was wearing them (Jessop 1990: 295).
In addition, it is possible that phenomena such as structure or agency may
produce effects on social reality without these being articulated in
discourse. Consider the example mentioned earlier regarding a woman
who fails to be appointed to a senior position within her company. Her
failure is likely to be discursively constructed as due to a ‘lack of
experience’ or a ‘bad interview’ performance. However, as discussed
earlier, her failure may in fact be caused by the existence of a patriarchal
structure, or ‘glass ceiling’ of which neither she nor the members of the
company are directly aware. The postmodernist does not allow for this
type of explanation.
The role of ideas in social life is a complex one (see Blyth, Chapter 14). It
is an issue which is subject to considerable theoretical and terminological
confusion. One of the key difficulties lies in discerning, on the one hand, to
what extent ideas are something which people create and use for specific
purposes (for example, inventing a new kind of washing machine), and, on
the other hand, to what extent ideas are something we receive from others
and which then determine the way we look at the world (such as religious
narratives). Relatedly, should ideas be considered yet another social
structure, which can be analysed along with others such as social class?
Or should ideas be considered as primarily an expression of agency?
Authors are rarely explicit on this issue. The discussion above suggests
that, if we are to avoid the postmodernist trap, then we need to draw a
clear distinction between the ideational and material and, therefore, also a
distinction between structure, agency and the ideational. It is worth
considering to what extent, if any, the contemporary literature on structure
and agency makes this type of division.
As will become clear, there are similarities between Archer’s approach and
that of Hay (1996) and Jessop (1990) mentioned earlier. This is perhaps to
be expected as all these authors identify with ‘critical realist’ theory, which
has a distinctive set of assumptions about the world (see Marsh and
Furlong, Chapter 1).
Archer, like Hay and Jessop, and unlike Giddens, insists upon the idea
that structure and agency are indeed different. She argues that we require a
very clear analytical distinction between structure and agency. Structure
operates in particular ways, whilst agency operates in different ways.
Consequently, she dismisses the reductionist claims of critics such as King
who argue that structures are merely ‘other people’ (King 1999). Archer
argues that structure and agency exercise unique properties and powers
and, as such, are irreducible to one another. Rather than structure and
agency being two sides of the same coin, for Archer they are like two
distinct strands which intertwine with one another. Archer suggests that
the key to avoiding structuralism or intentionalism is not, as Giddens
proposes, to conflate structure and agency, but rather to examine how
structure and agency relate to one another over time. It is only in this way,
Archer suggests, that we can establish the interplay, or dialectical relation¬
ship, between structure and agency.
Crucially, structure and agency work in different ways over time: they
are temporally separable. Structure, it is argued, necessarily predates
Structural conditioning
Social interaction
12 _^_T3
Structural elaboration
Importantly however, Archer points out that the stage T4 may very well
not be one of structural elaboration, but, rather, structural reproduction
(Archer calls this morphostasis). This is because, in many cases, action
leaves structural conditions relatively unchanged. Individual or group
action may fail to bring about desired changes, or may alternatively seek
to maintain the status quo: to keep prevailing structural conditions intact.
Either way, this approach emphasises that social structures can be highly
durable in nature and, thus, difficult to transform.
Perhaps what sets Archer’s position most noticeably apart from the
approaches discussed earlier is the clearly defined role it gives to the
ideational aspects of social life. She does this by placing ‘culture’ alongside
structure and agency as a key meta-theoretical concept. Archer’s own
discussion of culture is extremely helpful in both reviewing and
theoretically defining the role of the ideational in social theory (see Archer
1996). In fact, the main aim of drawing a distinction between structure and
culture is to avoid conflating the material with the ideational. Archer
argues that the relationship between culture and agency is similar to that
between structure and agency. Yet, while the former relationship may be
analytically similar to the latter, they are ontologically different relation¬
ships. To conflate structure and culture would be to conflate the material
with the ideational. Thus, culture and structure should be conceived of as
relatively autonomous. Existing theories of the role of cultural tend,
Archer argues, to conflate culture and agency in manners similar to the
way in which the structuralist or intentionalist reductively conflates
structure and agency. For example, some neo-Marxists have espoused the
‘dominant ideology’ thesis. In this view cultural systems are the
manipulated product of ruling-class actors who have both the power
and coherence of ideas to penetrate and shape the ideas of society as a
whole. Such a view reduces the production of dominant cultures to the
class-based agency of certain groups (as such, it is similar in a sense to
intentionalism). Conversely, other writers point to the way in which
cultures have an internal systemic unity; they work according to a ‘code’.
In order to communicate, actors must use the code and, thus, can make
little contribution to altering the code itself. Thus, Archer argues:
Socio-cultural interaction
12 _^_T3
Cultural elaboration
T2-T3: In the period from the 1960s onwards various groups in the UK
began to campaign for general acceptance of homosexuality. Such groups
gradually gained support within different social and political contexts,
particularly within some left-wing organisations, although the movement
also met with vigorous opposition, such as the notorious Section 28 of the
1988 Local Government Act which prevented local councils ‘promoting’,
that is, educating people about, homosexuality. Nonetheless, groups
continued to campaign publicly and persuaded many to adopt more
tolerant views. In the 1990s a few bold MPs and parliamentary candidates
openly declared themselves as homosexual and gay rights issues began to
make their way onto some mainstream political agendas.
Archer argues that the two respective circles ‘meet’ at T2-T3 in each
basic morphogenetic sequence. In the phase of social interaction agents
face the conditioning influences of both structure and culture. Thus, there
is a dialectical relationship between both structure and agency and culture
and agency. Archer believes it is crucial that we distinguish between these
two dialectics otherwise we risk conflating the ideational and the material.
Further reading
• There are few political science texts that deal explicitly with issues of
structure and agency. However, amongst sociology texts Layder (1994),
Sayer (1992) and Dessler (1989) attempt to apply their ideas to politics
and international relations.
This chapter has argued that the practising political scientist can scarcely
ignore the issue of structure and agency. It is an issue upon which we are
bound to take some kind of stance whenever we come to offer
explanations of political events. Consequently, it seems sensible for the
analyst to take seriously the existing theoretical literature on this question.
The dangers of structuralism, intentionalism and postmodernism appear
grave indeed, tempting the researcher to adopt positions which arguably
Chapter 14
MARK BLYTH
Introduction
Students coming to grips with political science often get frustrated with the
seemingly unnecessary philosophical navel-gazing that goes on. Students
want to know the big stuff: why Northern Ireland has such a difficult time
resolving issues of religion, or why sub-Saharan Africa seems such a
developmental disaster. Meanwhile, their lecturers seem to be more
interested in sorting out such things as who is, and who is not, an
epistemological realist. Since such debates seem both arcane and
irresolvable, some students might just decide to go back to reading the
newspaper instead. This would be a pity, for the fact that such
philosophical issues are at base both irresolvable and irreconcilable is no
barrier to doing good political science. Indeed, this chapter hopes to
demonstrate how realising this is the first step to properly getting to grips
with the discipline.
This chapter argues that the best substantive work in political science is
done by comparing the work of theorists who, despite employing common
concepts in their research, operate from radically different ontological and
epistemological positions. Understanding this tells us what the pay-offs
from different approaches actually are and how political science as a whole
moves forward. In order to substantiate these claims, this chapter surveys
ontologically different theories that, nonetheless, use common concepts in
their research: namely, institutions and ideas. The point of doing so is to
demonstrate how the particular versions of these concepts developed and
deployed in different theories tell us very different things about how the
world works. That analysts arrive at different conclusions is not a
problem. Indeed, the fact that different theories generate different conclu¬
sions is itself the most valuable thing, since it is only through dialogue
between contrasting perspectives that knowledge as a whole moves
forward.
The point of choosing institutions and ideas as our focus in this chapter
is twofold. First of all, debates in the field over the appropriate role for
The first part of the chapter argues that, no matter which ontological,
epistemological or methodological position one adopts (and, like buses in
London, they tend to come together), there is, to mix geometric metaphors,
no way to avoid being stuck in a particular corner of the hermeneutic
circle. However, that this is so is largely irrelevant, precisely because
different positions generate contrasting answers. This is not to embrace a
naive pluralism. Some perspectives may be intrinsically better than others.
The point is to recognise that there is no way to know this apart from by
doing research within these separate traditions and engaging in debate over
the results which they generate. Indeed, to presume a priori that one
approach is necessarily better than another is to engage in an intellectual
imperialism that curtails knowledge rather than adds to it. As such,
comparison and contestation among different perspectives offer a way
around these irresolvable philosophical problems and allow us to engage in
what this exercise is meant to be all about — understanding politics better
than we would if we just read a newspaper.
Following this first section, the chapter discusses how and why political
scientists of different persuasions have used the concept of institutions as a
way to explain political outcomes. Subsequently, the focus shifts again to
how political scientists have viewed ideas, and how different ‘ideas about
ideas’ have in some cases helped, and in some cases hindered, our
understanding of politics. Next, the ontological and epistemological
underpinnings of different institutionalist and ideational approaches will
be noted, and what such limits tell us about the worth of these contrasting
theories will be discussed. Finally, in conclusion, the chapter notes what all
this tells us about how political science actually gets somewhere, despite
being so ‘philosophically challenged’.
Political scientists rightly put great emphasis on sorting out where one
stands ontologically, prior to doing research (see Marsh and Furlong,
Chapter 1). Such a position is wise, but for some political scientists
worrying about such things apart from actual research has its limitations.
First of all, it is not in and of itself a research strategy. Positing ontologies
is a parlour game. One can posit ontologies all day long without either
reward or contradiction. For example, one can posit that, in the manner of
some rational choice theorists, only individuals are appropriate units of
study (Elster 1986, 1989a). Alternatively, one can posit that the world, a la
Marxism, is made up of classes and argue that individuals do not matter in
the great sweep of history. The point is, both positions may be true, at
least in so far as both positions can generate new findings. For example,
class conflict may be vitally important in propelling societies forward at
specific historical junctures, but so might individual strategic action.
Therefore, ontology — as an a priori theory of what the world is made up
of — is necessarily irrefutable in its own terms. One may posit individuals
as important a priori , but this does not demonstrate that classes are always
and everywhere irrelevant: it merely asserts it.
Before the interpretive camp uncorks the bubbly, Putnam then asks what
is the basis of relativistic truth claims. There has to be one, otherwise the
idea of knowledge of anything would be hopeless. Even the most
relativistic position must rest upon a truth claim. Indeed, Putnam argues
that relativism also rests upon a statement. That statement is some variant
of ‘all things are relative and there can be no position of absolute truth’,
which seems to imply the impossibility of adjudicating positions. However,
if this were the case, then the fact that people agree about what may be
true at any given time (for example, slavery is good, slavery is bad) and,
given that such ‘conventional wisdoms’ persist over time, this suggests
that, at any given point in time , some ‘things’ must be ‘more true’ than
others by simple virtue of the fact that people believe them. If this is the
case, then relativism must also be a self-refuting proposition.
By the end of the 1950s such functionalist theories dominated the study
of comparative politics. The overall argument was simple enough. Societal
stability, a characteristic of modern societies, was due to ever greater
functional differentiation between institutions. Conversely, the lack of
economic and political development was therefore due to the lack of
‘sufficiently differentiated institutions’. Consequently, the more specialised
and differentiated a set of institutions were, the more ‘developed’ the state
was seen to be. Even in this early form then, institutional analysis formed
the core of the political science world-view. There was, however, a rather
large flaw in the theory. As well as being hopelessly circular, it was
overwhelmingly contradicted by the facts of the day.
The problem with these theories was that the real world events of the
1960s, both domestically and internationally, simply overwhelmed them.
Specifically, these new ‘modernising’ democracies, whose institutions were
supposedly becoming more functionally differentiated, were falling back
into dictatorships. Coups d’etat in Latin America and Africa had become
common and development was grinding to a halt in many other places.
However, rather than give up on institutions as a concept, a new
generation of theorists used the same concept to explain these seemingly
contrary outcomes.
However, when one wanted to drop down from such haughty levels and
explain less macro-level phenomena it seemed that something more fine¬
grained was needed. For example, if one wanted to explain why it was that
certain trade union movements were stronger than others, or why national
pension systems differed in their systems of delivery, then one had to deal
with a lower level of abstraction. Specifically, one had to start thinking
about the ‘institutional 5 context once again. Thus, as we shall see below,
state theorists became ‘historical institutionalists 5 (Hall 1986; Steinmo et
al. 1992)
The other main body of theory, rational choice theory, came out of three
interrelated developments. First of all, public choice theory in economics
turned the analysis of public policy-making inside-out (see Ward,
Chapter 3). Far from viewing bureaucrats as faithful public servants, they
were seen by these theorists as ‘budget maximisers 5 and ‘informational
monopolists 5 who blackmailed the government, hoodwinked the public
and acted self-interestedly in all things (Nordhaus 1975; Lindbeck 1976;
Brittan 1977). As such, any notion of a benign state executing the will of
the people became problematic. Second, Olson’s work on collective action
changed for ever the way scholars thought about decision-making and
participation (Olson 1965, 1982). After Olson, the question political
scientists asked was no longer ‘why do so few participate? 5 , but ‘why does
anyone participate given the manifest benefits of free riding? 5 Third, game
theory offered the (largely unfulfilled) promise of turning these new
insights into a dynamic theory of political change through the adoption
of mathematical modelling techniques. These three currents came together
in modern rational choice theory (see Ward, Chapter 3).
The unfortunate thing for this new and impressive body of theory was
that the world predicted by this theory was, all in all, a little too dynamic.
It predicted a world populated by self-interested agents who have no
loyalties, suffer no informational or ideological illusions and are generally
unable to make binding agreements with each other. Endogenous cycling
and multiple equilibria became the predicted condition of an unpredictable
world that was in theory much more volatile than it seemed in reality
(McKelvey 1976; Schofield 1978). However, that this was the case was to
prove theoretically productive, since the observed fact that most of us are
still alive was taken as prima facie evidence by some of these theorists that
maybe the world was a little more orderly than their theories would
predict (Williamson 1985; North 1981). The question thus became, once
again, how is such order possible? And the answer, once again, was
institutions. In sum, both state theorists and rational choice theorists
developed different strands of what we now call ‘new institutionalism 5 (see
Lowndes, Chapter 4). However, what ‘institutional 5 meant differed for
each camp.
Rational choice theorists who turned to institutions see the world rather
differently. Recall that for such theorists the problem they faced was to
explain stability. Therefore, in contrast to historical institutionalists,
rational choice theorists see institutions as instrumental products that
agents use to ‘structure choices’. Such institutions are things people build:
they are ‘chosen structures’, rather than the historical consequences of
prior ‘structured choices’ as they are for historical institutionalists. Such
instrumental, ‘chosen structures’, it was argued, produced the stability for
which their theory needs to account.
choice theory, then the last tuna would have been hauled out of the
Mediterranean Sea a few hundred years back. Why then are there, even
now, some tuna left? Such a problem, technically a ‘common-pool
resource’ problem (CPR), has no clear solution since it is always rational
for each fisherman to take as much as he can because there is no guarantee
that any other fisherman will not do exactly that. So, even if everyone
knows that the fish are disappearing and that cooperation to halt fishing
would be the best strategy, there is no way to enforce this strategy; thus the
last tuna dies. Only it did not, and this is where institutions make a
reappearance for rationalists (see Ward, Chapter 3).
Rationalists argue that if all, or even a large subset of, fishermen agree to
stop or limit fishing, and they sell a percentage of their reduced catch to
fund a magistrate who inspects the nets and the docks, sets timetables for
fishing, allocates slots, fines and publicises transgressions and so on, then,
even though all fishermen will get relatively less immediately, they will all
get absolutely more in the long run. Designing such an institution solves
the CPR by increasing information flows and transparency over what all
agents are doing, thus allowing effective mutual monitoring. Given such
transparency, all agents can adhere to the dictates of the institution and
over time this adherence becomes a norm that is obeyed almost auto¬
matically. Taken together then, both of these institutionalisms offer very
plausible stories, despite their very different ontological assumptions.
Nonetheless, there were still problems within both theories that necessi¬
tated a turn towards ideas. Specifically, historical institutionalists had a
problem explaining change, while rationalists still struggled to explain
stability, despite invoking institutions to do so.
For rational choice theorists the problem was different. Recall that, for
rationalists, institutions are seen as consciously designed structures chosen
by individuals to produce stability. It was hoped that turning to institu¬
tions would supply this stability. Unfortunately, placing institutions within
a rationalist framework created further theoretical anomalies rather than
solving current ones. To understand this, consider the ontological basis of
rational choice theory (see Ward, Chapter 3).
Societies are replete with institutions that continue after their ostensible
purpose has ended. For example, in the USA an organisation called the
March of Dimes was founded in the 1920s to fight polio. Polio was cured
fifty years ago and the March of Dimes still exists, having broadened its
agenda. But, if institutions are merely instrumental products, how can they
go about broadening their own agendas? They would have to be agents to
do that, and, if only individuals are agents, this starts to get tricky,
ontologically speaking.
tions that would stop overfishing would be undersupplied for the same
reason. If institutions are instrumental products, then someone has to spend
time and resources providing them. Yet, spending one’s own time monitor¬
ing everyone for the good of all, instead of fishing for yourself, is patently
irrational. In rational choice terms, agents will always prefer someone else
to supply the institutions that would stabilise tuna stocks than do it
themselves, and, if everyone else thinks the same way, then no such
institutions will be supplied and overfishing will continue (Olson 1965).
Berman wants to explain why it was that, despite having the largest and
most powerful social democratic party in the world at the time, the
interwar German Social Democratic Party (SPD) capitulated before
Naziism — specifically, why it was that, when the SPD were in power
during the late 1920s, they did not even attempt to fight the economic crisis
Germany faced through remedial policies: a choice which made Hitler’s
ascent to power much easier. In contrast, the Swedish Social Democrats
(SAP), despite being the smaller and weaker party, managed to avoid the
pitfalls of fascism and laid the foundations for the world’s most successful
experiment in social democracy. What accounts for the different paths
taken? The difference, argues Berman, was: ‘each party’s long held ideas
and the distinct policy legacies these ideas helped to create’ (Berman
1998: 7). Berman’s focus on the causal properties of ideas provides
historical institutionalist approaches with a sophisticated theory of how,
and why, institutional change occurs which goes far beyond simply
propping up the existing theory.
Berman reminds the reader that a peculiar thing about the interwar SPD
was its ‘special relationship’ to Marx and Marxism. Marx saw revolution
coming first to Germany and had foreseen a special role for the SPD in
producing it. After Marx’s death, the SPD became a kind of ‘defender of
the faith’ for Marxism which made policy innovation very difficult
(Berman 1998: 176-80). The Swedes, on the other hand, unencumbered
by such an ideological legacy, were free to interpret Marxism as a
statement of goals, rather than of means. The real-world consequences
of having such different programmatic beliefs were enormous. When in
power the SAP was able to develop new ideas about the role of the state in
the economy and with those ideas advocate radical policies to stabilise
capitalism. The SPD, as the heirs of Marx, could hardly advocate saving
capitalism, despite being in charge of the Parliament. Given this mental
straitjacket, the SPD’s ideological leader Hilferding could argue at the
height of the interwar economic crisis that: ‘depressions result from the
anarchy of the capitalist system. Either they come to an end or they lead to
the collapse of the capitalist system’ (Berman 1998: 197). Given this
position, a trade union proposal to adopt compensatory spending mea¬
sures that could have halted the collapse of the economy was defeated in
1932 (Berman 1998: 192-7). In 1933, through such ideational inflexibility,
Hitler came to power.
The key observation is this: Berman s analysis does not violate its own
ontological basis. By positing a world of institutions and ideas that are
ontologically prior to individuals, Berman can explain how ideas generate
change through the fundamental alteration of agents’ conceptions of self-
interest in a way that a theory grounded in an individualist ontology
cannot. As such, ideas added to an historical institutionalist theory can
supplement the existing framework without contradiction. In Berman’s
case ideas do successfully ‘fix’ the existing body of theory, but, more
importantly, in doing so they generate new insights, give us new knowl¬
edge and do not contradict the theory’s underlying ontological basis. In the
rationalist framework ideas can do none of these things, precisely because
of the limits of its ontology . This is why paying attention to both ontology
and actual findings are important, for doing so allows us actually to
adjudicate between the claims made on behalf of different theories. This is
how progress in political science is made possible — a point we return to in
the conclusion.
So what does all this tell us about institutions, ideas and the broader issue
of progress in political science? This chapter has sought to demonstrate
three main points. First, knowing about ontology and epistemology is
important, not only because it helps us be aware of the biases and
limitations of our own chosen research strategies, but also because, by
being aware of where different theories are coming from we can better
appreciate what constitutes better and worse work in the field as a whole.
Second, by examining how the concepts of institutions and ideas have been
used by very different bodies of theory, we can better understand, not only
the pay-offs from different approaches, but also whether such conceptual
I shifts and borrowings are theoretically productive or not. Third, an
understand how the field progresses as a whole. Let us take each of these
points in turn.
As the introduction argued, one can posit ontologies all day long and
there is no a priori way of sorting out which ones are more productive than
others, other than in producing actual research. The discussion of how
institutions and ideas have been used by different theorists at different
points in the evolution of political science bears this out. As was argued
above, the old institutionalism that studied laws, constitutions and the like
was totally surprised by the economic and political collapses of the 1930s
and the barbarism that ensued. This school’s individualist ontology, which
assumed rational men who would use laws and the like to ‘structure
choices’, not unlike modern rational choice theory, was severely dented by
actual human behaviour.
It is here in the shift to ideas that we can see how ontology matters.
Rationalism’s continued adherence to an individualist ontology meant that
such theorists could only see ideas as functional devices: instruments, tools
and the like designed by agents to help them get what they want. The
notion that ideas could change the content of what agents want was
ontologically inadmissible. If individuals were the theoretical primitives,
ideas could not change their preferences since ideas were merely instru¬
mental products. Ideas were produced by individuals, therefore ideas could
not be seen to be constitutive of individuals without making the theory
incoherent.
Turning to our second point, what makes shifts in the field theoretically
productive or not, we can see that paying attention to ontology also
matters here. As these contrasting adoptions of institutions and ideas
demonstrate, ignoring ontology would make the researcher blind to the
relative pay-offs from these very different theoretical extensions. Apropos
our examples, the rationalist turn to ideas proved not to be all that
theoretically productive. Recoding the problem of institutional supply as
one of ideational supply did nothing to solve the fundamental collective
action problems that haunt both solutions to the problem of explaining
stability from individualist microfoundations. In contrast, in the historicist
turn to ideas the original framework is extended by the incorporation of
ideas and not weakened by it. ‘Historical institutionalism + ideas’ actually
tells us more about the world than ‘historical institutionalism’ does alone.
In contrast, because the incorporation of ideas either violates its underlying
ontology or makes ideas trivial by reducing them to individualist products,
research in the rationalist tradition does not advance our knowledge to the
same extent.
Third, what does all this tell us about progress in political science as a
whole? It tells us that rival and exclusive ontologies are both unavoidable
Further reading
• For the rational choice cooptation of ideas, see Goldstein and Keohane
(1993) and North (1990).
• For ideas and innnovation, see Dobbin (1994) and Ziegler (1997).
Conclusion
The one thing above all others that this book illustrates is the pluralism of
political science: it is, and should be, a broad church. More specifically,
four points are particularly important: ontological and epistemological
issues are significant and they help to explain the different approaches and
ways of doing political science examined in this book; second, difference is
the defining feature of any review of the development of political science
since the Second World War; third, it is important to acknowledge
differences and avoid restrictive gatekeeping; fourth, we argue that, while
fusion between approaches is not possible, effective dialogue is both
possible and beneficial.
312 Conclusion
There were two strands in the initial study of politics: normative political
theory and institutionalism. The standing of normative political theory has
ebbed and flowed, partly as a result of criticism from later strands of
political science, notably behaviouralism. As Buckler shows (Chapter 8),
its concerns have remained fairly constant, although, again as Buckler
argues, many fewer modern normative theorists believe that normative
analysis can be grounded in universal claims about the existence of natural
rights or human rights. Nevertheless, the main changes in the discipline
have occurred outwith the area of normative political theory.
Since the 1970s, in the USA and in limited parts of Europe, mainly in
Scandinavia, rational choice theory has probably become the most
314 Conclusion
Of course, the rise of postmodernism across many areas of the arts and
social sciences has played a significant role in the increased interest in anti-
foundationalism and interpretism. As we already argued following Ran¬
dall, different feminists have operated from different ontological and
epistemological positions. Nevertheless, it is the interpretist strand, with
its emphasis on gender as a social construct, that has had perhaps the
major impact.
identifies have existed in human thought and discussion over a long period.
Moreover diversity is something that we find attractive about political
science in its current phase. It makes it a lively and thought-provoking
discipline in that deep questions about how we understand our world are
never out of the frame.
Beware gatekeeping
The most significant point about this challenge was that it was, not
surprisingly, made on the epistemological terrain of rationalism
[positivism]: it is frankly impossible to see just how reflectivist
[interpretist] accounts could conceivably provide answers that Keohane
would accept, given the gap between their epistemological starting
points.
316 Conclusion
These demands may seem reasonable on the surface, but they do raise
difficult issues for other traditions. An interpretive tradition could not
accept this approach without some qualification. The challenge is laid
down to the positivist position because they have a more doubt-ridden
understanding of what we can know about the social world compared to
the natural world. For them the great glory of humans is that they are
thinking and reflective so that to understand what is going on in the
political world you have to understand the meanings that people attach to
what they are doing. These meanings cannot be reduced successfully in
most circumstances to simple hypotheses that can be tested. Those with an
interpretive position do not believe that direct observation can be objective
and used as a test of ‘reality’. Most realists would also have a problem with
Sanders’ or John’s position because to the realist many of the key
relationships are unobservable.
This volume has introduced students to the different approaches to, and
the different research methods used in, the study of political science. As
such, the volume glories in the diversity and pluralism of political science.
Consequently, we advocate dialogue. In our view, a rounded political
scientist should appreciate the various approaches to the subject and how
they relate to ontological and epistemological positions. However, the
differences between these positions are fundamental. This means that
fusion, certainly between positivist and interpretist positions, is not
possible, but, this is not to suggest research from other traditions cannot
inform one another.
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Author Index
Acker, J. 125, 318
Almond, G. 3, 4, 318
318
Althusser, L. 275
Aristotle 172
319
Berlin, I. 185-6, 193, 319
Berman, S. 305-7, 310, 319
Bernstein, R. 152, 320
Bevir, M. xiii, 3, 152, 320
Bevir, M. and Rhodes, R.A.W. 20, 25,
27-9, 41, 152, 320
Blalock, H.M. 64, 320
Blyth, M. xiii, 17, 266, 277, 284, 310,
320
Dowding, K. 236
324
Freud, S. 82
Furlong, P. xiii
Hobbes, T. 67
332
333
Leftwich, A. 9, 335
Levi-Strauss, C. 275
336
May, E. 244
342
Quine, W. 23^4, 30, 342
343
!!
Subject Index
abortion 120, 242, 244, 288
aesthetics 46, 51
Africa 292, 297
agencies 246
anti-foundationalism 5, 7, 8, 9, 11—12,
15, 18-19, 20, 26, 29-30, 33, 35, 36,
139-48, 155, 193, 232, 233, 236, 314
appearance and reality 154
Ashdown, J.J.D. (Lord Ashdown) 210,
211
assertion 294
attitudes 45, 207
Australia 124, 168
authority 175, 179, 184
internationalisation 157
US-style 164
China 262
church 121, 134, 139
citizens 36, 76, 85
civic groups 198, 215
civil association 143
civil servants 238, 299
civil service/bureaucracy 67, 86, 93, 94,
124-5, 133, 145, 147, 218, 245-7,
262, 277, 298, 299
civil society 101, 119
class 7, 11, 74, 78, 102, 112, 116, 117,
118, 123, 124, 133, 138, 150, 154,
155, 156-7, 161, 167, 178, 181, 184,
209-10, 213, 219, 251, 284, 294
climate change 286
Cold War 296
aftermath 164
298
binary 264—5
collection 15—16, 218-20
field notes 198
Denmark 131-2
deontological theory 184—5, 193
and value pluralism 185—92
l
! f
conditions 192
construction 159, 160-1
selectivity 284
division of labour 124
domestic 125
sexual 115
economic
crisis 155
262, 263
liberalisation 279
structure 251
electorates 93
emancipatory knowledge
(Habermas) 183—4
empirical
institutionalists 96-7
questions 25
theory 47
approaches 22-32
case studies 32-40
conclusion 311-17
definition 18-19
feminist critique 114-18
importance 21-2
Marx 159-60
scientific versus hermeneutic
approaches 19-20
‘a skin, not a sweater’ 17, 21, 311
equality 98, 186, 190, 191
essentialism 18, 111, 112, 115, 127, 140,
148, 154
strategic 130
ethic of care 121-2, 130
ethic of justice 121
ethical principles 184
ethical solidarity 188
ethics 46
ethnocentricity 312
ethnography 27, 117, 137, 152, 197, 206
four main characteristics 136
European Commission 86
European Community 303-4
European Court of Justice 279
Cassis de Dijon ruling (1979) 304
European Parliament 86
European Single Market 303-4
European Union (EU) 36-7, 37-8, 45,
86-7, 164, 211, 213, 258, 279
evolution 73, 80
expected utility 81, 84
experience 111, 115, 121, 138-9, 140,
198, 199, 200, 201, 203, 207, 283^1
explanation 47, 50, 54-5, 55-6, 75, 84,
87, 88, 120, 131-2, 136, 148, 149,
151, 180, 201, 232, 234, 252, 254-5,
264, 272, 282, 284, 290, 296, 304
see also causality
femocrats 124
generalisation 263
geographic location 74
Germany 93, 131—2, 168, 181, 262, 265,
313
first-wave theorists 33
markets 165
political economy 38
protesters 166-7
sceptics 33-4
second-wave theorists 33
third-wave theorists 33—4
governance 33-4, 37, 92, 100, 170
Governing the Economy (Hall
1986) 263, 329
government 37, 92, 136, 144
advisers 238
coalitions 83
structures 90
habit 103-4
Hansard 243
Hungary 158
hyperglobalists 33, 34
hypothesis 22
281
Islam 68
Jews 131-2
judiciary 93
justice 13
Kennedy, J.F. 74
Keynesianism 102, 147
kin altruism 80
Kinnock, N. 209
kinship 275
i
language 28, 138, 176-9, 183, 184, 256,
265, 275, 282
games 177, 178, 179
gendered 234, 235
racially inspired 235
terminology 64
Madeira 255
Major, J. 209, 213
majority, size of 233
manufacturing 158, 259
March of Dimes (USA) 302
marriage 24, 134, 138
mentalities 141
methodological individualism 88
methodology 15-16, 30-1, 34, 83, 90,
92, 235, 240-1, 247, 293, 294-5
conclusion 311, 312, 314
economics 65
feminist critique 114—18
see also comparative methods;
Mississippi 198
bootstrapping 229
bureau-shaping (Dunleavy) 245-6
general incentives 56-7
linear additive 58
logocentric 185, 191
male breadwinner 124
masculine behavioural 118
non-parametric 217
regression 225, 228
social-economic status (SES) 222,
224
spatial 83
Westminster 147
modernisation 262, 298
modernism 202
monetarism 102, 146
money 167, 170
monists 295
Nash equilibria 73
occupation 178
One Nation Toryism 143, 144
ontology xi, 1, 4, 8-9, 11, 17—41, 70, 71,
103, 107, 111, 154, 197, 232, 234,
240-1, 247, 265, 266, 287, 292-6,
300, 301, 302, 304, 306
approaches 22-32
case studies 32-40
conclusion 311-17
definition 18
261
path-dependent 101
policy networks 94, 99
polio 302
internationalisation 2
meta-theoretical challenges 2, 9
methods 2, 15—16
scientific approach 11-12
subject matter 8-11
theory and practice 12-15
see also politics
Political Science Association
(USA 1903-) 2
politics 215
conclusion 311—17
criticisms 23—4
62-3
post-positivism 24—6
post-structuralism 27—8, 117, 132, 135,
137-9, 139-41, 150, 151
feminist 112, 115, 116
postmodernism 27—8, 29, 30, 116, 124,
132, 135, 137-9, 139^1, 150, 151,
152, 153, 155, 189-92, 194, 202-4,
236, 290-1, 314
administration 90, 93
choice theory 66-7, 277
corporations 93
opinion 10
Robertson, P. 290
Rotherham 203
104
approaches 19-20
claims 6-7
realism 295
Scotland 122, 290
Seattle 167
selectivity
slavery 296
social
aggregates 45
atoms 70-1, 78
capital 101, 114, 222
change 158
261-2, 338
107
171, 335
functionalism 297-8
reproduction 286
structuralism 91, 92, 107, 132, 154,
155-6, 157, 159, 161, 162, 170, 266,
274-6, 285, 287-8, 290-1
as a ‘movement’ 274-5
as tendency 276
structuration 88, 278—80, 291
structure and agency 271-91
structured inequality 157, 167-71, 233
UK 167-9
USA 169-70
Switzerland 102
transformationalism 33-4
transitivity 68, 82
transparency 227, 230, 301
Treaty of Rome 304
triangulation 237, 238-9
administrations 277
state legislative committees 125—7
structured inequality 169—70
Supreme Court 170
universalism 127
universities xi, 147, 168, 281
urban areas 262
urbanisation 257
utilitarianism 67
general elections 61
sample (1997) 208
tactical 212-13
see also electoral systems