Objectivity, Value Spheres, And 'Inherent Laws' - Weber, Bourdieu, Luhmann

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DOI: 10.1177/0048393107311144 2008; 38; 97 Philosophy of the Social Sciences

Hans Henrik Bruun Luhmann

Suggestive Isomorphisms between Weber, Bourdieu, and Objectivity, Value Spheres, and "Inherent Laws": On some

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Objectivity, Value Spheres,and “Inherent Laws”On some Suggestive Isomorphismsbetween Weber, Bourdieu,and LuhmannHans Henrik BruunUniversity of Copenhagen, Denmark

I give an account of Max Weber’s views concerning the basis of the objectivityof the cultural sciences. In this connection, I offer a critical discussion of hisdistinction between different “value spheres,” each with its own “intrinsic logic.”I then consider parallels between Weber’s “value spheres” and central elementsof Bourdieu’s field theory and Luhmann’s systems theory, and try to show towhat extent Bourdieu’s and Luhmann’s problems, and the solutions they sug-gest, can be seen as similar to Weber’s. I conclude by a general consideration ofWeber’s, Bourdieu’s, and Luhmann’s approach to the problem of objectivity.

Keywords: Max Weber; Pierre Bourdieu; Niklas Luhmann; social differen-tiation; objectivity; value spheres; inherent logic; field theory;systems theory

Introduction

At the end of the nineteenth century, there were many who believed thata global answer to the question of the objectivity of scientific knowledge hadbeen found. The enormous advances of natural science, whose objectivityseemed beyond doubt, led its disciples to claim that it held a methodologicalmonopoly in all scientific disciplines; and the cultural sciences, with their

Philosophy ofthe Social Sciences

Volume 38 Number 1March 2008 97-120

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97

Received 5 September 2007

Author’s note: I wish to express my thanks to Bjørn Schiermer Andersen, Anders Blok,Christian Borch, Frederik Thuesen Pedersen, and Hans Bernhard Schmid for their helpfulwillingness to discuss aspects of this paper with me, and to Anette Stenslund for bibliograph-ical research. Stephen Turner and the anonymous referee, both commenting on the first draftof the paper, offered many helpful comments.



strong historicist tradition, were therefore on a constant defensive againstthis self-confident positivism.

The book The Limits of the Concept Formation of Natural Science (Rickert1902) by the German neo-Kantian philosopher Heinrich Rickert, wasmeant to provide a central prop for this defensive barrier. The title clearlyshows that Rickert’s main concern was a negative one: to show that therewas something that could not be achieved with the methods of the naturalsciences. Here, Rickert’s argument was based on the proposition that theconcepts of the non-natural—what he called the “historical”—sciences were,in contradistinction to the concepts of natural science, formed by a neces-sary “value relation” (Wertbeziehung) to certain theoretical values. ButRickert’s ambition went further: he also tried to demonstrate that the “his-torical” sciences could lay claim to an objective validity equivalent to (butnot identical with) that of the natural sciences, because the theoretical val-ues of the historical sciences were, in the last resort, connected to valuesthat were objectively and absolutely valid.

Max Weber was much impressed by Rickert’s book, and it thereforeseemed natural for him to publish, in 1904, a programmatic methodologicalessay on “‘Objectivity’ in Social Science and Social Policy.” However, thereis something odd about Objectivity.1 In that essay, Weber explicitly stateshis wish to try to apply Rickert’s thesis to the specific problems of the socialsciences (GAW 146n1, 215/MSS 49, 113), and he does in fact expand atlength, along the lines laid out by Rickert, on the value relation governingconcept formation in the “historical”—or, as he calls them, cultural—sciences.However, in his discussion of value relation, while Weber is most insistentabout the subjectivity of the values on which the concepts of the culturalsciences are based, he has surprisingly little to say about the objectivity ofthose sciences. He does unequivocally state that empirical knowledge in thesocial sciences can be objective and valid for everyone; but he is regrettablytight-lipped as to the basis for this claim.

The first part of this article will therefore focus on the following ques-tion: what is the basis of the objectivity of the cultural sciences, as Webersees it? A central component of the answer to this question is Weber’s ideathat one can distinguish between a number of different “value spheres,”each with its own “intrinsic logic” (Eigengesetzlichkeit). However, in anumber of ways, this solution does not seem systematically satisfactory;and I shall therefore go into some of the problems that it raises.

Interestingly, modern commentators dealing with theories of societaldifferentiation have pointed to parallels between Weber’s value spheres andcentral elements of the more recent theoretical constructions of Bourdieu’s

98 Philosophy of the Social Sciences



field theory and Luhmann’s systems theory, in spite of the fact that theseconstructions are based on principles wholly opposed to the methodologicalindividualism that we usually associate with Weber. In the second and thirdparts of the article, I shall therefore look more closely at these parallels, withthe aim of showing to what extent Bourdieu’s and Luhmann’s problems,and the solutions that they suggest, can in fact be seen as similar to Weber’s.And since both Bourdieu and Luhmann deal extensively with the problemof the objectivity of social science, the article can, so to speak, turn backupon itself and conclude by a general consideration of Weber’s, Bourdieu’s,and Luhmann’s approach to this problem.

Weber’s “Objectivity”

In view of the fact that Rickert claimed to have demonstrated the objec-tivity of the historical sciences by means of their relation to absolute andobjective values, it is remarkable that Weber, in Objectivity (or indeed else-where), shows little or no interest in this line of argument.2 On the contrary,he vigorously propounds the view that ultimate values are in eternal conflict.

More concretely, he seems to have harbored distinct doubts concerningRickert’s use of the term “value.” While reading Rickert’s “The Limits of theConcept Formation of Natural Science,” he writes to his wife, in a letter thathas been ignored until recently (Bruun 2007, 27), that Rickert’s work is “verygood, apart from the terminology (‘value’).” The remark may look innocentlyterminological, but in substance it is highly explosive.3 As Rickert saw it, the“theoretical value” element of the value relation provided the logical link tothe “absolute values,” which, in the last resort, safeguarded the objectivity ofthe social sciences. Replacing “value” with another term might well put intodoubt the soundness of that link, and withal threaten the whole carefulRickertian construction of “objective historical science.”

Why doesn’t Weber like the way in which Rickert employs the term “value”?We find much of the answer in parts of an unpublished note on “Rickert’s‘values,’”4 which he writes some months later. Weber here describes “value,”in the sense used by Rickert, as “a most dangerously shimmering and ambiva-lent expression, which positively invites misunderstanding,” and goes on:“However much you shake Rickert’s concept of ‘value’. . . all that emerges isthe sense of ‘worth knowing about.’” In my view, there can be no doubt thatthe “ambivalence” criticized by Weber refers to the duality of theoretical andpractical values. Weber was always extremely concerned with preserving the“dignity” of the sphere of subjective values. He may therefore well have felt

Bruun / Objectivity, Value Spheres, and “Inherent Laws” 99



that the term “value,” as Rickert uses it, “invited misunderstanding” becauseit was made to do service as an explanation of theoretical interest, while car-rying with it the whole terminological paraphernalia of practical valuation.

Against this background, it seems reasonable to conclude that Weber didnot endorse central elements of the Rickertian argument concerning thefoundations of objectivity in the cultural sciences. Nevertheless, on the faceof it, many of Weber’s formulations still sound like echoes of the traditionalneo-Kantian view of truth as conformity to a norm. But it is significant thathe hardly ever refers to this doctrine in its general form,5 but normally onlymakes use of it by affirming its negative corollary: that the status of aproposition as true is not affected by knowledge about the empirical cir-cumstances under which it is formulated.

This argument is evidently what really interests Weber. But even so, heis curiously reluctant to subscribe fully to the logic on which it is based.The neo-Kantians constructed a sort of logical trap by arguing that thenormative character of truth makes it a value, albeit only a theoretical one.If you formulate a proposition, you assert something as being true, but in sodoing, you also acknowledge the (theoretical) value of truth. Consequently,in practice truth must be a value for everybody. Such an intimate connectionbetween the truth value of a proposition and the value—even the theoreticalvalue—of truth did not commend itself to Weber, who was firmly committedto the view that the value of science and of scientific truth could not bedemonstrated by scientific means. He therefore nowhere explicitly makesuse of or endorses the “logical trap” argument; on the contrary, he consistently(e.g., GAW 60-61, 213/MSS 110-111; ORK, 116-117) asserts that the valueof science is subjective: one can, without logical contradiction, refuse toaccept it.

But once a person has made a subjective choice in favor of the value ofscientific truth, the inescapable consequences are, in Weber’s view, crystalclear: As he puts it: “. . . if we . . . decide to (wollen) accept the aim of scien-tific analysis of the empirically given reality as valuable, then the “norms” ofour thought will force (erzwingen) us to respect them . . . .”6 The “will totruth” is not the insidious neo-Kantian logical trap, but the result of the freechoice of the scholar. And this result, as Weber describes it, is highly dra-matic. The demands of the sphere of science almost leap at the scholar, oncehe has made his choice.7 These formulations are also eloquent evidence thatthe question of how the scholar actually attains knowledge is treated byWeber, not so much as a problem of going through the “logical chronology”of scientific method,8 but rather as that of living up to the normative standardsof the sphere of scientific inquiry, that is to say, to the ethic of that sphere.




To sum up: in Weber’s methodological work, including Objectivity,Weber is far from consistent in his application of the neo-Kantian arguments,in particular those of Heinrich Rickert, designed to demonstrate the objec-tivity of the cultural sciences. Instead, Weber’s own construction seems tocombine the idea of a subjective, free choice in favor of the sphere of scientifictruth, with the assumption of a compelling normative (and in that senseobjective) logic dominating that sphere. Subjectivity and objectivity arethus joined in an uneasy relationship, not so much a compromise as an inherenttension between free choice and iron inherent laws—a clear demonstrationof what Guy Oakes (1982) has called Weber’s “methodological ambivalence.”

Weber’s Value Spheres

The ambivalence of Weber’s conception of objectivity clearly manifestsitself in his reflections on the—in his view—fundamental conflict betweendifferent spheres of ultimate values.

On what basis are these spheres defined? In Weber’s early writings, up to1913 (e.g., GAW 154/MSS 58), the definition of the value spheres seems tobe based on the traditional philosophical triad of values: truth, morals, andculture—in other words: what we know, what we ought to do, and what wewant to do. In Weber’s later work, these “traditional” values continue toappear, but he also introduces a number of other value spheres. What isnoticeable about these later discussions is that they have a historical and soci-ological rather than a philosophical character. This is particularly obvious inthe long Intermediate Reflection (probably written 1913–1914 and revised1920), which is concerned with the historical development by which anumber of “worldly” value spheres evolve as “competitors” to the valuesphere of religion. Weber’s analysis is empirical, and correspondingly open-ended. He identifies the value spheres, and distinguishes them from eachother. But he does not claim that their number or character is fixed once andfor all; the precise criteria for defining them remain unclear,9 and it thereforeseems impossible to conceive of an exhaustive and permanently valid philo-sophical system that would encompass them all.10 Accordingly, as Weber seesit, the choice in favor of any of these value spheres—including that of truth—remains subjective, and cannot be forced on anyone. At the same time, Weberdescribes the conflict between the different value spheres as eternal andabsolute. It is a “fundamental fact” that “the ultimate attitudes towards life thatare at all possible are irreconcilable” (GAW 608/FMW 152), and this “fun-damental fact” is, in his view, not just empirical, but the result of a (correct)




axiological analysis and invested with the corresponding logical validity(GAW 150-151/MSS 53-54; Bruun 2007, 37, 140, 200).11

Weber’s doctrine of the conflict between value spheres carries the sameambivalence that we found in his discussion of objectivity: The value spheresare subjective, both by virtue of the fact that they are defined empirically andsubject to historical change, and because the choice in favor of them is not alogical necessity derived from a philosophical system, but free for each indi-vidual to make or refuse. This even holds for the sphere of intellect andscience. But at the same time, Weber sees the fundamental conflict betweenthese spheres as absolute and objectively ineluctable. And the same sense ofobjective necessity applies to the laws to which a person must, in Weber’sview, conform, once the choice of a particular value sphere has been made.Each sphere, he asserts, has its “inherent laws” (Eigengesetzlichkeiten). Thisconcept of “inherent laws” is one which appears fairly late in Weber’s writ-ings, concomitantly with his growing interest in the plurality of conflictingvalue spheres. He never defines it, but it obviously covers the “logic” that dis-tinguishes one value sphere from other ones. The fundamental part of that“inherent logic” is axiological (what acting according to a particular value“implies”), but in its details it will be coupled to empirical elements (the “givencircumstances”). There can be no doubt that Weber regards this “inherentlogic” as logically binding (e.g., GAW 155-156/MSS 58-59), and it can there-fore be said to make up an “objective” law governing the value sphere in ques-tion, but one that is conditional on a preliminary subjective choice.

However, the difficulty remains that the premise on which the “inherentlaw” rests is not always obvious. At least in one case—what he calls the“power pragma” governing the political sphere—Weber ties the “inherentlogic” to the means specific to the value sphere in question. But strictlyspeaking, this derivation rests on nothing more than what Schluchter called“empirical plausibility” (see n10), and cannot constitute the foundation of alogically binding law. Turner and Factor (1984, 53-54) therefore put theirfinger on a decidedly sore point when they say that the very notion of inherentlaws smacks of deriving values from “the nature of things,” to which Weberwas vehemently opposed.

In strictly logical terms, Weber’s “surprisingly casual” (see n10) analysisis therefore defective: the “objective” side of his ambivalent position is indanger of being dominated by the “subjective” one. If this is so, how can heavoid ending up with the sort of relativist position that he always took greatpains to repudiate? His answer is implicit, but nevertheless clear and char-acteristic: What is important is to commit oneself to the cause that one haschosen, whatever it might be. In his pithy phrase: “Nothing is worth anything




to man, as man, if he cannot do it with passion” (GAW 589/FMW 135).One’s task should be one’s vocation and calling. Interestingly, in ValueFreedom we find this notion of vocation (Beruf) coupled directly to that of“inherent laws”: “In any vocational activity (berufliche Aufgabe), the taskas such has its claims and must be performed in accordance with its owninherent laws” (GAW 494/MSS 5).

What is important in this connection is not whether Weber’s defensestands up to logical scrutiny, but how it intensifies the implications of hisview of the conflicting value spheres. In Oakes’ words (Oakes 2003, 32):“Extrinsic norms are either discarded as irrelevant, nullified as invalid, orreconceptualized as intrinsic . . . The systematization of values by ‘inner’axiological conviction creates a continuous regime of conduct, a permanenthabitus formed by the actor’s self-conscious commitments.”

With this vivid, and in my view quite accurate, description of the conse-quences of Weber’s solution in mind, we can now move on to consider theparallels that we may find to it in the version of field theory espoused byPierre Bourdieu, and in the systems theory of Niklas Luhmann, and to dis-cuss their implications. The comparison will be organized around two setsof questions: First: What is the basis on which the analogues to the valuespheres (i.e., the fields/systems) are defined? And, second: Are there“inherent laws” pertaining to these fields or systems; if so, what is theirnature, and how are they defined? A third question that will also be dealtwith is how Bourdieu and Luhmann tackle the question of objectivity inWeber’s sense of the term.

Bourdieu’s Fields

In a recent article, Levi Martin points to an interesting parallel betweenthe aspect of field theory dealing with fields of organized striving andWeber’s idea of conflicting value spheres.12 Martin leads off by briefly con-sidering a theory of upward social mobility formulated by the German fieldtheorist Friedrich Fürstenberg. The field taken as a basic unit of analysis ofthis theory is the “sector of ascension.” The “sectors of ascension” aredefined on purely empirical grounds; but Martin points out that the list ofsectors is fairly close to Weber’s enumeration of value spheres. An inter-esting feature is the emphasis that Fürstenberg puts on the institutionallydefined career track (Laufbahn) as the limiting example of the tendency ofthe field to give the individual a “social fate.” The “career track” neatlyencapsulates the twin sense of the German term “Beruf”: profession and




calling. As we have seen, the commitment of the individual, his sense ofvocation in the service of the professional “cause,” may be interpreted as acentral feature of Weber’s consideration of the “inherent law” of a givenvalue sphere. Martin elaborates this point even further: Fürstenberg, hesays, is concerned with “the correspondence between objective position andsubjectivity that comes from the demands placed upon the individual in thefield.” The field necessarily has action imperatives or “role demands”; infact, these demands or expectations can be seen as constituting the fieldeffect: “the situation is experienced by the individual as a chain of objec-tive requirements (objektive Anforderungen).” The word “objective” is, ofcourse, most suggestive; and so is the formulation that the requirements are“necessary” to the field, and “constitute” the field effect; at the same time,the situation and its attendant field effect are (equally) “necessarily medi-ated by subjective perception” (Martin 2003, 21). In these respects, there-fore, Fürstenberg’s construction can be said to exhibit a subjective/objectiveambivalence comparable to that which characterizes Weber’s value spheresand their “inherent laws.”

The concept of “field” as applied by Pierre Bourdieu is far better knownthan Fürstenberg’s; but it fits somewhat uneasily into the analysis that weare attempting here. For one thing, Bourdieu, who otherwise freelyacknowledges his debt to Weber on a number of points, nowhere mentionshis “value sphere” concept as a source of inspiration.13 Moreover, Bourdieudoes not directly relate his “field” concept to mainstream field theory; andhis own use of the term is less than precise, and seems heavily dependenton the specific problem that he is investigating.14

This conceptual vagueness is also evident in Bourdieu’s account of thebasis for the identification of fields. What is at least clear is that this iden-tification is empirical, not derived from systematic considerations (Swartz1997, 135); the fields are not connected by some sort of Parsonian grandtheory. Moreover, fields are in his view essentially battlefields, arenas ofstruggle. But the guiding principle for identifying them varies considerably.They may coincide with familiar divisions of action into self-containedrealms, such as sport or art (Martin 2003, 23), and in this sense have a cer-tain affinity to the traditional functional institutions (Swartz 1997, 120).But since their boundaries are themselves an object of struggle, they are notsharply delimited, and they have a tendency to proliferate. As Bourdieu puts itin his central work Distinction: “There are as many fields of preferences asthere are fields of stylistic possibles”, i.e., possible lifestyles (Bourdieu [1979]1984, 226). He sometimes connects the concept of field with that of interest.




But this is of little use in identifying fields, since “interest is a historicalconstruction that can be known only through historical analysis, ex post”(Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992, 116). To be interested is to accord impor-tance to a given struggle—and hence, to a given (battle)field—and to regardit as worth pursuing.15 Consequently, in terms of logical chronology, thereare as many interests as there are fields, not the other way round (Bourdieu[1987] 1990, 87-88; Swartz 1997, 71).

One dimension of Bourdieu’s concept of “field,” which seems particu-larly interesting, not least in view of the fact that it is inspired by Weber’ssociology of religion (but not his differentiation of value spheres), is that ofseeing fields as competitive arenas where forms of capital (economic, sym-bolic, cultural, social) are invested, exchanged, and accumulated (Martin2003, 23; Swartz 1997, 44, 126). The driving force behind the developmentof different fields of capital is the rise of a corps of specialists who cantransmit and control their own status culture (Bourdieu [1987] 1990, 87;Martin 2003, 23; Swartz 1997, 127). Fields described in terms of capital aremainly defined by their internal workings, and can, to that extent, be seenas autonomous. But their autonomy is only relative, not only because theirboundaries are the objects of struggle, but also because capital can beexchanged from one field to another: for example, literary merit may trans-late into large book sales.

It is obvious that much of the construction that Bourdieu puts on the con-cept of “field,” and the way in which it integrates into his general schemeof work, cannot readily be compared to the logic behind the Weberian valuespheres.16 But some interesting points of convergence do emerge:

Like Weber’s value spheres, Bourdieu’s fields are identified by empiricalanalysis of particular historical periods or geographical areas, and not accordingto some settled, systematic criterion. Moreover, value spheres and fieldshave what one might call a theoretical isomorphism, in the sense that theidea of struggle or conflict is central to the distinctions between both setsof concepts, although the scale of abstraction at which Bourdieu probes thelogics of distinction is, in many cases, much lower than the majestic analysesof Weber’s Intermediate Reflection.

It is equally possible to find relevant analogies to Weber’s “inherentlaws” in Bourdieu’s discussion of the inner workings of fields. “A field,”Bourdieu says “. . . defines itself by . . . defining stakes and interests, whichare irreducible to the stakes and interests specific to other fields . . . andwhich are not perceived by someone who has not been shaped to enter thatfield,” and these “stakes” are referred to as “the immanent laws of the field”




(Bourdieu [1984] 1993, 72). Thus, Bourdieu’s metaphor of the “rules of thegame” of a particular field fits nicely with the logic behind Weber’s valuespheres: the choice to play chess is a subjective one; but once the choice hasbeen made, the rules are objectively given. The “player” in a field is faced,as Martin succinctly puts it, with “social laws that supposedly were madeby no one but determined all” (Martin 2003, 31). In the same way, onechooses a value sphere; but having chosen, one must follow its inherentlaws, which Weber regards as “given,” without specifying in a satisfactoryway how and by whom.

These “inherent laws” are at the root of the (relative) autonomy of thefield, just as they constitute the value spheres. In this regard, one should notbe put off by the apparent paradox in Bourdieu’s description of the “stakesand interests” of one field as “irreducible to [those] specific to other fields,”juxtaposed with his talking about capital being “translated” or “exchanged”from one field into another. We find exactly the same duality in Weber, whosees, for instance, economic values as being essentially different from reli-gious ones, but who, in his essay on “churches” and “sects,” graphicallydescribes the way in which membership of a religious sect can boost aperson’s business standing. In this case, Weber even goes beyond the com-monplace reminder that religious facts can have economic consequences:he takes the further step of identifying positions inside the religious spherewhich by their religious nature are at the same time positions inside theeconomic sphere.17

Bourdieu’s “corps of specialists establishing their own status culture”also has definite similarities with Weber’s “individuals with a vocation,”who devote themselves to the cause implied by their “Laufbahn” (to useFürstenberg’s term). Bourdieu’s illustration of the “irreducible stakes” of afield is most suggestive in this respect: “. . . the sense of the game is theinternalized form of the necessity of the game. It is necessity made intovirtue . . ., or amor fati” (Bourdieu [1987] 1990, 110).

These parallels are admittedly extracted from a dense thicket of stubborndifferences between the two thinkers. Moreover, even the parallels ultimatelydiverge: Weber ends up by discerning, behind the empirical and historicaldifferentiations of values, “inescapable disparities between the ultimateviews of the world”—a step from empiricism to “logic” that Bourdieu refusesto take, concentrating instead on the constant struggle among and insidefields for the mastery of the rules. But Weber encapsulates the “valuespheres” in ideal types which, as heuristic instruments of empirical inquiry,remain subject to the eternal change of perspective and interest, which is inhis view the uncomfortable prerogative of the cultural sciences.




Luhmann’s Systems

It may seem a little far-fetched to spend time on a comparison ofWeber’s value spheres with Niklas Luhmann’s systems. In its early version,Luhmann’s theory is particularly concerned with the reduction of complexity;in its later development in the direction of autopoietic systems, communi-cation becomes the main focus of attention. But all along, Luhmann makeshis opposition to traditional action theory and, by implication, to Weber,perfectly clear.18 On the other hand, Weber’s idea of value spheres has beenseen by a number of authors (e.g., Rasch 2000, Schimank 2000) as an earlyversion of the logic of differentiation, which can be said to reach its apogeein Luhmann’s theory of systems; and Luhmann’s theory does, albeit in arather convoluted way, deal with value problems, and specifically refers toWeber—and even to Rickert—in this connection.

In the following, I shall concentrate on questions based on those points inthe analysis of Luhmann which, in my view, are particularly interesting—which regularly also means particularly problematic:

The definitional basis. In the early version of Luhmann’s theory, anumber of social systems19 were constituted on the basis of their societalfunctions. The character of these functions was not deduced from someoverarching theory of society, as in Parsons’AGIL model; Luhmann insistedthat the systems to be found in a given society could not be specified inadvance, but must be identified empirically. The process of differentiation,and the resulting definition of functional systems, reflected the views andattitudes of the members of the society in question. The differentiation ofsuch systems was a historical process, and the list of systems grew longeras time went on, so that at least the following systems could be identifiedin modern society: economy, politics, religion, the military, science, art,family, education, law, mass communication, and medicine (Luhmann1970, 125; Luhmann [1984] 1995, 463; Schimank 2000, 154). There seemsto be no compelling reason for the actual number of such systems, or forthe functional areas that they cover. Luhmann notes that “only a very lim-ited number of forms of differentiation have been developed,” but adds thatit is “difficult to adduce convincing theoretical reasons for this limitation—reasons that could exclude the possibility of other forms” (Luhmann 1977,32). His avowed empirical approach should have warned him against lookingtoo insistently for such “convincing theoretical reasons,” since they mightconstitute precisely the sort of deductive Parsonian logic that he claims tobe liberated from. And in fact, this liberation is perhaps less than complete:




Luhmann constantly (for instance, Luhmann 1977, 35) treats certain func-tions, like politics, religion, and economy, as “necessary” to a society. True,they will only gradually, in a historical process, be differentiated into func-tional systems and be complemented by other such systems that are notgrounded in an equal necessity; and it is therefore an empirical question whatfunctional systems can be identified at any given moment. Nevertheless, afunctional necessity, if not a systemic one, seems to exist for certain func-tional systems.20

In the later version of Luhmann’s systems theory, the central new conceptof autopoiesis, with its corollary of self-reference, makes its appearance asthe organizing theoretical principle. That a system is autopoietic, he says,means that it itself produces and reproduces the elements which it consistsof (Luhmann 1985, 403). Since they reproduce themselves, such systems(and subsystems) are closed and self-referential. Under this interpretation,their functional differentiation over time can now be seen as an inherentprocess towards self-referentiality. The result of this process, in historicaland empirical terms, does not, however, differ much from what we noted inthe earlier version of the theory. Among the major systems we still find thefamiliar ones: politics, education, science, family, religion, law, and eco-nomics. The basis is still functional, and its concrete character is not theresult of some overarching systemic logic (Luhmann [1984] 1995, 465).

Inherent logic. Values. An important feature of the autopoietic systemsis that each functional system possesses a function-specific binary code(for instance, science: true/false; economy: possession and ability to pay/non-possession and inability to pay; politics: possession/non-possession ofpower; sport: win/lose; law: legal/illegal), which is constitutive for the systemand thereby also for its outer boundaries. Each binary code is the “guidingdifference” (Leitdifferenz) of its system.

With the introduction of the concept of the binary code, Luhmann’s sys-tems theory seems to move closer to Weber’s theory of value spheres with“inherent laws.” Indeed, Luhmann himself, in a small article which elaborateson his treatment of the subject in his great final work, “The society ofsociety,” (Luhmann 1996 and 1997) puts forward the thesis that “the modernorientation by virtue of ‘values’ is connected to the functional differentiationof modern society” (Luhmann 1996, 61). The argument in that article is, inmy view, so interesting that it is worthwhile to go into it in some detail:

Luhmann’s point of departure is historical. He notes that the old overar-ching cosmological concept collapsed in the eighteenth century, more orless at the same time that the word “value” began to be used in a sense that




expressed preferences. To this semantic was added, in the mid-nineteenthcentury, the distinction between validity and being, so that values were assignedto one sphere and the sciences to another (“Ought” and “Is”, respectively).(He adds, as an aside, that in Germany, the sciences, in particular the humansciences, “were also talked of in relation to validity”—a curiously wobblyformulation—but that this “was an academic peculiarity which did not gaingeneral currency” [Luhmann 1996, 63]). Within the sphere of values, he says,further distinctions were then drawn in terms of different value-relationships(this is a reference to Rickert’s Wertbeziehung) or orders of life (this is areference to Weber). These values could not be traced back to a commondenominator, and the differences of the values, or a priori assumptions,could therefore not be resolved.

This philosophy of values, Luhmann states, has now gone out of fash-ion, but the “value” terminology is still very much part of our language. Thereason for this, he says, is that in the modern world, with its vastly increasedcomplexity, the need for what has been called “inviolate levels” (Hofstadter1979) increases, and values are regarded as belonging on such levels. Butfrom a logical point of view, the basic problem is that “the resolution of col-lisions between values is . . . unregulated.” And since “decisions are onlyneeded in case of value collisions . . . it follows that values are not able toregulate decisions.” To deal with this paradox, he says, two methods havebeen tried: either to presuppose that only certain preferences (“values”) arein play, as in economic theory; or to neutralize the normativity of values bykeeping the resolution of value conflicts open.

This argument is in my view illuminating on a number of points:To begin with, Luhmann does not provide a clear answer to the question

whether the values that he discusses can be constitutive for autopoieticsystems. On the one hand, he seems to deny it. Values do not, he says, havea central code; and their “directional value” is weak, since they cannot, as wehave just seen, regulate decisions (Luhmann 1997, 344; 1986a, 149-150).On the other hand, we also find formulations of Luhmann’s which indicate,with unusual clarity, that at least certain values can function as codes forfunctional systems.21 The solution to this problem is, I think, that the “values”discussed by Luhmann are a very mixed bag. Some of those that he mentions,like “justice,” “peace,” or “health,” have never been quoted by Weber aspossible centres for “value spheres,” and in all probability never would havebeen, for the very same reason (i.e., their generality) that leads Luhmann todeny their directional value.22 Other “values” mentioned by Luhmann,however, are much more like Weber’s values. Weber’s own definition ofpractical “value” has a definitely binary character;23 and consequently, there




is no reason why a sphere defined by a leading value of this kind should belogically different from a system defined by its binary code: if a value gov-erning a value sphere cannot, as Luhmann maintains, give sufficient groundsfor decision because it does not form part of a binding hierarchy that wouldallow for a resolution of value conflicts, it is difficult to see how a binarycode defining a functional system could do so.24

One further point underlines the similarity between the coded systemsand the value spheres: Luhmann states that “codes are in-case abstractions(Sofern-Abstraktionen). They are only valid in case the communicationchooses their field of application—which it need not do” (Luhmann 1986b,79). If we permit ourselves to ignore the fact that Luhmann operates notwith persons but with communications as his unit of analysis,25 the total setof differentiated systems defined by Luhmann, with the “in case” proviso,looks remarkably similar to Weber’s set of value spheres, with the possibilityof a “quantum leap” from sphere to sphere. Schimank (2000, 161) bringsout this parallelism even more graphically when he speaks of the “guidingdifference, which . . . with apparent narrow-mindedness directs all that hap-pens in a (partial) system towards one single orientation of the will,” andsays that, as soon as a particular code has been chosen, “it will not tolerateany other point of view beside itself”—formulations that almost amount toa paraphrase of Oakes’ description of the logic surrounding Weber’s valuespheres (see above, p. 7).

However, Luhmann’s binary code and Weber’s “inherent law” are parallelnot just in a positive sense; they also give rise to the same kind of problems.As we saw, there was an element of arbitrariness in the definition of Weber’s“inherent law,” which sometimes seemed to proceed from “the nature ofthings.” But does the binary code really fare much better in this respect?Binary codes, Luhmann tells us, are “total constructs” and “claim universalvalidity from the point of view of the relevant specific function” (Luhmann1986b, 75-76); but how and by whom are they defined in substance? Oneanswer to this question is that the codes are defined by the systems them-selves: Luhmann’s systems are “real abstractions” because the differencesthat guide them are the “real differentiations carried out by everyday actors”(Türk 1995, 158, 169). Provided with this empirical anchor, the definition ofthe codes would not be arbitrary. However, the “real abstractions” approachis not without its problems. If we follow it, we may end up with a number ofdifferent and competing binary codes for a given functional system (or, if oneprefers, competing but parallel functional systems). A theory that engendersunresolved competitions of this kind does not seem totally satisfactory, andin fact Luhmann does, particularly in his later writings, seem to indicate that




the solution lies in accepting only one of the competing codes/systems asbeing the relevant one. But this answer, which in the last resort makes thetheorist the arbiter of the competition, immediately reopens the flank tocharges of “arbitrariness.” And to the extent that Luhmann tries to elude thischarge by claiming to be guided by considerations of “functional necessity,”he moves away from his avowedly empirical definitional basis of the systemsand towards a more deductive approach.26 Luhmann does discuss the recip-rocal relationship between functional systems and binary codes as a historicalprocess (e.g., Luhmann 1986b, 79-80). But that does not solve his basic problem.We are, somehow, back with the “nature of things,” perhaps empiricallydefined, perhaps derived from functional necessity, but nevertheless ques-tionable in theoretical terms.

More concretely, not all of the actual codes of Luhmann’s systems areequally evident. One instance is the political system. Weber characterizespolitics by the use of power of all kinds, including, in the last resort, militaryforce. Power is also an essential ingredient of Luhmann’s definition of thepolitical system; but he opts for a curiously “structural” definition of itsbinary code as being connected with the disjunction between “government”and “opposition”27; moreover, the relation to the separate “military” system(p. 11) is not clear. There are also difficult questions to answer, as Luhmannhimself acknowledges (Luhmann 1976a, 520; 1976b), when we talk about thesystem of art. Its binary code may still be the conceptual pair “beautiful/ugly”28;but at least since Marcel Duchamp’s famous urinal problematized the conceptof “art” as such, there might be those who would view the basic systemic dis-tinction “art/not art” as being more important than the binary code of thesystem; the latter might risk getting stuck with the distinction “good art/badart,” which is a “relative evaluator”29 devoid of real substance, and cantherefore be replicated for other systems (good politics/bad politics; goodeducation/bad education, etc.), with tantalizing theoretical consequences.30

Material and formal criteria. In one of his discussions of values, Luhmannargues that the definition of a sphere or system by reference to one (positive)value is not sufficient: one needs separate criteria (“a special semantic appa-ratus”), in the form of theories or methods specific to each sphere, to allocateinformation towards one of its two binary poles (Luhmann 1986a, 149-150).To take an example: the sphere of truth is defined by its true/false code, butwe need theories and methods to determine what is true and what is false. Theaffinity to Weber’s “methodological ambivalence” is apparent. The “theoriesand methods” that Luhmann refers to—and which he generally calls theprogrammes of the systems—are, it seems to me, simply the material criteria




of truth applied (more or less consciously) at any given time, while thebinary code of the science system seems very close to the abstract neo-Kantian categorical truth-as-conformity-to-a-norm.31 Luhmann’s construc-tion does not, I think, solve Weber’s problem for him, since, as we have justseen, the codes have no ultimate and secure justification32; but it does for-mulate the relationship between the material and the formal criteria rathermore clearly.

Incommensurability. Autonomy. Each system is autonomous by virtue ofits autopoiesis: its binary code is the only one that is valid for it (Schimank2000, 167). This also means that the systems are basically incommensu-rable. There is, as Kneer and Nassehi put it, no linear causal relationshipbetween the logic of one system and that of another (Kneer/Nassehi 1993,45): one cannot logically draw, say, religious conclusions from economicpremises. The incommensurability of Luhmann’s autopoietic systems isnot based on any empirical criterion, but springs from the definition of thesystem as such. The incommensurability that Weber claims for his valuespheres is admittedly not definitional in the same sense, but so to speak sec-ondary, in that it is based on a logical analysis of the values in question. Butthe result is much the same: any two of Weber’s value spheres that couldalways be shown to be logically compatible with one another would haveto be re-defined as elements of a single one of a higher order.

The incommensurability of systems in Luhmann’s theory should not beconstrued to mean that one system may not be influenced by another. Thesystems are autonomous, but not autarkic: science cannot be pursued withouteconomic means, and its results may have, for instance, military or medicalsignificance. More generally, mutual adjustments between the logics of thesystems can take place at the level of the systemic programmes (Kneer/Nassehi1993, 140). In Luhmann’s view, this does not affect the principle of theautonomy of each system and its self-referential logic. Münch (1991)argues that Luhmann’s concentration on the internal systemic processes andhis relative neglect of the relations between the systems are problematic,because many of the (in Münch’s view) interesting social processes willtake place at the margins of systems; he also maintains that the possibilityof interpenetration between systems is much greater than Luhmann seemsto allow for. The discussion is too complex to be covered here. One maysimply note that the counter-argument (Luhmann 1986b, 99-100; Schimank2000, 164), according to which all this is taken care of by the programmes,may put a greater theoretical load on the programmes than they can carry.This problem is not so acute for Weber, whose value spheres are defined as




logical ideal types, and who, as we have seen, is quite resigned to the factthat everyday decisions will be based on a subjectively unanalyzed hodge-podge of different values.33

Bourdieu and Luhmann on Objectivity

There are suggestive initial parallels between Bourdieu’s and Weber’sattempts to deal with the problem of objectivity. The field of science, asBourdieu sees it, is a “scholastic universe” and “the locus of the genesis ofa new form of necessity or constraint . . . ,” which Bourdieu actually termsan Eigengesetzlichkeit or inherent law. The “dispositions acquired via thedisciplines of the Scientific City” are “inscribed in the objectivity of thescientific field” (Bourdieu 1990, 389).

However, Bourdieu takes a resolutely sociological view of this “objec-tivity.” He seeks the origin of reason not in an inborn natural human faculty,but in “the history of [the] peculiar social microcosms in which agentsstruggle, in the name of the universal, for the legitimate monopoly over theuniversal” (Bourdieu 1990, 389). Even when, in a curious echo of Weber(see n8), Bourdieu speaks of the “will to know,” he immediately couplesthis with the searching question whether this will does not conceal a “willto power” (Bourdieu [1984] 1988, xiii). Where Weber staunchly proclaimsthe immunity of the ultimate basis of objective truth against any relativiza-tion based on knowledge of the empirical circumstances under which thistruth was produced, Bourdieu equally resolutely claims that a maximum ofobjectivity can only be obtained by constant reflections of the scholar uponhis own position. At the same time, he is obviously not wholly comfort-able with the social detachment implicit in this approach. He is thereforeparticularly concerned to deconstruct what he calls the “intellectualist” or“scholastic” position of scholars, who mistakenly believe that they canattain objectivity by positioning themselves completely outside the socialpractice that is their object. Bourdieu describes the precondition of thismisconceived “objectivity” as “an institutionalized situation of studiousleisure” (Bourdieu 1990, 381) brought about by a total freedom from eco-nomic necessity,34 and demands that the scholar reflect particularly uponthe social coordinates of precisely this situation and the attendant “objective”attitude. Only by realizing that this, too, is a concealed social practice canhe approximate, even if he can never attain, objectivity. As Swartz remarks,“from a strictly logical standpoint, Bourdieu’s claim for the possibility offinding some degree of escape from the interested character of all intellectual




practices appears contradictory” (Swartz 1997, 281-82). But of course, aswe saw, Weber’s “quantum leap” between value spheres fares no better instrictly logical terms. Bourdieu is caught at one end of the logical trap, which,in the last resort, is set for any sociology of knowledge which claims to beable to relativize truth; Weber, in affirming a truth immune to such relativiza-tion, is caught at the other.

Luhmann carefully analyzes the epistemological consequences of hissystems theory. He takes as his point of departure that his theory, as a theoryof self-reflection, practices what it describes (Luhmann 1996, 647). We aretherefore faced with a basic logical circularity. However, by continuing toreflect, in an infinite regression, on the reasons for accepting something as“true” knowledge of reality, and by continually exposing those reasons torational criticism, one may significantly increase the probability that themethod does in fact yield true knowledge. “Circularity is not eliminated,but used.” What is important in our context is not so much the complicatedargument with which he backs up his main line of reasoning, but rather hisremark that “only [in this way] is it possible to . . . gain information fromwhat science calls reality (objects etc.)” (Luhmann 1996, 649). In otherwords: we have to acknowledge the inbuilt circularity in our epistemologicalreflections. But if we are not to give up the whole enterprise of gainingknowledge, we must, and can, operate with what Weber, as we saw, calls“naïve realism.” We can, to use Luhmann’s own example, “count the motor-cycles on the Isle of Man” (Luhmann 1996, 657-58).

Against this background, Luhmann’s wry aside (quoted above, pp. 13),to the effect that only those queer Germans had put truth inside the “value”sphere as well, gains new relevance. As we have seen, this duality of truthwas at the base of Weber’s “methodological ambivalence,” because hecould not accept Rickert’s neat solution that tied truth to objective values.But in fact, it is also operative in Luhmann’s own epistemological reflec-tions: science is a functional sphere reflecting on the existence of functionalspheres. Against this background, one may even, provocatively, say thatWeber’s ambivalence is Luhmann’s circularity.

Conclusion: Objectivity and Values

This conclusion brings us back to our starting point: Weber’s viewsconcerning values.

We can distinguish two concepts of value. On one hand, we have astrong one: Value with a capital v, so to speak. Value in this sense—which




is essentially Weber’s preferred one—implies commitment of one’s person-ality, guidelines for the proper conduct of life, everything that is ethical andfirmly normative. This is the Value from which facts must be kept separate,at least in the sense that no Value can be proved right or wrong by scientificmeans.

On the other hand, we have a weak concept of value: value with a smallv. This is Rickert’s theoretical and philosophical value, with its feet in themetaphysical clouds, which Weber, as we have seen (p. 3) with a hint ofcondescension described as being nothing more than an indicator of areasof interest, according to which one selects one’s material.

Bourdieu’s discussion of fields contains elements both of values andValues, but with a strong preference in favor of the latter. True, for anygiven field it is possible to point to a corresponding interest that is muchlike Rickert’s theoretical value. But what Bourdieu is really concernedabout is the actual struggle pursued in a given field, driven by practicalcommitments that are much closer to the Values with a capital V. In thisrespect, Bourdieu’s position is in fact quite close to Weber’s.

In Luhmann’s case, the reverse is true. Even if the binary codes of theautopoietic functional systems exhibit many similarities with “strong”Values, in the final analysis they turn out to be closer to Rickert’s “values”with a small v. It is significant, that Klaus Türk (1995, 171) can, in this context,describe functional differentiation as “the institutionalization of perspec-tives from which ‘reality’ is treated.” We are very much in the theoreticalrealm. William Rasch (2000, 13) puts this point clearly:

. . . Weber . . . replaced the vacated position of the transcendent observer withthe re-emergence of an immanent polytheism of warring gods who representcompeting and incommensurable life-spheres . . . It is this image thatLuhmann develops, without, it should be said, the martial imagery or tragic,individualist pathos. . . Weber’s polytheism of the warring gods becomes theplurality of systemic rationalities that construct an observable world by drawingand designating distinctions (my italics).

So, behind all the similarities and isomorphisms—which are, to my mind,indeed suggestive—we still find an essential difference: between Luhmannwho looks for systems, and systems of systems, and codes directing autopoi-etic, self-referential communication; and Weber, who for much of his lifeshowed a consistent lack of interest in being systematical; and for whom theinherent law of the value sphere was a striving, a vocation, which jumped atyou and grabbed you, once you had freely committed yourself. The difference,in other words, between the man who hopes, by constantly renewed reflection,




to come ever closer to objectivity, and he who resolutely puts “objectivity” inquotation marks to show his essential suspicion of the concept, and thenstorms off to work on something that is passionately interesting.

Notes

1. In the text, Weber’s essays on “‘Objectivity’ in Social Science and Social Policy” and“The Meaning of ‘Value Freedom’ in Sociology and Economics” will be referred to as Objectivityand Value Freedom, respectively. His “Intermediate Reflection” (GARS 1, 536-73/FMW 323-59)will be referred to as Intermediate Reflection.

2. In fact, one gets the impression that Weber really is not very happy with the idea ofobjectivity. He rarely uses the term (less than 10 times in his whole production), and when hedoes, he almost invariably puts it in quotation marks. This is not just some typographical quirk.Weber’s quotation marks should be taken seriously (Swedberg 2005, 219-20). They oftenfunction as warning lights, signifying at the very least doubt or distance, and sometimesdownright distaste.

3. One might as well say that Hegel’s philosophy of history was very good, except thatthe term “spirit” was unfortunate. . . .

4. The quotation marks around the word “values” are ominous! The whole of this note,which is usually referred to as the “Nervi fragment,” (named after the Italian seaside resortwhere Weber wrote it) is reproduced in the original German, with an English translation, andextensively discussed, in Bruun 2001.

5. He comes closest to it when he (once only) speaks of the “the norms of our thought”(GAW 184/MSS 84 and—with “norms” in quotation marks!—GAW 89/MSS 148). GAW261/MSS 159, he even leaves the question open whether philosophical analysis would, in thelast resort, conclude that empirical knowledge is tied to norms.

6. GAW 60/ORK 116. For a similar phraseology (“binding [zwingend] proof”), seeWeber’s letter to Rickert from the end of November 1913, (MWG II/8).

7. As Scaff (1989, 118n99) and Schluchter (1996, 99n180) perceptively note, this force-fulness is equally evident in Weber’s vivid phrase: “. . . scientific truth is only that whichclaims validity (gelten will) for all who seek truth” (GAW 184/MSS 84). In fact, Weber moreor less consistently in this context replaces the bloodless “transcendental ‘Ought’” of the neo-Kantians with a “claim,” a “will,” or a “necessity.”

8. Weber is almost silent on possible substantive or procedural criteria of truth, of the kindthat Arnold Brecht in his monumental work on Scientific Method (Brecht 1959) calls “inter-subjective transmissibility qua knowledge.” In Weber’s empirical work, facts are facts, andreality is reality, without any methodological hemming and hawing about “preconceptions,”“social construction,” or the like. He is quite aware of this; indeed, he openly acknowledgesthe practical necessity of what he calls “naive realism” (GAW 437; see also GASS 482).

9. Schluchter (1991, 289) says that the value spheres have as their basis nothing more solidthan “empirical plausibilities.” Oakes (2003, 29) calls Weber’s analysis “surprisingly casual.”

10. Commenting on Rickert’s article “On Value Systems,” Weber writes to him at the endof November 1913 that it can be “demonstrated” that Rickert’s system “is only one . . . systemamong others” and that any such system will necessarily, in time, be superseded. (I believe thatKippenberg overstates the measure of agreement between Rickert and Weber on this point, anoverstatement which is perhaps at the root of Martin’s mistaken assumption that Weber, in his




Intermediate Reflection, simply adopted, or at least adapted, Rickert’s value system [MWGI/22-2; Martin 2003, 20; Bruun 2007, 33].)

11. This does not imply that, in Weber’s view, ordinary individuals go around in a state of con-stant tension because they feel torn between irreconcilable values: “The different value spheresintersect and are intertwined in almost every single important position adopted by human beingsin the real world” (GAW 507/MSS 18). This is not just an empirical observation: Weber backs itup on the theoretical level. (See the formulation in a letter of 2 April 1913 from Weber to R.Wilbrandt: “I believe that the sphere of values is governed by ineradicable conflict, and conse-quently [my italics] by the necessity of making constant compromises” [MWG II/8]).

12. Martin’s discussion starts off on the wrong foot because he mistakenly takes Weber’svalue spheres to be a simple adaptation of Heinrich Rickert’s logically derived six-fold valuesystem, and consequently qualifies Weber’s idea as “deeply asociological” (Martin 2003, 20).Luckily, this mistake—which may be due to what I believe to be an overstatement byKippenberg (MWG I/22-2) concerning the measure of agreement between Rickert and Weberon this point—has no serious consequences for Martin’s subsequent discussion. For a generaldiscussion of Weber’s views on formal value systems, see Bruun 2007, 33.

13. As regards the concept of field, Bourdieu does refer to Weber, but not to his valuespheres: “. . . I constructed the notion of field both against Weber and with Weber, by think-ing about the analysis he proposes of the relations between priest, prophet and sorcerer”(Bourdieu [1987] 1990, 49).

14. Indeed, Broady (1991, p. 297-99) implies that Bourdieu’s concepts are simply notapplicable to traditional comparative studies in the history of ideas. In line with this, he dis-cusses whether Bourdieu’s “field” concept can be transposed from France to Sweden, andseems to conclude that this may not be possible.

15. The parallel to the definition of Rickert’s “theoretical values” is striking; but while thetheoretical values are few, static, and traditionally defined, Bourdieu’s are multiple and his-torically changing.

16. One salient difference is that Bourdieu focuses on struggle within fields, whereasWeber, who sees value spheres as dominated by the unifying logic of their “inherent laws,” ismore concerned with struggles between value spheres.

17. For an illustration, see GARS, 209/ PE 205, with the story of the American business-man who did not want clients who were not church members: “Why pay me, if he doesn’tbelieve in anything?”

18. One does note, however, that Luhmann, in an early article (Luhmann 1964), maintainsthat Weber’s model of bureaucracy fulfils all the necessary requirements of a system with aboundary dividing members from non-members, and finds it “astonishing” that Weber himselfhas not analyzed it from this system-theoretical angle.

19. Technically speaking, these systems (but not the social system as a whole) are partial(functionally differentiated) systems, but for reasons of space and ease, I shall simply refer tothem as “systems.”

20. Luhmann argues against the functional necessity by stating that “we cannot take forgranted that every function has the same chance of becoming a catalytic principle of subsystem-building within . . . the society” (Luhmann 1977, 39, see also 42). But that statement does notexclude that some functions are necessary; and it is difficult to conceive of a differentiatedsociety where other functions, but not the necessary ones, have become catalytic principles ofsubsystem-building.

21. “[value neutrality” means] that you have to restrict yourself to the values of yoursubsystem, and that means to the code . . . (my italics),” and with an even clearer reference




to Weber: “in the Max Weber sense, [Wertfreiheit] could only mean that you should avoidmixing the values of different function systems, for example, not to give religious reasons forpreferences in scientific theories” (Rasch 2000, 209). Similarly Luhmann 1994, 29.

22. Indeed, for each of those three so-called values of Luhmann’s, Weber conducts intensivediscussions to show that they need further clarification if they are to be used unambiguously, i.e.,as possible guidelines for action (For “justice,” see GAW 505/MSS 15-16; for “peace,” GAW517/MSS 27; for “health,” GAW 599/FMW 144).

23. In Weber’s—unusually clear—definition of “valuation” in Value Freedom (GAW489/MSS 1), the structure is clearly dualistic: “reprehensible”/“worthy of approval.” AlthoughWeber never explicitly states that this duality is inherent in his definition of “practical value,”we find similar dualistic structures in his definition of “value judgment” (GAW 499/MSS 10)and “value” (GAW 2123/ ORK 182).

24. Luhmann’s reminder (1986b, 78n4) that you can find ancient precursors of the binarycodes in expressions like “Heaven and Hell” only serves to underline the proximity to Weber’sidea of the value conflict, which he regularly describes in dramatic terms like “between Godand the Devil” (GAW 507/MSS 17-18).

25. The elimination of actors and their actions from Luhmann’s system is not complete,however, and is in any event a disputed point (for one example, see Schwinn 1995).

26. The view of systems as “real abstractions” defined by “analytical realism” has a suggestiveresemblance to Heinrich Rickert’s definition of “culture” as being, by necessity, defined by a rela-tion to the values of the historical actors themselves; and the deductive turn, which Luhmann seemsto take to deal with the definitional problems, finds a similarly suggestive parallel in Rickert’sessentially static view of the “cultural sciences”—a point on which Weber in fact differed markedlyfrom Rickert (see Bruun 2007, 121-23, 147-56).

27. Türk (1995, 172) seems to argue that one can only speak of systems when there is somesort of organizational and institutional context that permits the definition of inclusion andexclusion (“just because actions are subjectively guided by a guiding difference, this does notin itself mean that these actions are part of the relevant functional system”). This, I think, isgoing too far: According to Luhmann (1996, 67), while modern organizations are based on astructural principle of exclusion, “the function-systems of modern society are based on theprinciple of inclusion of the whole population.”

28. This certainly seems to be Luhmann’s view (Luhmann 1976b).29. I use this term to designate an evaluation that refers in non-specific terms to perform-

ing well or badly in relation to the demands of a given task or profession.30. Luhmann distances himself from a “metacode of good and bad, or good and evil,” which

would “collapse” the functional differentiation (Rasch 2000, 212). But his discussion of the pointuses “good” and “bad” as moral categories, not as “relative evaluators” (Luhmann 1994, 29).

31. Luhmann’s formulation that the code “claims universal validity” is strikingly parallelto Weber’s definition of “value” as something that “approaches us and ‘claims validity’”(GAW 123/ORK 182).

32. A fact upon which Wagner (1997) builds a general attack on Luhmann’s theory asbeing “foundationalist.”

33. Bourdieu, as we have seen (p. 9), also seems to deal more easily with exchangesbetween fields.

34. There is an unconscious cruelty in this description, since it corresponds exactly to thesituation of the “free scholar” Max Weber—father of the demand for value freedom—who fornearly 20 years held no university position, did not teach, and lived off his and his wife’sfamily money.




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Hans Henrik Bruun is Honorary Professor at the Department of Sociology, University ofCopenhagen, having previously spent 30 years in the Danish Foreign Service, serving asDanish Ambassador in Ankara, Oslo, Geneva (UN), and Paris. He is the author of Science,Values and Politics in Max Weber’s Methodology (1972; new expanded edition Ashgate 2007).At present, he is preparing, as co-editor (with Sam Whimster) and translator, a new edition ofMax Weber’s collected methodological writings (Routledge, forthcoming).




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