We are concerned with the role of collective emotions in episodes of political contention.  We set forth new ways of conceptualizing and analyzing these emotional configurations and propose an agenda for future empirical research.  The literatures that we address concern social movements and collective action.  For reasons of space, we do not systematically discuss other closely related work – for example, the study of revolutions, ethnic mobilizations, democratization, or nationalism – but we do consider our ideas to have significant implications for these literatures as well and occasionally refer to substantive writings from them in developing our theoretical arguments.  It is because social movements never occur simply within a vacuum, but always engage with a wide range of other institutional and extra-institutional forces, that we use the phrase “episodes of political contention” to denote the focus of our analysis.   As we conceive of it, political contention is “episodic rather than continuous, occurs in public, involves interaction between makers of claims and others, is recognized by those others as being on their interests, and [typically] brings in government as mediator, target, or claimant” (McAdam, Tilly, and Tarrow 2001, p. 5).1  Frequently, of course, we deploy more conventional terms such as “social movements” and “collective action” to denote the objects of our study (we use the latter term somewhat loosely here, since in its classic definition, it merely signifies “people’s acting together in pursuit of common interests” [Tilly 1978, p. 7]), but even then, we always have in mind dynamic complexes or configurations of transactions among multiple social actors.  It is our contention that such transactions, which include social movements as well as the various institutional and extra-institutional forces with which they engage, always unfold within a context of transpersonal emotional investments, a collective-psychological context of action, which potentially constrains and enables action no less than do the social-structural and cultural contexts upon which analytic attention has heretofore more typically been focused.
	Our subject matter was not always so thoroughly neglected by students of social movements.  Classical theories in the early- to mid-twentieth century continually invoked emotional considerations.  It was these classical theories that were roundly criticized – with good reason – by theorists with a more social-structural orientation.  Within the sociological literature on political contention, resource mobilization theory and the political process model sought to explain social movements through either an increase in available resources or a restructuring of existing power relationships.  These approaches emphasized social and political structures but largely neglected the symbolic determinants and dynamics of collective action.  Culturalist theories sought to correct this social-structural bias by focusing upon collective identities, cultural discourses or framings, or cultural hegemony.  In revealing the weaknesses of older classical models, these culturalist theories, as well as social-structural perspectives, rejected all further attempts to integrate collective psychology into social movement theory.  In this article, we do not aim to revive the older classical theories; rather, we seek to show how collective psychology can be reincorporated into explanations of episodes of political contention in more useful and innovative ways.  In this respect, we see ourselves as contributing to an emerging project to rethink and reevaluate the significance of emotions in contentious politics.2 
	Our work has both critical and reconstructive aims.  In a critical vein, we systematically explore the weaknesses in extant models of collective action, focusing upon the three aforementioned approaches and upon the authors and texts that have been most important in developing or propounding them: (1) classical theories, including models of mass society, status inconsistency, and collective behavior; (2) social-structural theories, including resource mobilization and political process approaches; and (3) culturalist theories, including collective identity (or new social movement) theory, the new culturalism (or work on framing), and relevant work in cultural studies.3  We structure our critical discussion in terms of a review of four “pernicious postulates” (cf. Tilly 1984) in the literature, assumptions that have been held, we argue, by classical social movement theorists and by their critics alike.  We highlight not the “missing variables” that these various literatures have neglected, but rather, the logical difficulties inherent in their reasoning, difficulties that have prevented them from “getting the connections right” even in the accounts that they themselves have given.  In a reconstructive vein, however, we take each succeeding critique of a pernicious postulate as the occasion for positive theory-building on our own part.  In so doing, we seek ultimately to raise new kinds of questions about social movements, to open up fruitful new areas for research that had previously been closed off by the assumptions underlying alternative perspectives.  We do not attempt to answer all of these empirical research questions here, nor could we hope to do so within the scope of a single article.  But our aim is to provide researchers with the theoretical leverage that would make it easier to ask such questions in the first place.  While the negative threads of our discussion (the dismantling of pernicious postulates) and the positive threads (the development of a more useful analytical strategy) are presented separately, they remain closely related.  Step by step, our critique provides the basis for a more satisfactory and useful conceptual framework.  
	One important aspect to this endeavor is an engagement with issues of a philosophical and social-theoretical nature, beginning with the very nature of emotion itself (in its relation to reason) and ending with the ontological structure of collective-psychological configurations.  (Although much of the essay is devoted to addressing precisely such issues, let us briefly assay here a working definition of this central concept:  By collective emotions, we mean (1) complexes of processes-in-relations that are (2) transpersonal in scope and that consist in (3) psychical investments, engagements, or cathexes, where these encompass (4) embodied perceptions and judgments as well as bodily states, forces, energies, or sensations.  Configurations of such collective emotions may be organized in terms of internal logics that are irreducible to those of social-structural or cultural formations.)  We do not attempt a comprehensive survey here of the sociology of the emotions, many of whose debates have little or no direct linkage to social movements and collective action. But we do discuss certain ideas from that literature, insofar as they bear potentially upon political contention.   More useful to us are the classical American pragmatists – Dewey, Mead, and Peirce – to whom we return again and again for philosophical guidance.  Many of our pernicious postulates trace back to misguided notions that these thinkers were (and are) perhaps most effective in criticizing and recasting.  By drawing upon the analytical resources provided by the pragmatist tradition, we are better able to elaborate a comprehensive framework that allows us to understand what collective emotions are and how best to analyze contentious episodes in terms of them.  As Dewey himself would have put it, this is a task calling for both philosophical and social-theoretical reconstruction.

Pernicious Postulate #1: Reason and Emotion Are Mutually Exclusive

Specifying the Postulate
	The first of our pernicious postulates – and perhaps still the deepest impediment to a proper understanding of the collective psychology of episodes of contention – is the dichotomy between reason and emotion. Surely as old as the Western tradition itself, this division was first articulated systematically by the ancient Greeks, as part of an even more fundamental opposition between theory and practice. As Dewey observes, ancient Greek thought gave “the depreciation of practice...a philosophic, an ontological, justification....Because ultimate Being or reality [was seen as] fixed, permanent, admitting of no change or variation, it [could] be grasped by rational intuition and set forth in rational, that is, universal and necessary, demonstration.”  Change, by contrast – the domain of practical action – was seen as “a realm inferior in value as in Being...the source from which comes all our uncertainties and woes” (Dewey 1988 [1929], p. 16).  Only belief or opinion – as opposed to rational knowledge – could be cultivated in respect to it.  Emotions occupied a distinctly unenviable position within this framework.  They were denigrated – seen as irrational – precisely because they accorded too much importance to changing and uncertain things; persons in the grip of emotions were seen as every bit as unstable as the natural, material world itself.  Of course, the metaphysics of the ancient Greeks are no longer with us today.  But the fundamental structure of thought and the conceptual oppositions that they presupposed remain encoded still within our everyday discourses and practices, binaries such as theoretical and practical; spiritual and natural; ordered and chaotic; intentional and spontaneous; certain and uncertain; intellectual and passional, mental and bodily, white and colored, and male and female.4
	Much past and present research in the area of contentious politics has been marred precisely by a tendency – no less consequential for being so largely unself-conscious – to draw upon and to reinforce these dichotomies.  Such a tendency is particularly evident, notoriously so, in classical theories of collective action, with their equation of the passional aspects of social movements with irrationality, impulsiveness, and psychopathology.5  In one of the earliest works of this tradition, in fact, Le Bon associates collective action explicitly with crowd behavior and sees it, by contrast to the rational conduct of individuals, as irresponsible, unrestrained, and “at the mercy of external exciting causes.” “[Its] powerlessness to reason aright,” he asserts, “prevents [it] from being capable of discerning truth from error, or of forming a precise judgment on any matter” (Le Bon 1960 [1895], pp. 36, 67; for a recent and useful critique, see Tambiah 1996, pp. 268-70, 297-302.).  Later theorists differ from Le Bon in the subtlety of their analyses but – despite the many well-known criticisms that have been made of Le Bon’s work – not in the basic assumptions to which they adhere.  Gusfield, for example, notes that “most movements, and most political acts, contain a mixture of instrumental, expressive, and symbolic elements,” but he goes on to concretize this distinction by arguing that only one of those elements predominates in any given movement.  More troubling still, he associates movements having a preponderance of instrumental and symbolic elements with strategic rationality, while he depicts more expressive movements as entailing “goalless behavior,” misguided displacement of emotions, and a “projection of ‘irrational’ impulses” (Gusfield 1970, pp. 180, 23, 177).  Gusfield’s arguments are but one instance of a general trend in the classical literature.
	Resource mobilization and political process theories dispute the classical perspective’s sharp tendency to pathologize social movements.  Yet they, too, fail to question the dichotomy between reason and emotion, choosing merely to accentuate the other end of the polarity, that of strategic rational action.  These writings helpfully affirm that social protesters often evince the very qualities of thoughtfulness and logical reasoning previously denied them by fiat, but they share in the assumption that such qualities are antithetical to a passional response to situations.  The upshot is a severe denigration of the emotions in their portrayals of social movement participants and in their causal analyses of movement emergence, development, and decline.  Thus, Oberschall writes that an instance of collective action “might be characterized as non-rational if one could show that it is an inappropriate means to obtaining group goals and that other channels...are available and are more effective.”  In strategic rational action, by contrast, “individuals who are faced with resource management decisions make rational choices based on the pursuit of their selfish interests in an enlightened manner.  They weigh the rewards and sanctions, costs and benefits, that alternative courses of action represent for them” (Oberschall 1973, pp. 177, 29).  Tilly (1978, 1984) develops a similar point of view, stressing the usefulness of a rationalist approach that centers around actors’ interests, decision rules, and cost/benefit analyses, to the apparent exclusion of “non-rational” considerations.  Such an orientation has persisted to this day in the political process literature.6
	Even among culturalist analyses of political life, however, which stand well outside the aforementioned paradigms, the idea of a reason/emotion dichotomy remains pervasive.  One case in point is new social movement theory.  Cohen speaks for this approach in challenging the narrowly strategic models of action prevalent in dominant paradigms; following Habermas (1987 [1981]), she holds that group formation and solidarity – especially the more reflexive forms found in modern civil society – can only be explained if one expands the idea of rationality itself to include action oriented toward reaching mutual understanding.  Despite this call for a broader view of rationality, however, Cohen herself continues to oppose rationality to emotion.  She faults social-structural theorists for throwing out “the baby” of “values, norms, ideologies, projects, culture, and identity” with “the bath water” “of irrational and emotional-expressive outbursts” (Cohen 1985, p. 688).  Presumably, the emotions can be relegated to the bathwater of social movement theory once actors are deemed capable of communicative argumentation and rationality. Yet another case in point is the new culturalist perspective. Here reason assumes the form of cognition – culture is defined cognitivistically – to the implicit exclusion of the emotions; the latter appear only around the edges of cultural formations, if they even appear at all.  Finally, one sees the reason/emotion dichotomy once again in the cultural studies tradition (although the record is more mixed here).  One line of work invokes Bakhtin’s (1968 [1923]) writings on the carnivalesque, counterposing business-as-usual to extraordinary episodes “of topsy-turvy,...heteroglot exuberance, [and]...ceaseless overrunning and excess” (Stallyband White 1986, p. 8).  Ehrenreich (1999) draws as well upon Bakhtin in her work on the passions in politics, depicting a sequential alternation between times of normalcy, on the one hand, and emotion-laden, ecstatic, and ritualistic moments, on the other (she has in mind the counter-culture and social movements of the 1960s).  Reason and emotion remain far apart, as defining principles of very distinct and separate historical epochs.7
	This opposition between reason and emotion, shared by all three of the major approaches in social movement theory, has assumed myriad forms and guises, profoundly shaping how theorists think about virtually every aspect of contentious collective action.  We shall confine ourselves to just two of the most notable expressions of this dichotomy.  The first is the division of social movement participants into two broad types or classes of actors: those who are driven by strategic considerations and those who are driven impulsively by their passions.  The former are characterized as the leadership, the latter as the rank-and-file of social movements.  In a theoretical move as old as Western thought itself, two types of activity are distinguished and linked by homology to two categories of actors who are seen as corresponding to the reason/emotion opposition.8  As suggested earlier, one can find the basis for such a move in ancient Greek philosophy, which demarcated theory and practice as two fundamentally different modes or walks of life (Dewey 1988 [1929]): types of life-activity oriented toward deeper truths and types of life-activity preoccupied with ordinary affairs in the material world and with need-relative pursuits.  The former was associated with an elite, the latter with a broader population of citizens; the former was socially and intellectually superior, the latter subordinate and inferior.  This structure of thought, despite outward changes, has persisted across the ages.  Among the classics of political sociology, for example, it can be found in Michels’s seminal work, Political Parties (1962 [1911]), where party leaders are seen as rational maximizers of power while rank-and-file party members are portrayed as deeply constrained in their capacity for rational action by their emotional dependence upon leaders and by their longing for authority.  Lenin’s theory of the vanguard (Lenin 1975 [1902]), which assumes a fundamental divide between a strategic rational elite of revolutionaries and an impulse-driven irrational mass of followers, also unfolds within such a conceptual framework.
	In the classical theories of social movements, this opposition between rational leaders and emotional followers was recast as a division between those engaged in conventional politics and those involved in spontaneous eruptive protests (see below).  The reason/emotion division only entered into study of social movements per se, however – as an internal differentiation among types of participants – in later social-structural theories.  The latter associated strategic rationality with movement activists – “social movement entrepreneurs” – while they assigned a proneness to emotional modes of reaction to the rank-and-file of the movement.  Leaders and activists were non-emotional calculators who manageed the emotions of others in pursuit of ends that seemed not to be influenced or shaped by emotion.  Thus, McCarthy and Zald argue, in a classic work of resource mobilization theory, that “grievances and discontent may be defined, created, and manipulated by issue entrepreneurs and organizations” (McCarthy and Zald 1977, p. 1215).  And political process theorists Aminzade and McAdam suggest that effective movement leaders are able “to assess emotional climates, induce mobilizing emotions that motivate followers by altering definitions of the situation, create/reconfigure emotion vocabularies, and transform emotion beliefs and feeling rules into moral obligations” (Aminzade and McAdam 2001, p. 35).  Theories of collective identity are not quite so instrumentalist, despite certain Leninist (in this respect) overtones in the work of Touraine, for instance, but culturalist “framing” approaches have long suffered from such tendencies, while work in cultural studies still sometimes favors the narrative of an emotionally demobilized rank-and-file inspired to resistance by a strategic rational leadership.9
	The opposition between reason and emotion has not only been linked by homology to different types or classes of actors; it has also assumed the guise of a division between the rationality of established institutions and the irrationality of emergent phenomena such as social movements. While the structures and processes that make up institutions are seen as non-emotional by their very nature, social movements and collective action are regarded as passional through and through.  All of the major approaches to explaining social movements at least implicitly assume the emotional neutrality of established institutions.  Perhaps this is most apparent in the classical approach to social movements; Blumer (1939), for example, distinguishes between institutional and collective behavior, linking the former to orderliness and reason and the latter to susceptibility to manipulation and a lack of understood objectives, while Lipset and Raab (1970) decry the extremism, paranoia, and despair of “the politics of unreason,” contrasting it pejoratively to the calm stability and reasonableness of political pluralism (other writings that might be included within this category are Arendt [1951]; Bell [1960]; and Hofstadter [1966]).  Matters are less clear-cut in the case of social-structural perspectives, which surely take the emotional neutrality of conventional politics for granted, but contrast it less sharply (if at all) with passional collective action.  At least these perspectives agree that the prosaic and matter-of-fact quality of established politics leaves little room for emotional dynamics; theirs is a thoroughly rationalist approach to political analysis.  Much of the collective identity approach shares in this rationalism, too – particularly those contributors to it (e.g., Cohen 1985; Cohen and Arato 1992) who are linked to Habermasian critical theory – while the new culturalists (e.g., Gamson 1992) see “hot cognitions,” the concept in their theory that comes closest to collective emotions, as operating solely on the social movement end of political contention, as opposed to that of established systems.  Perhaps the only major exception here is the cultural studies tradition, as we shall see later on in this essay. 
Why Pernicious?
	The dichotomy between reason and emotion is problematic, regardless of what guise it takes, not only because it entails a misconceptualization of the emotions, but also because it distorts our understanding of rationality itself, one of the central categories in many extant theories of collective action.  It prevents those theories, to begin with, from grasping the substantive irrationality of what contemporary psychologists (see Griffiths 1997; Goldie 2000) term “cold rationality,” or rationality that is disconnected from the emotions and therefore itself ineffective or distorted.  It also leads them “to misunderstand the causal mechanisms by which their own key concepts” operate (Goodwin, Jasper, and Polletta 2000, p. 71), in other words, to fail to “get the connections right.”  Concepts such as political opportunity structure, cognitive liberation, mobilizing structures and networks, collective identity formation, framing processes, and hegemony and resistance are understood in predominantly rationalistic terms, even though the “causal impact of [these] factors depends heavily on emotional dimensions that have rarely been recognized or theorized” (Jasper 1998, p. 408).  To take but two examples, political opportunity structures are said to encourage or discourage people to act collectively by “affecting their expectations for success or failure” (Tarrow 1998, p. 85).  However, such structures “shape protest activity through emotional as well as cognitive means by fostering (or quashing) hope or urgency…or by reducing (or heightening) fear” (Goodwin, Jasper, and Polletta 2000, p. 79).  Cognitive liberation, too – defined as shifts in attribution wherein people come to define their situation as unjust and subject to change through collective action – is portrayed as depending entirely upon “a set of cognitive cues” (McAdam 1982, p. 49).  This formulation renders as “cold rationality” a process that actually entails, by its very nature, a complex synthesis of strategic reasoning and passional assessment.
	Consider also the division of movement participants into rational leaders and emotional followers, insofar as this claim assumes the status more of a theoretical assumption than of an empirical assertion.  This division is subject to a number of logical criticisms.  First, to paraphrase Marx (1978 [1845], p. 144), “who manages the emotions of the emotion managers?”  Activists are not quasi-divine unmoved movers; they, too, are formed within the flow of emotional engagement and located inside the very configurations of passion that they seek to manipulate and control.10  Second, much of the emotion management that movement leaders perform is itself a “practical accomplishment” (Garfinkel 1967) that necessarily remains hidden to those engaged in it; emotion labor appears spontaneous and unintended despite the fact that actors must work to make it so.  This kind of practical accomplishment is elided when researchers look only for conscious and strategic forms of emotion management.  Third, assessments of movement outcomes become necessarily distorted when emotional change is regarded by definition as a means to extrinsic political ends (such as policy change) rather than also, potentially, as an intrinsic goal of mobilization as such.  Leaders of stigmatized groups, for example, often seek to transform their followers’ feelings of shame into pride or a sense of dignity, but such aspirations fall out of view when the former are seen merely in instrumentalist terms, as manipulating the emotions of the latter in pursuit of non-emotional ends. 
	Much as the opposition between reason and emotion elides significant aspects of non-institutionalized politics, it also limits our understanding of the relation between oppositional movements and the more established institutions against which they struggle.  For one thing, we are led to the faulty assumption that the emotions of social protest are typically evanescent and unstructured, in contrast to the long-lived and enduring nature of institutionalized rationality.  Such a contrast merely recapitulates the ancient divisions that we have discussed above between being and becoming, permanence and change, or stability and instability.  For another thing (and more to the point), we are left unable to understand properly the nature of the institutions themselves and the effects that they might have.  Institutions are relevant to our understanding of collective action in a variety of ways: they structure opportunities for protest and defiance, mold “discontent into specific grievances against specific targets,” shape “the collectivity out of which protest can arise,” and even shape the form that protest takes (Piven and Cloward 1979 [1977], pp. 20-21).  However, as with other factors often stressed by social movement theorists, the causal impact of institutions upon collective action depends heavily upon their emotional dimensions, which are left untheorized.  Since these institutions are just as much a party to the transactions in which we are interested as are oppositional movements – our key unit, after all, is contentious episodes that involve not only social movements and other oppositional actors, but also these more established structures – no analysis of those transactions will be complete if emotional structures and processes are assigned to the one and not the other.  Again, we are left unable to ask, let alone to answer, important questions.  
A Better Alternative
	All the major extant approaches to explaining social movements and collective action, then, despite their differences, posit a highly problematic opposition between reason and emotion.  Is there a better alternative, or must we always remain trapped within such a dichotomy?  We argue that a more satisfactory theoretical framework does already exist and that, in fact, the foundations for it can partly be found (ironically) within ancient Greek philosophy itself.11  Despite insisting upon the irrationality of the emotions, in the sense discussed above, this Greek tradition was virtually of one voice in maintaining that, in yet another sense – one largely unrecognized by scholarly work on contentious episodes – the emotions do at least manifest a complex intentional structure.  Most philosophers in this tradition held that the emotions are hardly “blind forces,” as one classicist puts it, “that have nothing (or nothing much) to do with reasoning,” like “gusts of wind or the swelling currents of the sea [that] push agents around [and] surd unthinking energies”; on the contrary, they “contain within themselves a directedness toward an object, and within the emotion the object is viewed under an intentional description....Emotions, in short, whatever else they are, are at least in part ways of perceiving” or interpreting the world.  The Greeks also maintained that the emotions are “connected with certain beliefs about their object” (Nussbaum 1995, pp. 56, 60-61).  In this respect, as Aristotle pointed out perhaps most persuasively, the emotions encompassed, in some deep and constitutive sense, not only perception but also intellectual judgment.  (For most philosophers in this tradition, the trouble with the emotions was precisely that the judgments that they do entail, as mentioned above, were prone to be false judgments and hence irrational, on account of their overvaluation of transitory, unstable, and undependable things.  It was not a matter of the emotions being somehow irrational in the narrower sense of unthinking or non-intentional [for a useful explication of such issues, see Nussbaum 2001].)
	Even more insightful and illuminating, however, among philosophers concerned with reason and the emotions, were certain thinkers from within the pragmatist tradition.  These thinkers sought to overcome altogether the classical dichotomy between theory and practice (and between rationality and irrationality), a dichotomy within which the ancient Greeks, for all of their conceptual subtlety, had ultimately been caught up.12 The pragmatists insisted upon the possibility of what they termed “intelligence” – “a way of knowing in a world without certainty” (Westbrook 1991, p. 357) – and stressed as well that such intelligence can encompass not only reason but also emotion: they envisioned, in other words, the cultivation of “intelligent emotions” or of “emotionally guided intelligence.”13 For Dewey especially, it was no longer a matter of denigrating the emotions or of extirpating them from collective action or the public sphere, but rather, one of cultivating the passional dimension in life and of distinguishing among more or less intelligent ways of engaging emotionally with life-contexts. “Affections, desires, purposes, choices,” wrote Dewey, “are going to endure as long as man is man....But these expressions of our nature need direction....When they are informed by knowledge, they...constitute, in their directed activity, intelligence in operation” (Dewey 1988 [1929], p. 238).  More recently than the classical pragmatists, but in similar ways, feminist and race theorists have also criticized the reason/emotion dichotomy for its social and historical as well as epistemological implications.  A vast body of literature has emerged that seeks to subvert this dichotomy and to transcend the limitations it entails, offering in its stead ideas highly reminiscent of the Deweyan notion of intelligence in emotion, such as embodied passional reasoning or “appropriate emotions” (Jagger 1989).14  Contemporary philosophers of the emotions (Solomon 1976; de Sousa 1987; for an important forebear, see Sartre 1948) have also developed such themes, under the banner of “rational emotions.”  The integration of such insights – from pragmatism, feminist and race theory, and the philosophy of the emotions – into social movement theory makes possible now a whole new perspective upon episodes of contention in political life.  No longer do such episodes need to be studied through the narrow prism of rationality and irrationality; rather, they can be investigated in the different and much more revealing light of the qualities of intelligence and emotional appropriateness that actors within these episodes manifest.
	Such a perspective, in fact, opens up a whole new range of empirical research questions, including questions about social movement processes and outcomes. For example, it allows us to inquire into the emotional judgments embodied in such features of collective action as cognitive liberation and movement strategies and tactics.  If rationality is inseparable from emotion, then we should expect even cognitive liberation to depend in part upon emotional ties and investments.  This may help to explain, in fact, why groups sometimes fail to mobilize despite all the “necessary cognitions,” or why (inversely) they mobilize in the absence of such cognitive cues.  Moreover, we should expect choices in strategies and tactics also to be heavily influenced by emotional commitments, such that changes in the former will be unlikely to take place without corresponding changes in the latter.  Empirical variations in those strategies and tactics will also be better analyzed within the conceptual framework of emotional intelligence than within that of the paired opposites of strategic rationality and blind passional response.  This is not to say that emotional intelligence is by definition practical wisdom or that it precludes incorrect choices or errors in strategies and tactics.  It is only to suggest that emotional intelligence provides a more useful scale for assessing collective action than alternative scales that separate strategic reasoning from all considerations of emotional appropriateness to the situation. 
	A broadened perspective upon reason and emotion also allows us to raise new questions about the specific decisions and actions of movement leaders or followers.  It leads us to ask how efforts by emotion managers are enabled or constrained by their own (changing) emotional ties to others; when emotion management is most likely to become explicit or self-conscious; and how such reflexivity alters emotion work.  Moreover, rather than have us see emotion work as simply a means to purportedly non-emotional ends such as policy change, it allows us to ask to what extent movement leaders and activists are concerned to bring about changes of a broader sort, including the creation of a more open-minded, tolerant, and democratic emotional disposition in their followers. The ideas of the classical American pragmatists, as well as of more recent social thinkers – particularly their insights into the educability of the emotions and into the role of intelligence in emotional life – thus help to broaden and advance social movement theory.  “The difficulty is to get ourselves to recognize the other and wider interests,” as Mead (1934, p. 388) affirmed, and the contributions of movement elites to such a task can be occluded when all that is attributed to them by fiat is a strategic rational intent.
	This pragmatist vision of emotional democracy would be incomplete if we restricted it implicitly to social movements and denied it to everyday political institutions – as Dewey and Mead themselves would never have done.  In our view, institutions are best conceived of as bounded sets of iterational practices, ordered or channeled through overlapping social-structural, cultural, and collective-psychological matrices.15  Aspects to this conceptualization are hardly novel, such as the notion that institutions can be analyzed in terms of the patterns of social relations that they encompass or in terms of cultural or discursive patternings (although the latter idea is perhaps not accepted across the board).  But parallel arguments in terms of matrices of emotional transactions are much less common, at least in explicit and systematic form (for two prominent exceptions, see Taylor 1995 and Albrow 1997).  It is our contention, nonetheless, that even established and institutionalized bundles of (political) practices include a constitutive emotional dimension, that they incorporate the latter very much into their own makeup and cannot be adequately understood in abstraction from it.  Any institution – or institutional sector such as the polity – is in part structured by collective emotions, by relatively long-lasting and durable matrices of attachment or emotional solidarity, as well as by negatively toned currents of hostility or aggression (we elaborate upon these ideas in the subsequent two sections; see also Emirbayer and Goodwin 1996; Emirbayer and Sheller 1999).  The former, more positive emotions include trust, idealization of leadership, and psychical investments in hierarchy, while the latter, more negative emotions include those that fuel institutional divisions and rivalries, patriarchal and racial separations, and enmities against outsiders and alien elements.  It is difficult to imagine an adequate theory of the institutions against which protest movements often struggle that does not include some insights into these crucial collective-psychological features.  The emotional dimension of (political) institutions is especially important because these institutions create opportunities for challenges by insurgent groups and help to shape the very nature of those groups themselves: their form and character, organization, strategies and tactics, and core emotional dynamics.  (Like their organizational forms, for example, the emotional structures of political institutions and of protest movements may be more or less isomorphic, and this may have important consequences for how they interact [see Clemens 1996].)

Pernicious Postulate #2: Emotions Are Individual States of Mind 

Specifying the Postulate
	A second pernicious tendency in social movement theory is to think of emotions, whatever may be their status vis-à-vis reason, as individual-level phenomena only, rather than (also) as qualities of transpersonal ties, bonds, or relations.  The assumption here is that emotions arise exclusively inside of people’s heads or hearts, rather than (also) between actors and their situations (which include other actors).   An extension of this postulate holds that the emotions are, actually, present in situations, but only as the attributes or aspects of action.  Thus, Barker speaks of the emotions as “qualities of action, speech, and thought”; he conceptualizes emotion as a “tone” or “accent” of action (Barker 2001, p.176).  In either case, relational configurations of emotion are not even raised as a theoretical possibility.  Instead, the emotions are seen as located within the sphere of subjectivity alone, within an experiencing or feeling subject that confronts the conditions of its objective situation from without, as it were, or from a separate realm of existence; and inside this private internal domain, they are seen to subsist as individualized “states of mind.”  The antecedents to such a view, which rigidly demarcates subjects from objects, are to be found once again in Western philosophy.  Its origins, as Dewey points out, are “in the philosophical situation that generated the traditional ‘metaphysical’ problem of the relations of mind and matter” (Dewey 1985 [1912], p. 34).  Ultimately, such a position, that of traditional Western epistemology, has important implications for collective-action theory.  It precasts the whole question as to whether the study of the emotions should begin with an emphasis upon transactions or with a focus upon individualistic psychic states; at stake is the issue of whether emotions can serve as the basis for an intrinsic bond between individuals, or else merely provide an extrinsic aggregative linkage (on relational perspectives, see Emirbayer 1997; Emirbayer and Mische 1998; Somers 1998; Tilly 1998; among the classical sociologists, see Simmel [1971]). 
	Within the study of collective action, the latter emphasis is most readily apparent in classical models of social movements.  In such models, the (putatively irrational) states of mind of protestors are key; these include feelings of “dissatisfaction, restlessness, and tension” (Blumer 1995 [1951]); “alienation and anxiety” (Kornhauser 1959); “anxiety, fantasy, hostility” (Smelser 1962); and “cognitive dissonance,” “an upsetting state [that] produce[s] tension for the individual” (Geschwender 1971, p. 12).  The significant point here is that these are the states of mind of individual protestors.  Social-structural theorists do not conceive of the emotions any differently; the latter remain for them individual states of mind that do not admit of a relational conceptualization.  These theorists, in fact, relegate the passional dimension of political life to the domain of “subjective factors,” to the “individual level of analysis” (Klandermans 1984), and thereby render them inferior in status to a whole host of other factors, well outside the most significant arena (for them) of causal determination.  They reduce collective psychology, in other words – the study of emotions between persons (or emotional matrices or configurations) – to the study of emotions within them (the emotional perceptions, attitudes, or orientations of individual actors as the primary unit of analysis).  A case in point is (again) the important category of processes of cognitive liberation.  In McAdam’s own work, at least, such processes are defined in highly subjectivistic fashion: “objective structural changes,” he suggests, “have subjective referents as well”; on the one side is “objective condition,” on the other side, “subjective perception” (McAdam 1982, pp. 48, 35).  Yet again, we are in the realm of (aggregated) individual states of mind.
	Much the same holds true for culturalist approaches to the study of collective action.  Melucci’s recent work, published in two volumes, serves here as a useful illustration of the conceptual ambivalences that persist at the heart of new social movements theory.  Melucci offers tantalizing leads for a study of the emotions in his initial volume on collective action.  “[A] certain degree of emotional investment,” he writes, “is required in the definition of a collective identity, which enables individuals to feel themselves part of a common unity.  Passions and feelings, love and hate, faith and fear are all part of a body acting collectively.”  This analytical level of “emotional dynamics,” of “collective experience,” he goes on, “is a complementary dimension which must be kept distinct from ‘structural’ analysis, but which nevertheless forms a constituent part of any analysis which takes seriously the task to understand ‘action,’ not merely behavior” (Melucci 1996a, pp. 71, 80-81; emphases in original).  Only in his companion volume (1996b), however, which treats of matters of “the self,” does Melucci actually explore emotional phenomena in any sustained or searching way; these are relegated to the domain of individual-level factors rather than of collective psychology.  Culturalist theories fare little better in this respect: they distinguish implicitly between transpersonal phenomena, on the one hand (frames, symbol-systems, narratives), and putatively personal phenomena, on the other (emotional states of mind).  The latter are rarely studied in their dynamic relations with one another, in the sense (as Melucci would have it) of mutual emotional investments.  (The one contrary example that we were able to find in this literature is Gamson’s [1992] aforementioned use of the idea of “hot cognitions,” but unfortunately, it falls prey to still other mistaken assumptions in respect to the emotions [see below].)  Finally, even cultural studies, perhaps the most exciting new terrain for emotional inquiry, still manifests many of the same tendencies found elsewhere.  A salient example here is Butler (1997), who frames her analysis of “the psychic life of power” as a theory of subject formation, of the relations between psyche and social power. Only secondarily is she interested in the psychical quality of the interrelations among individual subjects. 
Why Pernicious?
	Conceptualizing emotions as individual states of mind leads to two kinds of problems.  The first is a logical problem of coordination, first underscored by social-structural theorists in criticism of classical models of collective action.  Individual discontent (however defined), the former argued, was given by the latter as “the immediate cause of movement emergence....When severe enough – when some aggregate ‘boiling point’ or threshold is reached – [this discontent was said to] trigger social insurgency” (McAdam 1982, p. 9).  Collective action was thus said to occur when intrasubjective states of mind somehow aggregated to produce an intersubjective process; the logic of the argument flowed from personal to systemic levels.  The logical difficulty here, of course, was that the coordinating mechanism that translates individual- into collective-level phenomena remained unspecified – a crucial omission, since “the phenomena to be explained involve interdependence of individuals’ actions, not merely aggregated individual behavior” (Coleman 1990, p. 22).  Ironically, a similar argument can now be made as well regarding the social-structural theorists who advanced it (and, for that matter, culturalist theorists as well); they, too, conceptualize the emotions as individual states of mind.  Transpersonal phenomena that figure importantly in their accounts – solidarity, trust, hope, identification, loyalty, enmity, and so forth – all clearly entail collective emotional processes that, however, cannot be theorized upon the basis of an individualistic understanding of the emotions themselves.  All the major extant approaches, then, find themselves unable to analyze important interactions among (emotional) states of mind of different actors or to explain the processes by which such interactions affect the episodes of political contention that they seek to understand.
	A further logical problem for students of collective action that arises from conceptualizing emotions as individual states of mind is that it necessarily distorts their understanding of the nature of power, a key concern for all analyses of contentious politics.  While power is frequently seen as relational or structural (Schwartz 1976; Piven and Cloward 1979 [1977]; McAdam 1982, pp. 29-31, 36-40), the emotions are often understood as somehow external to actual power relations.  The latter, that is, are typically distinguished from the emotional forces that encourage insurgency and described as “structural/political,” in contrast to emotion, which is described as merely subjective (Aminzade and McAdam 2001, pp. 32-33).  Such an assumption about the emotions reinforces the tendency to relegate collective psychology to the backwaters of social movement theory: if the emotions are not “where the power is at,” then why study them?  Specifically, this assumption discourages researchers from inquiring into the possible emotional sources of power, both within social movements and between those movements and other actors and institutions; it simply assumes that such sources of power do not exist.   For example, if power entails being able to withdraw a crucial contribution upon which others depend, as in a strike, where workers withdraw their labor power (Piven and Cloward 1979 [1977]), then researchers are deprived of tools needed to grasp the emotional processes that are involved in activating such power.  Withdrawal is effective only if collective and coordinated, an eventuality that requires horizontal ties of solidarity and trust among workers, ties based not only upon their shared interests, but also upon their emotional investments (as Freud pointed out long ago, [1959 (1922), p. 43], the utilitarian logic of rational self-interest cannot by itself explain group formation).  Horizontal ties are made possible in turn by vertical responses of anger and indignation against the employer; they require workers as well to overcome their own fear.  Without theorization of such emotional phenomena, one is unable properly to conceptualize power itself, to see how it is arrayed and operates during contentious episodes, or to see how actors contest or seek to rechannel it.  This is especially troublesome for those guided by a normative vision of emotional democracy, as alluded to above, for such a vision requires knowing precisely how power is organized and how it might be re-organized in the future. 

	How are these difficulties and limitations to be overcome?  The most effective plan of attack is to address them at their underlying conceptual foundations.  Here, as before, the insights of the pragmatists prove to be most illuminating.  As Dewey notes, emotion always implies a disposition toward certain modes of engagement with persons or things; emotion is always toward some object, a passional mode of relation or linkage.  “The preposition ‘of,’” he writes, “in the phrase ‘state of mind’,” does not denote “that there is a mind or consciousness or soul as its subject.”  The very dichotomy of subject and object must be questioned if we are to escape the individualistic tendencies of much of the current thinking about the emotions.  This is not to deny, of course, that a self exists (or that its internal dynamics have importance), but only to affirm that selves or subjects cannot be the point of departure for a theory interested in the emotions.  Ultimately, “the [very] distinction of an emotional attitude of an agent – a person – and of a thing is derived, not original, in experience.  What exists in its own right is a situation...in which a distinctive qualitative reaction towards a distinctively qualitatively toned environment occurs; these two descriptions being but different ways of analytically naming one and the same fact” (Dewey 1985 [1912], pp. 31-32).  The subject-object dichotomy is a constructed one; what is primary is the situation:  “The ‘state or frame of mind’ has no independent existence” (Dewey 1985 [1912], p. 38).
	Such philosophic subtleties are easiest to grasp when one recalls that other actors, too – other subjects – belong to the environment of objects to which Dewey refers.  Actors are always implicated in relations with other actors, and emotions cannot be extricated from those relations or seen as the properties of some disengaged or disembedded subjectivity.  Not the subject (or object) alone, but rather, transactions among two or more actors (or other elements of a situation) must be deemed the proper unit of analysis for the study of the emotions.  As Dewey puts it, “Emotion in its ordinary sense is something called out by objects, physical and personal; it is response to an objective situation. ...Emotion is an indication of intimate participation, in a more or less excited way in some scene of nature or life” (Dewey 1988 [1925], p. 292).  Such a “scene of...life” might well involve political contention, where emotions call forth other emotions in an ongoing (albeit conflictual) dialogue or conversation.  (We shall have more to say about such dialogic possibilities in the final section of this essay.)  The substantive problems noted above, involving the move from individual to collective levels, would vanish once one accorded theoretical primacy to such emotional transactions.  One would, as it were, always already be at the collective or situational level.  Of course, the study of individual psychological dynamics might still contribute to an understanding of contentious episodes as well, one theoretical level “down,” so to speak, from that of collective (transpersonal) psychology.  But even here (to stretch ourselves a bit), we could imagine transactional insights at work, as in Mead’s (1934) account of the relational constitution and dynamics of the self.16  The primary lesson, at any rate, would be that the study of the emotions in collective action cannot move forward if the emotions continue to be assigned to the domain of the self; it can only flourish on the basis of a thoroughly relational reconceptualization of emotional phenomena themselves.  (In the contemporary sociology of the emotions, one finds this theme of the relational nature of emotional phenomena elaborated perhaps most extensively in the work of Scheff [1994, 1997].)17 
	A further advantage of conceptualizing emotions in transpersonal and relational terms, as suggested above, is that it provides new insights into the sources of power.  Again, the contributions of the classical American pragmatists help us to rethink this difficult issue.  Dewey and Bentley speak of a perspective of “trans-action,” “where systems of description and naming are employed... without final attribution to ‘elements’ or other presumptively detachable or independent ‘entities,’ essences,’ or ‘realities,’ and without isolation of presumptively detachable ‘relations’ from such detachable ‘elements’” (Dewey and Bentley 1991 [1949], p. 108).  This transactional perspective means, for instance, that power is itself not a substance or a possession to be “seized” or “held” (an “element,” in their terminology), but rather, an outgrowth or effect of the relative positions that actors occupy within one or more networks.  Power is unthinkable outside matrices of force relations; it emerges out of the very ways in which dynamic configurations of relations are patterned and operate.  Such an idea could certainly be applied to the social-structural context of action.  The ways in which social networks are configured plays a critical role in determining which actor(s) will be privileged in relation to others.  “The insurgent potential of excluded groups,” as McAdam points out, is not simply a function of resources, but also “comes from the ‘structural power’ that their location in various politico-economic structures affords them” (McAdam 1982, p. 37).  Similarly, Piven suggests that “power derives from the patterns of interdependency that characterize all social life, and from the leverage that inheres in interdependent relations” (Piven 1981, p. 501).  However, if the cultural and collective-psychological contexts of action are to be understood in relational terms, there is no reason to confine the sources of power to the social-structural context alone.  Power can also be found, for example, within the cultural context of action, flowing from occupancy of certain privileged positions or nodes within symbolic networks.  As Furet suggests in his study of the French Revolution, “Power was a matter of establishing just who represented the people: victory was in the hands of those who were capable of occupying and keeping that symbolic position” (Furet 1981 [1978], p. 48).   If culture is a multiplicity of competing networks of symbolic elements, then power also derives from a capacity to identify with or to “speak in the name of” especially highly valued ideals within such matrices.  
	Analogously (and more to the point), the same could also be true of the collective-psychological context of action: as transpersonal structures that constrain and enable action, emotional ties are a potential source of “structural power” in their own right.  Here, power is a matter of location within flows and investments of psychical energy; it depends upon positioning within networks of emotional cathexis, identification, or trust (Freud made much the same point in his formal modeling of group structures, as we shall see).  With such a conceptualization of power, we can investigate how actors (individual as well as collective) acquire their power positions within historically specific configurations of emotional ties; we can also inquire into the historically changing forms of social control that they employ to maintain emotional structures that are in their own interests (and which have been the most effective).  Disruption of such emotional ties (the withdrawal of psychical investments) can pose a serious threat to a collective-psychological power structure.  (Such disruption need not be fully conscious or intended.)  The ambivalence in emotional ties – for example, the presence within solidaristic ties of repressed undercurrents of aversion and hostility – can make them especially susceptible to such disruption (Freud 1959 [1922], pp. 41-42, 47, 67).  So too can the existence of cross-cutting libidinal ties to spouses and families; these severely threaten emotional ties to a movement, leaders, or “greedy institutions” (Slater 1963; Selznick 1970; Coser 1974; Goodwin 1997; Freud showed that when “aim-inhibited” libidinal ties are transformed into ties of a directly sexual nature, “they disintegrate every group formation” [Freud 1959 (1922), p. 94]).  We need to inquire into the mechanisms that lead to disruption of emotional ties and the withdrawal of psychical investments.  Finally, exclusive psychical dependence upon leaders can increase their power and leverage over those who have made such investments (Selznick 1970, p. 269); thus, emotional dependence can constrain possibilities for insurgency and resistance. We need to investigate the conditions under which struggles to control psychical investments fail to advance very far on account of this emotional dependence and (inversely) the conditions under which such struggles become explicit and self-conscious (and how such struggles are altered by such reflexivity).  We also need to learn more about how certain actors enjoy emotional power without possessing significant resources or occupying a privileged social-structural or cultural position.  In all of these ways, we can attain to a much more nuanced and multilayered understanding of how power is deployed or contested in collective action.  By making visible important bases of power that are elided by conventional understandings of emotion, a relational approach can deepen our appreciation of how power is sustained and (sometimes) overturned.

Pernicious Postulate #3: Emotions Lack Analytical Autonomy 

Specifying the Postulate
	A third pernicious postulate about the collective-psychological context of action holds that this domain lacks analytical autonomy, that collective emotions ought to be seen as derivative of either social relations or of cultural formations.  All too often, the study of collective psychology proceeds within this implicit framework of a “sociology of the emotions.”  By this, we do not mean the sub-field of sociology that calls itself by that name, but rather (and more broadly), a specific kind of perspective upon the emotional realm.  In such a perspective, as Alexander says of “the sociology of culture,” emotions are “something to be explained...by something else, something that is itself entirely separated from [collective psychology].”  To paraphrase Alexander, “If we allow this separate thing to be called ‘sociology,’ then we define our field as the study of substructures, bases, morphologies, ‘real’ things, and ‘hard’ variables, and we reduce [collective psychology] to superstructures,...sentiments, ‘unreal’ [passions] and ‘soft’ dependent variables” (Alexander 1996, p. 3).  Schwartz provides us with a succinct formulation of just such a standpoint.  While admitting that social protest is often highly emotionally charged, he maintains that the emotions themselves are mere “adjuncts....The role of the ‘nonrational’ factors is derivative – they correlate with and reflect the logic of the situation and the beliefs that arise from it” (Schwartz 1976, pp. 141, 148). 
	The tendency to reduce the emotional dimension of political life to social relations is a defining feature of many of the most influential approaches to social movements.  Classical theories, for example, all posit a social-structural cause of protest; depending upon the theory, this is specified as chronic social isolation or atomization; status inconsistency; or any type of disruption brought about by far-reaching social change, such as urbanization, industrialization, or a downturn in the economy.  Structural strain is said to produce social-psychological disturbances, which in turn, as we have seen, yield a social movement once a certain aggregate threshold of discontent is reached.  Individual discontent, strictly speaking, is a derivative phenomenon, with the underlying cause being social-structural; emotional dynamics are thus denied any independent causal significance.  More recent social-structural approaches fare little better in this respect.  Resource mobilization theories stress social-structural elements such as the organizational framework of the movement; linkages to external support groups (typically elite sponsors); and the availability of material and other resources.  Political process theories emphasize the structure of political opportunities and the strength of indigenous organizations and social networks.  Culturalist approaches, of course, seek to avoid the above difficulties, but even they sometimes deny to the emotions full analytical autonomy.  Thus, much of new social movement theory posits social-structural changes as the source of changes in collective action; new culturalist theory does the same with framing processes; and cultural studies is sometimes still heavily indebted to Marxism, with its view of (global) capitalism as causally primary.
	Collective psychology is neglected or dismissed not only through social-structural reductionism, but also through cultural reductionism – or, more specifically, a reductionism to cognition.  The emotions are seen to matter perhaps a great deal in collective action, but only as derivative aspects of cognitive structures or processes.  Such reductionism is to be found in certain theories of new social movements, where collective identities, while heavily invested with emotion, are still seen as matters ultimately of cognitive self-understanding (tellingly, one of the key texts in this literature, Eyerman and Jamison [1991], is subtitled, “A Cognitive Approach”).  New culturalist approaches similarly reduce emotions to cognitions (as in framing theory), and even the partial exception of Gamson’s invocation of “hot,” emotion-laden “cognitions,” putatively a necessary component of collective action frames, provides us with little insight into how such hot cognitions are internally structured, enacted, or produced.  Although cultural studies has generated some positive insights into how to analyze collective-psychological configurations, the very term “cultural studies” already signals a tendency to understand these positive insights in culturalist or even cognitivist terms.  One final example that does not fit very easily into the above categories, but which captures clearly the difficulties in cultural reductionism, is Goldhagen’s recent work on the Nazi Revolution (1996).  Goldhagen presents there the most gut-wrenching and unforgettable examples of the gratuitous sadistic cruelty of many Germans toward the Jews, deriving from what he calls the former’s “hallucinatory fantastical” construction of the latter, often with highly sexualized associations and pervaded by an unprecedented level of hatred.  Yet the theory that he offers to make sense of it all is a declaredly “cognitive” theory – or more precisely, one in terms of “cognitions and values” – that has little or nothing to say about collectively shared emotions (notice the absence here of “expressivity,” a term that often otherwise appears in tandem with “cognitions” and “values”).  The remarkable cruelty that the book documents is to be explained merely by what ordinary Germans conceived to be true about the Jews: that the Jews are evil, that they are a threat, that they deserve to suffer, and so forth.  The theory pales next to the empirical phenomena that it purports to explain.
Why Pernicious?
	The tendency to relegate emotional configurations – the transpersonal engagements of which Dewey spoke – to a causal status secondary to that of social structure or culture has two problematic implications, both of which can be highlighted by considering arguments by Sewell (1999) in respect to the analytical autonomy of culture.  The first difficulty entails denial of the fact that contentious episodes are always already emotionally constituted.  Sewell writes that “culture has a semiotic structuring principle that is different from the [other social] structuring principles that also inform practice.  Hence, even if an action were almost entirely determined by, say, overwhelming disparities in economic resources, those disparities would still have to be rendered meaningful in action according to a semiotic logic....For example, [in accepting a job offer, an impoverished worker would not simply be] submitting to the employer but entering into a culturally defined relation as a wageworker” (Sewell 1999, p. 48).  Cultural definitions of the employer/ wageworker relation, in other words, are constitutive of that relation itself, such that “working for a wage” would literally make no sense – would not exist as the practice that it is – apart from certain cultural structures or languages within which that category had meaning.  Now, a similar point can be made in respect to emotional logics.  In accepting that job offer, the impoverished worker is also entering into an emotionally defined relation – into a tie with a benevolent father figure, for example, or a bond of cooperation with a fellow team player, or a struggle with a hated and feared adversary.  Each such alternative emotional logic constitutes the engagement between the two individuals in a highly unique fashion, irreducible to the “structuring principles” of social relations or of culture.  Episodes of contention, too, are incomprehensible without some understanding of such collective-psychological structures and of the different ways in which they channel action.  From a theoretical point of view, perspectives upon collective action that do not acknowledge this insight produce a distorted understanding of the very transactions that they set out to study.
	The second logical difficulty with reductionist approaches has to do with their unwarranted assumption of isomorphy among the three relational contexts of action.  Sewell notes that “the cultural dimension is also autonomous in the sense that the meanings that make it up – although influenced by the context in which they are employed – are shaped and reshaped by a multitude of other contexts....Thus, our worker enters into a relationship of ‘wageworker’ that carries certain recognized meanings – of deference, but also of independence from the employer and perhaps of solidarity with other wageworkers.  These meanings are carried over from the other contexts in which the meaning of wage work is determined – not only from other instances of hirings but from statutes, legal arguments, strikes, socialist tracts, and economic treatises.”  Sewell adds that such additional meanings “enter importantly” into the determination of action.  “This fact,” he concludes, “is what... virtually guarantees...that the cultural dimension of practice will have a certain autonomy” (Sewell 1999, pp. 48-49).  Now, collective-psychological configurations, too, are shaped in ways that are not necessarily isomorphic with the social-structural or even cultural formations with which they are intertwined; one cannot map the one unproblematically onto the others.  Emotional logics (e.g., filial attachment, teamwork, or rivalry) not only develop within the specific work relation noted above, but are also “subject to redefinition by dynamics entirely foreign to that institutional domain or spatial location” (e.g., by the dynamics of family life or of political relations).  Such redefinitions can have a measurable impact upon action, “in this case perhaps granting the worker greater power to resist the employer than the local circumstances alone would have dictated” (Sewell 1999, p. 49).  These are important lessons for students of collective action.  However, the latter have all too often remained wedded to the logically flawed assumption of isomorphy, thereby restricting their vision of the full range of possibilities and constraints within which contentious episodes unfold.

	We argue, then, that not only social-structural and cultural, but also emotional organization – libidinal economy, as it were (Lyotard 1994; Goodwin 1997) – must be investigated and analyzed in its own right.  To invoke Alexander again, we need an “emotional sociology” and not a mere sociology of the emotions, one that devotes careful and sustained attention to how matrices of emotional ties or transactions are ordered, how they are put together from within, and how they operate.  We do not aim to provide such a study here – it would clearly be beyond the scope of a single article.  Our point, rather, is that these kinds of questions cannot be raised, let alone answered, so long as collective emotions as seen as merely epiphenomenal.  What alternative approach would in fact allow us to raise and to investigate these kinds of research questions?  Again, we think that a relational perspective – drawn from the classical American pragmatist tradition but found elsewhere as well – provides us with useful guidance here.  As we have seen, in the simplest of cases (as discussed by Dewey), emotional transactions occur between a single subject and a single object.  However, in more complicated cases, they involve a potentially far greater number of actors, tied to one another in sometimes intricate patterns of emotional investments.  These configurations of passion can be systematically mapped and charted, as with social-structural or cultural structures.  And the mappings that result can give us a fuller picture of the relational contexts within which action – including collective action – unfolds.  Episodes of political contention can thereby be seen as the complex emotional interactions that they are, without reducing that level of insight to a mere reflection of other sorts of patternings or dynamics.  Now, to be sure, like all transpersonal matrices, those of emotion become sites and objects of sometimes intense contestation; collective emotions are selectively drawn upon in attempts to reconfigure the psychical landscape.  What requires emphasis here, however, is precisely the opposite dynamic: no less than other types of structures, emotional configurations not only enable, but also constrain action.
	Perhaps a few examples, classical as well as contemporary, will suffice to illustrate what we have in mind here.  One is Freud’s pioneering work in the area of emotional dynamics.  Freud insisted upon the analytical autonomy of the fantasy life; “psychical reality,” he averred, “is a particular form of existence not to be confused with material reality” (Freud 1965 [1919]; emphases in original).  In his study of group psychology, he argued that “highly organized, lasting, and artificial groups” (Freud 1959 [1922], p. 32) – i.e., institutions such as churches and armies – are constituted in part through emotional ties or “libidinal cathexes” of two kinds: horizontal ties to other group members and vertical ties to the group leader.  The horizontal tie is a relation of identification, whereas the vertical tie is a relation of sublimated (aim-inhibited) object choice.  Freud noted that the nature of an object can vary: if not a concrete leader, it can be an abstract idea, ideal, value, or even “a common tendency, a wish” (Freud 1959 [1922], pp. 40-41).  In later writings (e.g., Freud 1961 [1929], 1967 [1939]), he also spoke in greater depth of the role of aggressive impulses and fantasies in collective life.  Overall, Freud’s contribution was to formally model the psychical constitution (a partially unconscious one) of groups and institutions, in a way that was analogous to modelings of social or cultural structures.  It is striking, in fact, to what degree his diagram of the ties linking leaders and followers – and of the bonds of identification among followers themselves – resembles the sociograms of today’s network theory, with the nodes marking neither positions nor symbols (as in studies of social structure or culture), but rather, objects: that is, whole persons, aspects of persons, or fantasized substitutes for persons (see Figure 1).  (We also point out the limitations of such network-based imageries below.)  It is striking as well how much that diagram is a mapping of power relations in the collective-psychological context.  Followers of Freud such as Bion (1994 [1961]) have further developed these theoretical insights, typically through experimental studies of small-group behavior (for an example of social movement work in this vein, see Brown and Ellithorp 1970).  Others, however, such as Sagan (1991) and Hunt (1992), have extended these ideas into macro-historical terrain, exploring such topics as the “paranoid structure” of ancient Athens and the “family romance” of the French Revolution.  To be sure, some of these applications are reminiscent of the classical paradigm of social movement studies, where psychoanalytic influences are pervasive (e.g., Hofstadter 1966; Smelser 1968; Loewenberg 1971; Platt 1980; for useful reviews, see Endleman 1981; Rabow 1983).  But they do not necessarily share in that perspective’s deep irrationalism or subjectivism.18
	Cultural studies, despite its limitations, has also been a rich source of insights into how collective-psychological configurations enable and constrain action.  Often drawing upon as well as recasting Freudian theory, it offers highly intriguing work on transpersonal psychical dynamics – of desire, hatred, the erotic, co-mingled with aggression – in political life and collective action.  One can almost say that “cultural studies” is a misnomer and that what is most interesting and unique about it is, in fact, the study of emotional (not cultural) structures and processes.   Take, for example, the work of Connell; he contends that associated with the modern state is a particular kind of “‘gender regime,’ defined as the historically produced state of play in gender relations within an institution.”  A key feature of this gender regime is “the structure of cathexis” that it encompasses, “the gender patterning of emotional attachments”(Connell 1990, pp. 523, 526; emphasis in original).  This concept helps us to understand such problems as the emotional complexities of workplace relations within the state apparatus; gender-specific modes of attachment to political leaders; and the gender politics of nationalism.  Another example is the work of Berezin, who draws (in part) upon Connell to analyze Italian fascists’ project to build a deeper emotional attachment to the Italian polity, a kind of “political love.”  Her work shows how fascists set about “to channel emotion” away from the Italian family and religion and to “project it onto the [Italian fascist] nation/state” (Berezin 1999, pp. 366).  Although this work may suffer from some of the problems we noted above in our discussion of emotion management, it usefully shows how important structures of cathexis can become in political life.  Similarly, Alexander (1997) directs close attention to the erotics of state power, focusing upon the fraught history of women’s political struggles in the Bahamas against a “heteropatriarchal” state.  She “elaborat[es] the processes of heterosexualization at work within the state apparatus and chart[s] the ways in which they are constitutively paradoxical: that is, how heterosexuality is at once necessary to the state’s ability to constitute and imagine itself, while simultaneously marking a site of its own instability” (Alexander 1997, p. 65).  She shows how the official collective psychology of the Bahamian nation/state – and the constraints it involved – were contested by a feminist movement in pursuit of “erotic autonomy.”
	Freudian group psychology and cultural studies, then, point the way toward an alternative conceptualization of the emotions, one that avoids the theoretical pitfalls of reductionism.  But now we encounter a different sort of challenge: given the analytical autonomy of each of the three contexts of action, how are we going to conceptualize the empirical interrelations among them?   Consider the following quotation from Taylor (1985), one that concerns the relation between culture and social relations but that has implications for our tripartite model as well:  “The vocabulary of a given social dimension is grounded in the shape of social practice in this dimension; that is, the vocabulary would not make sense, could not be applied sensibly, where this range of practices did not prevail.  And yet this range of practices could not exist without the prevalence of this or some related vocabulary.  We can speak of mutual dependence if we like, but really what this points up is the artificiality of the distinction between social reality and...language....To separate the two...is forever to miss the point” (Taylor 1985, 33-34).  What this quotation so elegantly captures is the idea of mutual constitution, the notion that each class of elements (or, in our case, each context of action) is ordered or constituted through its pattern of interrelations with the other two.  How might this idea be pursued empirically?  One of the ways to develop it mathematically is by means of the imageries of Galois lattice analysis, a close cousin to the network-analytic approaches that we have invoked above.  This technique displays the co-constitution of networks of ties from two or more analytically distinct orders of social phenomena; it presents those nein a single line diagram, showing how each is structured in-and-through its relations with all the others.  “Galois lattice analysis makes possible a simultaneous graphical representation of both the ‘between set’ and ‘within set’ relations implied by a [multi]-mode data array” (Mische and Pattison 2000, p. 170).19  Take, for instance, a tripartite lattice displaying a three-way interpenetration among organizations, projects, and events (see Figure 2).  In the one selfsame lattice diagram, one can see a simultaneous display of a network of relations among organizations, a network of relations among projects, and a network of relations among events, as each of these networks is determined by its association with each of the other two (Mische and Pattison 2000, pp. 170, 178).  By providing such a visual representation, this technique nicely illustrates the idea of mutual constitution and serves as a model for how to bring together the three relational contexts that we have taken such pains to distinguish analytically from one another.
	Another sort of imagery altogether, drawn from the Slovenian School of Lacanian cultural studies, helps to further illustrate what we have in mind.20  Although not a party to debates on social movements and collective action, this school of thought is a contributor to other related literatures on nationalism and ethnic mobilization and thereby to the larger study of contentious politics.  Drawing upon Freud, it distinguishes between the analytical contexts of social relations, ideology, and collective fantasy, and invokes something like the imagery of a “wormhole” in the topology of social interaction (our phrase!) to describe the passage between one and another of these domains.21  Leaving social relations aside, of special interest here is its distinction between culture (ideology) and collective psychology (fantasy).  Salecl (1994) observes that in political discourse, one finds “a necessary distance between the field of meaning of an ideological discourse and the level of fantasy functioning as its surmise.”  On the former level, as she argues in one case study, Slobodan Milosevic “presented his movement as a new, ‘anti-bureaucratic revolution,’ as a broad democratic populist movement of rebellion against the corrupted bureaucracy of the Party and the state, and as an attempt to save Tito’s legacy.  Behind this, however,” she adds, “was another level, another message which was easily deciphered by his supporters as the answer to the question ‘Why is he telling us this?’” At that “other level,” one could find “the revival of old Serbian nationalist myths, glorification of the Orthodox church as opposed to the intriguing, anti-Serbian Catholic church, [and] sexual myths of the dirty Albanians” (Salecl 1994, p. 35; emphasis in original).  By passing through that wormhole between levels, one could enter into a wholly different world of fantasy constructions, a world organized around an utterly different logic, but one still clearly interdependent with that of ideological meaning.  This conceptualization shows how we can preserve the relative autonomy of logics, but nonetheless also emphasize their empirical interpenetration.22

Specifying the Postulate
	Our final pernicious postulate accedes to all of the stipulations that we made above; it accepts that the emotions can be intelligent; that they impact upon both leaders and followers; that they are constitutive of both institutions and collective action; that they are transpersonal as well as subjective; that power inheres in them; and that their logics are autonomous from – yet also interdependent with – those of social structure and culture.  This final postulate, however, also conceives of collective-psychological configurations as reified and unchanging entities.  It conceptualizes the emotions not as inherently dynamic flows of transactions, but rather, as static fixed structures or frameworks.  It implicitly denies them processuality; at best, it regards these configurations as crystallized substances that only “subsequently” are enacted or put into motion (or indeed into dialogue with one another).  Paradoxically, this postulate encompasses even the imageries that we had provisionally endorsed above: those of crystalline patterns of linkages among leaders and followers, of static structures of cathexes, or of lattice-like networks of psychical (and other) ties.  While useful for some purposes, these imageries fail us now in capturing the dynamic and dialogic nature of emotional transactions.
	What might be some substantive illustrations of such static imagery in social movement theory?  One revealing example is the frame metaphor, which provides a ready-made analytical hook for scholars interested in the emotional dimension of collective action.  Frame concepts such as hot cognitions are popular now among new culturalists aspiring to extend their ideas into collective-psychological terrain, but such concepts depict psychical formations in a highly reified fashion.  This is not to suggest that contributors to this approach have always seen frames as necessarily fixed or static.  In the culturalist literature, for example, Snow et al. (1986) specifically speaks of “framing processes,” while Marullo, Pagnucco, and Smith (1996), Evans (1997), and Della Porta (1999) each highlight the evolution of frames across at least two distinct historical periods or moments; this has encouraging implications for work on hot cognitions.  However, even in the aforementioned studies, frames from the different historical junctures are presented as a succession of “snapshots,” with little or no systematic theorization of the processes whereby they actually transmutate over time (for a similar critique, see Benford 1997).  Another example comes from the sociology of the emotions, specifically from Hochschild ‘s (1979, 1983) work, which has enjoyed a considerable influence in recent social movement research.  Hochschild underscores two key concepts: “feeling rules” and “emotion work.”  Feeling rules are “guidelines for the assessment of fits and misfits between feeling and situation.  For example, according to one feeling rule, one can be legitimately angry at a boss or company; according to another, one cannot” (Hochschild 1979, p. 566; elsewhere, Hochschild defines feeling rules as “social guidelines that direct how we want to try to feel” (Hochschild 1979, p. 563).  Emotion work, meanwhile, involves an “act of trying to change in degree or quality an emotion or feeling....[It] suggests an active stance vis-a-vis feeling...in obeisance to [feeling] rules” (Hochschild 1979, pp. 561, 563).  Collective-psychological formations (feeling rules) are by this formulation rigid self-standing frameworks, analytically separable from the agentic efforts (emotion work) that they channel, much as the analysis of “statics” is distinct from that of “dynamics.”
	Hochschild’s division between feeling rules and emotion work – and the limitations of such an approach in general – may perhaps be best understood by contextualizing it within a much broader tradition of structuralist analysis, one that goes back (at least) to the early decades of the twentieth century.  One finds in this tradition a consistent tendency to separate statics from dynamics, a tendency built into the very logic of structuralist ways of thinking.  Let us briefly illustrate this logic by means of a reference back to Saussure, an early-twentieth century linguist who in many respects inaugurated the structuralist tradition through his classic distinction between langue and parole.  Saussure distinguished between language as a symbolic formation and the individual utterances through which it is enacted or spoken.  The former was, in his view, a relatively fixed immutable “system of signs,” whose internal laws and logic “can be grasped... through reflection” or scientific inquiry, while the latter – “what causes language to evolve” – was wholly non-systemic, random, and arbitrary (Saussure 1959 [1916], pp. 73, 19).  “We must choose,” wrote Saussure, “between two routes that cannot be followed simultaneously; they must be followed separately” (Saussure 1959 [1916], pp. 19-20).  This “radical antinomy” between two different types of endeavor – an antinomy essentially between statics and dynamics – returned at yet another analytical level in Saussure’s famous division between the “synchronic” study of “language states” and the “diachronic” study of linguistic evolution.  “All notions associated with one or the other,” asserted Saussure, are “mutually irreconcilable”; moreover, “the synchronic viewpoint predominates,” since it is concerned with “regularity,” while “diachronic events are always accidental and particular” (Saussure 1959 [1916], pp. 91, 90, 93).  It is striking to what extent this linguistic theory, with its stark dualisms and its hierarchical ordering of terms, reproduced the age-old dichotomies with which we began this essay. On the one side was the static immutable realm of knowledge, science, and truth; on the other side was mutability, imprecision, and randomness.  Saussure declared linguistics itself to be “only a part of the general science of semiology” (Saussure 1959 [1916], p. 16), and sure enough, later social science (such as Hochschild’s work itself) would also proceed in a recognizably Saussurean or structuralist fashion, dichotomizing as well between statics and dynamics.
Why Pernicious?
	Structuralist imageries bring in their train significant omissions and elisions; specifically, they lead social movement theorists to reify and to misunderstand collective emotions, much as the strict division between langue and parole distorts and limits our understanding of language.  They capture only half of the complex notion denoted in White’s (1997, p. 60) evocative phrase, “processes-in-relations.”  Any conceptualization of collective emotions within a structuralist framework must, then, by the very logic of structuralism itself, encounter intrinsic difficulties so far as theorizing change is concerned.  And change is precisely what students of contentious politics want most to be able to understand.  For one thing, transformations in emotional configurations become harder now to portray or to theorize.  “It is possible to explain reproduction as a phenomenon sometimes produced by perpetual change; it is not possible to explain change as a phenomenon sometimes produced by perpetual stasis” (Abbott 1997, p. 98).  Analysts of social movements cannot have much to say about the evolution of feeling rules or about more complex “entity processes” (Abbott 1988), for instance, such as interanimation or hybridization, so long as they rest content with a rigid, motionless, and thing-like view of emotional structures.23  While it might be possible to study the inner logic or organization of feeling rules from this synchronic perspective, one cannot explain where this patterning comes from or how it is put “at risk,” so to speak – or rendered vulnerable to change – in each new enactment that it undergoes (Sahlins 1981; Sewell 1992).  For another thing, if emotional networks are to be conceived of as inert or thing-like entities, one cannot ask (let alone explain) how these configurations emerge, are consolidated, and transformed in dialogue with other such configurations (or with other aspects of a situation).  One loses all sense of emotional formations as in dynamic engagement with one another or with the rest of social life.  It is difficult to imagine how flows of emotional transactions could be grasped, let alone investigated, through a static imagery (such as that of framing) that depicts psychical formations in such a reified fashion.
	This is not to say that social thinkers from within the structuralist tradition have not been aware of these difficulties or sought to overcome them at both the theoretical and empirical levels.  In Saussure’s own day, it was Durkheim who first argued that episodes of ritualized action, involving for their own part an expression of socially obligatory emotions (Durkheim 1995 [1912], pp. 400-03, see also Mauss 1921), can not only be reproductive but also transformative of established structures.  Collins, a sociologist of emotions, follows Durkheim closely in this regard, suggesting that interaction rituals transform emotions themselves by amplifying initiating emotions (for example, by intensifying the moral outrage that first drew individuals to a social movement gathering), or else by transmutating these initiating emotions into “emotional energy,” “the emotion which makes up solidarity, and which makes the individual feel stronger as a member of the group” (Collins 2001, p. 29).  Sahlins (1981, 1991) and Sewell (1992, 1996, 1999) also follow this same strategy of positing a dialectic between structure and action, Sewell (1996) even drawing heavily here upon Durkheimian ritual theory. Although both focus upon cultural as opposed to collective-psychological structures (no one has as yet extended their ideas onto emotional terrain), similar insights have already been applied to the study of transformations in cultural frames (Ellingson 1995), in ways highly suggestive for the analysis of changes in feeling rules.  All of these closely related approaches, in sum, represent a significant step forward from studies that remain trapped within the Procrustean dichotomies of synchrony and diachrony, system and practice, or stability and change.  Nonetheless, all of these studies still accept the divisions themselves, seeking only subsequently, as it were, to “conceptualize the[ir] articulation” (Sewell 1999, p. 47).  They fail to show, in other words, how process can be incorporated into the very heart of structure and vice-versa, at the theoretical level itself of semiotics, or the theory of signs.  
	Is there a better alternative to such conceptual divisions?  Throughout this essay, we have argued that there is and have discerned in classical American pragmatism the foundations of a more satisfactory theoretical perspective.  Here as well, in respect to our final pernicious postulate, we find in the pragmatists some useful insights.  Specifically, it is important to recall that at the very same time as Saussure (and Durkheim), Peirce, the founder of pragmatism, was elaborating an alternative theory of signs, one that depicted semiosis as an ongoing, open-ended, and temporal dynamic (see Singer 1984; Rochberg-Halton 1986; Sheriff 1989; Ponzio 1990).  Saussure had taken his dualistic cast of mind into the very definition of the sign itself, conceptualizing it as a combination of “signifier” (sound-image) and “signified” (concept). Not only had he assigned to this “double entity” a bifurcated structure, but he had also depicted it as static and inert, for signifiers,  while “arbitrarily” related to signifieds, were in his view “fixed, not free, with respect to the linguistic community that uses [them]” (Saussure 1959 [1916], p. 71).  Peirce diverged sharply from such a synchronic approach – stepped outside the framework of Saussurean structuralism altogether, as it were – by taking as his unit of analysis not dyadic structures, but rather, a triadic process of “sign,” “object,” and “interpretant.”  “A sign,” he maintained, “is something which stands to somebody for something. ...It addresses somebody, that is, creates in the mind of that person an equivalent sign, or perhaps a more developed sign,” in an unending chain or succession of interpretations (Peirce 1980, p. 228) (see Figure 3).  As one commentator has observed, “[F]ar from being an accessory, the interpretant sign [was] in fact constitutive of the interpreted-sign....Moreover these signs [did] not belong to a closed and defined system, a code (the ‘langue’), but on the contrary [were] part of a dynamic interpretative process....As a sign, the interpretant refer[red] to another interpretant which as a sign refer[red], in its turn, to still another interpretant and so forth....This is the Peircean principle of unlimited semiosis, of the unending succession of interpretants....Signs are not things, but processes” (Ponzio 1990, pp. 253, 257, 260).  Significantly, in Peirce’s view, emotions, too, were signs – and therefore transactional flows rather than reified entities (Savan 1981).  Peirce’s vision of semiosis was thus an intrinsically dynamic one; it provides an imagery and an inspiration for conceiving of structure in a processual fashion.  Peirce did not imply, of course, that all structures were processual and unfolding as a matter of empirical fact; rather, he set this idea forth as an ontological and a theoretical point of departure.  
	There is one other thinker, too, from whom we can learn a great deal in this respect.  Bakhtin similarly rejected Saussurean semiology and its static vision of closed, immutable linguistic systems, arched (as he said) like “stationary rainbows” over the stream of actual communication (Volosinov 1993 [1929], p. 52).24 Instead, he suggested that all semiotic (and by extension, emotional) configurations are inherently dialogic in nature, that they are enacted always in dynamic response to other enactments, and that in fact they often define themselves in contradistinction to one another, such that it is impossible to speak of any one of them alone, in static isolation.  Concrete utterances for Bakhtin only made sense in relation to other such utterances within ongoing flows of semiotic transactions: “The utterance is filled with dialogic overtones....Each individual utterance is a link in the chain of speech communication” (Bakhtin 1986 [1979], pp. 92-93).  The idea of “addressivity” was important here, much as that of the interpretant had been crucial to Peirce’s own definition of the sign.  “The word,” wrote Bakhtin, “is oriented toward an addressee....As word, it is precisely the product of the reciprocal relationship between speaker and listener, addresser and addressee....A word is a bridge thrown between myself and another” (Volosinov 1993 [1929], pp. 85-86; emphasis in original).25  Bakhtin’s theory, then, was like Peirce’s in seeking to overcome the division between synchrony and diachrony; it too articulated a view of signs as processes-in-relations.  Moreover, it maintained that emotional configurations could be interpreted in semiotic terms; it saw the emotions as having a dialogic structure and as making ongoing reference to addressees and interlocutors in an ever-unfolding stream of utterances.
 	This Peirce-Bakhtin approach, in sum, was and is a powerful alternative to conceptualizations of emotion in the Saussurean mode.  It provides a compelling answer to the question of how statics and dynamics, structure and process, or stability and change might be interrelated.26  Now, to be sure, formulations such as those of framing theory or of Hochschild’s work are sometimes useful – not to mention approaches based upon the network metaphor – but one ought not to rest content with them, especially when seeking to analyze processes of transformation and flux.  Emotional configurations, for example, often transmutate in ways that are difficult to grasp through synchronic imageries.  When studying contentious episodes, it becomes particularly important to understand such processes of change in collective emotions.  In addition, emotional configurations are often multiple; that is to say, frequently more than one is to be found in any given contentious episode.  The internal emotional life of a protest movement, for example, might be organized around logics quite at variance with those of the institutions against which it struggles; or, in yet another example, different elements in a protest coalition might each display a different emotional makeup, pattern, or profile.  But each of these distinct logics might also have been shaped or structured in dialogic response to those of the others; the emotional tendencies of one group, for instance (e.g., rigid idealization of leaders; fraternal solidarism; or a paranoid style) might possibly have taken shape in (unconscious) imitation of those of its opponents or allies, or even possibly in (unconscious) reaction against these other patternings.  (Actors, of course – individual and collective – drive these various processes: leaders and followers, to be sure, but also authorities, officials, coalition partners, and citizens.)  Dialogism helps to reveal the subtle relations among this multiplicity of emotional formations; it allows one to see how apparently unitary and self-subsistent emotional structures are actually constituted through and through by their engagement with other such structures – an engagement, moreover, that quite possibly changes and evolves as time passes by.

Conclusion

	What important lessons, then, are to be gained from all of these considerations?  We could certainly rehearse the various conclusions to which we have arrived as conclusions about what not to assume regarding the emotions in political life.  But perhaps it will be more useful here to restate our ideas in a more positive and theory-building fashion.  Here, then, are some of our conclusions, expressed as injunctions.  When studying episodes of political contention, look for the intentional structure in the various parties’ emotions, whether they be social movements, established institutions, or third parties, and evaluate their perceptions and judgments on the basis of the intelligence and emotional appropriateness that they manifest.  Expect to find emotional influences powerfully at work upon the leaders of movements as well as upon their followers, and inquire into the passional cultivation and education that might lead both toward greater collective emotional intelligence.  And expect to find such collective-psychological dynamics not only inside of movements, but also within the established institutions against which they struggle.  Think relationally and transactionally in respect to such emotional phenomena; seek out the emotions not solely inside the heads and hearts of individuals (as “states of mind”), but also between individuals, as complexes of psychical investment, engagement, or cathexis.  See these emotional ties and investments as a potential source of power in their own right, alongside social-structural and cultural sources of power, and ask how each relational context, including the collective-psychological, not only generates but also organizes and channels flows of power.  Explore the internal logic and organization of these emotional formations; rather than seeing them as reflections of social or cultural structures, examine them in their own right and determine their own principles of coherence and contradiction.  Consider these formations and social and cultural matrices to be mutually constitutive of one another, as in a lattice diagram, and imagine that the passage from one to another of these relational contexts is like a passage between distinct but interdependent worlds.  And finally, see these matrices as dynamic, ongoing, dialogic processes-in-relations, and ask how these configurations change and how they all mutually condition one another.
	While this set of injunctions is not meant to be exhaustive, it does indicate the kind of broad empirical research program that our theoretical reorientation suggests.  It allows us also to conclude just as we began: with the vision of a new frontier for substantive research, albeit one that extends well beyond that of the cultural turn. This is an agenda that opens up potentially fruitful new areas of inquiry, one that, in a pragmatist spirit, creates new challenges for empirical problem-solving.  However, before drawing altogether to a close, we need to ask one final question: If the theory-building efforts undertaken above are to guide our research, then will they be sufficient to fulfill all the requirements of a collective-psychological approach to political life?  Now, regrettably, at the end of this essay we must admit that we are still only partway toward such a goal.  The reason is that our essay has been exclusively concerned with what we might term mappings, as opposed to mechanisms. As we define them, mappings refer to the topologies of the three relational contexts of action and their mutual ordering, while mechanisms are “recurrent causal sequences of general scope” (Tilly 1998, p. 7) – for example, collective-psychological sequences – that can be found to operate in a diversity of empirical cases.  Thus far, we have had nothing to say about causal mechanisms.  Why are they so very important?  Our answer is that if we are to generalize across instances of collective action and across contentious episodes, then we must build up an inventory of such causal sequences that we can draw upon and systematically deploy. Once we do, it will be possible to draw “deep analogies” (Stinchcombe 1978) between cases and to show within them workings – singly or in concatenation – of such recurrent causal processes.27  
	Now, how do mappings and mechanisms relate to one another, if at all?  We contend that they are mutually constitutive and interdependent: mappings without mechanisms are empty, while mechanisms without mappings are blind.  (This formulation helps to overcome the artificial and misleading tendency in sociological theory to distinguish rigidly between “sensitizing concepts” and “causal analysis.”)  Indeed, each such element inherently presupposes the other.  For example, our discussion above of emotional topologies and networks led in the end to an assertion of their intrinsically processual nature, thereby opening the way to a future exploration of emotional sequences and mechanisms.  And a discussion – yet to come – of these emotional mechanisms will correspondingly show how they cannot be isolated, delineated, and specified without a prior mapping of the relational terrain.  This, in sum, is our vision for theory-building in the domain of collective-psychological analysis.  A great deal of work clearly remains to be done.  The full elaboration of this vision now awaits a careful typologizing of emotional processes and sequences and a consideration of how they can be invoked in the study of empirical cases.  That crucial and complementary endeavor will be taken up in the sequel to this essay.

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ENDNOTES