Read Chapter 14

Renee Hobbs on Jerome Bruner

CITE AS: Hobbs, R. (2016). Renee Hobbs on Jerome Bruner In R. Hobbs (Ed.) Exploring the Roots of Digital and Media Literacy through Personal Narrative (pp. 180 - 196). Philadelphia: Temple University Press. 

Chapter 14
Renee Hobbs on Jerome Bruner
I’m a child of the space race. In the late 1950s, the United States was in the middle of a cold war with the USSR, a political, economic, and technological conflict made even more intense by the successful launch of the Sputnik satellite. Americans were in a panic—perhaps our education system was to blame for the lack of mathematicians and scientists. In fact, the National Defense Education Act was signed into law just days before I was born. Among other things, it provided the financial support for an interdisciplinary gathering of distinguished scholars at Woods Hole on Cape Cod in 1959 to examine how to improve public education. Participants included experts in mathematics, physics, education, psychology, history, the classics, and educational media. Although the conference was ostensibly to address the teaching of math and science, it took a much broader focus. Indeed, it ended up addressing issues of communication in education—both how to communicate knowledge of the subject matter and how to use new technologies in education.

Leading this conference was Jerome Bruner, who at the time was an important cognitive psychologist in the United States and a scholar known for bridging the gap between the scientific and humanistic approaches of his discipline. The Process of Education (1960) was his slender book about five key ideas that emerged from the Woods Hole conference. Its publication caused a sensation in education, and it was reprinted in numerous editions. It included the then-revolutionary idea that systems and structures matter for learning: in particular, the scope and sequence of curriculum needs careful, systematic design. Anyone can learn anything if learning experiences are designed in a way that promotes intellectual curiosity. The book emphasized the importance of intuitive, creative thinking through discovery over rote memorization and drill. It offered a hopeful and optimistic perspective on the educational use of film as a “device[] for vicarious experience” (81) that could help dramatize a subject by “leading a student to identify more closely with a phenomenon of interest” (83) and empower children who are “learning how to learn” ( 6).

While technology in education can be powerful, the book concludes by acknowledging that the problems of education cannot be solved by buying 16-milimeter film projectors but instead by “discovering how to integrate the technique of the filmmaker or the program producer with the technique and wisdom of the skillful teacher” (Bruner 1960, 92). The Process of Education served (for a time) as a manifesto for all who wanted to improve schools because “its attention was on the knower and the knowing” (Evans 2011, 85). It presented the value of inquiry learning as something that enables learners to recognize that the world is not a given and is subject to change.

As I write this, Bruner is nearing his one hundredth birthday. Born in 1915, Bruner’s lifelong project explores connections between mind and culture and between the social science and the humanities, connecting human development and human experience. What a marvelous scope of inquiry for this brilliant scholar! In a way, Bruner is expanding the concept of literacy by exploring the relationship between language, learning, cognition, science, arts, and culture. My work—which is also seeking to expand the concept of literacy—is more limited and practical in scope. I aim to provide educators with resources and pedagogical strategies that enable learners of all ages to have a kind of heightened consciousness about the role of symbols and meaning-making processes through media analysis and media production. I’m fascinated with how media both reflects and shapes individual identity, cultural norms, social values, and expectations, and our sense of possibility about the future.

I’m proud to acknowledge that Bruner is one of my intellectual grandparents: his work has influenced the way I think about media literacy education and about my life as a community-engaged scholar bridging the fields of communication and education. But, truthfully, his influence on my life began beyond my conscious awareness: in my first encounter with his work, I was actually too young to recognize him. Fortunately, in my second and, especially, my third encounters, I was able to appreciate and acknowledge his contributions to my own work in media literacy education. In this essay, I use three personal memories to explore the theoretical roots of media literacy education as embodied in Bruner’s work.
First Encounter: Man: A Course of Study
I was probably eight or nine years old when I first encountered Man: A Course of Study. Growing up with a mother who was an elementary-school teacher and librarian, I practically lived at the school I attended and where my mother taught. Everywhere I looked, there were resources designed for learning. Our house was full of children’s books and educational resources—including all manner of early educational technologies, such as film strips, photo sets, audio reels, programmed learning materials, and teaching machines. As a child, I learned to read with a tachistoscope, a fancy device (like a microscope for reading books) that presented words, and then phrases, and then whole lines of text in the briefest of microseconds, followed by comprehension questions. Speed-reading was the coolest game ever, and I loved it.

Somewhere in our house or at school, there was a collection of resources bundled together as Man: A Course of Study, developed by Bruner and his colleagues. It was an elementary social-studies curriculum in which the topic was humanity, and the content explored the questions “What is human about human beings?” “How did they get that way?” “How can they be made more so?” (Education Development Center, n.d.). The program’s aim was to introduce children to key concepts of anthropology to demonstrate that all cultures are created equal. This was an important lesson for me, growing up, as I was, in 1960s cloistered and suburban Detroit, where racism and social-class tensions were normative. On television, Walt Disney presented a monochromatic but “wonderful” world where cultural difference, on the few occasions when it was depicted, was stereotypical and exoticized.

Man: A Course of Study used a novel pedagogy that consisted of films, photographs, games, activities, and writing designed to introduce children to basic concepts in the social studies through exploring tool making, language, social organization, the management of prolonged childhood, and the human urge to explicate the complexity of the world through artistic expression. Social life was presented as a diverse variety of forms of communication and expression necessary for survival. I remember poring over these unusual and intriguing resources, written in just the right type of language for a ten-year-old. Even though these materials didn’t look anything like anything I had ever seen before (did I perhaps try reading the teachers’ manual?), I distinctly remember a small picture book that contrasted how humans and animals use their senses to pick up informational clues from their environment. Then there was a game about how bees communicate: you got to pretend to be a bee and use signals to tell the other bees how to find sources of food. There were short films (did I see them at school?) to explore the life of the Inuit and their various cultural activities, including hunting, tool making, storytelling, and family life. One film showed an Inuit family on a seal hunt, which was most gruesome but powerfully emotional and impressive. It was all quite magical stuff to me.

I didn’t understand it at the time, but Bruner’s aim in developing this radical new approach to curriculum (in which the process of learning was based in showing and exploring and doing and discussing) was to promote metacognition in ten-year-olds—to encourage children to think about their own thinking in order to gain awareness of how culture shapes experience. The resources were invitational: as a child, I was the detective who got to figure out how things fit together. There were no right or wrong answers in Man: A Course of Study. In describing the curriculum, Bruner wrote, “As for stimulating self-consciousness about thinking, we feel that the best approach is through stimulating the art of getting and using information—what is involved in going beyond the information given and what makes it possible to take such leaps” (1965, 21; emphasis added).

Indeed, my childhood was replete with experiences that enabled me to respect the powers of my own mind to figure things out. Only as an adult did I come to understand how Jerome Bruner helped fertilize my youthful intellectual curiosity. But the issues he raised are at the heart of my scholarly work as I explore how mass media, including television shows, movies, advertising, popular music, and social media, can help activate metacognition and critical thinking in children as they make the inferences necessary to identify the purpose, target audience, genre, and point of view of media messages. Bruner’s deeply collaborative and creative approach to working with K–12 educators became an inspiration to me as well.
Second Encounter: Harvard University
Bruner was already an academic legend at Harvard by the time I arrived at Harvard Graduate School of Education in the fall of 1981 to study at Project Zero with Howard Gardner, who was, at the time, engaged in the research on children’s artistic and visual expression that later fueled his work on multiple intelligences. Gardner was an inspiration to me because of his own affiliation with Nelson Goodman, whose book, Languages of Art (1968), had captured my imagination as an undergraduate. While reading this book, I remember first wondering whether people needed to “learn” to “read” the “grammar” of film, which became a focus of interest later on in my career (Hobbs et al. 1988). Gardner himself worked with Bruner as a research assistant on Man: A Course of Study.

Hailed as one of the scholars who helped overturn the dominance of behaviorism in the field of psychology with “the cognitive turn,” Bruner had received his Ph.D. in psychology at Harvard in 1941. His mentor, Gordon Allport, had conducted groundbreaking studies of personality. One of the leading social psychologists of the time, Allport had also explored the psychology of the new technology of radio (Cantril and Allport 1935). Bruner was interested in both experimental cognitive psychology and the field of cultural anthropology. But he hated the way both these fields seemed to decontextualize and devalue the role of place, setting, motives, and dispositions in the context of human cultural life (Mattingly, Lutkehaus, and Throop 2012).

In his research on child development, Bruner observed that perception is a creative process, not just a biological one, and that people respond differentially to various modes of representation for learning about the world: enactive representation (action), iconic representation (image), and symbolic representation (language).{AU: Please cite source for these ideas.} Perception is also inextricably tied to particular cultural and social conditions of lived experience. In a very real sense, the way we see the world is shaped by our culture’s symbols.

Not surprisingly, when Bruner first encountered the groundbreaking work of Russian psychologist Lev Vygotsky, he was entranced (Bruner 1973). Vygotsky had explored the role of cultural context in human development in the 1920s and written his seminal work, Thought and Language, in 1932, working with A. R. Luria and others to create a new approach to psychology. But in Stalinist Russia, his works were immediately suppressed. For twenty years after his death in 1934, it was forbidden to discuss or reprint Vygotsky’s writing, and his work could be read only in a single central library in Moscow by special permission of the secret police (Dolya and Palmer 2005). After Stalin’s death, the works were circulated to the West, and Bruner wrote the introduction to the English translation of Thought and Language in 1962. This and another work of Vygotsky’s, Mind in Society (1978), had a substantial influence in the fields of both psychology and education (Cole 2009).

Influenced by Vygotsky’s research, Bruner and his graduate students collaborated on a wide variety of projects that explored the complex relationship among language, literacy, and culture. For example, Patricia Greenfield examined the development of schooled and unschooled children in Senegal; another student went to Alaska to observe Inuit family life, education, and culture. At the time, this work was completely against the grain of the dominant discourse in the field of psychology, which was firmly based in stimulus-response behaviorism. Bruner and his students’ work was, in many respects, the beginning of a field that came to be understood as cultural psychology (Bruner, Oliver, and  Greenfield 1966). Roy Pea describes Bruner’s lab at Oxford University, where they read and discussed academic papers and viewed films of children’s classroom interactions. This is where the term scaffolding was first used to describe the informal behaviors of parents in interacting with their young children. Through peekaboo games, parents use language with their children in ways that introduce them to practices of turn taking and meaning-making. The parent enables “the performance of a more complicated act than would otherwise be possible” only until the child is able to accomplish the activity independently (Pea 2004, 425). The concept of scaffolding has been applied to practices of teaching and learning, and I have used it in my own work as a teacher and researcher: I wonder about how scaffolding can connect the practices of learning at home, learning from media, and learning in school.

Coming to the Harvard School of Education in 1981 as a boundary crosser into the field of education, I was flummoxed a bit by the great debates between the behavioralists, the cognitivists, the psychoanalytics{AU: Not “psychoanalysts”?}, and the culturalists. But Vygotsky’s powerful idea that “our productive activities change the world, thereby changing the way the world can change us” (Pea 2004, 426) was simply thrilling to me. And Bruner’s meaning-centered psychology resonated with my background in English literature and film/video studies, in which the goal “was to discover and to describe formally the meanings that human beings created out of their encounters with the world, and then to propose hypotheses about what meaning-making processes were implicated.” Bruner was curious about the “symbolic activities that human beings employed in constructing and in making sense not only of the world, but of themselves” (Bruner 1990, 2). It was obvious that Bruner was putting the questions of human communication and meaning-making at the center of his inquiry in an effort to improve the practice of teaching and learning by making connections among psychology, education, anthropology, and “the interpretive disciplines in the humanities and in the social sciences” (2).

Bruner was also a pragmatist whose theoretical work was embodied in education reform. He didn’t just live in his ivory tower; he was active in the fray of education policy, serving on the President’s Science Advisory Committee during the presidencies of John F. Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson and working collaboratively with filmmakers, anthropologists, and classroom teachers in developing Man: A Course of Study (Laird 2004). Because this course was considered to be a breakthrough in both content and format, Bruner received an award from the American Educational Research Association in 1969.

Because of its suggestion that all cultures were equal and worthy of respect, this curriculum was popular with teachers and students. But the curriculum was attacked by the religious right. By 1974, when hundreds of thousands of children were using the curriculum in forty-seven states, the program ran into controversy as the Moral Majority, along with a group of right-wing politicians, flexed their muscles, using newspaper editorials to loudly object to the program’s inclusion of content related to “reproduction, aggression, killing, religion, and views of life and death” (Symcox 2002, 22). Representative John Conlon of Arizona held a hearing on the curriculum, claiming that it challenged American values by introducing children to the customs of other cultures at an early age, making children vulnerable to “foreign values and beliefs” (quoted in Symcox 2002, 22). By 1975, “Sputnik-inspired academics were sent back to their ivory towers” because religious conservatives believed that a social-studies curriculum that encouraged an inquiring mind to learn about human behavior and culture was “dangerous because it did not deal in absolutes” (Symcox 2002, 22–23). Bruner’s work had opened up public debate about traditional versus progressive education. It was the kind of integrative and grounded scholarship-in-action that I could only hope to imagine for myself as a young scholar.

Bruner certainly validated the idea that one’s creative self could be connected to one’s identity as a researcher, teacher, and learner. Perhaps, however, I’ve known this forever: while I love to learn by reading, watching, and listening, I actually learn best by making and doing things. An important aspect of my personal and professional identity has always come through creative expression. I love creating websites, making videos, writing curriculum, composing essays, making speeches, designing PowerPoints, and using a combination of moving images, language, and sound to express my ideas. I even continue to work to perfect my poetry with my well-composed tweets. As an undergraduate, I enjoyed serving as a reporter and editor for the Michigan Daily, the college newspaper. So much of my creativity is practiced through collaboration. Making media provides a structure for engaging with both people and ideas—it is through working with people to create media that I do my best thinking. There I am able to discover and articulate my own response and interpretation.

One fundamental value of media literacy education is expressed in the idea that by making media, we learn. Jerome Bruner identified the powerful interplay between working with materials (“hands-on”) and working with ideas (“minds-on”) as fundamental learning practices. In the 1960s, this approach was revolutionary and Bruner’s ideas were fueling the revolution. In my own teaching, I have discovered that many abstract principles and ideas become more engaging and accessible to learners when approached in an activity-based experience. This is just as true for graduate students as it is for young children. Creative authorship is fundamentally a learning process: as Bruner explained, artifact creation is an essential aspect of cognitive activity and cognitive growth. He appreciated that for many learners, it is vital to explain “in things, not words, understanding by doing something other than just talking”{AU: End quotes in correct place?} (Bruner 1996, 151). And not only do such works instantiate the learning process; they inspire those who participate in creating and sharing them and cultivate “pride, identity, and sense of continuity” (22). Media literacy educators insist on emphasizing creative-media production (in print, visual, sound, and digital formats) as a core element of pedagogical value, reflecting a Brunerian line of inquiry in which learning is understood as a socially, culturally, and materially embodied process.
Third Encounter: General Semantics
Stories reflect and shape our experience of reality. In Actual Minds, Possible Worlds (1986), Bruner tackles the problem of how people develop a grasp of the world around them and how stories trigger diverse interpretations and meanings. Aware of the limitations of the universalist Piagetian perspective on human development, Bruner positions human growth and development within a fundamentally social and cultural context. An individual’s working intelligence is never “solo,” says Bruner. We learn from the people who are around us. He observes that learning is really a process of mastering the “culture’s treasury of tool kits” and that most of us only learn a few of the multiple ways of knowing available to us within our culture (1991, 3). Knowledge is never separate from a particular point of view; the cultural products of knowledge “place their stamp” on our understanding of reality (Bruner 1997).

Bruner’s reading of literary theory, as a psychologist, came together in his explorations of narrative. Stories have special features: they constitute the world by carefully structuring a sequence of events in time, offering particularities of detail that stand for more universal themes. Stories are greater than the sum of their parts: the parts and the whole are hermeneutically interdependent. Great storytellers exploit this hermeneutic for “narrative seduction,” creating stories so seamlessly coherent that even the most implausible of situations becomes blazingly real, and “brilliant exploitation of the devices of text, context and mis-en-scene” predispose people to “one and only one interpretation,” sometimes even leading to a mindless automaticity of interpretation (Bruner 1991, 9). Narratives are “good” and “tellable” when they breach expectations, making the ordinary strange; that’s why we celebrate innovations in genre, as novels with first-person narrators break the authority of the omniscient narrator and reality TV provides fresh ways to express and appreciate the wonder, drama, and conflict in ordinary people’s lives. When we encounter stories, we take into account the teller’s intentions and accept different stories of an event without complaint: “the very context dependence of narrative accounts permits cultural negotiation,” as lots of different stories from many different tellers accrue into a coherence that becomes a cultural tradition or a worldview (Bruner 1991, 18). Through stories, we perpetually construct and reconstruct ourselves.

When in 2009, I had the chance to meet Jerry Bruner, I got the opportunity to reflect on the power of personal narrative as a force for intellectual development and cognitive growth. At the time, I was invited to participate in a panel discussion with him at Fordham University, in a session sponsored by the Institute on General Semantics titled “Across the Generations: Legacies of Hope and Meaning.” The specialists in general semantics are interdisciplinary scholars who explore what I have called the representation-reality issues concerning how symbolic forms shape meaning, thinking, feeling, and action (Hobbs 2006b). At the time, Jerry was celebrating his ninety-fourth birthday, and getting to talk with him over dinner was a remarkable opportunity.

It was Bruner indeed who gave me the idea for this book, in his remarkable writings about autobiography. Using a constructivist approach to the autobiography, Bruner explained that stories do not happen in the real world but, rather, are constructed in people’s heads. Bruner claims that “the culturally shaped cognitive and linguistic processes that guide the self-telling of life narratives achieve the power to structure perceptual experience, to organize memory, to segment and purpose—to build the very ‘events’ of a life. In the end, we become the autobiographical narratives by which we ‘tell about’ our lives” (Bruner 2004, 694). Simply put, our own lives are variations on the culture’s canonical forms and stories. This big idea echoes the work of Martin Heidegger, who invites us to recognize the “always already” state of being, enabling us to confront the paradox of living in relationship with other humans while being ultimately alone with oneself.

As I see it, that’s why the stories of mass-media culture matter so much to understanding an individual’s personal and social identity. As Bruner explains, “We seem to have no other way to represent ‘lived time’ save in the form of a narrative” because “‘life’ in this sense is the same kind of construction as a narrative is” (2004, 692). So that’s why this book uses personal narrative to begin to account for the multifarious intellectual history of digital-media literacy.

Only a few years before meeting Bruner, when the Institute for General Semantics invited me to give the fifty-fourth annual Alfred Korzybski invitational lecture in Fort Worth, Texas, I was honored and a little intimidated as I shared with this group the reasoning behind my development of the “media literacy remote control,” the visual metaphor I developed for articulating the abstract reasoning, deconstruction, and critical-analysis skills at the heart of media literacy (Hobbs 2006a). In particular, the media literacy remote control I created includes a question on the importance of recognizing omission as a way to recognize bias and point of view. Of course, I was also aware of Neil Postman’s leadership role in the general semantics community as journal editor of their publication, ETC, and I had used S. I. Hayakawa’s classic book Language in Thought and Action ([1939] 1978) as a young assistant professor teaching courses in human communication. In fact, Hayakawa had offered unexpected insight on media literacy by writing about the relationship between poetry and advertising. When everyone else was demonizing advertising as forms of propaganda and indoctrination, he provided an alternative conceptualization, an elegant media literacy lesson about the authentic personal value that may come from reflecting on those ordinary symbolic artifacts in the world around us. Instead of vilifying advertising for its “half-truth, deception, and outright fraud,” Hayakawa offered a fresh approach. He urged us to see the parallels between advertising and poetry, to recognize how advertising works as it strives to “give meaning to the data of everyday experience . . . to make the objects of experience symbolic.” Like poetry, advertising matters because it works to enter into our imaginations. As a result, it shapes “those idealizations of ourselves that determine our conduct” (Hayakawa 1978, 269). Media literacy educators owe a debt to the work of general semanticists like Hayakawa as we seek to enable people to gain control over our culture’s interpretive processes by recognizing the way symbols affect our understanding of social and mediated reality.

In attempting to offer a very personal examination of how and why Bruner serves as one of my intellectual grandparents, readers may appreciate how media literacy builds upon and extends early twentieth-century ideas about the relationship between symbols, culture, mind, and society. These ideas inflect the practice of education, the nature of knowledge in a symbolically rich cultural world, and the relationship between cognition, emotion, and action. When implemented in the classroom with integrity and respect for learners, media literacy has the potential to support the kind of metaphysical change that “is required to alter the narratives that we have settled upon as ‘being’ our lives” (Bruner 2004, 709). Indeed, one of the foundational concepts of media literacy education is based on the premise that because we are settled in these narratives, like the fish that is the last to discover water, we can benefit from such a metaphysical assist.

Brown, J. A. 1991. Television “Critical Viewing Skills” Education: Major Media Literacy Projects in the United States and Selected Countries. NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.{AU: No in-text citation for this source. OK to delete from list? If keeping, please provide city of publication.}
Bruner, J. S. 1960. The Process of Education. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
———. 1965. “Man: A Course of Study.” Occasional Paper No. 3, National Science Foundation, Washington, DC.
———. 1966. Towards a Theory of Instruction. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.{AU: Source not cited in text. OK to delete from list?}
———. 1973. Introduction to Thought and Language, by L. S. Vygotsky, v–x. {AU: Please add translator information.}Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
———. 1983. In Search of Mind: Essays in Autobiography. New York: Harper and Row.{AU: Source not cited in text. OK to delete from list?}
———. 1986. Actual Minds, Possible Worlds. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
———. 1991. “The Narrative Construction of Reality.” Critical Inquiry 18 (1): 1–21.
———. 1997. The Culture of Education. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
———. 2004. “Life as Narrative.” Social Research 71 (3): 691–710.
Bruner, J. S., R. Oliver, and P. Greenfield. 1966. Studies in Cognitive Growth: A Collaboration at the Center for Cognitive Studies. New York: Wiley.
Cantril, H., and  G. Allport. 1935. The Psychology of Radio. New York: Harper and Brothers.
Cole, M. 2009. “The Perils of Translation: A First Step in Reconsidering Vygotsky’s Theory of Development in Relation to Formal Education.” Mind, Culture, and Activity 16 (4): 291–295.
Cuban, L. 1986. Teachers and Machines: The Use of Classroom Technology since 1920. New York: Teachers College Press.
Dolya, G., and S. Palmer. 2005. “Lev Vygotsky.” Available at
Education Development Center. n.d. “(Hu)mans: A Course of Study.” Available at (accessed December 10, 2015).
Evans, R. 2011. The Hope for American School Reform: The Cold War Pursuit of Inquiry Learning in the Social Studies. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Goodman, N. 1968. Languages of Art: An Approach to a Theory of Symbols. Indianapolis, IN: Bobbs Merrill.
Hayakawa, S. I. (1939) 1978. Language in Thought and Action. San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.
Hobbs, R. 2006a. “54th Annual Alfred Korzybski Memorial Lecture: Literacy in the 21st Century.” General Semantics Bulletin 73:40–44. Available at
———. 2006b. “Multiple Visions of Multimedia Literacy: Emerging Areas of Synthesis.” In Handbook of Literacy and Technology, vol. 2, ed. M. McKenna, L. Labbo, R. Kieffer, and D. Reinking, 15–28. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Hobbs, R., J. Stauffer, R. Frost, and A. Davis. 1988. “How First Time Viewers Comprehend Editing.” Journal of Communication 38 (4): 50–60.
Jolls, T. 2011. “Voices of Media Literacy: International Pioneers Speak; Renee Hobbs Interview Transcript.” March 10. Available at{AU: Source not cited in text. OK to delete from list?}
Laird, C. 2004. Through These Eyes. Directed by C. Laird. National Film Board of Canada. Available at
Mattingly, C., N. Lutkehaus, and C. J. Throop. 2012. “Bruner’s Search for Meaning: A Conversation between Psychology and Anthropology.” Ethos 36 (1): 1–28.
Pea, R. 2004. “The Social and Technological Dimensions of Scaffolding and Related Theoretical Concepts for Learning, Education and Human Activity.” Journal of the Learning Sciences 13 (3): 423–451.
Symcox, L. 2002. Whose History? The Struggle for National Standards in American Classrooms. New York: Teachers College Press.
Visser, M. 2012. “Digital Literacy Definition.” ALA Connect, September 14. Available at
Vygotsky, L. 1978. Mind and Society. {AU: Please add translator information.}Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Order your copy of the book here

Order Book Now