Rough Theory

Theory In The Rough

Monthly Archives: November 2006

Seminary Co-Op

I have a very hard time explaining to local colleagues why Chicago’s Seminary Co-Op bookstore is such a wonderful place. The reputation of the bookstore does extend to Melbourne – when academic staff hear that I used to work in Chicago, they often ask whether I know the store. If they haven’t been there themselves, though, this question is usually followed by something like: “I don’t get it – what’s the big deal with this place? Why not just order from Amazon?” I haven’t heard this question from anyone who’s actually visited the store.

When I heard that L. Magee would be visiting Chicago and was asked about local tourist options, I immediately insisted that the Co-Op must be on the list. Last night, I received the only tourist photo sent back from the trip: L. Magee in the Co-Op, bearing heavy tomes, surrounded by bookshelves reaching up to the ceiling, filled with academic texts. I’m terribly envious…

Not Sure How to Feel…

I’m not really sure how to feel about the person who found this site by searching under “random thoughts of great minds”, clicked on a few pages, and then exited to follow the link titled “what in the hell…”

Rethinking Totality and Difference

I seem not to be able to post at The Kugelmass Episodes, so I’ll post a brief comment and pointer here to Joseph’s conference piece on Hegel. I am particularly interested in Joseph’s goal in the piece – itself, I think, a marker and expression of the shifting historical winds – which is to make:

a first step towards a politically and philosophically responsible recuperation of totality, though aesthetics, without a corresponding loss of difference.

When I feel a bit less foggy than I do at present, I’ll try to come back to this issue: reactions to the concept of totality, interpretations of what “totality” is, etc., have an interesting political and intellectual history, making it particularly important when someone revisits the concept in an interesting way. But I feel like I’m thinking through molasses at the moment, so I’ll just refer folks on to Joseph’s conference paper for an evening’s pleasant reading…

Overstimulation

Too sick today to write anything substantive, so of course I’ve spent two-thirds of the day dozing, and the remainder digging around for articles on the poverty of the stimulus argument… For those who might have missed this particular obsession, the poverty of the stimulus argument is one of the claims discussed as part of our all-Chomsky-all-the-time reading group discussion. The basic claim is that children learn grammatical rules that are so massively underdetermined by their environments, that the pattern of early language acquisition provides strong evidence for the existence of an innate, specific faculty for language acquisition. Since I’m sure all my readers share my fascination with this argument, I thought I’d post the link to the best article I stumbled across in my admittedly somewhat fever-impaired reading today: Geoffrey Pullum and Barbara Scholz’s “Empirical Assessment of Stimulus Poverty Arguments” The Linguistic Review 19 (2002): 9-50.

The gist of Pullum and Scholz’s argument is that, in the cases most often cited in the nativist literature, the stimulus might, in fact, not be so impoverished after all. They challenge linguists to engage in more extensive empirical investigation before making strong claims about the rarity of children’s exposure to particular sentence structures – and they also point to the need to establish more explicit and well-reasoned statistical measures for how much environmental exposure would be “enough” to undermine the claim that children could not possibly deduce a grammatical principle from their environmental exposure.

The article, it should be noted, is not itself a critique of nativism – it remains agnostic on the issue. The authors’ intention is simply to point to the weak empirical base for existing claims, and to challenge the discipline to become more serious about empirical investigation – and also epistemological clarification – if it intends to persist in viewing the poverty of stimulus argument as pivotal for the cognitive science case for universal grammar.

Overheard at the Office: User Pays

When I was just winding things up at the office this evening, a security guard came by on their regular rounds. After several months of startled reactions, the security folks have finally gotten used to seeing me in the building at odd hours, and generally now poke in to chat for a couple of minutes before wandering on their way. Today’s conversation topic was the after-hours ventilation system, which I tend not to turn on when I’m in the office alone, as it seems a tad… profligate to air condition an entire floor for my singular comfort.

Security officer: “Bit stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

Me: “Oh, it probably is – I don’t think I turned on the ventilation system.”

Security officer: “Well, I can do it.”

Me: “No, it’s not a problem – I’m about to leave anyway.”

Security officer, walking out of sight: “No, really, it’s no problem.” Clonk – whrrrrmph! “It’s not like you’re payin’ for it…”

Reading Group Lite

For anyone following the reading group at large, just an update that our next discussion will be a bit on the lighter side – with two of our members travelling, and with me preparing two dissertation-related presentations, this seemed a good time to relax a bit. Our next discussion, therefore, won’t take place until the end of the third week in November, when G. Gollings has offered to get the discussion started online. As mentioned previously, the work is Steven Pinker’s The Language Instinct – a very light, fairly easy read that summarises Pinker’s specific take on the cognitive science of language acquisition. I’m personally midway through the book, and I can make two very general comments that will not, I think, pre-empt the “official” reading group discussion:

(1) Unlike our previous selection, this work passes the toddler test. (This may sound like a small matter, but you try reading Austin’s How to Do Things with Words while hiding the book under blankets and behind other books, because your son goes ballistic every time he so much as sees the spine…) My son warmed to this selection immediately, wandering over curious: “Whazzat?”

“That’s a book by Steven Pinker,” I explained, holding out the book for inspection and pointing to the picture of Pinker on the back cover.

“Ahhhhh,” my son said, nodding and giving me a knowing smile, “Tevin Pinkuh! Veeery gooood!”

The side effect of this, of course, is that I’ve now had to read large portions of this book out loud, pausing at regular intervals to share our mutual admiration for the various diagrams inside. “Tri Angles!” my son says helpfully. Triangles indeed.

(2) Much of the material in this book is actually very familiar to me – but this would be because I decided that cognitive science was essential reading while preparing for the birth of my son: after all, how could one possibly parent without knowing knowing this stuff? ;-P

Fragments on Critical Spaces and Times

I seem to be writing a lot of posts lately that contain concepts that I’m not quite ready to express fully – this will be another of “those” posts, I’m afraid.

I wanted to pick up, in a brief and not quite adequate way, on two comments made on other blogs, because I think they each suggest important issues to be taken into account when thinking about the construction of a critical theory. The first is a comment made by belledame222 in an ongoing discussion at The Kugelmass Episodes. Belledame criticises the somewhat widespread tendency to equate “the margins” with “critical standpoint”:

One of the other main radical feminist bloggers, Heart, actually calls her space “The Margins.” i think there is this idea, you know, that freedom exists in the margins precisely because they -are- the margins.

trouble is, if you’re really making claims for revolutionary transformation, sooner or later you’re going to have to figure out a way to move from margin to center (as bell hooks once put it).

otherwise you’re just basically huddling together and licking wounds, telling comforting stories to each other, it seems to me.

To belledame’s concerns, I would add that this vision of critique – that you need somehow to be “outside” what you’re criticising in order to achieve critical distance – can:

(1) be morally underdetermined: some very undesirable movements can also be marginalised – and it may, in fact, be a very important political goal to make sure that some movements remain marginalised – and that other political movements become so… Valorising “the margins” by dint of their marginality often disguises the fact that we tacitly mean “our” margins: that we have a quite specific set of normative ideals that we assume are part of the “package” of marginality. Personally, I would rather develop critical concepts that express those normative ideals directly, rather than bundling them in with an overarching (and, for reasons discussed below, perhaps not even intrinsically connected) category like “marginality”. Otherwise, we risk getting what we asked for, rather than what we wished for – a fate suffered by many well-intentioned social and political movements…

(2) flatten the “core”: the move to margins (like the move to human nature, the appeal to theology or other ways of getting “outside” our social context) operates on the assumption that our social context is fundamentally one-dimensional: that tensions and conflicts might exist on the perimeters, or between our social context and something that we perceive as fundamentally different, but not as integral aspects of a single, conflicted social form. I appreciate that this is, to some degree, an “empirical” question, but I think it’s important not to reject out of hand the possibility of our social world as a contradictory entity – in whose contradictions we can perhaps begin to recognise some of the historical irritants that provoke us to dream that better things are possible. We may not need to be “outside” or on the “margins” to achieve critical distance.

These issues are connected, in ways I’m not sure I’m ready to express, to an issue raised by sinthome at Larval Subjects yesterday. The US election outcome leads sinthome to reflect on the need to recognise how rapidly historical transformation can sometimes be achieved:

I’m still in a bit of shock as to what happened last night. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not expecting momentous changes or for Democrats to suddenly begin acting like genuine progressives. Yet this still is a ray of hope…. it is the hope produced in discerning that rhetoric alone does not win the day or create reality. That is, occurances like this remind me that things are possible… They rescue me from my Adorno-esque pessimism.

A few months ago I would not have believed this possible and I find that this experience of change significantly calls into question a number of my theoretical axioms (I’ve been working through these shifts in theory for a number of weeks on this blog). How is it that forms of social configuration that seem like iron can so quickly dissipate like so much morning mist? The Mayans had a thriving culture that suddenly disappeared. They didn’t disappear as a result of some natural catastrophe (as far as we know) or through depleting natural resources. No doubt the Mayans believed their culture and state to be eternal. Yet it disappeared. How does such surprising and sudden change take place? It seems to me that good social theory help us to see the contingency of the present state of things, that there are other possibilities, that other collectives, subjects, and ways of feeling are possible. Just as psychonalysis allows the analysand to overcome the closure of their universe of desiring, discovering new possibilities where they never before thought they were possible, good social theory creates possibilities where before only the iron laws of historical necessity and power were discerned. Good social theory reminds us of the essential fragility and finitude of the power relations holding together a particular type of collective.

I reserve judgment on the Mayans ;-P, but I think that modern history does demonstrate that quite dramatic and rapid historical transformations – of institutional structures, customs, forms of thought – are possible (it is conceivable that such rapid changes are, in some ways, more possible than incrementalist ones, if we’re talking about achieving fundamental transformations – but I haven’t thought about this issue sufficiently to try to turn this into a strong claim…). And I agree that it should be a central goal for critical theory to cast light on why and how this happens – and that this goal sits in tension with approaches that emphasise “iron laws of historical necessity”.

At the same time, the significant transformations that we have witnessed within the modern era – including many transformations driven by movements that understood themselves as fundamentally revolutionary – can often, in retrospect, be interpreted as achievements that were moving with a broader “wave” of historical transformation – waves whose contours, perhaps, successful movements articulated more clearly than others, or which drove in any event toward complimentary goals… Revolutionary movements often suffer, I believe, from not adequately recognising the dynamic context in which they are operating – a context that may make certain political goals easier to achieve at certain times, that entails that very few political achievements can be regarded as permanent “advances”, and that often punishes movements by rewarding them with what they asked for (which is often the destruction of older social institutions), while depriving them of the free society for which they wished…

My goal here is not to drive toward pessimism. Modernity has constantly irritated us with dreams that more is possible, while also embedding us within an incredibly complex, dynamic, unintentional historical context that provides treacherous footing for conscious political practice. I think we need to develop better theoretical frameworks precisely to understand potentials for conscious political action within such a context – and I think that belledame and sinthome have both hit on some of the concepts we need to move beyond, if we want to work toward a better understanding of the potentials and limitations of particular forms of political practice…

Since (Some of) You Asked…

My various recent posts gesturing at the relationship of capitalism and regulation have prompted a couple of people to ask whether I’m basically just talking about the concept of “organised capitalism”, “state capitalism” or similar. I’m not quite ready to write about this, but I’ll tuck a quick answer below the fold, as a sort of promissory note on a response for those who have been asking… Read more of this post

Dissertation Scratchpad: Best Intentions

So yesterday’s research meeting, aside from providing a number of comments that could be taken out of context in interesting ways, also provided some opportunity to me to revisit in a public forum the most unprofound of my research findings: the notions that (1) developers can in certain circumstances like particular kinds of regulation, and that (2) developers’ need to invest capital as older development fronts close off is a major factor in creating pressures to open new development fronts. The last time I posted on these issues, my questions were, essentially: Doesn’t everyone already know this? And: Do I have anything particularly new and interesting to say about this phenomenon, whether everyone already knows about it or not? These were, essentially, the questions I posed in my (impromptu and, I must confess, somewhat involuntary) presentation to the research meeting. Read more of this post

The Least Ideal Speech Situation

I’ve spent a reasonable amount of time on this blog and others arguing that Habermas does not visualise the ideal speech situation as something that could be realised in practice. I have to admit, though, that I had never paused to wonder whether you might be able to realise the opposite – until, that is, I saw John Holbo’s analysis of Lost over at The Valve:

…in order to preserve the mystery and strangeness of the situation, also (even especially) the individual head-spaces of the various characters, with their private flashbacks, there can never be a moment when the characters sensibly pool their information and attempt to reason to some consensus about the likely range of explanations for what is going on. (It’s like anti-Habermas Island. The least ideal speech situation.)

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