Rough Theory

Theory In The Rough

Crouching Tiger

I’ve been meaning for some days to pick up a few of the threads from Sinthome’s recent posts on identity and critique. Picking up these threads now, of course, is fraught with danger, as I might trigger the Lacan-filter my fellow reading group members have threatened to install. {As I wrote this sentence, a fire alarm went off in my building, dislodging me not only from my office, but from the coffee shop to which I often retreat to write… Can one think critical thoughts in an alien coffee shop? We’ll see… Is the reading group behind this dislocation? I have my suspicions…}

I’ll focus most of my attention here on Sinthome’s haunting and brilliant discussion of the psychological consequences (causes?) of engaging with the potential for fundamental transformation, as sketched in the post titled “Enlightenment and Opening Possibilities”. Before I move to this topic, though, I’ll say just a few things on the more recent post on “The Diacritical Production of Identity” – if only to explain why I focus my commentary on the earlier of what, I gather, were written as two interrelated posts on the concept of the diacritical construction of identity.

In the post on “The Diacritical Production of Identity”, Sinthome tackles several elements of Lacan’s thought that are often cited as particularly controversial – the use of mathematical metaphors, the concept of the woman as the symptom of the man, etc. Sinthome traverses these elements of Lacan’s thought lightly, bracketing problematic readings, while teasing out a reading productive for critique. My question – and the reason I won’t write at length on this topic here – is whether these elements of Lacan’s thought, even read for their highest critical potential, ever move beyond being a very elaborate theoretical justification for what, at base, I suspect is a fairly noncontroversial ontological claim: that no form of domination (or, for that matter, freedom) ever fully succeeds in subsuming all aspects of consciousness or practice.

I’ve never found this claim controversial and – I confess this may be a fundamental conceptual failure on my part – I haven’t yet understood how any of the various theoretical elaborations of this claim contribute more to critical practice than the simple empirical experience of nonsubsumption ever could? I’m not so much critical of the theoretical framework, as I am uncertain whether this is really a battle that needs to be fought… Does theoretical reflection on this kind of abstract contingency give us any greater insight into the potentials for specific kinds of political action, in the particular contexts in which we must now act?

For this specific question, Sinthome’s earlier post seems much more productive. The motivating question for this post comes at the end:

What, then, today would it mean to repeat the Enlightenment, in an age following Freud and Marx?

Sinthome prepares the reader for this question with a discussion of the ways in which various Enlightenment thinkers used the inspiration provided by their reading of classical antiquity to leap outside of their time – to gain critical distance that then allowed them to react back upon and transform their own historical moment. Sinthome treats this appropriation of history with critical empathy – acknowledging that the Enlightenment interpretation of classical antiquity was probably “wrong” in its various factual particulars, but also arguing that this creative misinterpretation was enormously productive for specifically revolutionary thought. In Sinthome’s account, the myth of antiquity constructed by the Enlightenment thinkers allowed them to produce their own ground – a ground from the standpoint of which they could then reach out and tranform their own historical moment. Sinthome challenges us: can we do something similar now – perhaps by negotiating our own creative historical relationship with our idealised vision of the Enlightenment itself?

There are too many similarities not to note the parallels between Sinthome’s comments, and Benjamin’s analysis of the relationship of revolutionary movements to the continuum of history. Benjamin offers, I think, a more critically-inflected perspective on the tendency of revolutionary movements to cloak their goals in the mantle of the past:

History is the subject of a structure whose site is not homogenous, empty time, but time filled by the presence of the now. [Jetztzeit]. Thus, to Robespierre ancient Rome was a past charged with the time of the now which he blasted out of the continuum of history. The French Revolution viewed itself as Rome incarnate. It evoked ancient Rome the way fashion evokes costumes of the past. Fashion has a flair for the topical, no matter where it stirs in the thickets of long ago; it is a tiger’s leap into the past. This jump, however, takes place in an arena where the ruling class give the commands. The same leap in the open air of history is the dialectical one, which is how Marx understood the revolution.

Benjamin’s vision is in some respects the inverse of Sinthome’s: where Sinthome sees the creative appropriation of the past as a means for breaking fundamentally with the present – for achieving critical distance in relation to our current moment in time – Benjamin suggests that our elective affinity for particular moments of history may, in fact, be very much motivated (if unconsciously) by present-day concerns. Sinthome and Benjamin both hold that we are not seeing the past for what it really is, but where Sinthome sees an opportunity for achieving critical distance, Benjamin worries about how contemporary fashions undermine and distort even our relationship to history: “even the dead” Benjamin warns, “will not be safe from the enemy if he wins”.

At the same time, though, Benjamin collapses his notion of the social structuration of perception into the concept of class domination – his main concern is how our perceptions of the past are distorted by the way in which they take “place in an arena where the ruling class gives the commands”. He then holds out as an alternative, more revolutionary, relationship to history something that sounds rather like a concept that Sinthome canvassed – and that caused me to balk – in an earlier round of this discussion: Sinthome suggested a concept of critique as an event that “comes to pierce a hole in the totalizing, static structure of knowledge”; Benjamin speaks of a “leap in the open air of history”. These tacitly antinomic visions of critique always cause me to wonder: Do we have no alternatives, other than thinking of lockstep social determination, or some form of very abstract anti-determination? Can we not think of concepts that might help us express how Benjamin’s tiger might have scented – and gone hunting for – potentials for transformation? Can we not think of ourselves as fully social creatures, socialised into a context that shouts to us that more is possible – that we are holding ourselves back?

I think it is possible to develop theoretical concepts that would allow us to begin thinking about our socialisation in this way – and that therefore move beyond the theoretical articulation of something like abstract contingency, and into the theoretical articulation of the qualitatively specific ways in which we are socialised to long for more than we permit ourselves to have. I also suspect that concepts like class domination, marginality, and similar terms related to divisions between social groups might not be the easiest route into this alternative concept of critical standpoint – that at least some critical concepts may be more generally socialised within our historical moment than these categories allow us easily to capture.

But these are preliminary thoughts: the question, the project, the concept of critical theory are the more important things. We need to ask ourselves: Do we believe the principal aim of critical theory should be to ground the possibility for an abstractly contingent rupture with our historical moment? Or do we believe that, as creatures of our time, we can use critical theory to equip ourselves to demand our birthrights – to ask for the fuller realisation of the potentials that, unawares, we have constituted in alienated form? Returning to Benjamin, perhaps it is our own, contemporary history that we need to make “citable in all its moments” – perhaps we need to take more seriously the notion that the “kind of happiness that could arouse envy in us exists only in the air we have breathed”. Perhaps we need to ask what a critical theory might look like, if this were its concept, if these were its grounds.

I’ve left aside in this response what was perhaps the most poignant dimension of Sinthome’s post: a reading of Hume, to draw out the psychological consequences of experiencing oneself achieving critical distance on one’s own time. It’s a beautiful reading – better for people to look at the original, than for me to try to distill it into some pale synopsis. It’s an open question whether it might induce less vertigo, if someone were to understand critical distance as a possibility made available within one’s own moment in time – or perhaps the sense of fundamental isolation would be more intense, because the goal of communicating critical insights might seem tantalisingly close? I’m not prepared even to speculate… Sinthome would be more skilled at this line of interpretation than I am, in any event… I’ll leave the issue of the psychology of critique aside, then, for a future discussion…

Reading Group Sing-Along:

Back in October, when I originally posted the forward projections on the reading group’s upcoming choices, I had left the exact selections for the coming week a bit on the vague side, just referring to the Language Log archives on the general theme we would be discussing, which relates to an ongoing debate between Pinker, Jackendoff and Chomsky. L. Magee did, though, piece together a specific list of recommendations for the group, which I thought I’d post in case anyone is curious exactly what we’ll be discussing next Monday.

L. Magee’s suggestions are:

Perhaps start here:

Mark Liberman’s outline of the Pinker, Jackendoff, Chomsky discussion at Language Log

Then:

Chomsky et al: The Faculty of Language

Pinker et al: The Faculty of Language: What’s Special About It?

Chomsky et al: The Evolution of the Language Faculty

and Pinker & Jackendoff’s Reply

Also of interest:

http://itre.cis.upenn.edu/~myl/languagelog/archives/002423.html
http://pinker.wjh.harvard.edu/articles/index.html
http://www.wjh.harvard.edu/~mnkylab/

We workshopped a number of suggestions for where to go next – with the general idea of staying with the linguistics theme for a while longer. We’ll have an email round to solidify these suggestions, and then I’ll post another forecast list…

Reading Group Reunited

So the reading group held its first in-person meeting in a month today. We caught up on one another’s US adventures (and the slightly less adventurous things that occured in Australia), and we discussed academic politics, the popularity of certain theoretical traditions within specific academic fields, barriers to interdisciplinary work, our fears about whether anyone is now reading, or ever will read, our work and, occasionally, even Steven Pinker’s Language Instinct. I’ll leave Pinker aside for the moment, as *nudge* G. Gollings intends to introduce the online discussion of this work. I’m also simply too exhausted to summarise the rest of our substantive discussion, though I feel a bit guilty about this, as we really did manage to cover a lot of ground in interesting and productive ways – I feel like I should have brought a tape recorder. Then again…

While we wait on the official Pinker thread (no pressure, of course… ;-P), I’ll content myself here with a few conversational snippets taken out of context:

The travel tales began with an appropriately poetic introduction: “America is of course one of the world’s great works of fiction…”

The end of the trip, however, was not as poetic as the beginning, with the story moving through a detailed description of the labyrinthine and cryptic baggage handling procedures required to depart from LAX, leading to the observation: “It was like a big ‘Fuck you!’ on your way out of the country.”

In spite of the many temptations and distractions during their trip, the reading group members had remained in occasional touch with the blog, and had noticed from afar – very far afar, from the sounds of it – the recent influx of Lacanian themes. The reading group members expressed their concern, and have offered technical assistance: “You know, that’s the second-worst problem on the web right now, after spam – we’re developing software to take care of that.”

In the end, our catch-up chat was quite protracted, and the wait staff were impressed – if not by the breadth or depth, then at least by the duration – of our conversation, and commented when we surrendered our table: “Well, that was a long discussion.”

Revolt from the Margins

I’ve been re-reading Friedman’s Capitalism and Freedom recently – a dog-eared copy from the library, filled with underlines, highlights and an extended argument against the book scattered through the margins of the text. The marginal commentary has one dominant voice – a voice very, very unhappy with Friedman – and, for some reason, fixated on the notion that the existence of stagflation disproves Friedman’s points. I’ve been following the evolution of this marginal critique through the book – watching substantive points alternate with angry outbursts of “No!”. As the book progresses, the angry outbursts become more frequent – the handwriting more tense. I found myself skipping ahead of the text to see how this marginal conflict would end. I wasn’t disappointed. There on the last page of the book, underneath another burst of irritation at how Friedman should pay more attention to stagflation, is the final verdict:

I’m right. Jerk – bugger you!”

Itinerant Conversations on Dissertation Writing

I seem to find myself having stray conversations about dissertation writing around and about the blogosphere.

Over at Sarapen, we’ve been having a conversation that started with Benjamin – specifically Benjamin’s comment that “The work is the death mask of its conception” – a particularly depressing observation that, unfortunately, tends to capture perfectly how I feel about the final stages of any writing process… We’ve now moved on to the topic of procrastination, with Sarapen wanting to know:

You know, everyone I know who’s in academia claims to be a procrastinator. Statistically, you’d think at least one person would be on top of things, but no, whenever the subject of procrastination comes up there inevitably follows anecdotes of oneupmanship: “You played video games all weekend even though the paper you haven’t started is due on Monday? Well I broke into my professor’s house and slipped my paper into his marking pile even though it was two days late.”

Surely somehow, somewhere, there has existed at least one academic who has never felt the guilt of procrastination?

Anyone want to step forward???

And over at Acephalous, Scott Eric Kaufman explains his recent blogging strategies:

Because minutiae oppress me, words fail me and with every day the odds of my future career in real estate increase ever so slightly.

In another post, he worries about the quantity of work required to finish, and I respond:

On the one hand, I’m writing a lot. On the other, I’m not completely sure what it is that I’m writing, exactly… Since much of it relates to my field material, it bears a striking similarity to primary school presentations on ‘What I Did Last Summer’… Do they actually award doctorates for stories about what I did last summer? It doesn’t take a terribly dark moment for me to suspect that the answer will be no…

Noblesse Oblige

I not infrequently run across articles, like this recent one from The Age, promoting the concept that some particular premodern society had a more humane relationship to nature than modern/western society does. The Age article, for example, cites professor of archaeology John Parkington, who notes the prevalence of representations of particular animal forms in rock art dating back 200 to 10,000 years, and argues that the representations:

reflect the way the hunter-gatherers saw nature and their place in it, and include elements of shamanism.

With the domestication of plants and animals, humans started “moving ourselves out of the ecosystem … that was the beginning of the process that took us to the position of being outsiders”, he said.

“That’s why we unbelievably and inexplicably are failing to recognise the threat of global warming, because we’re outside it,” he said. “We’re going to carry on manipulating it, as apparent owners of it, until it’s too late.”

Parkington says the hunter-gatherers placed themselves inside the ecosystem, rather than outside looking in. “So they see animals as other beings who know the world in a different way … and sometimes in a very valuable way, and sometimes they want to take on that knowledge.”

The animal that occurs most often in Cederberg rock paintings is the eland, a large antelope that Parkington said was revered by the Bushmen as “a beautiful sentient being”. He said they developed rules for hunting, “a guiding ethos”, as a way of justifying their pursuit of eland and of behaving “sustainably and responsibly in the world … as a species that actually shares the landscape and vegetation with other beings”.

I remain agnostic on the particular human community whose history Parkington studies – their culture may, in fact, have expressed a highly developed sense of sustainability, and their practices may indeed hold lessons for the contemporary period. I would sound one small note of caution, in that it sounds from the passage above that the eland are a primary object of the hunt and, in that context, it would at least be possible to suggest that there might be different psychological motivations – aside from, or in addition to, some deep commitment to sustainability – that might underlie repeated ritual proclamations about how beautiful and sentient these creatures are. But Parkington is the expert on the culture he studies, so I won’t second guess.

If Parkington has been quoted correctly, however, he is making far grander, and more mystical, claims than would apply to one culture alone: he argues (again assuming the news account is an accurate representation – and I do understand that nuance is not the strength of the journalistic medium…) that what accounts for the cultural emphasis on sustainable values and practice is the fact that nomadic forms of existence in general are more “inside” nature – involve a less mediated relationship to nature – than settled existence. Settled agricultural societies, by contrast, have apparently removed themselves from this embeddedness in nature – and their cultural values therefore adopt a more instrumental, less sustainable, orientation to nature.

I find this notion empirically and theoretically questionable – and am also a bit unnerved by its normative implications: is the claim that sustainable management requires a regression to nomadic existence? If this isn’t the normative claim, then shouldn’t this cause us to reflect critically back on the original relationship posited between cultural values and living “inside” nature???

If this were an isolated position, I wouldn’t be too concerned. Unfortunately, I don’t find it that unusual for people – including academics – to valorise pre-modern peoples (sometimes understood, as in this example, as nomadic, sometimes encompassing earlier agrarian societies, sometimes extended to modern indigenous societies, as well) on the grounds that, in a very general way, such people held more sustainable values than are expressed in modern societies. I’m happy for this issue to be explored as an empirical question – as an investigation of how particular premodern societies actually lived, and as an exploration of how they articulated their practices culturally. What worries me is when these sorts of claims start to be made in an undifferentiated and apparently universal way – as though all human societies before a certain historical era, or all contemporary societies that have been materially disenfranchised to a certain degree, have certain moral qualities in common.

Politically, I worry because this position seems at best essentialising – in the guise of offering deep respect, it “others” people by rendering them magical and mysterious and beyond our normal ken – a position that, I suspect, serves to flatten and channel mainstream receptiveness to indigenous political claims in particular ways… (I’ve discussed this issue previously <a href="here and at Savage Minds.)

Analytically, I worry because I suspect that, at least in some cases, this position involves drawing an invalid deduction from objective limitations to cultural beliefs: premodern societies were more likely to live in some kind of “balance” with nature for “material” reasons, quite independently of cultural norms, because they simply had fewer resources to mobilise against their environments – the long-term persistence of this kind of balance might well have come to be articulated in cultural norms, or cultural norms might well have made achieving balance with the environment a comparatively easy task; equally, though, cultural norms might have diverged strongly from anything we would regard as “sustainable”, and yet Malthusian forces might have held the population in balance with nature nevertheless…

Ethically, I worry because I feel that academics have the leisure and the training – and therefore the responsibility – to break away from a fixed orbit around our own cultural tropes (in this case, I can’t help but worry about the way in which this common valorisation of premodern cultures seems to channel the romantic vision of the Noble Savage) and examine the best evidence at their disposal, so that we can actually be prepared for the sober decisions we may need to make, if we wish to confront a complex problem like global warming.

Stat!

There seems be this unusual theory floating around the school of social science that I might be the best person to coordinate our quantitative research methods course – a “common course architecture” course aimed at second-year undergraduates from various programs. I’m finding this theory a bit hard to believe, personally, but others seem not to share my scepticism. Read more of this post

I’ll Have the Usual

My inbox fills with bad puns and witty comments again – reading group members must have returned to Melbourne… Pinker’s Language Instinct. Monday. Usual time. Usual place. Usual suspects.

We will, however, continue to have a parallel online discussion in some form or other (looks over at G. Gollings, who might be trying to evade eye contact).

Hit and Run

Just after I completed my BA, I spent some time officially doing research in Paris, and unofficially wandering fairly randomly around Europe. One of my random wanders took me to Berlin, where I unexpectedly ran into a university friend when both of us approached the same ice cream vendor in Alexanderplatz. Neither had known the other was in the city, and the odds of this chance encounter seemed sufficiently remote that we decided it was fated that we spend our remaining time in Berlin together. For the rest of the day, we visited various places and collected other people before finally heading back to someone’s apartment late in the evening.

Somehow, along the way, we got into a vigorous discussion of some aspect of medieval theology. I lagged a bit behind the others, as I was still wearing a heavy backpack, and had become a bit out of breath from talking. As our group crossed a street, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a car had run the light and was bearing down on us. The rest of the group was safely out of range, but it occurred to me that I might be in a bit of strife, and so I jumped forward to get out of the way. I cleared the car for the most part, although some protruberance on the back of my pack was hit, making a noise all out of proportion to the force of the impact.

Since I had been aware that something like this was unfolding, I just kept talking – there was, after all, an important theological nuance that needed explaining… From my friends’ point of view, however, the situation looked a bit more alarming: they felt the wind from a car rushing past at high speed, heard an awful noise, and saw me fly forward – all more-or-less simultaneous events, as far as they could tell. And, of course, there I was, like nothing had happened, still droning on about some bit of arcane trivia. They thought I had been struck by the car and was in shock. They would not be persuaded that I was okay, but instead forced me to surrender my backpack and sit down. It was only with some difficulty that I convinced them that they didn’t have to take me straight to hospital. (I probably could have lent more credibility to my case if I had stopped trying to return to whatever theological issue was so obsessing me at the time…) I’m not sure I ever convinced them that I wasn’t concussed.

I was just sitting down intending to return to a few dropped threads from the discussion of fantasy and critique, when this story flashed to mind. I think I’m worried that online discussions carry something of a tacit expiry date – an expectation that, beyond a certain, fairly short, point in time, one won’t have to worry about getting back into the thought-space of an old post. And particularly in a case like this, where I first cited illness and then pushed the discussion aside in order to write a couple of mongrel speeches, it may be a bit uncouth to pick up a conversational thread. But I do have this tendency to keep talking…

As it is, I have only scattered thoughts, which I’m not sure I can articulate clearly at present in any event. I’ll raise them here as bookmarks and placeholders for later development. First, there is something that I like – that I need to think more about, in order to tease out what appeals – in Sinthome’s presentation of the concept of traversing fantasy as a process, among other things, of surrendering the notion of emancipation as a final, achievable, static endpoint (apologies for what is almost certainly a terrible presentation of this point – I usually get there in the end, but I am often inexcusably clumsy with new concepts at the outset). I suspect that I like this discussion because I’ve been worrying that I use phrases that suggest I think of the standpoint of critique in terms of the identification of some kind of overarching and determinate endpoint, when this is actually not how I think of this concept at all – I’m not sure my words express my thoughts… I worry also that I sometimes suggest that I view critique as a kind of “totality-eye-view” when, again, this isn’t how I think about what I’m trying to express.

I’ve been very irritated with myself, on re-reading some of the things I’ve written recently on the blog (and, for that matter, in my first presentation this week), because I’ve emphasised the importance of recognising specific views as partial – which by itself I think is accurate enough – but I’ve done this in a way that leaves open the interpretation that I somehow think that I (or some other critic) will then come along and speak with the voice of the “whole” – or that an ideal course of action somehow reflects the most overarching and dominant historical trend or structural pattern within a society. I don’t think this at all – but I need to learn better lessons from the kinds of critiques I write about other people: I need to ask for what I actually wish…

At the same time, I can’t quite go along with either Sinthome’s valorisation of the margins, or with the suggested vision of critique as an essentially random event that “comes to pierce a hole in the totalizing, static structure of knowledge”. I need to be cautious here: there would actually be ways to define and interpret the concept of the “margins”, and the concept of critique as expressive of essential contingency, that could be compatible with what I think – it’s just that, without careful qualification, I think the underlying metaphors are deeply misleading. I don’t perceive our current society or culture as a “totalizing, static structure of knowledge” – but as a conflictual whole, in whose conflicts we can then begin to understand the social and historical irritations that provoke the slow burn, as well as the occasional dramatic eruption, of critical sensibilities. At the same time, I’m not sure that I believe we can best conceptualise our social context in terms of “margins” and core – although of course there are groups that are scarred in a more brutal and direct way by existing forms of injustice. I’m reluctant, however, to see in this scarring a privileged critical insight: it might be simple justice if this were to be the case, but I’m not convinced that it is historically or psychologically plausible – again, unless one defines marginality in an unusual way that lies in tension with the standard imagery suggested by the term…

I suspect we’re stuck with being “insiders” – but insiders whose critical relationship with our own context can itself be taken as evidence that the context is not terribly unified. Then the question becomes how to position critique in relation to that disunited whole – a task that, I suspect, won’t involve taking the perspective of the whole, but also won’t involve taking the perspective of any one part (I would tend to follow Adorno in seeing the parts as scarred by the whole in which they have arisen). I suspect I’m talking about something like a process of becoming aware of the potentials suggested by the ways in which various parts interact to reproduce a conflictual whole – an awareness that can then give us a clearer sense of contingency and the potential for transformation… Regardless, I need to get to the point where I’m not using language that implies that some kind of historicised equivalent to a “view from nowhere” might be my understanding of a standpoint of critique… I need better words for expressing what I mean… And, evidently, I don’t seem inclined to stop talking until I find them… ;-P

Dubious Text

So my talk for the “Dubious Ethnography” panel is out of the way – one down, one to go. I went through a particularly intense crisis of confidence about the whole thing yesterday, when the talk remained unwritten at 6 p.m., after an entire day filled with nothing but endless interruptions. It also didn’t seem promising that I have an intense sore throat and the beginnings of what feels like an ear infection – and, as I explained to the audience this morning, not being able to speak or hear seemed an unpromising beginning for a discussion…

In the end, though, I did enjoy giving the talk – and received some very good questions. Interestingly, the most positive and the most negative reactions related to my discussion of epistemology and critical judgment – which is somewhat amusing, as people generally just fall asleep when I discuss epistemology. Maybe I’m onto something with this narrative thing… ;-P

Some members of the audience really liked the notion of trying to understand the reasonableness of various positions in a local political conflict, while also trying to examine all of those positions critically for what they don’t quite grasp with reference to a more overarching and comprehensive vision of that context. One questioner in particular, though, was very unhappy with this proposal, really pressed me to declare a side – and then was unconvinced when I tried to explain that my main quarrel was not really with anything that was unfolding in the community where I research, but rather with certain frameworks with in the academic literature: that my main “side” was a critique of those academic positions.

I was challenged further to explain how this was an ethical position – don’t we ultimately all have to take sides with reference to what we are studying? Is it ethical to analyse the weaknesses in all competing positions without choosing a particular position we most strongly prefer? I suspect this is really, at base, not the universal and theoretical issue the questioner takes it to be, but more like an empirical and contingent question: depending on the conflict, it might be possible or impossible, ethical or unethical, to choose a side. My main purpose at the moment (not in this brief talk, which would be completely inadequate, but in the thesis) is to make plausible the notion that we can ground judgments in a recognition that some kinds of mistakes can be made by otherwise quite reasonable and moral people, who have seized upon a piece of their social context, confused that piece for the whole – and act as though everyone else has done the same… The context will then determine whether these judgments drive in favour of a form of political movement actually playing itself out on the ground in a particular dispute. I don’t think my answer was adequate – I’ll have to work on explaining what I mean.

Anyone who’d like a copy of the talk can email, with the caveat that, as always, the written version is not quite what I actually said – I tend to watch audiences, dwell on things that seem to get people nodding in agreement, and skip lightly over things that seem to get people nodding off… I’ll leave readers to guess which sections of the text fell into which categories…

Now I have to collect my thoughts for tomorrow’s talk – which, for local readers, will be delivered as part of the Environment & Planning Lunchtime Seminar series, in 8.7.6, at 12:30 (attendance is free; BYO food…).

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